From Sacred Ash

by Son of Caliban

Marcus Venier is a young student from Canada, who jumps off a waterfall and falls into another world entirely. Markus Venier is a young Templar from the Dales, who fails to prevent the death of the Most Holy. I am the man born of their convergence. I am the Inquisitor. And this tale is mine to tell.

6. Across the Hinterlands

"One of the most important details to remember is this, Ser Venier," Chancellor Roderick's voice is softer now than it was moments ago, leaning closer to me. "The Chantry is not a bad place that commonly welcomes folk like you and I."

There is a moment where I wonder what he means, staring at him across the table. He and I? What have we got in common? I am a Templar knight newly elevated, barely more than an Initiate. He is a Chancellor, one of the highest stations in the Chantry outside of the Elder Mothers and the Divine herself. We come from wholly different worlds and even wholly different times, born nearly half a century apart.

And yet… he shakes his head slowly.

"I can see you are confused," he notes. "I understand. It is an unfortunate truth, Ser Venier; we are men, you and I."

And with that, it clicks. More than just his meaning; his entire character. The dogmatic attitude, the lack of respect for the Herald, his constant irritation with anyone and everyone… Chancellor Roderick is a man who climbed the ladder of a matriarchal society and system to a place higher than any other of his sex. And now?

He warns me of the many tricks and traps being set for me. Because if I attempt to navigate the live minefield of Chantry Politics without the forewarning, I'll likely be caught up in the same pitfalls that he's described avoiding so carefully. It's a game, he warns, that is not often played by men. Our rules are different.

What I hear shouldn't surprise me. The Chantry has a power structure. Such things are meant to be climbed, fairly or otherwise. But the tricks, the dirty secrets… sending whores to tempt him, accusing him of predations and depravities not his own… he navigated the winding road better than I or perhaps any other could have, and reached his station in a record time. Its impressive to hear… and disheartening.

The Chantry, he warns, is a dangerous beast. Like a dragon; magnificent to behold, and oh so majestic in motion. But within there are only teeth and dark things best kept away from the wider world. He is not wrathful in his descriptions, there is only the faintest hint of bitterness in his words. But he describes to me something as corruptible and fraught with politicking as the Orlesian court or any business of the Free Cities. The difference is that those institutions trade in power and wealth respectively; the Chantry is a competition for both.

"The Chantry is a beautiful thing, Sir Venier," he tells me, laying his flute of red wine down on the table, closing his eyes and bowing his head. "But beauty often masks horror. A beautiful thing indeed… and terrible as well, in its beauty. Be careful when navigating its depths; there is a darkness below the gold and gleaming marble, and it will merrily swallow you whole should you not respect its depths."

I stand now a few feet away from Mother Giselle, and consider those words anew. Roderick is right. I do not know what makes me so certain about Giselle; she is a kind woman, wise and venerable. And yet, there is something else. She so gleefully sends me, an agent she barely knows, to a doubtless chaotic meeting with the Chantry elders. Why? They know well by now who I am. I am… was a Templar, a servant of theirs. Chanson never abandoned the Chantry. We stood defiant, safeguarding our charges in our little Circle on the edges of Orlais. Those Mothers, should they care, will know my date of birth, the names of my parents, everything that has ever occurred in my life.

And yet, she sends me regardless. So they can see me. So they can fear me. And in fearing, they may lash out or run away. The Templars will denounce them. The Mages will be no closer to them. The Chantry, I know already, is a faction that holds little power in the coming struggle. And yet I am to approach them, to seek validation they will not… no, validation they cannot give.

The idea comes again. Mad. Ridiculous even. But an idea nonetheless. Templars, Mages, Chantry and Inquisition. It will be difficult to arrange. It will be a gamble in action. But if it works… I may just save Thedas better than was ever possible in the game. Or I may damn it to something worse.

"Maker guide me…" I murmur, rubbing my forehead with my palm and sighing deeply. "At least we have plenty of time to consider it…"

A month and a half. Full stop and no debate, the Chantry will present themselves and a public announcement in Val Royeaux in six weeks, give or take a few days. It is, from the Hinterlands to Val Royeaux, a two week journey by caravan. Less than a week back to Haven. I have at least four weeks with which to do anything. It is oddly liberating; now I have time to set things right here, and perhaps elsewhere as well. After Val Royeaux, things will truly begin to move; allies will be gained, enemies opposed, factions will shake off the rust and begin to plot and plan.

Until then, the Hinterlands.

"So, Kid, what's the plot now?" Varric asks me, leaning against a narrow fir tree with a lazy grin on his face. "We headed back to Haven?"

"Not yet." I shake my head, looking at a tired Lysette sitting beneath the same tree, her shield leaned up beside her and her sword in her lap as she oils it. "There's a whole heap of things to be done here first. The mages from before told us where the Apostate base is. I want to try and find where the rogue Templars are camped as well."

"So we're going asshole-hunting?" Varric shrugs, pushing off the tree. "Alright, works for me. I wouldn't mind sticking around these parts a little longer."

Lysette stands as well, sheathing her shortsword and hefting her shield on her arm. My trusty blade is still by my side, freshly cleaned as I spoke to the Mother. I couldn't help myself; talking to authority figures I don't know leaves me jittery. I need something to do with my hands. Cleaning my weapon seemed a reasonable way to occupy my idle hands.

We review what little we know as we walk. The apostates are in the Witchwood, on the northern edge of the Hinterlands. But the Templars are off to the south. I know they're camped by a river somewhere, the issue being that I can recall which river or in what direction we must go. The Hinterlands are a place criss-crossed with rivers stretching over one another in all directions; flowing freely from the lake above the crossroads into the valley below, feeding a tributary near Redcliffe at the edge of another, greater lake. Which of these hides the Templars?

"Perhaps our scouts saw something," I posit, before looking around the bustle of the crossroads as the Inquisition makes camp. "Though ten gold to the first of us to find one with the time to talk."

"I'll take that bet," Varric says, looking up at me. "Give me five minutes and I'll find something to go off. You two kids relax for a minute, alright?"

Before either Lysette or I can protest, he takes off away from us, towards the side path that leads to the overlook above the crossroads. I don't doubt his chances; he seems able to strike up a casual conversation with just about anybody. Lysette watches him go with a frown, before leaning back against the tree with a sigh. I join her under its wide branches, appreciative of the shade and quiet.

"I do not understand him." Lysette's voice comes in a sudden interjection, and I start a little as I look at her. "He speaks so easily, as if words were just breath. How does he not run out of things to say?"

"Practice?" I offer, and she looks at me with her sharp blue eyes.

"Perhaps," she says, before leaning in closer to me. "You seem much better at keeping up with him than I am. Do you share his secret?"

"I enjoy his company," I raise open hands as if to protect myself, and she chuckles, pulling back. "Besides, it's usually him who's talking. I just listen as best I can and interject when I think I've something clever to say."

Lysette considers my words, before looking over at the rise. We can't see him, but no doubt he's already found his mark. That would be good, if I had ten gold to pay. Looting corpses seems a little odd a practice when one is trying to restore order to a world gone mad, and I haven't had the courage to try it yet. I have seen our other soldiers picking through bags and pockets in the aftermath of our victory here, though, so perhaps I might give it a try later.

We remain in quiet, Lysette and I, for a few long minutes as we await our dwarven friend's return. She braces her shield back on the ground, leaning against it with one elbow atop it and her other hand on her hip, head bowed. It's a curious pose. I elect to sit in the shade, relaxing a little as ordered by Varric and enjoying my first moment's rest of the day. I rest my sheathed sword across my lap and lean against the sturdy bark of the tree's weathered trunk, letting a soft sigh escape me as my eyes slip shut.

"-id?" I startle awake with a grunt, jerking forward and forcing Varric to nimbly backstep so I don't nail him in the nose with my forehead. "Whoa! Good morning!"

I look around. The sun's barely moved in the sky, Lysette's smirking at me and I still feel a little groggy. Beck thrums warm around my arm, but if we spoke while I slept I remember nothing of it. Varric grins and offers me a hand which I take, standing up and restrapping my sword to my belt.

"Any luck?" I ask, swallowing back the fuzzy sensation in my mouth and shaking my head to clear the last cobwebs of that short sleep from my mind.

"Scout Harding says the Templars seem to mostly be pushing from the western road, with Apostates coming from the north." he confirms what I suspected I knew, before frowning. "Only issue is, it's open farmland that way, and the place is crawling with both groups. Trying to fight our way through would get us swarmed."

Lysette scoffs quietly, but I shake my head. Three apostates was trouble enough, and our prior victory here saw us marching with a dozen other soldiers. If it is to be only the three of us on this march, without a mage to support…

"We'll go quietly, around the southern edge." I declare, nodding. "If the Templars come from the west, and the Apostates the north, approaching from south-east will take us around the bulk of their forces. The Templars are likely set up near a water source."

"In this heat, they would need a cave to store their Lyrium," Lysette notes. "Or somewhere particularly damp."

"A waterfall, maybe…" I wonder aloud, remembering vague memories of this sidequest from Marcus' time playing.

Varric watches us as we ponder, before turning to face east, arms crossed.

"Going quiet sounds like a nice break from all this marching." he says. "So, water source with a cave or waterfall. There's a river that intersects the western road. Maybe we ought to start there?"

Lysette and I agree with simultaneous statements of "Yes", before glancing sidelong at each other and cracking up in laughter. Varric watches us over his shoulder, rolling his eyes dramatically at our antics before pointing to the tunnel exit into the farmland.

"Let's get going then," he sighs, before we take off.

It's slow going at first, enjoying the cool temperature of the tunnel before returning to the hard Ferelden sun. This land is lush with life, but it's also achingly hot at midday, particularly now in the summer months. It isn't so harsh to me; the Dales are often hot and dry, but I can tell Lysette, used to the temperate climates of the northern Orlesian coast, is flagging somewhat. Varric doesn't seem to mind either way; his biggest issue is always the walking.

The tunnel exit beckons us back into the open light… and then into the ruin dealt upon the land. It's a visage of apocalypse in miniature, fires engulfing the fields and great jutting spars of ice raised like defiant fingers to the heavens. The charnel stink of the Templar and Apostate war fills our lungs as we take that first hesitant breath, and I gag a little. Smells of smoke from burning wood, vegetation and flesh alike fill the air, and the sound of buzzing flies and crackling flame drones and pops in our ears.

We set southwards, along the craggy rocks, moving low and quiet. The shrubbery here has been spared the worst of the conflict, still growing strong and defiant of fires both magic and mundane, and it provides a sturdy cover from the roving eyes of both factions. In the distance we hear shouting, a clash of blades, and a thunderclap as a bolt of lightning falls from a clear sky. The distant edifice of a Ferelden fort looms over the valley's north-western corner, though none of us know its name.

Travelling west is much harder than going south. We creep quietly through the sparse woodland, darting between groves of wizened fruit trees left abandoned by fearful farmers. It takes hours of daylight to traverse just a few kilometers, as we are forced by patrols of Templars and Apostates alike to move in fits and bursts. My waterskin, damn my foolishness, runs dry soon enough, but Lysette is kind enough to share. Varric just watches as we break for a drink, ducked low in a dry trench likely once used for irrigation, his eyes watching the farmland beyond with a keen hatred.

Lysette is running ragged at this point, her breath coming hard and quick, sweat running down her face in rivulets. The sun is brutal above us, a tyrant in a cloudless sky, the fires only serving to enhance its heat. Her armour is heavier than mine as well, a solid breastplate engraved with the head of a lion and similarly plated pauldrons, vambraces and greaves contrasting my own chain and leather. Varric's half-unbuttoned doublet is likely more pleasant in the heat than either of our armours, though I doubt either of us would willingly trade the protection of steel and leather for the comfort of wool and silk.

"We should find somewhere to break for the night," Varric declares after a few minutes of rest, slinking back away from the dusty edge and rejoining us at the trench's bottom. "There's a few farmhouses more intact than not about. We can duck into one of them for a rest."

"Might be some food left inside, if we're lucky," Lysette murmurs, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "And water. Shade would be nice too."

"I could use a bottle of something strong," Varric mutters, and I crack a weak grin at his admittance. "Got half of an Orlesian white in my bag, though."

"I have jerky." I offer. "I think it was beef, but I can't recall."

"All meat tastes the same once it's been turned to leather, Kid." Varric replies. "Pork, beef, horse or veal. Mmmm… veal."

Lysette licks her lips, and we sit in silence for a moment.

"So…" I break the silence. "Farmhouse?"

"More hut than house, but all's the same when you're…" Varric falls silent suddenly, and beckons for us to do the same.

Lysette and I both obey as the edge of a shadow falls across our shallow cover, moving slowly. I hear footsteps, enough for a single man. Varric reaches for Bianca, but Lysette silently puts a hand on his wrist, before gesturing to the mechanism. Varric nods, and Lysette reaches to her sword, sliding it free of its sheath with a whisper-quiet rasp of steel on leather. She then looks at her arms, covered in plate, and glances at me.

I hold out a hand, and she passes me the sword. Silently I crawl up the edge of the trench, peering over the top. A lone Templar stands above, an archer, his back to me. His bow is in his lap, fingers working to replace a broken string. He fumbles with it, before cursing quietly as the replacement falls from his hands. I swallow, before looking down at Lysette. She nods, encouraging.

I climb out of the trench. The sun is ahead of me, his shadow falling over my legs as I creep silently behind him. He hears nothing, still fumbling with the bowstring. His armour is chain and leather like my own, more leather than metal, however. His throat is a narrow slash of pale flesh between the brown of his jerkin and the dull iron of his open-faced helmet. I consider my course of action for but a moment.

Then, I grab his shoulder, wrenching him backwards. There is a moment, just a split second, where a hoarse cry escapes his lips, before Lysette's sword is buried five inches into his neck from the front, leaving him gurgling and choking on steel and blood. His body seizes up, fingers clasping helplessly at my wrist, eyes wide with horror. I meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry, brother." I whisper, and he falls back, dead.

I pull the sword free with a sickeningly wet sucking sound, cleaning it on the cloth about his waist. The blood streaks the clean white fabric with crimson, and I wipe until the blade is clean and all hints of my sin are gone from it. Then I look around again. He was alone, it seems, a bowman standing a solemn vigil. I leave him where he lay, slinking back to the trench and sliding down the dusty side.

At the bottom, Lysette accepts her sword with a wordless nod, and Varric places a hand on my back. I sigh, once, Beck thrumming gently again around my arm. Lysette checks her sword, wiping off a thin streak of red I missed, before sheathing it back at her side. Varric nods at both of us, once, before pointing further down the trench.

"Let's move." he whispers, and we both nod in agreement before following.

The sun finally begins to set as we creep out of the trench near the back of a small cluster of farming homes, a little hamlet along the southern edge. I don't remember it from Marcus' memories, but at this point I'm far too drained to care what is and isn't accurate. We move quietly around the edge of one of these squat, round huts, but it seems completely abandoned by its dwellers, and ignored by Templars and Apostates alike. Good. We could use the quiet.

A few minutes later, we're inside a hut and resting on rustic wooden chairs. I almost stop Lysette from making a fire, but Varric shakes his head.

"The Templars and Apostates have fires aplenty out there," he notes, peering out the window. "Not to mention all the smoke from the fields. Nobody'll notice one more plume in the air, especially not from a little hearth like this."

Lysette sets the fire going, pleasantly surprised by the remaining supply of firewood by the hearth. We are even more pleasantly surprised to find a small stock of cheese and bread alike in the pantry. It is on my journey to the kitchen, however, that I find something a little more interesting than food; a dagger, embedded in the door frame, with a scrap of paper still stuck at the end. I blink at the sight, before pulling the dagger free. The scrap of paper is tiny and ragged, likely all that remains of a note torn off the wall earlier. Odd…

I don't mention it to the others. Lysette looks about ready to doze off in her chair, and Varric and I make a quiet pact over a sparse but filling dinner of cheese and boiled jerky to give her the bed while we make do with blankets on the wooden floor. We share that bottle of wine, now lukewarm but still better tasting than any liquor I've had before, slightly sweet with a hint of some spice I can't be bothered to name. Lysette declares it 'acceptable', which I'm sure was intended to be less scathing than it sounded.

"So, now that we have some time to ourselves..." Varric begins, once dinner is polished off and we're all relaxing in our chairs around the warm fire. "I was wondering if you'd both let me ask a few questions."

"About what?" Lysette asks rather sharply, and Varric raises a hand defensively.

"Easy there, Kit, just wanted to know more about the two ex-Templars I've found myself travelling with," he declares. "I've only known one Templar before you two, and he was a bit of shit before he joined up. I like knowing the people I'll be fighting alongside. Besides, if I ever get a book out of this, it'll be good to have the inside scoop."

Lysette and I share a glance, before she sighs.

"My full name is Lysette du Montefort, second daughter of Raymond du Montefort, Marquis of Delisle Harbour." Lysette announces herself in a deadpan, as though imitating the crier at a feast or salon somewhere. "I was given to the Order when I was twelve to prove my family's devotion the Chant of Light, and served under Knight-Captain Rylen in the Montsimmard Circle."

"Markus Venier," I say, looking at Varric myself. "First son of… I-I'd rather not say."

I am overcome with that familiar shame of my origin, my hands tensing a little as I look into the dancing fire. For a moment I am back in Montsimmard, barely a day over four, hearing the Knight-Commander and Enchanters debate my future. I hear my own mother speak, I turn and run away, the Knight-brother behind me failing to catch me. I stare into the fire and remember for a long few moments, before a gentle hand touches my leg. I blink, looking up at Lysette, who herself is staring at me with worry in those blue eyes. I feel Beck move along my arm, softly reminding me of its presence.

"I-I'm sorry…" I murmur, wiping my damp eyes, telling myself that it's the brightness of the fire that brought tears to them. "I was… I grew up and joined the Order in Chanson, under Knight-Captain Sarker. Then… well, you know the story of the Conclave, and its aftermath."

"Yeah… damned mess that was." Varric murmurs, staring into the fire himself for a long moment. "Well, I suppose it's time I gave you two the tell-all about your favourite dwarf. Varric Tethras, son of Indrick and Valerica Tethras. My family were noble caste down in Orzammar for a while, until we got caught fixing provings. That lost us our honour, so we got kicked out. I was born in Kirkwall, and if it were up to me, I'd still be there. No offense to present company, of course."

He smiles at Lysette and I.

"None taken," I assure him. "I miss Chanson as well. Do you miss Montsimmard, Lysette?"

"No." she says, voice flat. "It was a miserable place, especially after the rebellion. It was an ill time to be a Templar in Montsimmard then."

"I can't imagine…" I nod, staring into the fire again. "In Chanson, the rebellion was a quiet thing. Most of the mages were afraid we would hurt them. But the Captain reminded us of our duty. There was argument, debate, a fight here or there. But little more than that."

"We lost the Knight-Commander the same day the vote was cast." Lysette replied, shaking her head. "His office erupted into flame. One of the apprentices tried to kill me in the halls. That was… that was the first time I had to kill anyone."

We sit in silence for a while, remembering our pasts. Still I return to that worst of days, when I was cast aside by Montsimmard and sent away to keep the peace. I remember and I am lost in the remembrance, my eyes shutting so slowly I don't even know I've fallen asleep until once more I wake.

There is a thunderous sound from outside, a crashing against the door, and a voice calls for us to open it. Someone calls me brother, and for a moment I wonder if I'm not dreaming as I flail around in the gloom, rising from the chair and nearly falling into the last embers of the fireplace. My hand grabs the hearth and I hold onto that to steady myself, as the door shakes again. The voice mocks me, declaring that I've made my last mistake. I'm almost baffled by how cliche he sounds, before I realize the world is growing brighter.

Fire. A small one, licking at the odd diamond-shaped window, filled not with glass but with slats of wood as somebody throws a torch inside. In an instant it occurs to me that this whole building is made of wood, and I pause in horror as the floor begins to char and burn.

"Kid!" Varric shouts, fumbling a bolt into Bianca as he emerges from within the kitchen. "The door!"

I rush it, circling around the slowly growing fire, and ram it with my shoulder. There is no give whatsoever, and when I push against it nothing comes of the effort. Its' jammed… no, I realize. Blocked. Something heavy, braced well to hold the door shut. I curse quietly, before turning. Varric's loaded his bolt, and he shouts to me to cover my ears.

Then he fires it at another of the windows, and I put my hands over my ears just in time to block out the sound of the small explosive at the bolt's end blows a hole in the wall the size of him. He shouts at me to move and I obey, Lysette stumbling out with her shield in one hand and her sword still in its sheath. She takes off after me as I run, jumping through the hole and nearly falling into that dry ditch from before. Lysette follows, ramming into me by accident, and we both go tumbling into the irrigation trench, still dusty as ever.

Fortunately, neither of us has our weapon out, so our fall doesn't end in impalement. She struggles to disentangle herself from me as we hear movement above us. She pulls herself off of me and I rise to my feet, seeing armoured legs standing at the edge of the trench. I look up to see Templars, two of them, swords in their hands. They don't attack, however, staring down at me, as surprised by my presence as I am by theirs.

Before they can realize we aren't Templars, however, one of them lurches forward, and I am forced to sidestep his falling corpse, a crossbow bolt jutting from his spinal column. His compatriot turns, but only makes it halfway around before a bolt catches him in the neck, sending him sprawling into the trench with the first. I climb out of the trench as Varric cocks Bianca again, loading another bolt, and Lysette climbs up after me with a groan.

"How many?" she asks, and I shake my head, still baffled by the situation. "Dammit. What was the man yelling about?"

"Something to do with his brother," Varric notes, walking toward us. "Come on. We need to get into the trees. I heard at least four more of them, and we won't have the element of surprise for long."

"We should stand." Lysette, argues. "We can take four traitors."

"And what about the friends they'll start calling for when they're losing?" Varric asks, shaking his head. "Too risky. We need to get out of here, right away."

"I agree with Varric," I add, Lysette turning on me with an angry scowl. "We can't seek a fight with half the rogue Templars, not now. This is meant to be a scouting mission."

"Ugh…" Lysette bites back a retort, before looking at Varric. "Fine. Lead on, dwarf."

"Touchy…" Varric murmurs, before sliding down one edge of the irrigation trench and climbing up the other end. "Come on!"

Lysette and I both jump the trench, following Varric into the woods as our former shelter burns behind us. Nobody immediately pursues, though I see a figure round the flaming structure and call out to someone else before I lose sight of them in the trees. We stay low in the bushes, moving quickly and quietly. Varric leads the way, occasionally coming to a stop for a moment or two to search for a path, before leading us on.

We carry on this way for at least an hour, until finally we come to a halt by a small pond in the woods. Varric signals us to stop, and then immediately drops down to one knee, before sliding into a more comfortable sitting position at the base of a tree.

"Should be enough distance," he says, before kicking off his boots. "Ugh. Leave it to the Templars to waste a perfectly good hut like that."

Lysette and I both stare at him for a moment, and he rolls his eyes.

"Present company excluded… again." he says, before laying Bianca down on the ground beside him. "You two should get some rest. Sun's probably up in a few hours, and we'll want to be moving when that happens."

I sit down heavily under my own tree, while Lysette stalks off to a further edge of the clearing from each of us, setting her shield down on the ground like a wall between us. I look at Varric, who shakes his head.

"Her pride's just stung a little, kid." he says, voice low. "Just let her ride it out. She doesn't seem like the kind who much likes running from a fight."

I don't bother dwelling on it for long. I'm tired, more than I think I've ever been, and once I lay my head down on the grass with one arm propped underneath it I'm out like a light, Beck's warmth around my wrist a reassuring feeling that helps lull me to an uneasy sleep.

AN: The Hinterlands are going to take a little while, though I hope I've made the place a little more interesting to those of you who have spent as many long hours traipsing through its woods and valleys as I have. As for the newcomers among you… well, I hope I've interested you, if you're still here. Have a lovely February, all.