Chapter Twenty-Four: The Chant of Light
File X002: Keijiro Okuba. Brought to Thedas in the Sixty-Third year of the Blessed Age.
Died in July, in the Thirty-Eighth Year of the Dragon Age.
Point of entry: Seheron.
Officer of the Imperial Japanese Army. General of the Tiberian Legions of the Tevinter Imperium. Influential in the adoption of massed non-magical troop tactics against the Qunari. No blood-related Thedosian children, four adopted children via the Titus branch of the Tiberius dynasty.
File X003: Tiberius Primus, the First Outlander. Brought to Thedas in the Thirtieth year of the Tevinter Imperium.
Died in the Sixty-First year of the Imperium.
Point of Entry:
Centurion of the Roman Empire, Co-founder of the Tevinter Tiberius dynasty. Real name unknown, name used in Thedas most likely taken from the Roman emperor at the time of his removal from Earth (according to my books). Three known children.
File X004: Andraste MacElderath.
Date of entry to Thedas unknown. Death in the Year One Thousand and Twenty-Five of the Tevinter Imperium.
Suspected Outlander.
(Redacted section due to new information: Would be only known female outlander.) Case unproven.
Most likely arrived as a small child. Successfully escaped Imperial slavery. Proclaimed a monotheistic doctrine when polytheism was dominant both in her homeland and in her place of captivity. This is consistent with someone brought up in a monotheistic environment, as Andraste would have been on Earth. The First Blight insufficient explanation for the defeat of Tevinter during her liberation of the South; any number of magical means to assassinate her could have and should have been employed, yet she lived.
High likelihood of magical immunity, high likelihood that this immunity led directly to the cults that worshipped her as part-divine (as some have attempted with myself). The ancient languages of Ferelden suggest Scottish ancestry. Daughters and granddaughters disappeared, possibly dying without continuing the bloodline.
These first entries in what became a veritable library of documents, known as the X Files in our secret services, demonstrate my thinking in the days after Tiberius' departure.
There was two thousand years between myself and the First Outlander, and I had a hunch that many more had come in the interim. If seventy-five years was the standard gap, as the life and death of Keijiro Okuba is any evidence, then there had been at least twenty-six outlanders in the history of Thedas. It would be some years before I was told that the number was closer to three times that figure, when I finally gained access to the records from Tiberius' Treverorum estate.
I do not remember what led me to believe that Andraste herself was an Outlander. It just seemed to make sense. Her ability would certainly have given her a large proof that she was divinely blessed, just as Mother Brandon believed I was. Yet she was no soldier. She would not have been able to resist the slavers physically. She did not have firelances, or even professional military training. She could have been a slave without ever being subjected to magic, and yet the story of her escape is sufficiently vague as to suggest that she might have discovered her immunity and exploited it.
Perhaps it was, and is, wishful thinking.
Andraste did many things, but she most certainly sought to make the world a better place. Mages should not rule the world. Magic should serve man, to use her own words. That gave me great hope that my fears about my presence in the world might be ill-judged. After all, if Andraste was an outlander, she must have come from a period of time on Earth known as the Dark Ages. It was one of the least enlightened periods in our history. I, on the other hand, was born in a golden age of reason and prosperity. We often thought it was the opposite, but we were utterly spoiled in comparison to the Thedosians of the same time.
She used one of the few tools available to her; faith and a good message. I could do better than she could. I had more than mere words.
So, having come to this conclusion and convinced myself of its correctness, I threw myself into the work of making Julie's dream of a free Orlais come true. She was to be our Andraste, and I was to be her Maferath. Without the jealousy and betrayal, I am happy to report. I had no stomach for politics or glory, and so nothing to be jealous about. Tam would have killed me if I had gone as far as the Betrayer did in any case. All through the rest of the winter, I spent every free hour helping Julie, Armen and Leha bring what we needed together together.
Julie was truly a Da Vinci.
She had thought of everything, inspired by Earth technology and history. Weapons, armour, tools, she invented and built them all in months. The forges were worked almost continuously, with iron, steel, and bronze. The snows cleared in late January, and we were able to mix up a great deal of black powder too. I even successfully made some of the more potent explosive compounds, on a small scale. It seemed chemistry largely held up the same way on Thedas as it did on Earth. Armen confirmed as much. The number of people involved in making weapons was greatly increased, as the blacksmiths were largely unemployed in winter due to lack of fuel. No such problem for a 'noble' with hundreds of fire-throwing mages to spare.
Tam's reaction to Tiberius' revelations was muted, but as predicted. She had extensive knowledge of Tevinter, and was far from surprised at the extent of their arrogance. She warned me that it wasn't the end of the matter by a long shot. I was valuable, far too much so to simply wait for a change of mind. The Imperium's magisters weren't as skilled as their Orlesian counterparts at non-magical manipulation, but Tam assured me that they would find some way to put us in their debt.
Tam conscripted Ciara and Armen to help train the soldiers. McNulty and Soprano were both promoted to colonel, their companies were turned into regiments, and we began arming them with their signature weapons. Soprano's group became the Rangers, specialists as before in the art of killing a man from afar. They added the rifled musket to their repetoire of longbow and crossbow. McNulty and his men gained their famous Grenadiers moniker, their swords and rectangular curved shields joined by 'potato masher' devices that could be thrown a few dozen yards to kill anyone in a six metre radius. One of the keys to our victories to come were taking shape. It was also perhaps the key to our complete overconfidence.
Most of our people remained armed in a way that any Thedosian would recognise, although their organisation and discipline would be alien. There just wasn't enough time to train everyone, and there was no way to make enough gunpowder while keeping the formula a secret. Velarana and Mike also gained commissions as colonels, the knight-enchanter leading the few hundred battle-mages as a coherent unit despite my better judgment, and Mike leading the pike-and-crossbow troops we had started training before the winter.
The children were also getting along. The rate at which the illiterate peasant kids had picked up Latin letters utterly astonished me. By the time spring rolled along, they had the entire Chant of Light written out, making it the second ever publication in Latin lettering after Le Sens Commun, which was published in both Common and Latin. Another huge money maker later on. They were educated in a great deal else besides. A good number of the mages were heavily involved in this, having much experience with teaching children. Though there was only agreement to allow this after Delrin Barris agreed to sit in on every class where a mage would be present. It proved such a successful enterprise that the ballrooms on the ground floor became classrooms. As an added bonus, the band learned a great number of marching tunes, and the older of them were eventually assigned to the regiments. The sound of drums and Dalish fifes was a regular thing from that point onwards.
To my non-Thedosian readers, you might get the impression that, together, we had planned for everything. Or that we were playing with fire like fools, and would get burned. The truth is somewhere in between, of course, but there was something I had utterly neglected to think of. Orlais, like much of Southern Thedas, was highly faithful. It was a religious age, and in many places it still is. The question of where I stood on the big questions grew bigger as my reputation did.
The Chantry wanted its pound of flesh.
With the clearing of the snows came what I can only describe as pilgrims. It was winter, so there was little to do in the farms and plantations which most were tied to. Many travelled to Hearth to see Julie and I. They mostly came to hear her speak, of course. They wanted to see if she would dare criticise the Throne with something other than paper. She was happy to do so, even in the rain. Dozens became hundreds, and by the letting up of the torrential rain season in March, hundreds had become thousands. Peasants, traders, even some minor nobility came from all over the Dales. I was wary at first, particularly of the latter, but it seems fear of mages kept those who weren't certain away.
Many wished to see me, and most alarmingly, wanted to touch me so as to have themselves blessed, protected from all their worst nightmaes. Perhaps I should have told them of the visitation I had received from the very dead former owner of my home, but alas, I did not. The stories had gotten out of hand, and no matter how much political capital we would have gained from allowing it, I refused to be mobbed. I kept to myself when the crowds were around. They didn't seem to mind. Between Julie and Mother Brandon, they were well entertained. Both enjoyed speeches far more than I did.
Of course, while these events were going on, the parade ground was used. So, I couldn't help Julie at the forge because she was out on a podium, I couldn't drill troops because there was no space and they were too busy guarding things, and I couldn't conduct much other business without sneaking around.
The last such meeting was in mid-March, just before everyone had to get back to work. Farming takes a lot of people, without machines.
I was beside the stables, well out of sight. Not even the stable staff were there, it was lunch time. I had sat down on a stool near Bellona's stall, using a barrel as a table. I had a few things to read, so I was sat down with a mug of ale to get it out of the way. Mostly just progress reports, of course. We didn't have too many penpals around Orlais. Or at least, I didn't. It was all run-of-the-mill stuff, until I reached the last letter of the pile.
It bore the sigil of Pierre des Arbes. The Baron was writing to me from Halamshiral.
This was quite literally the first correspondence from the man in three months. I cursed under my breath. The hope that there would be a few more months without him died. I ignored a cheer in the distance from the crowds, took the letter in my hand and ripped it open roughly. It was handwritten in a flowing, educated script that I wouldn't have attributed to the Baron himself, although perhaps the Baroness had done the honours. Or I was being unkind to the man, which was always the danger at that time.
Marquis,
As you have singularly failed to die despite the Templars trying their hardest, I must avail of your services yet again.
First of all, may I congratulate you on your new-found fame.
The entire Winter court has heard tales about you, though almost all dismiss you as a myth or a fraud. A man who cannot be harmed by mages, gathering them into a new Circle? It seems the Templars kept their defeat at your hands extremely quiet, and I can guess for what reason. The Sorceress currently advising the Empress was by far the most scornful of your rumoured immunity to magic and all things concerning the Fade. It is most amusing to know better, having received letters from Mother Brandon swearing that it is the absolute truth. Naturally, I have kept the affidavit of our beloved Revered Mother a safe secret. It is gratifying to know I have such a useful person in my employ.
However, I do not write out of concern for you.
I have always known Julie to be a brilliant woman, but her words have shaken the very foundations of the Empire. It seems like everyone has read her 'Common Sense' now. The younger nobles in particular seem most enamoured with it, and I have to admit that I myself am as well. My wife seems to be obsessed with its ideals. Madame Marteau has managed to collect all that is wrong with Orlais into a single parchment for all to see, exposing its weakness and corruption. It appears that even Empress Celene has read it, as her personal servant was seen exiting her rooms with a copy of the pamphlet some days ago. Again, our little secret.
Unfortunately, there has been a consequence to this. The Grand-Duke and many other nobles, particularly the higher ranked elder lords and ladies, are less than amused. Julie has managed to excite even greater tensions between Gaspard and Celene. Worse, despite all our pleadings, the Empress will not confront the pretender either on the battlefield or through other means. His death would send far more of the Empire into turmoil than simply ignoring the problem. Of course, nor can Gaspard directly intervene, now that the taxes he had collected from we loyal barons was intercepted.
I trust that my fellows' coin has been very useful in strengthening our forces at Hearth, yes? We will have need of that strength.
The Grand-Duke cannot attack us directly, but he hardly needs to. Among those loyal to Celene in our part of the Dales, only two of us are warriors. The ten or so others are simply gentlemen or ladies of leisure, little interested in war. War is going to come to them anyway. Gaspard's barons in the Emprise and on the Exalted Plains are far more warlike, and will undoubtedly march upon us. The senior clerics in the Chantry are greatly displeased by Julie's words as well, and may channel gold to our enemies to insure she is silenced. Preaching from the lower ranked clerics will save you if there is a command from on high, calling you an apostate or a heathen, but it will certainly divide opinion.
It is no longer safe in the Winter Palace, and the court is due to return to Val Royeaux soon regardless. By the time you have read this, we will be on the way home. Myself, the Baroness, our children, and the other barons, baronesses and their families. We will come together in council in Hearth, and discuss how we will meet this threat.
I hope to arrive by boat some three days after the expected delivery date of this message. My seneschal will have instructions to arrange a grand return ceremony as always. Cancelling it would arouse suspicions. I expect to see you on the docks.
Signed,
Baron Pierre des Arbes, the Lord Hearth, Royal Governor of the Hearthlands.
I put down the letter with a sigh. Everything he had said was actually good news. It appeared we actually had allies in the struggle to come. The problem it seemed, would be convincing them to fight with us. To make Julie's glorious cause into their cause. I would have thought convincing Julie herself to go along with this meeting to be a difficult thing, but she had read the history of Earth. No matter how principled she was, she was not so much a zealot as to execute the nobility outright. At least, not before they resisted.
Getting a bunch of soft nobles to fight when some sort of deal was the most likely outcome was going to be difficult, but I had a plan. I had to convince them we could win, and thanks to Julie, I think we had the right tools for that job. That war was coming at all was wearisome in the extreme, but I resigned myself. I had fought in two wars already. What was a third or fourth to me? Nothing but a series of complex challenges.
I stood up, going to return inside the château, when Bellona edged out of her stable door and neighed at me, shaking her head for a moment. A familiar sign to me by that stage.
I sauntered over, drawing out each step and smiling. "Now what do you want?" I said to the horse, getting another impatient neigh and head-shake for my trouble.
"Oh, you want this!" I said, holding up my hand.
I stroked the horse along the neck, and she froze on the spot as I did so. A bit of heavy breathing and she got into it. I let out a laugh, as her eye gazed at me with what I suppose is appreciation. In fairness, getting stroked is pretty good regardless of what species you are. Bellona was a very steady beast, totally unafraid of loud noises, barely registering fire as a threat and most definitely one I could take into combat. Of course, my opinion of horses is similar to my opinion of mages; bringing them into battle directly is an expensive waste. At least horses don't occasionally insist on it, as Velarana and Armen's cohorts did.
So I kept at it for a few minutes, unaware of my surroundings. My mind turned to some boring practical matters that I now forget, most likely to do with gunpowder and how much of it we had.
I didn't hear Ciara approach from behind.
"She really likes that," the she-elf said suddenly.
I flinched, not expecting anyone to be with me. I turned around to find Ciara in a casual peasant's outfit, as opposed to her more usual hunting garb. It was strange to my eye, and I remarked on it.
"Just back from the big meeting?" I asked, "I thought you Dalish didn't go in for Andraste talk." Julie liked to draw direct parallels between the struggle against the Tevinters of old and the coming war that she was sure was near. It was a very compelling notion, that the movement she was creating was following in those footsteps. Not entirely an original idea either, I have to say.
Ciara shook her head at my question.
"We don't," she replied, "I'm hiding. Dalish aren't welcome." This was actually quite wise on her part, but I was confused.
"Aren't they all Dalish?" I asked, "I mean, they're all from the Dales." I got a small smile in return.
"They live in the Dales, but they do not honour the ways of the true Dalish," she explained, her accent deepening, "When Orlais conquered this land, most elves accepted the religion and way of life of the Orlesians."
"So people, even elves, who farm or live in towns aren't Dalish, because they worship Andraste?" I asked, "Where I'm from, that would be considered supremacist, or fundamentalist."
Ciara tilted her head slightly, not understanding the terms. Isms didn't really translate very well, most of the time.
"Americans can believe in one of many religions or none at all," I tried to explain, "But they're all still Americans, as long as they're loyal to the country. The same is true of many countries on Earth. It seems... unfair to paint everyone who disagrees with you as 'not Dalish'."
To me, the peasant in the field and the wandering hunter-gatherer were just as equally primitive. Neither would or could contribute to the advancement of their society. I did believe there were lines you couldn't cross, ideas that were so contrary to the common good that it made it justified to ostracise or even attack a person, but simply believing in a different deity wasn't among them. My perception was tempered by my experience of the desert and the years leading up to my service, however.
Ciara considered my words for a moment, stroking Bellona while her eyes moved. She was trying her best to explain it to me delicately.
"I didn't make up the rules," she said at last, "It is simply how my people think. The shems are hardly better, they believe we are savages to be shooed away, or hunted down and killed."
I nodded at that. It was certainly true that attitudes towards the Dalish were equally as screwed up, perhaps more so than those towards 'city' elves.
"I wouldn't know," I conceded, "So are you following Julie simply because Armen is?"
Ciara blew a fart out of her lips and laughed heartily, shaking and holding her sides. Bellona backed off a little, clearly as startled as I was. I had barked up the wrong tree completely.
"Armen and I are good friends, but he has different reasons than I do," she said, wiping tears of hilarity out of her eyes, "He has lived among the shems all his life, and wants the best for them. I just want to do more than wander around with my clan for an entire lifetime. I want to see with my own eyes how the world passes. Doesn't matter what happens as long as it's interesting. I care, of course. Julie's ideas are very interesting."
I frowned. This seemed extremely whimsical, but then, considering how we met Ciara, I guessed this was natural. Not everyday you run into a Dalish elf doing casual work in Orlais. In fact, most city elves thought of their cousins with stories bordering on myth, rather than the squalid reality of life on the move. A lesson we would ourselves learn in time.
"Not a woman of high principle, I see," I said back to her, "I guess asking you to mediate for Dalish support would be stupid." Though she was barely a woman, it was hard to see her as a child considering the violence she had seen.
"My clan is far to the south, and wouldn't come north anyway," said Ciara, "In fact, I think the last person who did was probably Julie's father." That was an interesting tidbit, particularly as it could be leverage.
"He was from your clan?" I asked.
"Not sure," Ciara shrugged, "From what she has said, it seems likely. There are plenty more clans on the Plains, not too many in the south and none around these parts." I had no intention of inquiring with Julie further on the subject, so there was little need to doubt these words.
"Well, I am glad we are so entertaining," I replied, changing the subject back to her motivations.
"Of course," Ciara replied cheerily, before adding, "The garden helped convince me." She was something akin to chief herbalist, growing all sorts of useful and beautiful things. Of course, her duties included a great deal of fighting, which brought me to the next question.
"You do know it's going to be even more dangerous from now on?" I said, "No one would think less of you if you didn't want to stick around."
"Can't watch the world without fighting for your place, Marquis," she said, tone turning to jest on my title, "I thought you would know that."
She wandered off as suddenly as she had arrived, pacing away pretty rapidly and rounding the corner of the Chateau, leaving me in a daze. She was a wonderful idiot, I'll give her that. I am still not convinced we were worth her considerable, quiet effort. Not once had she seriously complained. She just got down to business. Very admirable to my eye.
The reason for her haste entered my attention as a sharp, loud voice booming from the château archway opposite.
"Marquis, I must speak with you!" Revered Mother Brandon shouted, walking across the cobblestones, "It is of the utmost concern!"
I winced and turned away instinctually at the Orlesian priestess' approach. She was almost as annoying as a believer as when she was trying to get me burned at the stake, at least at this point. She had several 'utmost' concerns between the Templars' defeat and the beginning of spring.
Personally, I had thought she would revolt against us when the full details of that debacle had emerged, but our defeat of the 'rogue faction' of the Chantry's own military arm and our chasing away of the Tevinter delegation in a very public manner had actually increased her zeal for our cause. Julie had even convinced her to grow out her hair a little more, so as to appear more soft for the new pilgrims who might be unused to her.
Heloise Brandon had not grown soft in any other respect, however.
"Marquis, I have received a letter from the Divine," she said, "We have a serious problem."
I was tempted to retort that the Chantry was a never ending source of problems, but something else came to mind in a much stronger fashion. Sister Nightingale was supposed to have kept things in order for me, or tried. It seemed somewhat late for a reaction to what was perfectly legitimate defence, in my opinion.
"If it's about the mages, I'm not cooperating with any move to put them back in the Circles," I said immediately, "They're perfectly safe with me." We hadn't had a single instance of maleficar or demon possession, despite far more extensive use of magic than would be normal even in a Circle. This was somewhat strange to scholars of the subject, I am told, but my presence is an anomaly they could never calculate for.
"It is not truly about the mages. The Divine has proclaimed L'Ambassade to be a new Circle, so that it appears that she has not lost ground in the face of the Libertarians. No, the letter is also about the Lady Marquise," Brandon said, waving the letter in front of me, "The senior clergy are furious, and I cannot say I am surprised. Fat bureaucrats that they are, they cannot understand the true meaning of the Chant, and of Andraste's struggle." The Revered Mother nodded to herself assuredly, like she was absolutely positive of their corruption. A little funny, her certitudes now supporting us. Still, it was good to know we had some cover against future Templar attacks. I suspected Barris' hand in it, but it was neither here nor there.
"They're probably under a lot of pressure from the Orlesian nobles," I shrugged, "Not very surprising, and nothing we can do about it." In fact, Grand-Duke Gaspard had already been to see the Divine on the problem. He was informed the Templars had been dispatched, and repulsed. Julie's seed of revolution wasn't going to be thrown to the fire that easily. Leliana provided much information on the events in court during that time, once the sky split open and spat demons everywhere.
"Marquis, you do not seem to grasp the seriousness of this problem," Brandon said, "No matter what I believe, and what I encourage my flock to believe, if the Divine declares this movement to be heretical, support of the paysans and the bourgeoisie will falter." Which means we'd lose our food, supply of materials needed for weapons, income from merchants, and the countryside would be rife with spies at the very least. Not good. However, there did not appear to be any way for me to dodge this problem.
"It may be unavoidable," I said quietly, "The Chantry can't defy the nobles." The Templars are no match for the armies of Orlais, when you get right down to it. Not even a match for the Empress' personal levies. The Divine ruled right in the middle of the capital of the Empire. The fact she was Orlesian herself was no coincidence either.
"Not without cause," Brandon corrected, "And that is why I have come to you today."
"You think I have the answer?" I scoffed, "I really don't think I have any swing with the Divine." Not the sort that could cause her to tell the entire aristocracy she relied on for protection to take a long walk off a short pier, anyway.
"It is not through a favour that I intend to win," Brandon continued.
"Then how can we?" I asked.
The Revered Mother put her hand on my shoulder, unsettling me a little.
"It has been noticed that you have not stepped inside a chantry chapel since you have arrived," Brandon said gravely, "My fellow clerics tell me that there are many who believe you cannot be sent by the Maker, because you do not worship the Maker and sing his Chant."
"But I do worship the Maker," I said, "Just not in any way you would recognise." And frankly, I was hoping to avoid the whole issue. Christ said to pray in private, something I took to heart. Those who bellowed and shouted about their faith, like Brandon, struck me as trying too hard.
"Or in any way that anyone else recognises," the Revered Mother intoned gravely, "This must change. You are a figure of the highest standing now, eyes will be watching for any reason to destroy you. I cannot allow that to happen. The Maker has spoken to us through your presence."
My face curled with scepticism, I nodded. It was going to be a problem unless we jumped in front of the 'Maker-sent' issue. I utterly refused to state clearly that I was a messenger of the Divine, but there was no harm in reinforcing the image for our own purposes. It would save lives. Those of Julie and Tam especially.
"I give up," I said at last, "What do you want me to do?"
Brandon cracked a smile like I had never seen before, one obviously reserved for when she was in a victorious mood. I felt fatigued just looking at it.
"We go to the Hearth Chantry," she replied, "We can proceed from there."
I nodded again, and the cleric went off to retrieve her mount.
Annoyed at the necessity but understanding the full gravity of the situation, I went to the saddles rack. Hefting the piece of hardened leather over Bellona's back, I secured it with the straps and placed the bridle around her head. I got a grunt for my work from the horse, one that said she was happy to be getting around. Can't really blame her, after being cooped up for so long in winter.
Mother Brandon appeared around the corner on her pony, and inclined her head in thanks for what I was doing. Not sure how to react otherwise, I climbed up onto Bellona and we began moving around the château out of view of the crowds on the parade ground. Apparently the cleric didn't want to be mobbed either, to my intense relief. So, until we came abreast of the space between the building and the gate, there was no possibility of us being seen.
When we did, it was quite a sight.
Julie was atop the wooden stage we had built, speaking in a clear, loud voice to the enraptured crowd. She was dressed in fatigues, beret and all, clearly making sure that she was associated with me even in my absence. Her words were to be my words, in effect. The speech was on the topic of whether or not the people of the Dales could win against the might of Orlais' high nobility, but the exact words I cannot recall. I was too busy admiring the sight of her, as well as her immediate protector.
Behind her was Tam. In full Earth-panoply, longsword and curved dagger held tight, violets eyes searching for any sign of trouble. Her extremely blonde hair fell out from under the rounded desert-pattern helmet, catching the sun. She wasn't in fatigues however, preferring her rather scandalous Qunari garb again now that it had warmed up. She almost appeared to be wearing armour and nothing else from the waist up, which I'm sure was quite a draw for the men in the crowd. And some of the women.
Beside Julie to her immediate right was Armen, looking pleased with himself and watching the spectators with the air of a dog who has its bone. Considering how many people had been saved by magical healing over the course of the winter, acts mostly associated with him, his popularity was at a zenith of sorts. Yet he didn't abandon his Circle robes, a very visible reminder of his origins that I thought he would have discarded by now.
Around the bottom of the platform, and on the stairs, were McNulty and his biggest men. Some decked out in partial plate, grenades hanging off bandoliers. Most were listening to Julie rather than paying attention to their jobs. Beyond that, a good thousand people were tuned in to Radio Marteau, whispering to each other or applauding at a particularly well delivered point.
Tam saw me as we left, and gave me a wink that excited some murmurs in the throng. I grinned, and followed the Revered Mother out onto the stony road to Hearth.
We entered the palisade with no trouble at all, the guards having no intention of stopping either a Marquis or a Revered Mother. They did advise us to slow down, as there were people going about business in town, but this was something they said to everyone at every opportunity. Too many deaths under horse hooves in the few years previous, apparently.
We were passing Julie's family home, which had been turned into a clinic, when I noticed Delrin Barris standing over a very laid back Leha. The Templar's presence was unsurprising; when he wasn't guarding schoolchildren against the mages, he was guarding patients there. The dwarf on the other hand was sunk into a chair by the pathway, bottle in hand, dumb happy grin on her face. I simply had to know why, and called the Revered Mother to a halt for a moment.
"Hey, Leha!" I said, approaching at a trot, "How's business?"
Barris turned around, opening his mouth to make a complaint until his eyes caught the sight of the Revered Mother, at which point his training kicked in. He gave a closed-fisted salute across his chest, and lowered his head respectfully. Leha giggled at his devotion.
"Do you know how much money we are making?" she declared, raising her bottle, "Absolutely everything is selling like it's solid gold. I had to save the last of the apple vodka!" She took a generous swig, as if we would take it from her if she didn't do so.
"Is it really appropriate to be drinking in such a place, at such a time?" the Revered Mother said disapprovingly, "You are making a fool of yourself." I flinched, preparing for the dwarf to go explosive in response. Instead, the opposite happened.
"Says the fool who wears the silly hat," Leha said, wiggling her finger at the offender, "There's no time like the present, particularly with you dangerous world-changing types around. By the Stone, you're going to get me killed. But at least I'll be rich and drunk." A gentle reminder that she wasn't Andrastian with a surprisingly cogent point about her situation.
Thinking that very appropriate, I burst out laughing. The Revered Mother scowled at me, but I waved it off. In fact, her disapproval made it more funny to me.
"Well enjoy yourself, I have business to attend to," I said, "Carry on, Ser Barris. I suggest ignoring her when she's like this."
The Templar frowned, turning his attention back to the dwarf for a moment before walking back inside the compound, where a gaggle of mages were talking.
Leha eyed me curiously. "What business are you... attending to?" she chirped drunkenly.
"The Marquis is coming with me to the Chantry, so that we may reflect on the Maker's glory," said Mother Brandon proudly, "Something you yourself would benefit greatly from, if you would only see!"
"That true?" asked Leha, skipping over the cleric's enthusiasm with the apathy of intoxication.
"It is," I replied.
"Really?" she continued, "You lose a bet or something?"
"Nope," I said.
Leha closed one eye and looked inside her bottle. She swirled the contents for a moment, smelling it as if trying to detect something unexpected, before putting the whole thing down.
"I think I've drank too much," she said, getting off her seat, "I need to see a healer."
She walked off, calling for a mage, her conversation with us at an end. Leha was well aware of my reluctance to go to the Chantry, and it was to her I most often vented about the hypocrisies of the religion at the time. Little wonder she thought she was going mad upon hearing I was joining the flock.
Without another word, I tugged on Bellona's reins and led the way to the gatehouse. The Revered Mother followed, and we made our way through the streets of the town.
Conversations under breath followed us as we went, as they often did when I went into Hearth itself. I paid them no real heed. Perhaps I should have. Aside from dodging a few carts and almost running smack into a bunch of playing elven children at the corner of their district, the journey to the town square was otherwise without incident. It took us ten minutes, but we drew up alongside the main doors.
Brandon and I tied up our mounts outside the Chantry itself, and we entered the arched structure, the cleric in front once again.
It was dark inside for the most part, lit by candles or small oil lamps hanging from small chandeliers or on ledges that ran the length of the walls. At the far end was a set of stained glass windows, throwing tinted light of the day onto the golden statue of Andraste herself, flanked by two lions at rest. There were no pews, like you would see in a Christian church, instead worshippers gathered in side alcoves to quietly sing the Chant. I presumed that people would stand for the weekly gathering.
On the raised dias where the statue stood, there were chairs arranged in a circle, presumably for the presiding clerics. The smell of incense almost covered the smell of animal fat, answering the question of where they got oil for lamps in the first place. Echoes of repeated verses and footsteps reverberated around the stone as we moved, and the doors closed behind us.
It was an interesting experience, albeit not particularly impressive. I had seen Rome and Berlin while on leave, after all. I noted the space's features, as the Revered Mother instructed a lay sister to do something.
"Okay, we're here," I said, "What now?"
The lay sister returned to sight before Mother Brandon could answer. With a child in tow. I immediately recognised her as one of the more prominent of Tam's students, and the girl who had sung at the funeral for those who had died against White Mask's chevaliers and men-at-arms. A pretty elfling with black hair. She couldn't have been more than eight years old.
The girl stood there, looking up at me with strange attention, like I wasn't real. That made me a little uncomfortable. I wanted to tell her to stop, though I doubted it would have helped, so I refrained.
"Marquis, meet Lana," the Revered Mother said, "Lana, this is the Marquis de la Fayette."
"I know," the little girl replied, matter-of-factly, "It is good to meet you, sir." Her voice was as lyrical as Ciara's own, but still very much Orlesian.
My eyebrow arched at her good manners, before I remembered that Tam was her teacher.
As I am sure there are questions about it; yes, this is the Lana Duquesne, future high chancellor. It gives me no small amount of pleasure to recall this, our first meeting. Particularly as she has been glorified and vilified in equal measure. She was the first of a generation brought up to value liberty, and hated tyranny wherever she saw it. Which put more than one of us on the spot, as you can imagine.
"The pleasure is all mine," I said, with an uncertain glance at Mother Brandon.
"Lana, this is the first time the Marquis has ever been in a chantry," Brandon start, her tone condescending slightly as one usually does with children.
"Is that because the Maker sent him from another world?" Lana interrupted precociously.
"Yes, it is," said Brandon patiently. She was completely unaware of the Tevinter blood magic that actually caused it. Not that it mattered when she finally was informed, but a lot more had happened by that stage. I have no doubt she would have found the news distressing at that moment.
"So he needs help, huh?" said Lana, with a frown that melted my heart. It was like watching a puppy. The Revered Mother nodded solemnly. The little girl circled me, alarmingly like a shark investigating its prey.
"Lana is my aide for those new to the faith," Brandon proclaimed with amusement, "I leave you in her very capable hands."
I frowned. Evidently almost everyone 'new to the faith' was four or five years old at most. Doubt there were many Dalish or Avvar coming in to convert, put it that way. The Revered Mother bent over and whispered something into the child's ear, getting a rapid nodding motion when she was done.
"Marquis," Brandon said, as she bowed to take her leave.
Before I could object, the kid grabbed my left hand with both of her own little ones, and pulled me along with surprising energy. Amused onlookers in Chantry robes followed us, stopping their chanting and gathering at the bottom of the raised section. Lana dragged me up onto it, and around the circle of priestly chairs to below the stained glass.
A thin arm pointed up at the first one on the left.
"Andraste was born free, but taken by the magisters," Lana reported, "And we chant so that the same will not happen to us." One of the reasons for doing so, at any rate. It was also the same reason the Chantry wanted to lock people up in towers for the mere possession of magical blood.
Lana appeared to wait for my response, which put me off-foot.
"Eh, good idea?" I said warily, "Although, if any magisters show up, I can take care of them. Don't you worry about them." Well, any other magisters. Good thing there was only one who knew of my little trick.
This satisfied Lana, and I got a short little nod for it, sending a ripple through her little robes with the force of it.
"Revered Mother Brandon said that you can't be hurt by magic," Lana said, "The Maker sent you to protect us." I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth of my arrival, but I did consider something else.
While it was Tevinter ritual that brought me to Thedas, a question remained. Why me? It seemed that the foiling of the magisters' plan two thousand years ago had happened for reasons unknown. Had the Maker intervened to prevent them from destroying the world? It seemed possible to me. The timing of my own arrival, and that I had been chosen at all, seemed more than coincidence. Only the memory of Fraser's men kept me from embracing the idea of destiny entirely.
So, I had absolutely no qualms with confirming the story, even if it was on faith alone.
"It seems that way," I agreed.
Lana smiled widely, clutching at her clothes. She was very pleased to hear it.
"Then, if you sing the Chant of Light, maybe the Maker will listen!" she said excitedly, "I can teach you, if you want!"
Thus was revealed Mother Brandon's true hope, as well as that of many of the pilgrims. If I possessed a power against magic, perhaps I had the Maker's ear. It was hard to be reluctant in the face of Lana's enthusiasm, and it would be necessary. I knew Julie would chew on my ear if I didn't accept such an excellent proposal, and doing so would be dismissing a key part of a culture that I probably would have to live with for the rest of my life.
"I would like that," I said.
The girl took my hand again and pulled me towards the front doors again, through the small gathering of chantry brothers and sisters that had been listening quietly.
"I have a book at home with the canticles, I can use that to show you," Lana said, letting me go as I followed at her quick pace, "We can walk there now!"
"Why walk when we can ride?" I said with a wave of my hand.
"Oh! I've never been on a horse before!" Lana said. She was from the town, evidently.
The worshippers and clerics were following us, with a strange sense of anticipation. Lana skipped along ahead of me, oblivious. I glanced back at them, wondering what the hell they were doing. They noticed, and a ripple of poor dissembling went over their faces. Heads swivelled quickly away from my direction. Not suspicious at all.
"You can come too, if you want," I shouted back to them, "No shame in asking."
Several of them jumped, as if out of their skin, while others shamelessly took up the offer and sped up to follow. It wasn't really a sincere thing, I just wanted to put them off balance. A case of my mouth moving before my head, I guess. Regardless, I tolerated their advance as we made our way to the closed front doors.
As we approached, it struck me as very odd that they were closed in the middle of the day. It wasn't winter any more, so letting in the cold wasn't the issue. There were two young boys assigned to opening them, and they began pulling furiously on the ropes attached to each door as we drew close. I took one last look at those following us, not paying much attention to the situation to my front until I was on the very threshold of the chantry's gateway.
I stopped dead at the the sight of the huge crowd, and was greeted by a rapturous cheer from a thousand throats. It was a truly mixed crowd. I even saw the yellow feather of a chevalier here and there.
Led by Julie and the Revered Mother on horseback, no less. It had been a set-up all along, or rather, they had come up with this as a means to maximise publicity of my acceptance of the Chantry. Even Lana seemed to be in on it, still trying to pull me to my horse without so much as a passing glance at the mob of people. I must have looked utterly stunned, because Tam approached with a concerned look on her face.
"Sorry, it was the only way to make sure that we weren't condemned," the Qunari said with a frown.
That broke the spell, and I shook my head a little to regain my concentration and voice. I decided to play the part quickly, before my reluctance spoiled the whole point of the stunt.
"I understand," I said before turning back to the kid latched onto my arm, "Let's get out of here, shall we?"
Lana gave another firm nod, and let me approach Bellona. My horse took the noise and rabble with her expected stoic poise. Glad that one of us was, I climbed up into the saddle with some trepidation. Tam grabbed Lana off the ground and handed her up to me. I placed the child side-saddle on my lap, and gave Bellona a nudge to get going, which she did.
I waved at the crowd as we turned, getting another loud roar for my trouble.
Julie and Mother Brandon rode up alongside me as the crowd parted to allow our passage.
"I knew you wouldn't let us down," Julie reported with a warm smile, Revas trotting along excitedly beside Bellona's heavier footfalls.
"I try," I said flatly, giving another wave instead of getting the hell out of there at speed, as I wanted to.
Little did I know that it was the beginning of a huge swell of support for our cause. I had passed a crucial test in the eyes of many. To the largely uneducated masses, the notion that a demon could enter a Chantry willingly was impossible. So, it was essentially proof in their eyes that I was not a Fade-monster. All the better that I wasn't aware I was being tested. Of course, it's utter nonsense. Demons can go into chantries if they want to. Andraste's divine presence protects against them only through the training of Templars and Seekers, for the most part.
Julie and Tam made the unwelcome surprise worth the trouble later, at least.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, I was binge-reading the very interesting "Victory at Ostagar" by Arsinoe de Blassenville.
Originally in preparation for the next volume's planning, which will be entitled "Ferelden".
This volume, "Revolution", is going to be the most ambitious yet. I'm looking forward to getting it out there for you guys to read, particularly as I've been getting very complimentary reviews of late. I think people will be very much surprised by how it goes too.
To all readers who have or haven't reviewed: I'd like to know how you found out about this story, and would like if you told me via reviews. Thanks in advance!
Azariah Kyras: I have thought about writing an accompanying story called 'Outlanders' to explore the lives of the people who survived longer than a few days after being dumped on Thedas, the story of Keijiro and maybe the story of Tiberius, but I just don't have the time. Between reality, this story, and my far too numerous Mass Effect stories, I couldn't get it done.
I may give a list of "undiscovered" Outlanders later and invite you, my cheery fans, to write stories about them.
5 Coloured Walker: Your eye is appreciated as always.
Drgyen: Cheers for keeping the TV Tropes page updated, first of all!
Brood mare thing indeed! It isn't going to be a harem fic no more than it already is, and I don't consider it to be one now, but nobility has an obsession with blood and heirs already.
Dur'id the Druid: Cheers! Tiberius is attempting to manipulate Sam, and the heirlooms most important to him are not among the things he gave over. Keijiro would have ran out of bullets very quickly, so carrying around his rifle and pistol would have been reserved for the first few months of his stay alone. The rest was essentially useless to him, as he cannot read Japanese. Furthermore, I think it was pretty heavily implied that Keijiro himself wanted the items passed to another Outlander, in case that person made it back to Earth.
Asahar4: As much as I appreciate advocacy, Aurelia won't be Sam's lover. She will be in the story though.
JaegarCryptic: I find that Bioware did a less fullsome job explaining the setting than it did with Mass Effect, particularly to people just getting started with it. I wasn't really into it myself until I played through Inquisition. I still haven't played DA2, though I read up extensively on it so I could write this. Very glad you approve of my take on the whole thing.
Kai'kel the Fereldan Magister: You would pay good money? Don't say things like that, or I'll go try and sell stories instead of putting them up for free as fan fiction! I've found that I write much better in the first person autobiographical than third person, so it was a decision born of that realisation. That it happens to be an excellent framing device was a happy coincidence that I'm glad to have embraced fully.
The threesome seems to have irked more than one person, but it serves a large number of purposes in the plot. I think everyone who had read past its introduction understands by now that it isn't for mere titillation. Those who haven't seem content to bitch about it and not read any further.
Julie's realism is learned from the history of Earth. She has no desire to be a failure, so takes those lessons to heart. I'm glad you think she makes sense, as I've worked hard to make it so.
Armen is a fun character, perhaps the most vindictive of the group yet the Joker as well. I love writing him.
Ciara will be much more important going forward into this volume, and has been quiet largely in preparation for this volume. Her role requires such a set up.
Leha is a very very important character. In plot terms, she's the capitalist, the mercantile innovator, and in character terms, the sceptic to Julie's idealism and Sam's cynicism. Ironically, I'm not a fan of Oghren.
Orlais' exaggerated nobility is usually only seen in the context of court life, where such things wouldn't actually threaten the country's prosperity. I knew it had to be different outside of Halamshiral and Val Royeaux, so I used the French Ancien Regime and the Kingdom of England as benchmarks and worked on the more general culture of the country from there. Orlais' status as a military power has to be attributed to more than numbers, and its status as a hugely rich country has to be attributed to more than having lots of land. The Baron and Baroness are perhaps the characters that exemplify this the most.
Sam is unsure as to what deity rules Thedas, but picks up much of the culture of Andrastianism through decades of contact with it. He conflates the two out of necessity for the most part. Essentially, he believes in only one God that created absolutely everything, which is appropriate for any Christian, but is unsure if the Maker is that God or is simply a powerful entity. He leans towards the former, simply due to the similarity in message despite the difference in delivery.
In the top three fanfics ever? Thank you very much.
Comavampure: Merci beaucoup.
Liquidxdus: A moderate pace that will probably see the story top out at a million words. Always glad to spur on a review from people who don't usually partake, means I'm definitely doing something right!