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.

35. The Calm Before The Storm

The Calm Before The Storm

Everyone found themselves right back in Skyhold after leaping to safety out of the eluvian Morrigan had locked away. As soon as the Inquisitor got through safely, Morrigan closed the mirror as quickly as possible. They all barely escaped their encounter with the Elder One by the skin of their teeth, the adrenaline was still pumping in their ears. Most of them had no idea what to expect when they went through that mirror back in the temple, but they were all glad to be back in Skyhold.

"It is done." Morrigan sighed with relief.

"Did everyone make it out alright?" Rajmael asked.

"I think I might lose my lunch, other than that, I'm okay." Varric groaned.

"It would seem we're all intact." Cassandra answered.

Rajmael sighed wearily, he was so tired right now but there was no time for rest at the moment. "Everyone, go get some rest. I must gather my council and plan our next move. Morrigan, I want you there with me."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

The two apostate mages made their way to the War Room, and to Rajmael relief, his Councilors were already there, waiting for him. Josephine breathed a sigh of relief to see their leader returned safe and sound. Cullen and Leliana were just as glad to see the Inquisitor. But this was not yet the time for celebration.

"Thank the Maker you're back." Josephine praised with heartfelt relief.

"I am pleased to report that we won the battle, Inquisitor." Cullen informed. "When you leapt through that mirror, Corpheus and his Archdemon fled the field. I am not sure why."

"What he wanted was no longer within the temple." Morrigan answered.

"Perhaps. He spent so much time trying to get into the temple, he probably couldn't have helped his forces at that point." Cullen finished.

"Then...Corypheus is finished." Josephine said hopefully.

"If he is wise, he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again." Leliana added.

"He will not hide." Morrigan assured.

Rajmael believed the witch's words. "I know he won't. He can't. He will not let such an insult go unpunished. Corypheus will probably try to attack us here at Skyhold."

"Tis more to it than that, but yes, Inquisitor, you're correct. Corypheus will not stand idle." Morrigan assured.

"And how could you have such insight into his plans?" Leliana demanded accusingly.

"The Well of Sorrows held many voices, and they speak to me from across the ages." Morrigan answered.

A sour grimace spread across the Spymaster's face. "Tch. I cannot believe you let her of all people drink from the Well, Inquisitor. Now we must rely on her interpretation and hope that whatever she's telling us is the truth."

Morrigan glared at Leliana indignantly. "Why such ire? Have I not been forthcoming enough for you Spymaster?"

"Yes. As forthcoming as you were with Aedan during the Blight, I'm sure." Leliana scoffed, hitting the witch's soft spot.

That actually stung more than Leliana thought. Morrigan's glare became deadlier than a cobra's venom. "You dare?!"

Morrigan's magic flared in her hands as she advanced on Leliana, intent to do her harm. A stiletto sprang from the Spymaster's sleeve, and in the blink of an eye, she had the sharp Orlesian steel pressed against Morrigan's throat. Ten years worth of pent up resentment and distrust seethed from the two deadly women like hot steam from a burning cauldron, and they intended to finally let loose. Cullen and Josephine both readied themselves for what looked like a fatal encounter.

A bolt of lightning flew right between the redheaded bard and the raven-haired skin-changer, instantly getting both their attention.

"Enough!" Rajmael commanded with full authority, his hand raised to both of them, ready to cast another spell. "I will not have infighting in my own camp! Whatever issues are between you two, they can wait until there isn't a Blight-corrupted psychopath with delusions of godhood out there trying to kill us."

The witch and the spy both lowered their weapons and slowly backed away from each other, regaining their composure.

Rajmael waited until he was satisfied that both these women weren't going to murder each other to speak. "Now, back to the matter at hand. Morrigan, how do you know what Corypheus intends?"

"The voices from the Well possess great wisdom, and the hold secrets I never dreamed possible." Morrigan answered calmly, her normal ice-cold demeanor returned. "But even they fear what Corypheus has become."

"Them, and the rest of the world. Can they tell you anything useful, like how do we kill him?"

"As a matter of fact, they do. He has a weakness." Morrigan revealed with a sly grin on her face. "The dragon Corypheus commands is not truly an Archdemon. It is a dragon, in which Corypheus has invested part of his being. He doubtlessly did so out of pride. To emulate the Old Gods of Tevinter who he abandoned. That pride can be exploited. Kill the dragon, and his ability to leap into other bodies is disrupted. He can be slain."

"Oh, is that all? And here I thought this was going to be difficult." Rajmael sighed glibly.

"T'would foolish to think that dealing with any such power would be easy, but from what I understand, you've slain quite a number of dragons yourself. This should be nothing you're not already used to." Morrigan assured.

"So what do you propose?" Cullen asked. "If this thing does share Corypheus' power, then it will be more powerful than any dragon the Inquisitor has encountered. Finding the creature alone would be a difficult task."

"There is a way to defeat the dragon, to match Corypheus in his power. The Well whispers it to me now." Morrigan explained. "Your help will be required, Inquisitor. Speak to me when you are ready to begin."

Rajmael looked back over to his Councilors. "In the meantime, I want all of you to make sure our defenses are ready. If the dragon does come here, I want us to be able to survive it."

"Such preparations have already been accounted for, Inquisitor." Leliana promised. "We've been preparing for this ever since Haven."

"Thanks to all the support from our allies and the resources we have gathered, this keep is ready to hold off a ten-year siege, if needs be." Josephine assured.

"There is one more matter we must address, Inquisitor." Cullen affirmed with a more serious look than usual. In fact, it was deathly. "Even as we speak, our forces are bringing Samson to Skyhold for Judgment. I...believe it would be best to finally put this matter behind us when he arrives."

Rajmael's face became just as grim as Cullen's. "I agree, Cullen. Samson has had this coming for too long. Oh, and Josephine? I need the list of casualties from the Dales ready for me, and would you be so kind as to get Master Dennet for me, please? Tell him to bring a branding iron."

~XoXoXo~

With their orders clear, the Councilors left the War Room, leaving the Inquisitor by himself. Rajmael stared at his hand, unable to take his eyes of it. Where once there was marred, distorted flesh with a waxy sheen, a permanent reminder of how his childhood was destroyed, was now perfectly healed. No traces of that horrible day when he was almost burned alive. Every other scar he had acquired over the course of his difficult and harsh life, every battle scar and injury, was gone too, like they never even existed. It wasn't like new skin, soft and sensitive, but strong and lean, but uninjured, like nothing had ever happened to it. But it was not enough to cover up the the anger and sorrow that was tearing him up inside.

After everything he had seen, learned and lost in the Temple of Mythal left Rajmael in a state of melancholy and anger. He was angry seeing humans once again razing everything he held sacred for the sake of their own selfish gain. How much more could his people afford to lose until they were left with nothing? Why? Why must everything that the elves built be burned like it meant nothing? Depressed, sorrowful, heartbroken these words were not strong enough to describe how he felt about learning that the elves destroyed themselves in a war so devastating that it made them easy prey for Tevinter. Worst yet, to learn that the vallaslin, the most integral part of the Dalish's identity was nothing more than a slave brand. A reminder that they, a people who cherish freedom more than anything, were once no better than the humans who enslaved them. This would crush every Dalish heart in Thedas.

Rajmael sauntered out of the War Room and out of the keep to get some air. He needed to take his mind off these things. Corypheus was still out there, and he needed to get his head together. First put Corypheus in the grave, then he could feel sorry for himself. But first, he really, really needed a smoke and a drink.

The Herald's Rest was quite full and the sounds of cheerful conversation as Maryden the bard played a jaunty tune that filled the air. Many of them were bragging about the major victory they won in the Arbor Wilds, raising their glasses to themselves or comrades who didn't make it. The Bull's chargers were laughing loudly and singing their company song, while the Sutherland company toasted one another for contributing to the Inquisition. Varric was there with a tankard in clenched in his fist while he spun a yarn to the soldiers about what they discovered in the mysterious temple. Even Vivienne was there, having Cabot the bartender shake her up a fruity drink. But Rajmael wasn't here to join any of them in celebrating their victory, he was here to drown his loss.

He ordered himself a bottle of Aquae Lucidius, brewed from wyvern venom with a legendary reputation for knocking even the most battle hardened Chevalier flat on his ass. There were many stories of men actually killing themselves just by sipping this stuff. But if there's one thing Rajmael learned from the dwarves, it's to never underestimate the healing powers of booze.

Rajmael sat down at a table by himself on the first floor. Perhaps this could help dull the stinging sensation that was tearing him up inside. He took out his sylvanwood pipe and lit it before taking a nice, long, relaxing drag, letting the effects of the burnt herbs sooth his nerves.

"Hey, you!" Hollered an all too familiar and annoying voice. No sooner had Rajmael started smoking did Sera seat herself across from him with a smile that was more smug than usual, and a pint of beer in her hand. She was giggling so much it was almost disturbing, even for her. What was so damned funny?

"Sorry." Sera sniggered. "Wait, no, I'm not. It's just so funny, innit? That creepy old Abelas saying the elves weren't destroyed by Tevinter?"

That thing in the back of Rajmael's mind began to stir dangerously. "I'm sorry, are you...gloating? Over someone else's pain?"

Varric saw the conversation going on between the two elves, and sensed what was going to happen. He got behind Rajmael and tried to signal. Pressing his finger to his lip, crossing his hand against his throat, even just shaking his head. But Sera either didn't notice, understand, or care.

"And why not?" Sera snorted. "That's the elfy elves' thing, innit? Being the sore losers of history? Can't be a proper elf unless your complaining about what happened hundreds of years ago. I never hear the end of it. Always whining about how some history was 'stolen' from us. Turns out, we're no different from anyone else." Sera took another swig of her beer before laughing some more, never noticing that Varric was still trying signal danger to her. "Plus, a big, old temple full of demon-worshiping lies. Grand, that."

"Excuse me? Maybe you want to elaborate on that?" Rajmael dared, smoke billowing out of his mouth and nostrils.

Varric waved his arms and jumped up and down behind Rajmael, trying so hard to get Sera's attention and avoid the Inquisitor's. Iron Bull noticed what was going on, and fearing what might happen, tried to assist Varric in silently telling the Red Jenny to shut up. Sera just looked blankly at the two guys making asses of themselves in the middle of the tavern, never noticing what they were trying to tell her, or the vein pulsing in Rajmael's forehead. Vivienne certainly noticed, but did nothing except watch everything begin to unfold while sipping her drink with an entertained grin on her face.

"Well, I mean, it was impressive and all. Makes the Dalish look like tits for living in the woods, but so what?" Sera responded. "I mean, there can't be a bunch of elven gods and the Maker going about, now can there? No matter how much or how little you believe, those things don't fit. So call me stupid, but I like not believing in things made up by dead people who failed."

"Oh, you mean just like Andraste? A barbarian war leader who failed to defeat her enemies and was burned by them?" Rajmael scoffed completely repulsed.

"What? No! It's not the same thing, completely different." Sera denied with her foot in her mouth. "I mean...No, that can't be right. I don't know much, but I know that there are things out there that just don't fit, no matter how hard you believe. I mean, there can't be a buncha elfy gods and the Maker going around. It just doesn't fit! Mythal is a ruin full of demons and lies, and anyone who doesn't know that is a bunch of idiots."

Rajmael grabbed the bottle of aquae lucidius and chugged down half the bottle in several large gulps, the vein in his forehead still pounding. That thing in the back of his mind was screaming at him, and this time, he was going to listen to it. "Okay, Stupid, so you're calling me an idiot and a demon worshipper? You're saying my entire clan, my father and my daughter, are idiots and demon worshippers. Is that what you're telling me?!"

"Oh, shit." Varric sighed in defeat. Iron Bull groaned into his hands while Vivienne looked on in anticipated delight.

"You...make me sick to my ass, Sera." Rajmael seethed with a disgust he usually reserved for Chevaliers. "You're an emotional fucking cripple, with the IQ of a rotting apple. Were you dropped on your head or bottlefed stupid as infant. There has got to be a logical explanation as to how insanely stupid you are for having the gall to insult my people to my face!

All the onlookers gasped in silence at that last sentence. Even Varric, and especially Cole, felt the sting of the Inquisitor's words. Vivienne watched on in anticipation with her drink, enjoying that look on Sera's face that reminded her so much of a whipped dog that got in trouble for soiling the carpet. After the humiliation the Inquisitor had inflicted on her, Vivienne felt a sense of satisfaction seeing him bestow it on someone far more deserving of such treatment. Sera sat frozen in shock at what the Inquisitor was saying.

"I have never seen such a blatant waste of potential as you are!" Rajmael fumed. "You could accomplish so much yet you're content to be nothing but a stuck-up pain in the ass! You go around pretending to care about the poor and mistreated, but have no problem stuffing yourself like a damned pig while other people are starving. You pretend to care about your so-called friends, but you never even bother to remember their names. Shit, you didn't even bother to remember the people you got killed in Verchiel!"

That last comment stung, and Sera's lip twitched painfully. All sounds of music and laughter died and the room became as silent as a tomb. No one dared to even breath too loudly. No one had ever seen the Inquisitor this angry before. Too often many of them had forgotten that the Inquisitor was a Dalish elf before he was declared the Herald of Andraste, and like many elves, he had a difficult life and knew how to bare a grudge. All they could do was watch in silence and pity as they watched the Inquisitor take his anger out on Sera for offending him.

"Abelas and all his Sentinels did more with their lives in those final hours of protecting that temple, than you have done in your whole fucking life! You run around with your head stuffed up your ass pretending to know what the world is, but you have no idea what real people go through. You think because the noblewoman who adopted you ruined cookies for you, you know what true pain is? What the rest of us have lived with?!"

"How...how do you know about that?" Sera gritted through her teeth, an angry tear forming in her eye.

"You think Leliana's just here to look pretty? I know everything I need to know about you, and I'm not impressed." Rajmael spat. "Grow the fuck up, Sera! You don't know what it's like to starve, to watch everything you love be destroyed right in front of you. You had a better life than any elf in the Alienage, but you dare to mock our suffering?! Tell me something, Sera, and be honest because I'll know if you're lying: when you first met me and you realized I was an elf, you were disappointed weren't you? You didn't like the idea of being around an elfy-elf, did you?

Sera stood there silently, her face hard and gritting her teeth. She didn't want to answer, but she did. "...No."

"You knew me for about five seconds, and you were already judging me." Rajmael remembered angrily. "And when Briala was leading the elves in a rebellion against Orlais, you weren't rooting for her. You wanted us to save Celene."

"Hey! That's not my fault!" Sera hollered. "She was the stupid one, getting people killed so she could get back at the empress over a lover's spat!"

"Oh. So it had nothing to do with the fact that Briala was fighting for the oppressed elves. You just wanted us to save the empress who burned Halamshiral's Alienage and thinks it's okay to treat elves like shit. So what were you doing to help the suffering little people?"

Sera said nothing, she had nothing to say.

"Oh, that's right. You were running around playing and stealing some nobleman's pants." Rajmael said mockingly. "You don't have the right to judge anyone, least of all the elves. All you want to do is play and go around like you think you know how the world works. You spit on elves and our culture while mocking our suffering, then you pretend as if you're fighting for the oppressed and mistreated when all you're doing is just having fun at other people's expense."

"Yeah, well...if what elves didn't believe was so stupid, I wouldn't need to laugh, would I?" Sera said defensively.

"You're the stupid one Sera! We elves may not have much, but we have each other. What do you have?" Rajmael's words cut a deep wound into Sera. "You do nothing for anyone, least of all yourself. All you are is a spoiled, ignorant child and a fucking hypocrite. You are no different than the nobles you steal from."

Sera got up from her chair. Her face twisted into a mix of hurt and anger. What the Inquisitor said stung in her chest. "You...you take that back, or else I'm gonna...I'm gonna...!"

Rajmael's hand swiped across her face faster than she could blink and left a red hand mark on her cheek. It stung so bad tears welled up in Sera's eyes. Even Lady Emmald had never struck her. In a fit of anger, she reared her hand to strike him back, but his sword flashed against her neck faster than she could blink

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" The Inquisitor asked rhetorically, pressing his sword against Sera's scrawny neck. "I'd dare you to prove me wrong, but you and I both know you're incapable of doing that because it's too damned hard you. All you're going to do is go back to your room, cry like you didn't deserve this, write in your bullshit little journal and complain about how stupid I am. You'll probably pull a few pranks that'll just annoy me, but that's it. You're incapable of doing, or even being anything else."

For the first time since Sera was you, she started crying. What he said hurt, real bad. Why? Words aren't suppose to hurt this bad.

"Inquisitor." A firm voiced addressed.

Rajmael kept his sword held on Sera and looked over to the doorway to the voice that called him to find Commander Cullen addressing him from the doorway. "What is it, Commander?"

Cullen's face was more stern than usual and his eyes had a look of urgency in them. "Our forces from the Arbor Wilds, they've finally delivered Samson. They're waiting for you in the keep to render judgment."

That finally took Rajmael's attention off of the Red Jenny being held in his grip. She was insignificant compared to the general of the Red Templars. Rajmael finally took the blade of his sword away from her neck and sheathed. He never looked back at her. "Sera, if you ever, and I do mean ever, insult my people within earshot of me again...I will kill you."

Everyone in the tavern waited until they were sure the Inquisitor was gone to start breathing again. It was like waiting for a hungry bear to leave and hope it didn't notice them. Sera stood there with a look of mixed pain and anger painted on her face. The rest of the Inquisitor's companions looked out the doorway where the Inquisitor left.

"You think he's going to be okay?" Varric finally asked.

"Him?! What about me?! I was the one with that crazy nutter's sword against my neck, getting slapped!" Sera shrieked in outrage. Her cheek was still stininging and tried to rub it away.

"Oh, come on, Sera, I saw you get slapped around worse back at Adamant." Iron Bull shrugged. "I've seen the Boss deflect arrows and fireballs with that sword of his. If he really wanted to cut your head off, he would have."

"I don't get it, Buttercup, why'd you have to set him off like that?" Varric sighed.

"Ha! A rather pointless question, don't you think, Varric." Vivienne laughed, finishing her martini. "As if she has ever taken the time to think before she talks."

"Shut up, ya nob-sucker!" Sera spat, her throat still hurting.

"No, you need to shut up. Shut up and listen, Buttercup." Varric said with a serious look on his face that was almost foreign to everyone. "You don't like anything elven, I get that." Varric stood in front of Sera and made sure she was listening to what he had to say. "I don't like most things dwarven. I'm as far from a real dwarf as you can possibly get. I think real dwarves are crazy for living underground that they care way too much about what the Ancestors think or did, instead of concentrating on what's going on now. But you know something? Deep down, maybe I'd like to see Orzammar restored, the thaigs reclaimed and dwarven society not being on the brink of extinction."

That caught everyone offguard. Never before had any of them heard Varric speak so firmly, or of the dwarves with respect.

"I can say all the crap I want about dwarves because I know what they're like, but not once have I ever mocked the dwarves for their shortcomings, especially considering the number one cause of most dwarven homicides is other dwarves. Orzammar only has itself to blame for its troubles. But elves like the Inquisitor, like Daisy, love their people, despite their mistakes, and risk everything to give something back to them." Varric defended adamantly. "Rajmael was forced to kill his own brother, had to watch his father die not even a week ago, and then for you to laugh at his people suffering, after everything his been through...well, that's pretty damned low. You oughta be ashamed of yourself."

"Yeah, Sera." The Bull joined in reluctantly but was compelled to says something. "I hate to say it, but ever since you first joined up with the Inquisition, all you've ever done is insult him. And to tell the truth, I'm surprised this didn't happen a long time ago."

"No..." Sera tried to deny, mostly to herself. "All I did was..."

"The Inquisitor considers all elves as his people. You've insulted the elves at almost every chance you got, jut like you did now." Bull reminded. "And when you disrespect the elves, no matter what you might think, you're disrespecting him and everything he believes in."

"Oh, please do wipe that sad look off your face, darling. It's ever so pitiful." Vivienne handed Sera a handkerchief with a mocking smile on her face. "And while you're at it, dear, why don't you just insult everyone else here in this tavern. They've all lost something in this war as well, and I'm sure they'd love for you to laugh at them, too."

The rest of the Inquisitor's companions made their way out of the tavern, leaving Sera standing by herself on the floor, completely stunned. Hearing Vivvy talk down at her was no big thing, she could just laugh that off and make her own fun right back. But hearing Varric, Mr. Never-Takes-Anything-Serious, scold her, that hurt. Like, really hurt. Sera took a moment to look at everyone in the joint and they we're all giving her the stink eye.

"That girl has some major problems to work out." One of the Inquisition soldier muttered to a couple of his drinking buddies.

Her? His Inquisy-elfness is the one threatening to chop off hands.

"How can she just mock our people after what was found in the Arbor wilds?" An Orlesian sounding elf said to some more elves. "She's like those humans I used to work for in Jader."

What? All they found there was a mess and some crazy elves looking at some old statues and were DEMON WORSHIPERS!

"Are all Red Jennies insensitive brats, or did we luck out and get the stupid, mouthy one with the annoying voice." The dwarven barkeep grumbled.

"Well, what can you expect from a thief?" Some snooty knight responded. "They lack honor, tact and especially respect. Honestly, the Inquisitor must've been drunk when he recruited her."

"Oh, how can that girl be so blind?" A Chantry sister sighed. "Is she not close enough to our Lord Herald to realize that the Maker may be in other forms and that there are other divine mysteries to our world?

What was with everyone? Seriously!? There can't be a bunch of elfy demon-gods out and the Maker! All she did was just point out the obvious facts. So...why was everyone looking at her as if she did something wrong?

Why did she have this bad feeling in her gut and chest that made her wanna hit something, or cry. Or both. She wasn't supposed to care about what other people thought about her. So why was she feeling like such a shit? Was she really the only one in the Inquisition who thought like that. The only one who was...well, normal? Well, she obviously isn't if she's the only normal person in a place full everyone whose not, then she's the one who's not normal. Elves, dwarves, even qunari were all in this Inquisition, and everyone she traveled with weren't normal. They all believed differently, right? And regular people don't like it when snooty pricks shit on the things they cared about.

Wow. Sera never thought this deep before. It's a bad feeling, yeah? To be the only one with your own beliefs, then have others mad at you and kick you for it. Now she knew how the Inquisitor felt this whole time. Sera felt the same way when the Harrmond arse killed and insulted her friends. She really is a snooty little prick after all. That realization hurt more than the Inquisi-Herald's fist ever could.

Sera made her way back to her room, not letting anyone see that their words got to her. Her first impulse was to just draw a crude picture of the Inquisitor and cover it with arrows, or maybe do something dirty to his food or room. But that wouldn't make her feel better, just thinking about it made her feel worse. Instead she took out her little diary and started writing in it. "What is normal? Who are normal people?"

~XoXoXo~

Once again, Rajmael sat on the Throne of the Inquisitor. It was not a seat he placed himself in lightly, nor was it ever one he wanted to take. But given everything he had seen and fought against, all the pain and destruction Samson caused by leading the Red Templars, Rajmael was exactly where he wanted to be.

The guards dragged the defeated, chained general into the keep. All eyes were fixed on him, glaring hatefully at the object of all their grief. Pain, anger and disgust was painted on every face in the room, Rajmael's included. One of the servants even spat at Samson, but the guards urged him to get back. Rajmael didn't blame the man, he wanted to spit on Samson, too.

Samson stood before the Inquisitor. The now one-eyed general couldn't even bring himself to look the Inquisitor face-to-face. Rajmael could already see the effect the lyrium withdrawal was having on his body. He seemed so much weaker now, like all the vitality and power had been sucked right out of him, leaving behind nothing but an empty, sad shell. But there was no room in Rajmael's heart for pity, not for the man who willingly, proudly caused so much death in Corypheus' name.

Instead of looking to find Josephine standing ready to read the charges, Rajmael found Cullen standing in place of his Ambassador. Rajmael wasn't in the least bit surprised.

"Forgive me, Inquisitor, but for personal interest, I've taken the liberty of relieving Lady Josephine. As you might expect." Rajmael gave a consenting nod. Cullen turned to charge the accused with contempt etched on his face. "Knight-Templar Raleigh Samson, General to Corypheus, traitor to the Order of Templars. The blood on his hands cannot be measured." The guards shoved Samson before the Inquisitor. "Strangely enough, his head is too valuable to take. Ferelden, Orlais, Kirkwall: many would see him suffer. I can't I am not one of them."

Rajmael stared down at his defeated enemy forebodingly. "Well, they're just going to have to wait their turn. I have every intention of leaving my mark on him first."

"The red lyrium will steal your vengeance. You already know what it does." Samson reminded bleakly. "Corypheus only delayed my corruption."

It was true. Samson was shivering uncontrollably from the severity of lyrium withdrawal. And after that horrible beating Rajmael gave him, he was surprised the man could even stand.

"Are you still loyal to that thing?" Cullen asked disbelievingly. "He poisoned the Order. Used them to kill thousands of people!"

"The Templars have always been used! How many of them were left to rot, like I was, after the Chantry burned away their minds." Samson snapped back. "Piss on it! I followed him so that the Templars your kind threw away could at least die at their best! Same lie as the Chantry, the prophet just isn't as pretty."

That thing was starting to chew at the back of Rajmael's head again. He didn't think it was possible, but he hated Samson even more now. "That's it? That's your defense? You intentionally led your men to their deaths, in the name of a monster, but at least they got to die at their best? You're even more pathetic than I realized."

"I'm not offering a defense!" Samson barked through his crooked teeth. "What I did was a mercy for those men and women who were already lost."

"You were always weak, Samson. And your leadership proves it." Cullen scoffed in disgust.

"Everyone of those Templars would have suffered until nothing was left of them. And then be forced to kill and die, only to be discarded by the Chantry that said our cause was a holy one, when all we were was their chained dogs." Samson argued, looking at Cullen hatefully. "You think you understand what is was like for the other men and women in the Order who didn't swallow the Chantry's rot as happily as you did, Commander? You don't! Not when you happily hopped like a faithful dog at Meredith's every command no matter how terrible."

A glint of shame appeared in Cullen's eyes, remembering those terrible days. Even Hawke had hated him for that.

"You don't know what is was like to be thrown to gutter and forgotten like garbage, like me and the rest of us who didn't kiss every Grand Cleric's shoes." Samson gasped for breath, tried to keep the pain from his withdrawals under control. "I gave them hope, a chance to die for a cause where we would we be honored for our sacrifices instead of being discarded when weren't needed. Just like you, Cullen. Just like the Chantry. But I'm weak, right? And you're a bloody savior. Do what you want. I'm done talking."

Those two words that Samson spoke echoed in Rajmael's head like a loud bell. Mercy and Hope. Never before had he heard those two words together and felt so disgusted. Hearing Samson's excuses was enough to make him want to puke. Rajmael had heard enough. He signaled Josephine to hand him the list he requested earlier.

"Do you know what this is, Samson?" Rajmael held the scroll so that everyone in the hall could see it.

Samson looked closely at the item in question with his remaining eye but remained silent.

The Inquisition flung the scroll forward and everyone watched as it unraveled on the floor, rolling well past Samson and a good distance down the hall. By the time it stopped rolling, it was a mere six feet away from the Main Hall's entry. Many eyes looked at the sheer length of this document with astonishment.

"Ambassador Montilyet, would you tell us what this document is." Rajmael instructed.

"It is a...list of names, Your Worship." Josephine answered with a hint of apprehension in her voice.

"Whose names?"

"All the unfortunate souls who've perished at the hands of Corypheus and his followers." A wave of disbelieving gasps and murmurs went through the crowd at Josephine's words.

"And what is the total number of victims?"

Josephine's lip trembled, she tried to maintain a neutral face, but it was difficult to not feel saddened by the answer she had. "We...we do not an accurate count, Inquisitor. We are still receiving reports of those who have been killed all over Southern Thedas. Some on this list is the names of those we lost at Haven, and some are from Sahrnia. The losses are...incalculable."

That crowd of murmuring witnesses turned into a choir of shock and outraged horror. Almost every soldier, servant, volunteer and supporter had lost someone to the Red Templars, and any sense of pity was now gone. Samson stood there, as unmoved and silent as stone.

"Did you hear that, Samson? So many dead that we can't even get an accurate count. You're reasons, you're excuses, make me sick!" Rajmael seethed with revulsion. The memory of killing that little girl in Sahrnia to end her pain still haunted him. "You dare speak of mercy when you ordered all the people in Sarhnia to be turned into fertilizer for your red lyrium? You believe you can give hope when you willingly assisted Corypheus in killing thousands? You think I don't know what it means to be a victim of someone else's tyranny?! All you are is a pathetic reprobate with a grudge and a line excuses to help you feel sorry for yourself!"

Samson tried to remain stone-faced, but the Inquisitor's words cut him deep. "What else do you expect? I am...only what the Chantry taught me to be. Killing for a cause, some higher power and feeling righteous about it, knowing that anything that was done was necessary. Who do you think taught me that?"

"All you've ever done is allow others to define you. All you've ever been is someone else's bitch. Well, now you're my bitch, and I'm going to do something that will define you for the remainder of your miserable waste of life. Master Dennet?" The stable master approached the Inquisitor and handed him a branding iron with the Inquisition's crest. Rajmael held the iron tightly and charged his magic through it, causing the brand to burn furiously in his grip. "Hold the prisoner."

The guards did as they were ordered, and forced the prisoner to his knees. Not that weakened, beaten man could put up much of a fight.

Rajmael walked down from his throne with hateful malice burning his eyes, and the flaming hot iron held in his hand. He held and waved the iron dangerously close to Samson's face and remaining eye. "Countless other people, better people died, because of you. You left a mark on this world from which it will never truly heal. well, now I'm going to put a mark on you from which you will never heal. A permanent reminder of what you really are: evil." The guards held Samson's head firmly in place. Heavy breaths of terror and spit flew out of Samson's mouth while he tried to brace himself for the pain. A small but sardonic grin appeared on Rajmael's face. "A mage branding a Templar. Sick irony or poetic justice?"

Samson's scream split the air and curdled Josephine's blood. Many of the onlooker turned gasped in horror and turned away from the grisly punishment. Despite the severity of this act, there were also many in the hall who felt justified in the Inquisitor's action. Many of them lost their homes or loved ones to Samson and his Templars. It was time someone delivered punishment on the man who took so much from them.

Cullen never took his eyes away. As the man who put the most effort into finding Samson and aiding in his apprehension, Cullen was duty-bound to witness his punishment. There was no room for sympathy, not after everything Samson did. He remembered why Samson was cast out of the Order. Thrown out of the Order he had sworn himself to and left to starve by Meredith simply because he showed a mage the decency every sentient being deserves. It was unfair and unjust, Samson had every right to hate the Chantry for it. But in the end, it didn't matter. Samson chose to follow Corypheus. He chose to poison what was left of the Order, then lead them in a mad war that left countless people dead. Being branded was the absolute least he deserved for all the pain and horror he caused.

Josephine averted her eyes and covered her mouth in horror. The agony Samson's terrible screaming filled her ears and turned her blood to ice. She wanted to stop this, to beg the Inquisitor that this was inhumane and beneath them. But she remembered that list and all the names of those poor people that died under Samson's command. How many people died in such horrible agony, how many of them begged for their pain to end? Then she remembered all those brave souls who died defending Haven when Samson attacked them. Josephine could not bring herself to look, but she knew that this was man responsible for all the pain that was happening. Josephine would not interfere with the Inquisitor's justice.

Leliana put a comforting hand on Josephine's shoulder, she knew the horror her friend was feeling right now. Leliana looked on at Samson's mutilation, in Josephine's stead, her gaze cold and unflinching. Ten years ago, she did the very thing Josephine wanted to do. During the Blight Leliana begged Aedan to spare the lives of a group of Howe soldiers when he forced them to dig their own graves. But then she saw the horrible crimes Rendon Howe and his men inflicted on those who served Aedan's household, and all the terrible things Howe did to his own people for selfish gain. What Samson was suffering right now was a mercy compared to what the Hero of Ferelden would have done to him. Those commit terrible crimes in the name of evil must suffer terrible punishments. And it was up to men like Aedan and Rajmael to administer those punishments.

Rajmael pressed the white-hot branding iron firmly against Samson's forehead. The sounds of Samson's agony rang in his ears and the vile stench of his flesh cooking filled Rajmael's nostrils. It was a horrific pain that Rajmael was all too familiar with. It was a pain he had lived with since he was ten years old when the Chantry condemned him to burn. Samson deserved to know what this pain was like, and he was going to live with it for the rest of his life, just like every child who was orphaned in this war, every parent whose child was ripped from the because of Samson's twisted conviction.

Rajmael finally removed the brand from Samson's forehead, the mark of the Inquisition burned deeply into his flesh. Samson blacked out and fell to the floor unconscious from the agony. The fresh burn was still smoking and reeked with that horrible stench. The Inquisitor threw the branding iron into a nearby bannister, never taking his glare off his sights off Samson, his eyes filled with hate.

"Now, take this...thing out of my keep. Send him to Kirkwall. I'm sure Guard-Captain Aveline would be more than happy to pass judgment on the man who betrayed their city for the Elder One."

The guards did as they were ordered, and everyone in the keep watched in shocked silence as the general of Corypheus' army was carried out like a mutilate corpse. Some believed the Inquisitor's actions were too harsh, but they had never set foot on a battlefield, nor seen the innumerable dead that were killed thanks to Samson. Then there were those who felt that the Inquisitor was not severe enough, that merely branding the bastard who killed so many deserved to be killed in turn. Many of them did not know the truth that Rajmael knew, the true punishment of his infliction. For those who have been beaten down, broken and left with nothing but a permanent reminder of their loss, living was worse than death. Rajmael knew it all too well, and now Samson was going to have to live with what he is and what he has done until the sweet mercy of death claimed him.

~XoXoXo~

Rajmael sat by himself on his throne, the main hall now empty. It was so quiet you could hear a moth flying, yet the sounds of Samson's screams still echoed in these walls. The smell of burning flesh still lingered in the air. After he had passed the sentence, many could not get out of the hall fast enough. It was for the best. Rajmael was not in a happy mood, despite the monumental victories they had achieved.

Even after all this, it still felt like they were far from victory. Foiling his attempt to destroy Orlais, robbing him of his demon army at Adamant, and now denying him the Well of Sorrows at the Temple of Mythal, all of it would be meaningless unless they found a way to kill a truly immortal being. Corypheus had truly surpassed the Old Gods he had once served so completely. Nearly all the Archdemons had been slain, but Corypheus, had been killed multiple times, only to rise again. And the more he rose, the more evident his godhood seemed to his followers, making them that much more eager to kill and die in his name. This war will not end until Corypheus is dead, and Rajmael knew the final battle was coming soon.

Rajmael couldn't have been the only one thinking these thoughts. He was sure some of his companions were probably tearing their hair out thinking about what was coming next. Perhaps talking would help them as much as himself.

~XoXoXo~

Cullen was in his office, throwing knives with surprising accuracy, and a good deal of anger, at a training dummy. He threw enough daggers into that thing to open a cutlery.

"Samson took everything from those Templars." Cullen lamented. "He corrupted their souls, twisted them into everything they stood against. Everything they would have hated."

"He got to you, didn't he?"

"And so what if he did?" Cullen scowled. "The red lyrium left Samson's mind unaltered, he knew what he was doing to those men and women. He dares to say it was a mercy? The man's a monster. Putting a brand on his head then shipping him off to Kirkwall was still too kind for him."

"But he was right, to some degree, wasn't he? That's why you're so angry." Rajmael guessed. He was fully aware of Cullen's past.

Cullen sighed a deep breath of depression. "Samson was forced to become addicted to lyrium by the Chantry, then he was kicked out and left to starve over a few love letters. To be a respected knight then kicked down to a beggar scraping for lyrium? He had every right to hate the Chantry. I know what it means to feel hatred like that. After what happened to me during the Blight, I hated all mages and treated them like threats. I'm no longer addicted to lyrium, but if things had gone differently, would I have become like him?"

"I cannot say what could or could not have been, Cullen. There's not a doubt in my mind that if you and I had met years ago, I probably would have killed you for what the Templars did to me." Rajmael answered honestly. "But when it mattered, you made the choices to define yourself. You chose to stop letting your lyrium addiction control your life. And you chose to follow me. Samson was dealt a shitty hand, but in the end it's our choices, not our experiences that define us."

"I suppose that's true, though even you can't deny that our experiences also shape us into who we are." Cullen agreed. "Thank you for all that you've done. I doubt any of us could have ever made it this far without you, nor would I be the man I am now thanks to you."

~XoXoXo~

The Inquisitor walked to the armory. Several shipment of fine weapons from Orzammar, Val Royeaux, and even a shipment from the master smith Wade in Denerim, had been just been procured by Quarter Master Eustace Morris. The Bull's Chargers and the Sutherland Company were already plundering the newly acquired gear by the time Rajmael got to the armory.

"This is some high quality gear!" Sutherland marveled at the silverite armor he put on. "This is like the stuff those knights in Amaranthine would wear."

"Back in Orzammar, the Mining Caste has a monopoly on digging up silverite while the Smith Caste wars with itself over its use." Rat informed while adjusting her commander's armor.

"So this is real silverite. I never thought I'd ever actually get tot even touch silvierite. I heard it's stronger than steel but lighter than a feather." Shayd marveled smilingly with glitter in her eyes.

"Oh, and it looks great on you, love. You too, Voth." Sutherland complemented. Voth was his usual stoic self, but it was obvious he was comfortable in his new set of armor.

Everyone was so busy trying out their new acquired goodies that most of them failed to notice the Inquisitor walking in on them.

"Oh, Your Worship! Great to see you." Krem saluted, along with the rest of the Chargers. "Great fight back in the Wilds, huh?"

"Glad to see you and the Chargers made it out alright, Lieutenant Krem." Rajmael greeted. To look at him and the rest of the Chargers, you'd think they were kids in a candy store. "I see you've decided to celebrate by raiding our latest shipment of arms and armor."

"This is the best equipment we've ever had!" Krem laughed. "Usually we have to pay for our own gear or scavenge what we can from the people we killed. Makes me wish the Inquisition happened years ago." Krem looked at his fellow Chargers as they excitedly picked and tested the new gear.

"Hey, Krem! Check this out!" Iron Bull laughed as he emerged from behind an armor rack. Krem and Rajmael's eyes went wide at the sight of the Bull covered from head to toe in full silverite armor while wearing his signature Dread helmet. He reminded Rajmael of those metallic siege golems the dwarves constructed, except with horns. "What do you think of this? Huh?" The Iron Bull's voice echoed through his armor like he was in a deep cave.

"I don't know, Chief. If you have to wear that much armor, some of us might think you're trying to compensate for something." Krem teased.

"Oh, ha, ha, ha." Bull laughed sarcastically before removing his helmet. "Hey, Boss. Man, that was some fight back in the Arbor Wilds. The way those Red Templars and Venatori assholes acted, they thought they were actually going to win, right before we kicked their asses out of their throats." A shimmer of fond memory glinted in the horned mercenary's single eye as recalled their most recent victory. "Oh, and then fight you had with Samson. Puffing himself up, all high on that red lyrium crap, acting like he was some kind of badass, and then you pulled out the wicked rune Dagna made and beat his ass like the wuss he was. Aside from all that ancient elven magic crap, that was one of the best things I've seen my whole life."

"Hey, Your Worship, is it true what they're saying about that Temple of Mythal?" Krem inquired. "Cause Dalish and Skinner were asking."

"Yes. Everything that anyone could possibly saying is true." Rajmael answered proudly. "That Temple is living proof of my people's history, our greatness. It undoes centuries of Chantry propaganda."

"Oh, man, the Chantry's just going to love that." Iron Bull laughed. "You walk around and change history like it's nothing. Taking names and kicking ass while you do it."

"Well, that's because I had guys like you to pave the way for me." Rajmael chuckled.

"You're the one who makes it all happen, Boss." Iron Bull sighed. "In all my years back in Seheron, I didn't enjoy kicking ass as much as I do now. Thanks for making that possible, Inquisitor."

"We still got one last fight, and it's going to be biggest battle since Aedan Cousland killed the Archdemon. You ready for it?" Rajmael asked grinningly.

"Kill an Archdemon-looking dragon to bring down some Vint-god wannabe asshole? Shit, yeah!" The Bull laughed roaringly. "And hey, everyone! After we kick that Corypheus asshole six feet under, we're all gonna drink 'till we puke, on me!"

"The drinks'll be on you, or you want us to puke on you chief?" Krem asked jokingly.

"Oh, ha, ha, ha. Good one, Krem." Iron Bull laughed sarcastically.

~XoXoXo~

It was almost finished. After weeks of long hours of blistering work and painstaking detail, his labor was almost complete. All the effort he had given was definitely worth the result. It had been so long since he had done something like this, and Blackwall was proud to have done something as good as this. This rocking-griffon was without a doubt the best thing he had ever carved. Now he just needed to put on the finishing touches.

"Almost finished I see." Rajmael observed as he walked into the stables.

"Just about." Blackwall confirmed, smiling proudly at his work. "The little ones in the camps don't have anything to play with. Even in the midst of war, they deserve to be children."

"Many people, especially the children of this war, have suffered. It would be good for them to receive such kindness." He was impressed with how well the miniature griffon toy was made. "It's good craftsmanship. I think they'll enjoy it."

"You think so? Been thinking about maybe making more of them, once you've defeated Corypheus." Blackwall started painting the griffon's head.

"You really think that's possible? Even after what we saw back in the Arbor Wilds?"

"You've already pulled off the impossible more than once. You'll find a way." Blackwall said with full confidence. "It's strange. When I think back to that day we met back in the Hinterlands, I never thought my life would be changed so radically. I was thinking that once this was over, I'd go out and make amends for the mistakes I've made. Maker knows I've got a lot to make up for."

"Really? That's a worthy cause to take up."

"Not all that long ago, I never would have considered it." Blackwall confessed. "When you found out about my past and my crimes, you had every reason to leave me to rot or punish me as you saw fit. Instead you gave me a second chance, showed me what honor truly was. There are others who deserve to know that it's possible to get back up, no matter how low you sink, you can still find value in your life. I owe you a lot, Inquisitor."

"Maybe you can deliver toys while your at it? That's another way to give good cheer." Rajmael half-joked.

"What, like every Wintersend I got to people's houses and deliver presents to help spread the holiday spirit? I doubt that could ever catch on." Blackwall laughed. "Do you honestly think people would be glad to see a big bearded man with a sack full of toys showing up to their houses?"

"Try showing up in carriage pulled by halla. I'm sure that'll get people's attention."

~XoXoXo~

Cole sat alone on the battlements, perched on the ledge overlooking the inner courtyard like a bird. He had been sitting here ever since they came back through that mirror. This was one of Cole's favorite spots where he did one of his favorite things: watching people. He would watch the soldiers practicing in the training yard while the Chantry sisters debated amongst themselves who would be a better Divine, Cassandra, Leliana or Vivienne. Cole saw Scout Harding sneak around the corner to one of the abandoned battlements with Siobahn Skin-Changer and Captain Isabella, all three women had very excited and playful looks on their faces. Cole really loved to watch Maryden sing her songs with that lovely voice of her, and enjoyed how much happiness her songs brought.

However, right now, Cole wasn't watching to help people. His own mind was plagued by what he saw back at the Temple of Mythal. How Corypheus died, then came back to life. Witnessing that event conflicted with everything Cole thought he knew about the physical world. To be alive then dead, then dead and alive again. This paradox confused Cole, made him question what he thought was supposed to be real.

He felt the familiar aura and spirit of the Inquisitor. He too was conflicted. The truths he learned at the temple hurt him. The truth of the Vallaslin, the cornerstone of the Dalish's identity was nothing what they believed it to be, and it was hurting him.

"Corypheus died, then he didn't. That's why he always felt so wrong." Cole said with appalled confusion. "Like he didn't fit inside himself. He was wearing another man's life. I thought that dying was forever."

"It's supposed to be. What Corypheus does is unnatural and abhorrent. He takes another man's life and wears his body like a suit. It's why he must be stopped." Rajmael responded, his mind filled with disgust at that memory.

Cole rose from his perch and walked back and forth on the battlement in frustration. "Is it possible that...Is it really him? Is he real? If a man can be dead and then not...?" Cole paused and a deep melancholy took hold of him. "Could...Could I have saved the real Cole?"

Rajmael remembered Cole's tale very well. It was not one he could forget, a tragedy that matched his own. Cole, an apostate who suffered horrible abuses from his father, was thrown into the White Spire by the Templars. Instead of getting the help he needed, Cole was forgotten by the very men who imprisoned him, and left alone to starve to death in the dark. Then a Spirit of Compassion came, and mercifully ended his suffering. Then that Spirit of Compassion became Cole.

"What happened to Cole was not your fault. What happened to him was a horrible tragedy, and you were the only one who cared enough to find him." Rajmael assured.

"His hands were bruised, bleeding, broken from beating on the walls. It was dark like the cabinet he used to hide in to escape his father's rage." Cole sat himself back down, the pain and sorrow of remembering was almost too painful. "His belly hurt like knives stabbing him, lips and throat cracked dry from thirst. He was alone, all alone. I pushed through and held his hand. It was all I could do. He said, 'Thank you', and he died." Cole hid his face under his hat, trying to hide the tears on his face as his voice cracked with pain. "Then I became him, even though I'm not. I wear his skin and use his name, like I stole his life."

Rajmael sat right next to the former spirit placed his hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "You are nothing like Corypheus. You did more for Cole than anyone else did. Not the Templars or even his own father. You cared enough to find a single forgotten soul lost in the dark, you were there for him when he needed you. And when you became him, you came here. You helped me so that you could help others. You gave Cole's life meaning."

Cole sniffed and wiped tears from his eyes. The Inquisitor's words helped him. "Thank you. For talking to me, and letting me stay."

~XoXoXo~

Rajmael found Varric at his usual spot near the fireplace. The dwarven merchant sat at his table with a glass of wine, writing in what appeared to be a journal. This was actually the first time Rajmael had ever seen Varric write anything down, despite his fame as a renowned author.

"Writing anything good, Varric? Another love story to bribe Cassandra with?" Rajmael inquired.

Varric looked up from his paper and smiled at the Inquisitor. "Actually, I finally decided to start writing down everything I've seen and done while with the Inquisition. Maker knows if I'll even survive to see the end of it, so I decided to put as much of it as I can to writing."

"What, you don't think you'll survive one last battle against Corypheus?"

Varric sighed deeply, but didn't take his eyes off his paper. "Inquisitor, despite my masculine good looks and irresistible chest hair, I'm still just a businessman with a crossbow. Surviving that trip to the Deep Roads, my first encounter with Corypheus, then the Qunari Invasion and Meredith, that was a miracle, thanks in no small part to Hawke. Ever since I've been with this Inquisition, my luck has held out. Haven, Adamant, a resurrected Avvar god, the Temple of Mythal, well, eventually my luck's gonna wear out."

"So you want to make sure that this story is written before you run out of luck?"

"There's a little more to it than that." Varric assured. "When Cassandra first tracked me down, she was so certain beyond a shadow of doubt that Hawke was responsible for everything that led up to the Mage-Templar War. She was so certain of his guilt that I had to tell Hawke's story to make her see the truth. If I die, I don't want to leave the same mistake with your story. I may lie and bullshit with every third breath, but I don't want people getting the wrong impression with the hero who saved the world."

"And what will your story say?"

"The truth. You know, the real truth about the Inquisitor." Varric answered with a hint of honesty in his voice that was rarer and more precious the gemstones. "How the Inquisitor was a Dalish tribesman, and damned proud of it. That you didn't declare this Inquisition for the Chantry or because you believed that Andraste chose you, you simply did it because someone had to put the world back together. You were the ultimate mix of might and magic, swordsmanship and sorcery, the Elder One's forces never stood a chance. And not matter how bad things got and all the power you accumulated, you never compromised your principles, you were a real hero when the world needed one."

"That...honors me more than you can imagine. Thank you, Varric." Rajmael nodded his head in respect, deeply touched by his friends words.

"It's been an honor, Inquisitor. Bianca and I will be ready when you need us."

~XoXoXo~

If there was any constant in these turbulent times of change and chaos, it was that no matter what was happening outside these walls, Rajmael could almost always find Josephine sitting at her desk scribbling over letters, important documents, or promissory papers. Today was no different it seemed. Josephine was setting ink to paper with more intent than she usually did.

"Still keeping yourself busy I see." Rajmael mused.

"Actually, for once I'm not burying myself in my work." Josephine confessed. "I'm writing a letter back to Antiva City to my Mama and Papa. Even now, people are singing of our victory in the Arbor Wilds, and I know my parents will be relieved to know that I am safe."

"Given everything that has happened, I'm sure they'll be happy to hear from you. And after everything you've done, I know your parents will be proud of what you've done for this Inquisition."

"I thought, given the circumstances, now would probably be the best time to let my family know that I am well, and that I love them all so very much." Josephine continued. "It comes swiftly. The final battle between good and evil, when the Inquisitor faces down the mad darkspawn that would become a god. Defeat him, and your name will be know throughout eternity. You will be a legend."

Rajmael almost blushed at that notion. "I hope your name is written next to mine in every song and story. I doubt this Inquisition would have gotten as far as it did without someone like you around to bolster our reputation and bring respect to our name."

"And there is the respect and modesty that we have all come to admire." The Ambassador said with deep admiration. "Everyone, myself included, joined the Inquisition because we had heard that you had been blessed by Andraste, even though you continue to deny that claim. But we all stayed because of how you led us, who you were." Josephine's bright smile could have lit up an entire room. "Thedas has many leaders, some great and others not, but nowhere, in any court or kingdom, is there anyone like you. May you find victory in the light, Inquisitor."

~XoXoXo~

Rajmael wasn't surprised to see Leliana praying before her small shrine to Andraste in the rookery, but he was somewhat surprised to see mother Giselle there with her. He was used to seeing the Revered Mother walking in Skyhold's garden, administering her faith and wisdom to other members of her faith. Perhaps she and Leliana were discussing the Chantry. The prospect seemed likely.

"Greeting, Inquisitor." Mother Giselle welcomed, rising from her prayers.

"Good day." Rajmael returned politely.

"I had heard about the events that happened at the Temple of Mythal. It sounds magnificent. We should send scholars to study it when this is all over." The Chantry Mother suggested, much to Rajmael's surprise.

"I never thought a Chantry Mother would take interest in a temple dedicated to an elven god." Rajmael said skeptically.

"Whether your gods are merely myths or simply aspects of what we call the Maker, they are worth studying, to better help us understand our world and our place in it." Mother Giselle explained. "The faithful should not fear the truths that we might discover."

"I'm sorry, but no. I cannot allow that." Rajmael's face was as hard and cold as the mountains. "The elves have learned too well that when the Chantry wants to 'study' anything of ours, it means they want to steal from us. Even though it has only just been rediscovered, that temple is sacred beyond all measure to my people. It can teach us so much about our history that has been forgotten. Our heritage and culture is not some quaint study for your scholars to poke and prod at like a dead corpse."

"I understand your reservations, Inquisitor, and I would be lying to say that they are unfounded." Giselle agreed quietly. "I confess that the temple's discovery has already turned many of the Grand Clerics on their ears, many of them wish to deny its very existence."

"And it's for that reason that we would like to speak with you, Inquisitor." Leliana joined in. There was a certain kind of hope in her eyes. "Mother Giselle and I have been discussing my candidacy for being Divine. Is it so ridiculous that the Grand Clerics would support me? Why shouldn't they?"

"And what would you do with the power that comes with being Divine?" Rajmael asked and began smoking his pipe.

"Change things. Change everything." Leliana answered with hopeful enthusiasm, like a child saying what they wanted to be when they grew up. "Your open support for the mages was a good thing, we must build on this. No more Circles, no more prisons. The mages will be free, and the Chantry will accept them as the Maker's children."

"You honestly think that the other Grand Clerics, or mages like Vivienne, will just accept something like that? I have my doubts."

"Of course there will be difficulty, but that shouldn't stop of us from trying. You've proven that change is possible, and that it's the only way for the world to move forward." Leliana continued, her enthusiasm undaunted. "And we shouldn't just stop there. It will accept everyone. Elves, dwarves, even qunari. Why exclude them? The Chantry allows our differences to tear us apart, instead of teaching us that we are the same."

Rajmael chuckled sarcastically with smoke puffing from between his teeth. "Leliana, you're smoking something a lot better than what I've got in my pipe right here if you think that anyone, especially other Andrastians, will ever accept that."

"Why? Because it conflicts with age-old beliefs? There are many good people in Thedas who merely need to be shown what they right path is." Leliana insisted fervently. "The Chantry was a beacon of hope to me once. It can be once again, for me and so many others. In my years in Lothering, we turned no one away from our doors. It was a refuge, a place of peace. I felt the Maker's presence and his love, even though others said He'd left us. This is the Chantry I know, the Chantry I wish the world to see."

"Yeah, you're definitely smoking something, Leliana." Rajmael said sardonically, taking another drag from his sylvanwood pipe. "What you described just now, is not the Chantry I have seen, the Chantry that everyone knows."

"And that is why it needs to change." Leliana asserted. "The Chantry dictated where it should have inspired. Passed judgment when it should have accepted. We created bigotry by demonizing mages, made enemies by brutalizing elves and belittling dwarves. If the Chantry is to survive this crisis, it must have a Divine willing to see these truths and make sure we do not repeat the same mistakes we have done for centuries."

"To this end, Inquisitor, we wish to know if we can count on your support." Mother Giselle spoke. "Your word would greatly ease the proceedings and sway many of the Grand Clerics to endorse Leliana."

And so the whole reason behind this conversation was revealed. Rajmael took a very long drag of his pipe, letting the smoke and aroma of the herbs fill his lungs, then slowly exhaled it in a pillar of black out of his nostrils, before giving his answer in two very small, but very final sentence. "No, I refuse."

The Revered Mother and Spymaster were struck completely dumbfounded. How could he just refuse?

"Inquisitor, I know that you bare the Chantry a grudge, and you have every right to. After everything that I just said that the Chantry did, I would find it difficult for anyone who has suffered because of the Chantry to forgive us simple because we said we're sorry." Leliana said with sympathy and understanding. "But as the Inquisitor, you have an obligation to those who look to you for guidance, to rebuild this world. And that includes the many thousands of Andrastian who look to you for faith."

"Their faith is not my concern, Leliana, it never was. I did not dedicate my role as Inquisitor to the rebuilding of the Chantry, or shepherding the faithful. I accepted this role to restore order." Rajmael reminded. "And don't forget this Leliana, there's not just Andrastians under my command, but also Dalish, dwarves of the Stone, Avvar and even Qunari. This Inquisition was not founded to place any one faith over another's."

"Without a Divine, there can be no Chantry, and all the kingdoms that adhere to it will squabble and war with one another over any and everything." Leliana argued. "And even if the Grand Clerics finally agree on a different candidate for Divine, there's no guarantee that she'll not put things back to the way they were before."

"The Chantry has a chance now for real change. To be what it was always meant to be." Mother Giselle added. "You could help accomplish this. Your predecessor, Inquisitor Ameridan..."

"Ameridan was a naïve fool! I am neither!" Rajmael shouted furiously. "He let his friendship with Kordilius Drakon and his idealism blind him! He didn't see that the Chantry was built on blood, by stamping out anyone who didn't obey its dogma. And in his blindness in bringing the Inquisition into the Chantry, Ameridan helped bring about my people's destruction. And for a second time, a great human power was created on bones and destruction of my people. I will not repeat his mistake!"

"Every thing you've said is true. I will not deny that." Leliana sighed. "But now there is a chance for renewal. For something new, something better to replace the old Chantry dogma. But it cannot be accomplished without help."

"I will never serve the Chantry!" Rajmael hissed vehemently. "You have no right to ask this of me. You want the Chantry rebuilt, but my people are still broken. You say the Chantry gave you light, but it gave me fire! It brought you peace while it brought me destruction! How can you say that the Chantry is able to guide anyone to righteousness when it creates people like Meredith and Samson!?"

That condemnation stunned Leliana. It was harsh, even cruel, but it was almost impossible to deny. The Chantry's harsh treatment and unfair, even fanatical teachings are what created Meredith, who in turn created Samson. Both of whom committed terrible atrocities that led to the destruction of countless lives. It wouldn't be unfair to say that everything that happened was just as much the Chantry's fault as it was Corypheus'. Leliana still believed with all her heart and soul in the good the Chantry could do and that it deserved to be saved. Rajmael, however, did not. And as one who suffered so much thanks to the Chantry, Leliana truly did not have the right to ask this of him.

"I...cannot help the Chantry, Leliana. It's crimes against me and my people are too severe."

"I see." Leliana said, finally accepting defeat. "Then we will simply have to find a way without you."

Rajmael breathed the anger out his lungs and regained his composure. He didn't want to sound like a stubborn ass, but this was the truth. He didn't have it in him to serve something that had brought him so much pain. "If you wish to restore the Chantry, Leliana, then that is for you and those like you to achieve it. If the faithful of the Chantry cannot bring about the change it needs, then that change is meaningless. I cannot help you in this. If I do, I'd be turning my back on my own people." That was Rajmael's greatest fear.

"My faith in the Maker has brought me this far, Inquisitor. I know it will take me further, where I need to be." Leliana assured, finally letting the matter go. "I will become Divine, and I will show the world the same love it showed me. And I will show you what the Chantry is meant to be."

~XoXoXo~

The wayward Tevinter altus sat alone in the familiar surrounding of the Inquisition library which had become his haunt. His eyes glided over the pages and words written in Brother Genitivi's book "A Study of Ancient Thedas". Dorian had read this book so many times that he could almost recite it by heart. Yet as familiar as the book was, he may as well have never read it in the first place. Everything written in this book, every piece of history that almost every one in Thedas knew was a lie. For over two thousand years everyone throughout the known world knew that the Ancient Imperium destroyed the Elvhen Empire when they sank Arlathan beneath the earth, yet everything he saw at the Temple of Mythal undid centuries of what everyone was led to believe, everything his country was built on.

Dorian couldn't help but be conflicted on the matter. The decency in him demanded that he be relived that his ancestors were not actually responsible for something so horrid. Yet the Tevinter in him couldn't help but feel outrage and shame, wishing that everything he learned at the temple was a lie because of how profanely it smeared the Imerium's image, their history.

The Tevinter mage felt the strong and familiar presence of magic that could only belong to the Inquisitor. Not that he needed to sense his magic to know it was him, Dorian, and probably the whole keep, just got done hearing the little tirade the Inquisitor had with Leliana and Mother Giselle about supporting the Chantry. It didn't sound like Rajmael was keen to oblige them that particular matter.

"Reading something interesting, Dorian?" The Inquisitor asked.

"A Study of Ancient Thedas, by Brother Genitivi. A personal favorite, or at least it used to be." Dorian closed the book shut and set it on the nearby nightstand. "It got me thinking. I should go back, shouldn't I. To Tevinter. Once this is over...and if I'm still alive." Dorian walked over to the railing, an upset look on his face, his voice bitter. "All my talk about how terrible things are back home, and what have I ever done to change it? Nothing!"

Rajmael could guess what was bothering him. "Is this because of what we learned at the Temple of Mythal?

"That elf, Abelas, he said it wasn't the Imperium that destroyed the elves. My people, my countrymen, would never accept that, even I can barely accept that. My country's whole ego, our pride comes from us being able to destroy the elves. To say otherwise would reduce us to scavengers. It would destroy our legacy, no matter how terrible." Dorian answered with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "But we should accept it, knock the arrogance in our history down a peg, and confront that terrible legacy hanging over us like a dark cloud. Maybe not all of us want to, but that could be altered. If you can change minds, so can I."

Rajmael understood how Dorian felt right now. He himself was going to have to give the truth to his people the real history behind the vallaslin, and knew how much so many would reject and be crushed by the revelation. But he knew the importance of the truth and that it needed to be confronted, not hidden or ignored. Dorian understood this as well.

"Dorian, you came here, sought me out and gave this Inquisition everything you had when owed the South absolutely nothing." Rajmael reminded sincerely, recalling every battle and ordeal the Tevinter necromancer had been in ever since they first met in Redcliffe. "If anyone is capable of making your country finally open its eyes, I know you can."

"Thank you for saying that." Dorian smiled with adoration in his eyes. "You're my inspiration, you know? Seeing you, a Dalish elf, accomplish the things you've done, win the battles you've fought...If someone like you can pull off the impossible, then maybe a wayward pariah like me can do something similar."

"As someone who's still facing the impossible, let me know if there's anything I can do to make your crusade any easier than mine." Rajmael chuckled before turning to leave.

"Wait." Dorian urged, halting the Inquisitor's departure. "I...I know that what we learned at the temple is tearing you up inside, Rajmael." Dorian rarely called the Inquisitor by his name, but that's how serious he was. "I know saying that nobody's perfect would be meaningless, so let me say this: I look at my people now, and I wish we were more like yours, that we had more people like you. In Tevinter, we try to relive our ancient glory, even though most of it is terrible, and trying to relive that ancient glory has brought us nothing brought ruin. We're still trying to relive the past and make the same mistakes. But your people have shed the mistakes and atrocities of your past. You find value in every piece of history you find, and in one another. If my people were more like your, I think the world would be better for it."

Rajmael sighed deeply. He never thought to hear something like that from Dorian, but was glad he did. For a human from Tevinter to give him lessons on acceptance and inner-peace? The world must truly becoming to an end.

"You know, it's funny, Dorian." Rajmael chuckled dryly. "Not at all that long ago, I never would have dreamed that I could call a mage from Tevinter my friend. But I am glad that you are."

"The honor has been all mine, Inquisitor." Dorian smiled.

~XoXoXo~

Rajmael made his way down to the rotunda at the bottom of the library tower, where Solas had just finished adding their latest exploit to the elven styled fresca mural he worked on. Rajmael was always impressed by how well and how quickly Solas was able to paint something as grand as this. He also impressed by Solas' mastery of what many believed to have been a lost art, something that elves hadn't had the chance to practice in centuries. Yet another skill Solas learned from his studies in the Fade.

The latest addition to the mural depicted two opposing warriors standing before their respective armies. One was an elven warrior in white holding two swords with the mark of the Inquisition behind him, the other was a human in red armor armed with a red greatsword. These were obviously depictions of Rajmael and Samson leading their armies. Both leaders stood either side of a golden prize that stood in the middle of the mural, the Well of Sorrows. Standing over the Well, and leaning over to drink, was a depiction of a black raven, which Rajmael guessed was meant to represent Morrigan taking the Well's knowledge. The mural was aesthetically pleasing to look at and was accurately depicted, yet brought Rajmael bitter feelings of self-loathing and loss to look at it. Rajmael still couldn't believe he let someone else take what should have belonged to his people.

Solas finished applying the final touches to the mural before wiping the paint from his fingers. There was an air of sadness about him that almost matched Rajmael's.

"The Temple of Mythal was extraordinary. In all my journeys, I never would have dreamed to find anything like it." Solas spoke softly, turning his attention from his mural and to the Inquisitor. "What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?"

Rajmael looked at Solas as though he told a joke in bad taste. "The power of the Well? Solas, I let that power slip through my fingers and let another person take it, someone we both had reason to distrust. What could I possibly do with any power the Well had?"

"You underestimate your own influence, even as nations and sovereigns heed your will and seek your favor." Solas reminded. "The power of the Well may still yet be under your sway, even if you think otherwise."

"I'm not sure I want to even be here when this is all over, Solas." Rajmael groaned.

"Indulge me. Please." Solas insisted.

Rajmael sighed wearily. It seemed a pointless question with a meaningless answer, but he would humor the older elf. "If I had the power of the Well...I don't know. I'd...Too much has changed. Everything that has happened, all that will happen once Corypheus is dead, proves that we can't go back to the way things were before. I'll do what I can to help this world move forward. To prevent us from repeating the same mistakes that led us here in the first place."

"That's it? You would risk everything in the hope that the future is better?" Solas asked incredulously with a bitter scowl on his face. "What if it isn't? What if you wake up one morning and find the future you've shaped is worse than what was?"

"Speaking from personal experience are you?" Rajmael said skeptically.

"I...I have seen many such attempts in the memories of the Fade." Solas answered sadly, a look of nostalgia and memory glinting in his eyes. "Foolish, naïve young men with more power than they deserved vainly trying to build a better world for themselves only to end up failing and creating something even worse. Is that what you want?"

"What I want, Solas, is a world where my daughter won't have to suffer how I suffered, or see the things I have seen." Rajmael answered with earnest hope. "Hoping, trying everyday for a better future is the core of the elven spirit. And if I stop simply because I'm afraid to fail, then everything that Junnarel, Nethras, and my parents died for will be for nothing. If we quit, we lose we everything we are and what we could gain."

Solas smiled hopefully, but sadness still lingered in his eyes. "You're right. Thank you."

"For what?"

"You have not been what I expected, Rajmael. You have...impressed me. More so than I could have ever expected. You truly represent all that is best in our people." Solas spoke with a respect he had never given anyone in all the time Rajmael knew him. "You've reminded that if one keeps trying, even if the consequences are grave, that someday the world will be better." The older elf paused for a moment, his sadness still present. "Forgive my melancholy. Corypheus has cost us much. The Temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate. The Orb he carries, and it's stolen power, that we may at least still recover. With luck, some of the past may yet survive."

The past. The Temple of Mythal. All Rajmael could think about right now was the Well of Sorrows, and what he could gained from it.

"Did I make the right choice, Solas? Letting someone else take the knowledge from the Well?" Rajmael asked earnestly, hoping that Solas could give him an answer. "All the knowledge that I could have gained. What could have given our people..."

"I understand what you're feeling, Inquisitor. More than you realize." Solas assuaged. "But you know the price such power demands, it takes more than it gives. And we cannot afford the Well stripping you of who you are to be Mythal's servant."

"You don't even believe in the elven gods, yet you're relieved that I am not bound to one?" Rajmael scoffed.

"I do not believe that they were gods, no. But I do believe that they existed." Solas clarified ardently. "Spirits, or mages, or something else entirely that we have never encountered. And their favor may have been powerful but so were their prices. You had the wisdom to not take the power, despite what you may have gained. You respected the price such things demand, and that is worth more than the Well itself. And I have no doubt that Morrigan will find that the price the Well's power demands more than she is willing to give, and it's a price you shouldn't have to pay. You do not deserve such a fate."

There was one more thing that was bothering Rajmael. Another question he had, but was afraid of the answer what he had learned there, and how it may effect his people. "Solas? What Abelas said at the temple, was it true? Was the vallaslin really used to mark those that served? Was it truly used as a slave brand?"

"I'm sorry, but yes. It's true." Solas answered sadly but honestly. "In ancient Arlathan, nobles would brand their slaves with the marks of the gods they favored. I am sorry, Inquisitor."

"Yeah, right. Just one more thing my people got wrong, right? Another tale we repeated wrong a thousand times. All these centuries we've been telling people that this is what true elves wear, that this is what separates us from elves like Sera, thinking they're no better than humans, when all this time we were mistaken." Rajmael's said spitefully. He almost felt unclean, resentful, and full of hatred with himself. His whole life he devoted himself to the rediscovery and truth of his people's history, and this is what he has to show for it. "It's sickeningly funny. Of all the things we've lost, the knowledge we've forgotten, the only thing we've managed to keep is a reminder of a time when we were no better than Tevinter."

Rajmael turned to leave, his scorn painted more clearly than Solas' mural.

"Inquisitor, wait." Solas bade apprehensively. "I know that learning this is painful for you, but you don't have to live with it. During my travels in the Fade, I learned of a spell that certain...rebels would use to remove the vallaslin from freed slaves. I could remove it if you want. You don't need to live the rest of your life wearing a mark of shame."

Remove the vallaslin? That was possible? Rajmael traced his fingers over the ink on his face. Would anyone who knew him recognize him without it? Would he be able to recognize himself? Perhaps it would be better if it was removed. It's true origin was that of a slave brand, a representation of shame and everything his people stood against. Maybe it would be better removed and forgotten. Rajmael thought he had his answer, then he remembered something he had almost forgotten.

The day he and Nethras received their vallaslin early was one of the proudest days of his life. He remembered how Keeper Deshana skillfully bestowed the marks on their faces as Junnarel and Ariva looked on with pride. They were so proud Ariva almost wept. Evanura once promised to marry whichever of them managed to earn their vallaslin first, but now she had two handsome warriors to choose from. Rajmael remembered why he chose the mark he had worn with pride for so long and what it meant to him.

"No, Solas. I will never remove the vallaslin." Rajmael answered firmly and without disgrace. "I am not an elf of Arlathan. I the First of Clan Lavellan and an Arcane Warrior of the Dalish people. The vallaslin is a part of who we are, it declares the path we have chosen to follow in life, and proves we have a people to belong to." The Inquisitor looked to Solas, the shame and bitterness he felt was gone. "We've lost too much to just discard our history because it isn't as perfect as we want would. It would only lessen us further and teach us nothing. We've moved on from the mistakes of our ancestors and outgrew them. The Dalish took a mark of shame and turned it into our sign of pride. And that makes us greater than the ancient elves."

Solas was surprised. He could not have predicted such a reaction nor so wise an answer. "It would seem that I have once again been proven wrong about the Dalish. It is a welcome feeling. Your wisdom does the people credit, Inquisitor. Thank you."

~XoXoXo~

The Inquisitor stood outside Skyhold, seeking solidarity. He stood by the lonely cliff overlooking the keep where he buried Nethras. The vhenadhal tree he planted there was growing strong. From here, he had the entire view over the Frostback Mountains. He looked down into the mountain valley where most of the soldiers, refugees and pilgrims had made their campsite. Most of the enormous camp was still empty, many of the people who occupied it were still making their way back from the Arbor Wilds. Rajmael could see some of the soldiers making their way back, but it was a slow return. Rajmael regretted that soon he would have to send them back into battle when Corypheus made his move.

"I thought I would find you here." Said a familiar and welcome voice.

Cassandra made her way up the path and stopped to admire Nethras' vhenadhal before standing next to Rajmael. Whenever he was nowhere to be found in the keep, she knew to find him here. It was quiet, and the view of the mountains was spectacular. It was certainly a perfect place to forget one's troubles. There was not a doubt in Cassandra's mind that Rajmael was very troubled right now, and she wanted to be there for him.

"I heard about the...conversation you had with Leliana and Mother Giselle." Cassandra informed gently.

"Cassandra..." Rajmael sighed.

"No. You do not need to explain yourself. I understand." Cassandra said sympathetically. "Because you're right. It should be up to the faithful to restore our Chantry. We shouldn't force others to do that for us. The Chantry has done too much of that in our history."

"After everything we saw, everything I did in the Temple of Mythal, you would still accept me as I am, what I believe in?" Rajmael asked more concerned than curious, knowing how devout Cassandra was to the Andrastian faith.

Cassandra looked at her lover with a gentleness she had never shown anyone. "Rajmael, being with you has shown me how wrong we were about your people, how wrong I was. You have shown a wisdom and devotion that I wish I could see in most members of the Chantry. Your people and beliefs are a magnificent part of this world, and it was wrong of us to ever think otherwise." Cassandra gently took Rajmael's hand and lovingly cupped it to her face. Where once it was blanketed in a horrible burn scar, it was now completely healed thanks to the magic of the elven temple. Cassandra basked in the warmth and feeling of his hand against her cheek. "Nothing so wonderful, so capable of such marvelous things could ever be evil.

Rajmael brought Cassandra's face to his in a loving and gentle kiss. Cassandra's arms wrapped around his neck while his coiled her waist, deepening their embrace. Rajmael could never get enough of how soft and warm her lips were. Cassandra loved how safe Rajmael's arms made her feel. Like she didn't need to be a warrior in full armor to be protected. All she needed was him.

The Seeker paused to take in the mountain's breathtaking beauty and hugged herself to the Inquisitor. "We stand upon the precipice of change. Once Corypheus is defeated, the world will never be the same. I hope that it's a better one."

"None of this would ever have come to pass if you didn't have the courage to defy the Chantry and declare the Inquisition." Rajmael reminded smilingly. "How does it feel to know that you'll now be one of the most important women in all of history? No to mention on of the most beautiful."

"M-my part was very small. As I recall, we would have gotten nowhere if you weren't there to lead us." Cassandra stammered bashfully trying to avert her eyes as she blushed an adorable shade of red. Even now, the way he always gave that look made her heart race. "When we first met, I never could have imagined this. To see the world change so much, victory so close at hand. Nor could I have ever dreamed that I would come to love you as much as I do now."

"When Evanura died, I thought all chances of finding love died with her. The only thing that kept me going was raising Eva." Rajmael spoke his heart out, his liquid golden eyes full of emotion. "Then after meeting you, seeing the woman you truly are, I found that love again. Now I have two women in my life I can't live without. Eva, and you."

Cassandra felt her knees go weak and her heart fluttering inside her chest. His words brought her more joy and fulfillment than anything she had heard sung in a Chantry. "No matter what comes next, whatever Corypheus plans, or the future may hold, I want to stay by your side." Cassandra brought Rajmael close to her again, with deep longing in her eyes. "I'm so glad you told me that I hit like a Nevarran girl."

"So am I." Rajmael held Cassandra close to him, pouring all the love and affection he had for the Nevarran princess into a deep and tender kiss.

The two lovers from different races and religions came together in tender, passionate embrace. At this moment, there was no danger, or Corypheus. Just a man and the woman he loved. Just one last moment of peace before the oncoming storm.

Author's Note:

Alright. So here's the latest chapter.

Sorry it took almost a month to update, but at least it wasn't two months this time.

Still busy, but I sure as hell am not going to stop now.

Please review and give me your thoughts.

Up next is Armageddon.