AUTHOR'S NOTE; thank ya'll for the comment about formatting. Sorry about that! Sometimes copy and pasting does some weird stuff. Will try to be more careful in the future.

"How much for this book here?"

The bushy eyebrows of the short seller—an older Breton-looking man with a long beard and stocky build— raised at the elf's question. He looked at the leather-bound book in her hand. A short retrospective of Ferelden was printed in bold gold letters on the thick spine.

A quick reply came from his lips. "Five silver."

She nodded, unhooked her coin purse from her belt, carefully picked up five silver, and handed them to the man. His shock showed on his face. It wasn't quite usual to see an elf with coin.

She smiled at him as she flipped the book open and began scanning it leisurely. She began to walk. "Thank you, good sir. Safe day to you."

"Of course," he said. His eyes darted back to the book, and he couldn't help himself from asking. "A history buff, are ya?"

She stopped, glanced back at him, and smiled. "Something like that. I just figured I should know more about the place if my stay here is to be extended."

His confusion from that statement showed up as clear as day on his face. He looked her over. She looked like one of those elves you could find shuffling around in the alienage, but the more he looked at her, the more he found strange about her. The confidence in her stance, the look in her eye— they didn't fit the timid looks them alienage elves would give humans when they hopped by the marketplace. His next thought was the Dalish, but she didn't have weird markings on her face or the leafy-looking clothing. Instead, she wore some fine leather that looked dingy at first glance.

Nah, she was something different.

"I take it yer not from Ferelden then. Free Marches?"

"Nope. A bit more western than that. I'm visiting here to look for a friend," the corners of her lip twitched after the words left her mouth. "If I'm being honest, I'm quite surprised I haven't found him yet. He's usually more... showy than this," she quickly elaborated at the look he gave her. "More spottable, I mean."

"Well, sera, there's a war going on outside. Hate to say it, but yer friend could be six feet under."

Surprisingly, instead of a frown, what the man got in return was a loud laugh from the elf.

"Alduin? Getting killed by a bunch of armored dicks? Better yet, spellcasting armored dicks? Why I could only dream."

A bit mortified, the man asked. "Isn't he yer friend?"

"Of course. Doesn't mean I like him. Just means we've got something in common is all. We come from the same place. Same dad, too— I think so, at least. Messy situation, that."

The dwarf had heard much during his time on the road, but that doesn't mean he wasn't still a curious man. And plus, talking usually kept customers buzzing around. "So why are ya searching for him?"

"Easy. I'm going to beat him up, knock him out, and bring him back to his— our father."

To say he was a bit stunned would be an understatement.

"A mercenary, are ya?"

The woman shrugged in response. She snapped the book closed and resumed walking. "As I said, something like that. I should be going now, a fine day to you."

He didn't stop her this time, only a quick nod and small utterance. "Fine day to you too."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the clasped top of the elf's knapsack rustle, and soon out came a tiny gray mouse poked her head out through a narrow opening. He was just about to call out to the elf again when the mouse —and this had thoroughly shocked him— put up a small paw and did something of a mimicry of a wave at him. Sheepishly, he returned the gesture and could've he saw the thing beam with delight in response. With that, it disappeared right back into the knapsack. Soon, both the mouse and the elf had rounded a corner, and they vanished from his sight. He leaned against a wooden pole of his stand.

Fucking surface dwellers are more confusing than I'd thought.

Irina snapped the book shut and let out a huff of frustration.

"Is it confusing?"

"No, far from it. After all, I know exactly what the Chant of Light is and the whole Maker creation myth. Don't even mention Loghain Mac Tir— we were best buddies."

"No, you weren't."

"It's sarcasm, Sakn'vunen. Sarcasm."

She got up from the bench and stretched out her taunt limbs. The commotion in the square had died down much from two weeks ago when she'd first arrived. Still just as crowded as ever, but certainly "more breathable," or at least that's what Irina thought.

Ever since her encounter with the Mages, she'd learned a bit more about them. Most of it was from little snippets and rumors she'd heard around town (and some from their own mouths), but most was contradictory. They proclaimed themselves freedom fighters, and some shared that sentiment. Still, harsher whispers called them slaughterers, abominations, and, most confusingly, "Tevinter's bitches," with a stronger connotation held on that last phrase, as every time it mentioned just loud enough for the robed men across the tavern to hear, a tensity would arise. Something more potent than what was needed if the word only boiled down to 'bitch.'

Speaking of bitches, Alduin was nowhere to be seen.

Not a shout, not a scale, not even a speck of black. It would be a blessing back in Tamriel, but here, as she stood next to the high statue in the square watching the still sun, it grated on her.

"Heard anything Sakn'vunen?"

"No," the mouse lamented. She scurried out of the knapsack onto Irina's shoulder, where her small paws gripped at her hair. Lamenting morphed into frustration. "Everyone's talking about demons and mages and templars! Not dragons."

"A pity that. Can't blame 'em, I suppose." She sighed and began to mindlessly walk. She got the occasional odd stare, but Irina didn't pay those any heed. She'd seen worse in Markarth after she'd escaped the mines. "Anything interesting about them?"

"Lots and lots of chatter," Sakn'vunen said. She was quiet and then quickly said. "Another rift got stitched up."

"Those Inquisition people again, I take it?" She whisked around a small child, his mother yelling curses and chasing quickly behind him.

"Mhm. 'Dennet's farm,' the people say."

"Isn't he the horse guy?"

"Yes."

"What do they want with him, I wonder."

"I dunno. Official stuff."

"You know what official stuff is, Sakn'vunen?"

"Of course! Some of the other spirits talk about it sometimes."

Irina laughed. "Creatures like you dabble in court affairs?"

"Sometimes. Wisdom said they guided a king once."

"And what of you, Sakn'vunen?"

The mouse puffed up its chest. "That white-haired lady you talk to looks official, and since you're helping her and I'm helping you, I'm helping with official stuff too."

"Huh, never thought of it like that," Irina said. "I suppose a Prince is as official as you can get."

The mouse squeaked loud. A turned his head to look at her, and she smiled back at him before turning to Sakn'vunen and placing a finger on her lip. "Quiet."

"Sorry, sorry," the spirit said. "But a prince? She's a prince?"

"It's not in the way you're thinking of. Her type of 'Prince' is less about a throne and more about a… title, I suppose."

"But that's most princes."

"I'm not good with words, Sakn'vunen," Irina said. She had finally come upon the tavern's porch, relishing in the meaty scent that wafted through the slightly ajar door. "She's not a prince in the sense that she needs lands to rule over to be a prince, though she does have that. She's a Prince in the sense that she's a really powerful Deadra. One of the worst types at that."

"So she's a bad prince?"

"In a sense, yes— but not at the same time. All of the Princes are like that."

"I'm confused."

"Maybe I'll introduce you two one day, and then you can ask her yourself."

She pushed open the door to the tavern and walked inside. It was much less nerve-wracking than it had been the first time. The mages kept to their small quarter while the rest of the folk talked merrily. Though there was something different today, she noticed as she pulled up a stool at the bar. The air of glee drifted from the mage's corner over to the rest of the tavern, the men in those funny-looking robes seeming especially delighted. Irina couldn't help but peek over with inquisitive eyes.

"Something happened over there?" she asked as the barkeeper came over with a small beer bottle. She had made sure to ask specifically for the lightest stuff the woman had after that first debacle.

"The Herald visited a day ago," she said as she slid the bottle over the counter. "She promised she would back the apostates."

"Really?"

"Wouldn't be saying it if I hadn't heard it," she stuck out her hand, and Irina got her coin bag out and put two shiny silvers into the woman's hand. The coot smiled. "Thank ye' for ya patronage."

"Any time Myra," she said as she took a sip. She thought for a moment and then said. "Anything you can tell me about this Herald?"

"Surprised ye' haven't heard a slip. Ye' don't do nothin' but wander about, do ya?"

"I do a lot. Just not anything productive," Irina said. "And I wouldn't be asking If I'd already heard, would I?" That comment got her a glare from the barkeep. She made a mental note not to drink anything that didn't come from a corked bottle. "Oh, c'mon, Myra, don't give me that look. I'm a good patron, aren't I?" Irina said. "Remember that drunk who came in here three days ago?"

"Scott."

"Yeah, Scott. Remember how he tried to lay a hand on you, and I escorted him out."

"Irina, he was almost dead."

That earned Sakn'vunen and hard pluck to the head.

"Yeah, I recall that," the old woman laughed. "Fucker was hacking teeth for days."

"See, I dealt with him efficiently and quickly. Can't you spare some words for such a loyal customer?"

She was silent for a good minute, for she sighed and spoke.` A knife-ear, but not like ye'. She one of 'em tribal folk who prance around in the woods," said the woman as she wiped down a stain on the counter. "Dalish, I think 'ey call 'em. Came in with a group. Another elf, a woman, and a dwarf," she stopped and looked at Irina. "That satisfies ye'?

Irina grinned. "Very much so. I thank you, my lady."

"Aye, don't start with all that noble type speech."

"If that's what you want," she took a sip of her drink and glanced back at the mage's quarter. "Any mention of dragons?"

"Not even a cough," said Myra. "Don't why ya so obsessed. War is happening, and here ye' are obsessed with some dragon's scales."

"My employer doesn't exactly care about the war. They just want their dragon," replied Irina. "Y'know, nobles and all that."

"Well, why don't ye' head up north? Probably plenty of cutthroats and mercenaries like ye' looking for scales. They might even give ye' a couple a tips before slicing ye' throat and runnin' off with yer coin. And there's no war in them northern places."

"Maybe, but not right now. I'll give it another week."

"If yer so insistent on them scales, why stay 'ere?"

Irina shrugged. "Just that feeling that the dragon I'm searching for is still somewhere lurking around here. I don't think he would've gone far. He isn't that dumb. I know that much."

"What are you on about?"

"I'll tell you if you give me a loaf of bread on the house," the lady met Irina's smug face with a hard stare.

"I'll just keep on dreamin' 'bout it."

"If that's what suits you," she pushed herself away from the counter and got off the barstool. "Be seeing you, Myra."

"Same to you, knife-ear."

She finished the rest of her drink, placed the empty bottle into her satchel, and then carried on with her day. But before she could step foot out of the tavern, a conversation caught her ear.

"'The Demon of the Hinterlands,' they call her. Took out whole groups of men single-handedly."

"That's just old wives talk, I say."

The man took a swig of his drink. "I dunno about this one. I'd say the same any other day, but now? Now it seems plausible."

"You're too impressionable. Look at how tiny those elves are. They can barely lift a sword."

"I say you're too stubborn. Anything can happen— just look at the damn sky."

After that sentence was uttered, Irina left, feeling all the more curious and all the more concerned. When she did head out of Redcliffe, it seemed like she would have to be careful of another lunatic running the roads. Sakn'vunen looked at her oddly but said nothing.

"Achoo!"

Sakn'vunen jumped from where she'd been playing. She looked at the Mer. "Are you alright?"

"Wonderful," Irina said, though her voice betrayed her. It was getting to that stupid time of the year when Kyne unleashed her full fury on mortals and decided to make all her beloved plants fuck the sinuses of the weak and unsuspecting. It seems like she couldn't escape that, even here.

Irina had picked up quite a comfortable routine in her short time here. It was a simple rotation of investigation, eating, and sleeping, and she liked it that way. She cozied up with the book under the broken windmill, with her notebook splayed on the ground and a small piece of chalk in her other hand. On her pages was a messy sort of handwriting that no one else besides Irina could read. Mainly because it was written in the old aldmeris script, but it was aided by the fact that only Irina could read what she wrote.

She only knew bits and pieces of where she was, and she was eager to grasp onto anything she knew for certain. First things first, through her readings, she figured that the continent she was on was named Thedas, and much like Tamriel, Thedas was split into multiple countries. Unlike Tamriel, however, these places were not divided based on race and homeland. All of them seemed to arise from conflict and differences between humans. That is all besides Elvhenan, and that place looks to be as far gone as the Dwemer.

Speaking of Elvhenan, the history and the contention of magic and religion so absolutely fucked Irina's mind that she had to take a break between readings and think about it.

She'd never thought she'd see the day where magic was outright banned, much less not a talent that everyone innately had. By Y'ffre, she'd never thought she'd see the day where Gods just don't outright mettle with mortal affairs, especially when they're near destruction.

She scrunched her nose at the figure clad in black robes displayed on the book's page. Sakn'vunen, to Irina's side, was busying herself with a pebble, utterly oblivious to the world around her. Irina took a glance at her and spoke.

"Have you ever met this Maker fellow, Sakn'vunen?" she asked the spirit. The mouse shook its head.

"Wisdom said it's too dangerous to go up there.

Irina was confused until she remembered a sentence from her history book. "You're talking about the Black city, I presume."

The mouse nodded. "You saw it in the Fade. The big, big city in the sky. It makes you feel… bad."

Flashes of black spirals and wicked spires appeared in her mind. Suddenly, the grass felt uncomfortable. "Perhaps it's a spell designed to ward off intruders."

"I don't think so," Sakn'vunen said. She pushed too hard onto the rock and chased wildly after it as it rolled across the dirt. "It's not trying to push people away, but it's calling to them. But I don't think it knows how to do it."

"I think that's for the best."

"Maybe," Sakn'vunen said. She stopped chasing the pebble and looked up at Irina. "But I don't think things deserve to be lonely. The city doesn't either."

"I don't think the city has emotions, Sakn'vunen."

"Everything in the Fade does; that's why it's so full of feelings. That's why people have a hard time exploring there," she climbed up onto Irina's lap and splayed herself out. "Thedas is… empty."

"You call a rock in the middle of a green sky full of life?"

"No, I'm not," said Sakn'vunen. "But it's full of memories, loud and quiet. Thedas doesn't have that."

Irina sighed. "Y'know, when I talk to you, you give me a headache, huh, Sakn'vunen?"

"Is it a good kind of headache?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But either way, it's still a major pain," Irina said. She closed the book on her lap. "I suppose that's enough reading for the day."

"That price is absurd."

"Yet it's not changing," said the woman. "If you ain't got the coin, head to another stall."

"It's an apple," Irina hissed. "Isn't three silver a bit too much?"

"And yet it's the price that's always been there."

"Oh, bullshit. Just two days ago, it was twelve bronze."

"Hate to tell you, serah, but the roads haven't been pretty lately. The rougher the transport, the more coin it takes to pay the caravans."

"So, of course, you raise the price by two whole silver coins? Seems a bit much, don't you think?"

"Look, either you're paying or not paying. It's no sweat off my brow."

Irina huffed and dug down into her coin purse. She winced at how light it felt.

Suppose I'll have to start hunting.

"Irina?"

She never thought she'd be so happy to hear someone call her name in her life.

She turned around to see a familiar face emerging out of a small group of mages. Mirth warmed his eyes, yet it seemed to veil something else. However, she acted as though she didn't see it and gave the man a grin.

"Cedric! How are you?"

"Fine, thank you. Much better than before," he replied quite hastily. "Have you heard—"

"The news about the Herald? I had to, even if I didn't want to. It's been buzzing about the village."

"My money, miss?"

Irina looked back at the apple seller and smiled apologetically. She reached down onto her belt. "Yes, so sorry about that—"

"I'll pay," said Cedric. He pulled out his own coin purse and asked. "How much was it?"

"Three silver, sir."

Irina interjected. "Ah, I can't let you do that. I'm perfectly fine on my own."

"Nonsense, I was getting one for myself anyway," he said. He handed the woman six coins and pulled an apple off the cart. "See?"

"If you insist," she said, putting back her coin bag. "Such a gentleman, are you?"

"It's the least I can do to pay you back," he looked back at his group and then at Irina. "You doing anything right now?"

"Besides roaming in the square? No."

"Then you mind walking with us?"

She really didn't want to. There were much more 'important' things she had to do and should've been doing, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to get into the good graces of someone with money. And so she put on a pleasant smile. "I'd be glad to."

She tagged along with the group and listened to their musings about recent events. Mundane things, such as what new orders First Enchanter Fiona has put out, and more 'interesting topics,' such as the recent visit by the Herald. But one conversation topic stuck with Irina. It had nothing to do with the actual subject and more the reaction to the subject.

They were nearing the harbor when a man, an older man by the name of Marvin, brought up the topic of 'Magister Gereon Alexius's son's condition.' The air, which had once been full of hospitality, soon morphed into tension. Even Sakn'vunen shifted deeper into Irina's hair.

"I never would have expected him to fall on the Herald of all people. You would think Alexius would keep a closer eye on his damned child."

"Hush," said a woman. Her name was Julia. "The Magister has ears everywhere."

"So? Do you think he did not hear you complain about it at the bar? You were yapping so loud even the Maker could hear you."

A look of fear struck across her face, but that was soon muffled by anger. "You have no sense, do you?"

"Oh, I have sense. Sense enough to know that the Venatori have poisoned the rebellion."

"Now, Marvin," said Cedric. He glanced nervously at Irina. She pretended to be focused on the pebbles on the ground. "Careful with your words. The Venatori aren't exactly kind folk."

"Maker's balls, you scare as easily as maidens. Alexius is deep into his own misery with his son. You think he cares about a couple of rumors?"

"Alexius might not take offense, but what of the others from Tevinter, old man," said Julia. "I've heard things."

"Oh, damn, what you've heard. If they're truly as you say, I'll die just as I predicted— complaining."

"Death isn't the worst ending for a man, Marvin," said Julia. "You, of all, should know this."

For once, the old man lacked a comeback. He licked his chapped lips and said. "You really think they'd go that far?"

"I have no clue what torture the Venatori can come up with. But I know I'd much rather an execution."

"No matter, Julia. If we don't speak, we'll be stuck."

"And if we were to speak, we'd be—"

"I should excuse myself and my companion," Cedric gestured towards Irina, who smiled awkwardly. Marvin and Julia looked at her in shock, as if they'd just realized she had tagged along. "I'll be seeing you at the tavern."

"Oh," said Julia, "Oh, yes. Maker's blessing to you, Cedric, and you…."

"Irina," said Irina.

"Irina. Yes, Maker's blessing."

"Come back before twilight," Marvin said. "I don't want to have to cover for you. Again."

Cedric snorted. "Yes, father. I will."

"I mean that. Last time, Adriella almost tore me a new one after you'd snuck off with your little—"

Cedric grabbed her wrist and yanked Irina forward. "And we are off!"

He pulled her for quite a while, passing by the harbor and the main area of the village. He walked towards seclusion, and Irina, in all her curiosity, let him. Trees began to obscure the sun's rays, and the dirt and stone path was soon forgotten by nature. Eventually, when they were completely and utterly isolated, Cedric dropped her wrist.

She looked at him inquisitively, and he looked at the floor. Nervous, she noted.

"First," he started. "I want to apologize on behalf of my friends for earlier. It's a bit… shaky in the rebellion if you know what I mean. The Herald's blessing has sent joy throughout all of us, but—" he paused, catching himself in something he thought stupid. "The Venatori bring their own problems."

"The Venatori?" asked Irina. "What's that?"

"Nothing. Just a group from Tevinter. They brought us aid in our time of need, and the Grand Enchanter trusts them. That's good enough." He seemed to be speaking more to himself than Irina.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Irina muttered. "Are you alright, Cedric?"

"Hm? Oh! Oh, Maker. Nothing just lost in thought. I— Have you caught wind of any lyrium potion shipments?"

She did not have a single clue in all of Nirn what he was talking about, but with how he worded the question, it seemed like she should. "No, not a peep."

"I figured that. Damn war."

"You need them for something?"

"The Grand Enchanter and the Magister have been concerned as of late," Cedric said. "The Herald blesses the Mage rebellion, but that doesn't mean that the templars will instantly back off. We have the walls to protect us, but— there is that underlying fear of attack." He looked at Irina. "You understand, yes?"

"I've had my fair share of the templars. Not exactly the reasonable type."

"So you would understand the need to order lyrium potions and the materials to make them. They were supposed to come in a week ago, but—"

"They didn't arrive."

"Exactly," said Cedric. "I fear that the templars outside the walls may have gotten to them. Perhaps they got word? I don't know. But templars with crates of lyrium? I rue the day."

"Have you informed the guards?"

He paused. A hollow chuckle came out of his mouth. "Well, you see, this supply wasn't exactly ordered, legally. We didn't want to worry the guard."

Irina didn't believe a single word of that shoddy excuse of a reason, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

"So, why tell me?"

"I've heard word of what you came here for, Irina. Mercenary work for a rich nobleman, yes?"

Irina clicked her tongue. "I see Myra has been talking."

"It's not hard to get her to," said Cedric. "I want to hire your services."

She shifted her weight. She'd seen this coming, but she didn't expect the request to be so blunt. "Why me? I'm just a tiny elf."

"And yet you're hunting a dragon," murmured Cedric. "I don't want someone who screams danger— I want someone covert. That and you're the only mercenary I know."

"I guess that's as good a reason as any," said Irina. "But what would make you think I'm taking on any more missions right now?"

"Well, you're broke."

Why in Y'ffre's name was everyone in this godsforsaken place so damn honest?

"How do you know that?"

"You were struggling to buy an apple, Irina."

"They're overpriced—"

"For three silver?"

"What's cheap for you is expensive for some."

"It's cheap for most, actually."

"Are you trying to get me to leave?"

"Look," said Cedric, frustration edging at his voice. "It's simple. All I need is for you to speak to someone and tell me what's happening with the shipments. If it's good news, great. If it's bad, you'll still get paid. A simple job. It won't interfere with your dragon business at all."

"How much?"

"The baseline is twenty-five silver."

"Baseline?"

"If you can get me those materials, then I will happily give you more," said Cedric. "Deal?"

Irina eyed him. He was obviously nervous, searching her own face for something of conformation. A sign to see where she stood. She gave him that with a smile and a nod. "Deal."

Relief washed over him like a tide. He clapped his hands. "Good, good. Yes, okay," he murmured something to himself that Irina didn't catch. "First, you need to speak to Tanner. She likes to hang near the Chantry. She dresses like a lesser sister— a hat, robes, and some pants. She'll be reserved initially, but tell her I sent you, and she should open right up."

"A sister giving lyrium to the mages?" Irina said. "I thought you all and the chantry had drawn a fine line in the village."

Cedric shook his head. "Tanner is the farthest thing from a sister. She supplies whoever gives her the money."

A smuggler, Irina thought. "Wouldn't the whole sister attire make it harder to speak with you lot, though?"

"Not if we come there under the guise of repenting for 'our sins,'" He spat out the words with disgust. "The guards don't suspect us then."

"Good coverup," Irina said. "I'll speak to this 'sister' and get you and your friends your materials."

"Thank you, Irina," said Cedric. "Seriously, the whole rebellion is… Well, it's best that we get our materials before the Magister freaks out."

"Don't thank me yet," said Irina. "I've still got stuff to find to find."

The Chantry of Redcliffe wasn't an exquisite sight, but it was still quite lovely. It was a bit farther from the rest of the bustle of the village. Arches led the way to the stone path that ushered up to the giant wooden doors of the Chantry. It was nestled right on a cliff. The ocean breeze carried its salty scent as Irina ascended the stone steps. She nodded quaintly to a few priests on the way, all dressed in the long, elaborate robes with a few funny-looking hats. They saw her and returned the gesture before returning into a hushed conversation about something she couldn't quite pick up on.

"It's nice here," Sakn'vunen commented.

"Temples usually are," Irina said. "Lot's of calm and peace."

"It's a bit odd, though."

"What?"

"I can't hear the people. Their thoughts are muddy."

"People come to temples to spill all their woes at the feet of the gods," she looked around. Plenty of people huddled around the grounds, human and elf alike. "You're probably hearing too much."

"I don't like it. It's—"

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yes. It doesn't feel right."

"Perhaps it's for the best this time," Irina said. "Let the people have their privacy."

She walked up to the door of the Chantry. Just as she was about to open the door, a lady from behind stopped her.

"The chantry is closed for cleaning today," she said. "I'm afraid you'll have to pray outside."

She turned around to be met with the face of a chantry sister. She gave a quick glance at her outfit.

A hat, robes, and some pants.

"A pity," Irina said. She gave an awkward smile and scratched at her arm. "Honestly, I didn't come here for prayer. I came here to learn."

The sister furrowed her brow. "You're looking to become a sister? That's quite unusual for an elf."

"Oh, no, no. I just came to learn about the Chantry," Irina said. "You see, I'm a traveler. I've come to Ferelden from the Free Marches as part of my… journey, you see. A path of self-discovery."

"You come to Redcliffe to learn about the chantry?" asked the sister. "Quit the odd pick, especially considering the times."

"What can I say? I've never been the best traveler. The war broke out just as I crossed the border into Redcliffe. I had family down here, so I figured this would be the best stop. Of course, my family nor I could've predicted war between the mages and the templars. When I'd found them—" she paused. "Let's just say it wasn't a pretty sight."

"Oh," said the sister. "Oh, I am so sorry."

"No, no, it's fine. Really. I wasn't that close to them, just some distant relatives," Irina said. "Since I'm stuck here anyway, I'd swing by the chantry and try to learn some of this 'Chant of Light' I hear about so much."

The sister smiled. "Well, I'd be happy to teach you some of it. You don't need the old books in there anyway. In fact, that's probably more confusing than just hearing it."

"Thank you so very much, sister…."

"Tanner," she said. "Sister Tanner."

"Tanner?"

"Yes," she said. She looked at Irina with a hint of confusion. "Is there a problem?"

"No, I just— Do you know a Cedric?" When the name fell out of her mouth, Tanner's eyes widened. "He mentioned you, said he came around for prayer a lot—"

"Is Cedric displeased with me?"

"No, he just mentioned that he hadn't found his things yet. A pity, that."

"Yeah, a pity. Maker bless him," she glanced over at the other sisters behind Irina. "Can we take this somewhere else? Learning the Chant of Light in a more secluded place is best. It frees up the mind."

"Sister Tanner, you're the one teaching me. Whatever you suggest, I will gladly do."

"Yes. How lucky I am to have such a compliant student."

"And how lucky I am to have such a knowledgeable teacher."

Once they were out of earshot of nosy sisters and meditative villagers, Tanner turned to face her with a new look. Irritated and slightly worried, she crossed her arms and stared down at Irina. She huffed.

"Never thought the mages would send an elf."

"I was the only one he knew."

"Figures. Typical Cedric," she muttered. "Look, I tried to contact the shipment for days but never got a letter back. My guess is that the templars got to it."

"What would they want with lyrium?"

"It's how they get their weird templar abilities. And the stuff is addictive. The rogue ones don't have the backing of the Chantry anymore, so they have to resort to other measures."

"Like robbery?"

"Well, duh. How else would they get it? Mine is from the deep roads?"

"Just clarifying," Irina said. "Any other possible options?"

"Demons, highwaymen, Maker's balls, even the Inquisition," said Tanner. She chewed her lip. "But there is also one other suspect."

"That is?"

"The rogue mages."

"There's more rebels?" Irina asked.

"They started out with the rebellion. However, as soon as shit hit the fan, they took a more violent approach. At least a more direct one," said Tanner. "As far as I know, they have no connection to the rebels, just a common goal. Of course, that doesn't mean that they don't like lyrium. Maker, this is a mess."

"Any clue where they could be hiding out?"

"Dunno. The guard might, though. Heard some 'em complaining about 'em. But it might not be safe— they were yapping off to the Inquisition soldiers."

Irina clicked her tongue, "That's not good."

"You think? That's hundreds of coins in lyrium down the drain if they find it," Tanner said.

"Is there anything in the crates that could be tied back to the rebellion?"

"Not directly. But this is a bunch of mage material we're talking about. It'll be a dent for sure."

Irina clicked her tongue. "Well, isn't this a pleasant situation?"

"As pleasant as you could get," said Tanner. She glanced back nervously at the Chantry and then back at Irina. "Look, that's all I know. Are we done here?"

Irina nodded. "Go catch up with your 'sisters.' I'll take it from here."

"Thank the Maker," the woman turned to go, but before she did, she set Irina with a hard stare. "We talked about the Chant of Light, you hear?"

"Loud and clear, sister Tanner," said Irina. "Maker bless you."

"And may he guide you, elf."

Tanner walked back to the temple, leaving Irina— and her tiny companion— to themselves. Irina clicked her tongue, cursed, and then sighed a long sigh. Gods is Cedric lucky I'm low on coin.

"Sakn'vunen?"

"Yes?"

"Apostates or Templars?"

"What?"

"Take your pick."

"Um," Sakn'vunen hummed. Though it was a simple question, its simpleness made the spirit nervous. "Templars."

"Good," said Irina. "I've got half a mind on where to go."

"What are we doing?"

Irina gave her a grin. "Being sneaky."