Okay, this is a follow-up from Traveler's Chronicle: Inception. It takes place in the Dragon Age Universe, which I am a fan of. If you are not a fan of either Dragon Age or Gary Stu characters, leave now because that is what is going to happen.

I own nothing about this story nor do I make any money from it. I wish I could through , but I know I'd lose the case Bioware and EA would bring against me.


You know, some people think that reincarnating is incredible. And it is, but it's not always how you think it is. Sure there are many ideas about it, but they never quite come close enough to the actual experience. It's not always going to be you being made to relieve being born, and for your sake I sincerely hope it isn't. Feeling your own bones growing back is very uncomfortable. Becoming self-aware even more so and then the realization that the jelly-like substance you're in is actually a womb and then the even more horrifying realization of the fact that you are going to relive the experience of birth and actually remember it!

And then it happens! I'm not going to dive much further into it, but I will say that I actually prefer the other experiences over it despite that it is one of the nicer, and less painful ones.

Like this one for instance.

The person that I was born as here, in this world, was a man, thank goodness, no offense to women, I just always identified myself as male and never had a problem with that. It was a decent life I suppose, living as a trader. Not a particularly wealthy trader, but one of the more decent ones. Paying personal debts, reasonable prices, just trying to make a living without stepping on too many toes.

A simple life with simple honor.

The problem with this type of reincarnation, however, is that I did not immediately remember who I was and whatsmore any knowledge or abilities that my soul was imprinted with. You see, there are four general types of reincarnation that I have experienced. The first being the one I mentioned earlier with remembering everything right from the start. The second would be if I suddenly woke up one day and remembered everything. That's my most preferred one, particularly if it strikes me when I am young. The third way is when I gradually begin to remember over the course of my life. I have mixed feelings with this one as it can make things incredibly confusing.

The fourth is this one. The one where my current body needs a catalyst to for all intents and purposes break the shell of my current self to reveal my true self. Only then can I really get going and start doing things in earnest. This catalyst is varied though generally it is something unpleasant. To make matters worse, this catalyst can be anything from a smell to actual trauma of some kind.

At least I thought trauma was the last in line.

No. No, apparently death was something to include on that list too. Let me provide some background information first about this particular incarnation. My incarnation's name is Harkin of Kirkwall. Yes, as in Kirkwall of the Free Marches located in the world of Thedas, the Dragon Age Universe. This guy is not the most devout Andrastian, but he will still give penance and charity every now and then. That's not to say that he will not lie and cheat at cards at times, but overall, I'd say he is decent. Like my very first life, he has dark black hair and brown eyes, and not too bad to look at. Unlike my first life, he is very fit, lean and knows how to run fast. He has traveled to just about every civilized place in the Free Marches, but has managed to build himself up to trade in Orlais and Ferelden too.

Which is something big for him since he is an elf-blood. His mother was an elf, but his father... well he wasn't worth mentioning. Harkin and his small crew with a relatively small boat were heading to trade in Amaranthine coming from Cumberland. Unfortunately they ran afoul of a massive storm in the night. The winds and the waves were bad enough, but then lightning struck the mast of their ship. There was nothing they could do to prevent their ship from capsizing.

It was cold and dark, when Harkin died.

When I awoke, the darkness was illuminated by a powerful light all around me. The first thing that I felt were my lungs burning under the crushing weight of the raging sea. When I moved, some force pushed, or perhaps pulled me upwards. When I breached the surface of the ocean, I vomited out sea water and fought to stay afloat. My muscles burned underneath my cold skin while my lungs filled with precious air. I began to feel the rain pelting my face.

My eyes opened to a dark cloud sky, illuminated by flashes. The sound of crashing thunder finally registered to my ears. Had this been another time, I might have been comforted by these sounds, and even lulled to sleep by them.

But now was not the time.

I swiveled around in the water before spotting a shoreline. No crags, but it appeared rocky. It was my best chance to survive. I swam even as my muscles protested and screamed. The pain and sheer exhaustion forced me to go slowly, but through adrenaline and sheer will, I adapted. The waves pushed and pulled me, but I learned to ride them, let them carry me to where I could make landfall. Time blurred for me at this point, and I could not tell how long I had been treading water, but eventually I found myself on a shoreline of rock and sand. I crawled, arms numb, legs barely moving, but I eventually made it far enough to where the waves didn't reach my face before passing out from sheer exhaustion.


John, the man who was once Harkin of Kirkwall, awoke to the sounds of seagulls squawking. Shoulders stiff, he turned over, wincing in pain as his muscles protested. He opened his eyes to a clouded sky. It was still raining, he idly noted, but the storm had passed. He slowly got to his feet, his body resisting mildly making him grit his teeth. The bottom front teeth were a bit crooked, but the top were relatively straight, he noticed as he flicked his tongue over them.

At least his smile wouldn't be too bad.

He glanced down at the ground grabbing a handful of wet sand and smooth rock. John looked around taking stock where he landed as the bits of earth fell through his fingers. There were multiple shipwrecks of various sizes dotting the coastline along with hexagonal basalt columns poking out of the ocean and the cliffaces. In the distance he could see an island and further down the shoreline he could spot a massive familiar looking statue.

Dwarven ruins on the surface in Thedas.

On a coast that sees a lot of storms.

In Northern Ferelden if he had to guess.

He was on the Storm Coast, and... he turned to look back further inland just to be sure... at Storm's Solitude.

A cool breeze ran over him. It wasn't unpleasant, but then again he might have gone numb. It may be a good idea to get warm right now. John raised his right hand and concentrated. Flames erupted briefly before going out, making him grimace. Harkin had not been a mage, he knew that well enough from the memories of his latest incarnation. While John could say he had experience in using magic in previous lives, each magical system was somewhat different. Will was a component in every system, but some systems either focused on drawing the mana from outside sources, from within the caster, or a mix of the two with varying ratios. The magic of Thedas appeared to the third kind, but the magic from outside was painfully lacking, muffled.

Probably from the Veil if he had to make a guess. If it was this annoying to him, he couldn't imagine how Solas had felt.

He shook his head. There was no need to think about the Dread Wolf or the Evanuris at this point in time. John focused on the here and now. From Harkin's memories it was the year 9:29 Dragon. The month was... very ironic to him.

Solace... the seventh month of the year... the month he had been born in his original life. He was trying to remember the timeline, but the possibilities that he knew of were too numerous to make an exact one. From what knowledge he had floating in his head, Alistair should have been recruited or will be very soon. When he met the Warden, he had said he'd been part of the Grey Wardens for about six months. Assuming that all of the Origins happened in roughly the same amount time and with the fact that the Blight ended within a year of that time which is the year 9:31, it should mean that he had six months to get any money (coin, people use coin here) he could and then high-tail it out of this country along with any countries that immediately surrounded it. Perhaps he'll head to Rivain.

He wasn't a hero, and was under no obligation to save anyone.

It didn't matter what world he found himself in, who his family was or the laws of the land.

He was free to make his own choices. The Almighty said so to him the first, and only, time they met.

John turned around and began walking south, preparing to head either east or west at some point, probably once he hit the Imperial Highway. Going west would take him towards West Hill while going east would lead him to Highever. At that thought, the Couslands came to his mind. He idly wondered who the second child of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland was, his lips twitching as his train of thought continued. Were they a man or woman? Did they look as they did in the game? Was their name Aedan or Elissa? Or perhaps a different one entirely? That was the thing about the possibilities. They were enough to give you an idea, but not enough to guarantee it completely.

But... there were things that were constants. That always happened if one did not interfere or even in spite of interference. His lips fell back into a frown at that thought, the image his mind conjured as Castle Cousland burned, it's people who called it home slaughtered at the hands of evil men, one in particular, John now knew existed.

Arl Rendon Howe.

John's fingers dug into his palms at the thought of that monster. While he may have been entertained by Tim Curry in his original life, the man's voice did little to make Howe less of a monster to him especially since the Human Noble origin had been his favorite.

John shook his head. Any interference wouldn't matter on his part. The Couslands would still survive through Fergus and Howe would be killed by the Warden, whomever it would be. Duncan would find them and the Blight would be ended. Then the Mage-Templar War would start which was inevitable since the system the Chantry built was so flawed and so easy to abuse. Then Fen'Harel and Corypheus will show up then the Breach will happen and in each and every one of those things someone will rise and take care of it.

But then John stopped walking as he thought of what would happen if someone didn't or couldn't. Memories of the Darkspawn Chronicles came to the forefront of his mind. He shook his head again, banishing it. It wasn't likely to happen. Not with six potential recruits.

'One potential recruit who could die in the Joining.' A traitorous part of himself whispered in his head. Because he knew, when Duncan got his one recruit, none of the others would be saved. Cousland would die at Highever with their family, Tabris in the Arl of Denerim's dungeon, Aeducan in the Deep Roads for a crime they most likely didn't commit, Brosca starving to death in Carta cell, Marahiel dying of Corruption and the Magi either being sent to Aeonar or dying in Uldred's rebellion.

And if that one recruit failed the Joining, the Darkspawn Chronicles would happen.

Ferelden will fall to the Blight, and every who could have been saved would die, or face a fate worse than death. Thoughts of ghouls and broodmothers entered his thoughts

That was when the floodgates opened, and out poured the memories and knowledge of other people John would potentially be cosigning to death. Fergus's family, Landra, Iona, Dairren, Aldous and Mother Mallol, Ser Gilmore, several elven servants. All of Denerim including the Alienage. Rica and the rest of Orzammar, the Circle Mages and Templars.

All of these people exist now. All of them have their own lives filled with people who love them and few if any of them deserve such brutal deaths.

All of their deaths would be on him because of his inaction, and he would drown in their blood.

"Dammit!" He growled as he resumed his walking, bringing it up to brisk pace, "Dammit!"

This happened nearly every time he found himself in a world on the brink of collapse or trying to rebuild. He tells himself it is not his problem. That the problem will be taken care of by the hero. Better to look out for his own interests. Help someone along the way if he happens upon them. Then his damn conscious starts whispering to him. Telling him of what will happen should they fail, because every game-over screen he's ever gotten spelled that possibility out clearly.

He thought of his plan which was first to reach Highever, then to get a horse, by either working to buy one or steal one. John resolved to avoid the Couslands if they happened to be visiting the commoners. There was no point in going to them. He had no proof at all and would easily be accused of being a madman if not an apostate.

As far as he was aware there were only two people in this country who might believe him.

He wasn't going to go south on a goose hunt to find Flemeth's hut in Korcari Wilds, and he strongly doubted she'd do anything to help him even if he found her, or more likely she found him. The vessel of Mythal was too unpredictable to him.

That left his only other option: Duncan.

Duncan was the one person he believed he had a real chance to convince. John knew how Duncan became a Grey Warden, and anything related to the Blight, especially considering the man's history with the Architect who would accidentally unleash Urthemiel and kick-start the Fifth Blight would certainly catch his attention.

He just had to hope that Duncan would believe him and not kill him or worse, turn him into a Grey Warden.

John would not realize until the next day, while on the Imperial Highway, that the rain had stopped when he made his decision to help and the sunlight that peaked through the clouds pointed him east towards Highever.


A few days later, John had gotten into some trouble with bandits on the road and though it was inconvenient it had given him the opportunity to test his abilities.

The experience had been... enlightening to say the least.

Apparently, he had imprinted on some of Cole's empathic abilities. When the bandits had confronted him, John could... feel? Hear? Sense their malicious intentions in a way he had scarcely felt before. These men, and he used the word loosely, had been waiting all day for some traveler. Initiatially dismayed at not appearing wealthy or having anything, they figured they could have some 'fun' with what they assumed to be easy prey and had approached him with charismatic jovialness that belied their darker intentions.

John rectified that in a few short moments. With an unnatural strength and speed, John broke the first bandit's arm who had reached out at him before bodily tossing the screaming man at two of his compatriots who had come up behind him, stealing his dagger in the process. Channeling his mana, he followed that move by taking a knee and inscribing a Glyph of Repulsion on the ground underneath him. Experience from the Elder Scrolls Universe he'd been in had helped immeasurably as glyphs tended to be intricate.

He frowned as he took note of the bandits who were knocked back by the percussive force the glyph generated. It seemed to be a passable spell, but it was the bare minimum as the knowledge in his head told him that a truly powerful glyph knocked enemies back with three times the amount of force his did at over four times the range. John tsked at the thought of having to train.

"He's a bloody mage!" One of the bandits cried, bringing his attention to the man. If he remembered right, the southern half of Thedas had a religion, the Chantry, that more or less oppressed those with magic and would crush any who stood up to them with no mercy. John narrowed his eyes in distaste as he realized he'd been too eager to test his new powers. He needed to end this quickly. John channeled his magic inward to enhance his strength and speed before attacking the poor bandit, dagger finding purchase in the man's throat.

The warm blood that spurted onto his hand made something in John shudder, whether in disgust of the contact or the act, he was not sure. He had been in several worlds now and so was used to fighting and killing for survival. But he fought to remember that while sometimes necessary, killing was still a terrible thing to do. To devalue a life, even an unimportant one, said more about him than the bandits.

"Kill this fucker!" The nearest bandit shouted as he charged at John.

That was why he fought.

Such notions seem to fade away in the face of a world that seemed bent on killing you. The others were charging now as well. He took a sword from the bandit he just slew and raised both blades up in a ready stance. As soon as the nearest bandit came within range, he drew on his knowledge, took his sword and swiped it upon ground, sending dirt into his enemy's eyes. He blocked the blind jab that followed and riposted, sending his already bloody blade between the man's neck and shoulder.

'A fatal hit.' John mused as he took the now dead bandit's momentum and proceeded to use it to wrench his blade out of the corpse by twisting around and performing a whirlwind as the bandits closed in. Two managed to block the attack while one had been cut across the chest. The bandit was still alive, for the moment, as he screamed on the ground with a river of crimson beginning to flow from the newly opened wound on his chest. The last two attacked at the same time.

John blocked the one with the sword while kicking the one with a shield and mace right in the groin. Hard. The man made a wheezing squeak as he fell to his knees while John proceeded to attack the bandit he'd engaged with a flurry of blows. The man barely dodged the blows, getting nicked by the onslaught until John jumped back, putting distance between the two combatants. He raised his left hand towards the bandit, fingers outstretched while still holding the dagger, before closing it into a fist. The bandit began to seize and gasp before his torso began to compress inwards onto itself. With a cough of blood spurting from the man's mouth, the Crushing Prison spell released him to fall to the ground dead.

All that was left was the bandit John had kicked in the crotch and the one whose arm he had broken. Both men were shakely standing up, wincing and whimpering. John stared at them, calculating what to do.

"Given what you two and your friends were planning to do with me, I shouldn't let you live." John finally spoke, his voice was steady, devoid of emotion-a defense mechanism he employed to distance himself from the death he'd caused. The two bandits began to whimper in fear, eyes darting from their fellows to this monster who had come up their road. "But, I'm willing to be nice if you boys can help me."

"H-H-Help you?" The broken armed bandit replied, cradling his bent appendage.

"Yes, you boys have a camp, right? One filled with supplies, coin, perhaps a horse?" John questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Y-Yes." The other wheezed, voice high, "W-We'll take you to it."

"Oi!" The other hissed, "What are you doing?!"

"This guy just tore through us like we was nothin'. He's givin' us a chance to live! I'd rather lose some stuff over me life any day. What about you?" Broken arm grimaced before looking around at his dead fellows then to John before looking back at his one remaining friend.

"You have a point." He gritted out before turning back to John, "We have a camp, and supplies, even a couple of horses. You can have what you like just please spare us!"

"That seems very agreeable." John replied nodding, "Very well, lead me to your camp, but I'll warn you right now, no funny business. I catch even a hint of it and you two are dead."

The two did as ordered and led him to their camp which was just a ways from the road. As they limped, whimpering away, John kept both eyes on them while going over what he'd just done. He had experience in wielding two weapons before and using magic in combat even though it had been some time since the last world he'd been that enabled magic. He wasn't too surprised by his combat prowess given that he'd been in several horrible worlds like the Fallout Universe, the Far Cry Universe, and several similar ones. However he was noticeably slower than he had been in his past life, but still much faster than he'd expected. Harkin's body was still adjusting to the imprint of his soul, as all his past incarnations had done.

What was surprising however, was how easy it had been to break that bandit's arm and to further destroy them. While John knew that he had surprised them which hadn't really been necessary since they were, to use the game's terms, weak if not critters, his body shouldn't have been able to do that this soon. John noticed he did not feel particularly tired. His body felt as if he had just taken a nice little walk instead of going up against several bandits all fast and furious.

There was also his mana pool to consider as well. He used at least three spells that each demanded a sizable amount of mana. The Glyph of Repulsion while underpowered was an average spell, an excellent baseline to figure his magical reserves. Haste had increased his speed while Combat Magic was used to reinforce his strength with magic. The fact that he was still sustaining them combined with the obvious drain on mana made him aware of his reserves.

And he did not feel that they were anywhere near empty. The information from the games had Haste have a mana drain that varied from 30 to 60 points until Inquisition made it a super power. Since he was sustaining it, he could say it was doing the sixty point drain. Combat Magic, he remembered, had a fifty point drain. No mage he ever created in any playthrough could shoulder that right off the bat at least not until they were almost maxed out...

Oh...

John had played multiple playthroughs on all games. To add onto that, Dragon Age enabled control of companions too. If his soul imprint extended to them as well as ALL the playthroughs and assuming that each character he made was actually a different person despite what similarities they had...

He really needed to get a good look at what his potential was because it was looking like he could actually match the Evanuris on his own which was downright scary.

"M'lord?" John heard one of the bandits say and noticed that they had reached their camp. It was underneath a massive tree that grew over a large hill. The camp had several crates of supplies, a few horses, and multiple tents and sleeping bags strewn around an unlit campfire. His gaze snapped back to the bandits who were looking at him in mounting trepidation. John's eyes flickered to the bandit's broken arm.

It was time for another test.

"Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all." With a wave of his hands, a white mist of energy emanated and moved to ensnare the two bandits who tried to scream, but only yawned before falling to the ground in a fitful sleep. John finally let his guard down and released the two spells he had been keeping up. He kneeled beside the bandit whose arm he'd broken and studied the appendage noticing that it had been broken in two seperate places.

He took stock of his mana reserves slowly replenishing and proceeded to try his next spell. If it did not work it would tell something else about himself, but if it didn't... A pale blue light shown from his body before ethereal blue waves of it began emanating from his form and drifting over the two men. Where the one whom he'd kicked in the groin seemed to calm down significantly, the one whose arm he'd broken seemed to ease only a bit.

Then the man's arm began to set itself all on its own with several low cracks and grounding sounds. John watched in fascination, the spell wavering for just a second due to his surprise, as he watched broken bones underneath skin set themselves back into their original positions before the bandit began to sleep just as peacefully as the other. He let go of the spell as he checked for the injury before walking around the camp and collecting what he needed.

So he was a Spirit Healer as well. Was it an imprint from Wynne, or perhaps Anders, or even a Mage Hawke? But how would that even work? Spirit Healers were people who entered a sort of pairing with a spirit. The Healer channeled benevolent energy which the Spirit would provide. Both had to work together and be aware of each other. John knew he had not entered such a situation with a spirit so why was he one? Was a spirit helping him of its own accord?

He would need to figure it out later. He needed to get to Highever and then book passage to Denerim, assuming Highever had a port of some kind. John took over half the coin he found in the camp, a set of rough leather armor which fit loosely on him, some food, and a horse along with a short bow with a couple of arrows and the weapons he took off the bandits earlier.

It took him a couple more days to reach his destination on horseback. By the time Highever came in sight, the sun was beginning to set. John had hardly slept or ate which oddly enough did not bother him. Oh, he took a nap, but it only lasted a couple of hours and only took a few bites of some hard bread he had gotten from the bandits, but that was it. He was used to traveling long distances and spacing out meals, but he rarely ever spaced out his meals this long, and John never had not been hungry enough to eat a horse during those times. His body had not been trained for such things either. Sure Harkin had gone without food before, but the man ate something at least once a day. He hadn't gone without food since his younger years of building up his business.

He wondered why this was until he crested over a hill and spotted Highever village. John had always wondered what Highever had looked like, not the Terynir but the town itself. In many ways it mirrored the views of Redcliffe that he had seen through the games, but instead of the shores of Lake Calenhad it was the coast of the Waking Sea the village rested against. The size of the town exceeded that of Redcliffe Village and in fact reminded John more of the village of Crestwood he had seen in Inquisition. The town of Highever was big, with a marketplace in the center and it had levels of hovels and homes that moved up the banks and nearby hills along the coast. There was even a modest chantry near the marketplace. He could see the docks with several ships in port and the Alienage was somewhat further away on the outskirts of the town. Within a certain amount of time and under the right circumstances this place was poised to become a small city, possibly another Amaranthine.

John lightly nudged his horse to a lazy trot towards the village. As he approached, he looked up the hill and saw for the first time Castle Cousland. He'd long since known that Origins had not done any of the locations they presented of Thedas justice in only showing the bare minimum of what they actually looked like, but still. He could see why Howe coveted it. It was a beautiful fortress, but not as large as say Redcliffe itself. If anything it reminded him of Therinfal Redoubt.

Don't get him wrong. Out of all of the castles of Thedas, Vigil's Keep had been his favorite mostly because he could fully renovate it to hold off a darkspawn horde even without his character needing to be there. Then there was of course Skyhold. While Skyhold was indeed epic and could be renovated, it also felt painfully limited in a way. Yes, the Inquisition was young and had a bunch of operations on its plate, but John still remembered having enough resources to feasibly be able to get both an Infirmary and the Sparring Ring in addition to the other two upgrades.

Still, now that he thought about it, Vigil's Keep had been in a sorry state. While the darkspawn had done a massive amount of damage, John couldn't help but blame Howe for the state it had been in when the Warden-Commander arrived. Yes, Howe had been an Arl, not a Teryn with considerable influence and Loghain's own town of Gwaren was said to be in a bad state, but that was mainly due to the location. Howe had Amaranthine, the only city of Ferelden aside from Denerim. Built up from a small fishing village to the city it was now during the Orlesian Occupation, Amaranthine still saw a lot of business given its location and history. Before the fifth blight and the Architect, John was unaware of any problems that affected Amaranthine's trade aside from the smuggling operation within the city. Perhaps Howe was just a pisspoor lord, or perhaps there were other problems that affected his lands, or maybe it was both.

John was willing to bet on both. His attention came to the gates of the town which were wooden palisades, a common type of defensive structure in a medieval setting. Along both sides of the gate were banners that proudly bore the heraldry of the terynir in the form of two green spears crossed in front of a pale green raindrop.

"Halt! Who goes there?!" A voice boomed from behind the wall as a handful of well-armed men came out while one stood peering over the palisade. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the all too common question whenever he approached a civilized place in a medieval world.

"My name is John, traveler and tradesman. And your name?" He replied voice clear for all to hear, but not overly loud. There was no reason to shout. John noticed several of the guards murmuring as they in turn studied him. He must not have looked like much of a trader given his appearance of an armed man on a horse.

"I am Guard-Captain Richard Ford. You seem awfully out of place for a tradesman, John. Where are you from? Your accent certainly isn't Fereldan." The newly named Richard questioned quickly.

"I suppose I do appear odd, Serah Ford," John replied making a show of using the Marcher pronoun for someone or equal or lesser standing, though John doubted anyone here would recognize it, "I am originally from the City of Kirkwall in the Free Marches though I have done business in other cities along the coast of the Waking Sea and perhaps picked up a bit of an accent from them as well. I will admit to this being my first time in Ferelden." John dutifully ignored the whisper of a Marcher being in Highever. It shouldn't be that much of a surprise, but he supposed it was understandable. With locations like Amaranthine and Denerim further down and being seen as something akin to holy cities to pilgrims, Highever would look small despite its rich history of turning out legends such as Flemeth and Calenhad.

"How have you come to be here, err... Serah...John of Kirkwall?" John was somewhat pleased by the man's attempt at courtesy despite it not being a part of his culture. He always approved of others attempting to be civil on equal terms. It made the lie he was about to tell just a bit harder now, but not by much.

"I and few friends have a small trading business out of Kirkwall. Depending on the distance and cargo, we'll either go by land or sea. Most of the time it is luxury items such as food and wine, or resources such as herbs, clothes, and various metals. Sometimes we will get special requests to ship arms and armor or carry a message or passenger, but those of very few."

"You almost sound like a smuggling operation."

"Serah Ford," John's voice was noticeably colder, but no less clear and made every single man around straighten, "I will have you know that my business, while small has done no illegal activity beyond the occasional bribe. We may take many jobs, but we do not perform such risky operations. Over the last couple of years, we've branched out to other cities, even to Val Royeaux." Every single person seemed to tense at the name of Orlais' capital, while John continued, "But our latest charter had come from out of Cumberland: a few trade goods, mostly food and drink, oh, and a message to Denerim. We ran afoul of a storm several nights ago. I...I am all that's left of my crew while our ship and cargo is either at the bottom of the sea or washed ashore on the Storm Coast as I did."

"I see and where did you get the horse from if you were on a ship?"

"I came across a bandit camp on my journey here. I waited for them to leave and stole some things from their camp, including the horse." He replied gesturing to himself and the horse. This got a couple of chuckles out of a few people.

"What was the message?" Ford asked.

"I am sorry, but I'm afraid I cannot say. We're very serious when it comes to confidentiality, I in particular, and especially so when we have signed a contract over it." That did not make the lieutenant happy.

"Oh, you can't, eh? Then can you tell of whom you were supposed to meet in Denerim?" The guard-captain's voice had gotten an edge and John knew the man was suspicious of him.

"I understood that the cargo was meant to go to a merchant named Bonny Lem." John highly doubted a single person here knew the name of that fence so he saw no trouble in using it. He just hoped it didn't get back to anyone too important.

"And the message?" Ford was being really nosey about that. John sighed.

"It was to go to Warden-Commander Duncan of Ferelden's Grey Wardens." He stated bringing everyone up short. The whispers became a bit more understandable. A message to the Commander of the Grey? Why?

"Truly? I would think that the Grey Warden's would have their own messengers." Ford was still staring at him suspiciously. John shrugged his shoulders.

"I thought so too, but apparently it was a matter of urgency. The ones who gave the to us and signed the contract were clad in the traditional blue and silver of their order with the correct heraldry. Now my cargo, crew and ship may be lost, but I do still have the message and would like to complete my task. Now, Guard-Captain, can I charter a boat to either Denerim or Amaranthine from here or am I going to need to look elsewhere?" John's voice was one of finality and resignation. It was obvious to everyone he didn't want to be here and that he wanted to go home, and in spite of that he was still committed to his task. At least that was what he allowed them to perceive.

"If the matter was so urgent, why not use pigeon post? It would have saved both time and money."

"Aye," John nodded his head, "you are correct. And we did pose that same question. The wardens appeared to be concerned with the wrong people intercepting their pigeons. As for why they chose to use us as intermediaries, well, we have done business with them before and have always honored our word. Not to mention the fact that we're among a few who seem to honor the order instead of looking upon them as relics of a bygone age."

"You're very well worded, John of Kirkwall. I'd almost think you a nobleman with the way you talk."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Guard-Captain Ford. I grew up poor, but the Maker blessed me with friends who helped me learn as I grew up."

Ford continued to stare at him for a moment longer before nodding his head to the men, "Let him through." They cleared the front and allowed John's horse to trot forward. As he passed the gate, Captain Ford spoke to him, "I'm unsure of any ships leaving east. You will have to speak to Dockmaster Jacob on that. If not, you can rest and resupply in town at the general store run by a man named Raynard. There are two inns in town, one towards the dock while the other is towards the hill leading up to the castle. If you are looking to save some coin, I would suggest the Green Spears Inn run by Ellie down by the docks. It's not extravagant, but it'll provide a roof over your head. If you're looking to put your horse away for the night, however, you may wish to head for the Resting Laurels Inn closer to the castle."

"I understand. Thank you, Serah Ford. I'll be sure to check theme out." John called back as his horse continued into town.


Dockmaster Jacob was a no nonsense man when it came to his job. He was serious and direct which John had preferred. If he had to guess by the grey in the man's hair and the crusty skin broken by hard lines on the man's face Jacob was around his late fifties, maybe early sixties. Sadly, there were not any ships headed towards Denerim or even Amaranthine with the last having set sail the day before John arrived and none were due back until the following week. At least none that aren't directly in service to the Couslands so John was left with either somehow gaining the Couslands' trust to use their personal ship, or just resupply and keep going by land.

He didn't even consider it. John would stay a night, two at most, then continue onwards east towards Denerim. He estimated that it would take around four to six days to reach Denerim by horse. John really wished there had been a ship bound for either city as it would have taken him two or three days days at most.

He took a look at Green Spears Inn, but upon finding out that they had no stable due to many of their patrons being sailors, John went over to the more expensive part of town and checked the Resting Laurels Inn. It was much nicer than the Green Spears and had a stable where he could get his horse groomed, watered and fed. The owner and proprietor of the inn, Clive, told how much a single night would cost in addition to a meal and for his horse, John's eyebrows had raised just a bit. He was aware that prices differed in any place, but if the game was anything to go by, a drink and a hot meal was usually under a couple of silvers. Clive was asking for just under a sovereign.

John taken around three sovereigns from the bandits that he ran into a few days ago, but he wasn't in the habit of spending his wealth left and right. Now, coin, money, currency had more or less stopped mattering to John a couple of lifetimes ago. While an abundance of it provided some ease in whatever life he lived there were always ways around such obstacles. But there was no point in making things harder for himself and he drew the line at being robbed. When asked if there was no way to haggle it down, Clive merely smiled and said that he was not inclined to. Business had been slow, he said. The man then offered to include his barmaid, Susan into the deal if that would make it worth John's wile.

The Traveler took a moment to look at the barmaid while she was cleaning a nearby table, more out of curiosity than interest. With a man's eye, he studied her. Susan was pretty, he'd give her that, kind of stocky but not overly so. Curly blonde hair, freckles, rosy cheeks. Her eyes might have been blue or perhaps grey. A patron was leaving and said goodbye and she smiled at them before waving goodbye. She had good teeth for a woman in a medieval era, slightly yellow and mostly straight. His eyes roamed over her body. The dress she wore was a common one used by many woman he'd seen on his way to the inn. It was worn, sturdy, and practical while showing off her shoulders and collarbone while being held up by two leather straps. John's eyes trailed down to the modest bust that was straining against the fabric and could idly spot a few freckles leading further down into the dress. His gaze continued to wander down her figure, noting that she was curvy, with her waist being a reasonably thin, most likely due to a bodice or smothering, and she had moderately wide hips. From the angle he was situated from, he couldn't tell if her buttocks were round and plump or flat. He'd still be interested either way as he liked what he saw...

However, he couldn't. He was trying to follow a rule that he had imposed on himself since his last life: Do not have fun with a woman unless you are absolutely sure she took a contraceptive or you have one on hand. In his previous life, he had a series of drunken flings with several women over the years, and by the time he got involved in the crisis of what was meant to happen in that world, he found out he was the father of four children, all of whom had different mothers.

What made it worse was that he couldn't really be there for them. He wasn't a coward when it came to parenthood, and he genuinely wanted to do right by them, but you do not take children into war zones unless the war zone has come to them.

"It's tempting. Very tempting." He acknowledged while turning towards Clive, whose smile began to lessen, "But I'm afraid I must decline."

"Ah, married man? Or perhaps... women are not your type?" Clive's eyes gained glint to them, and John felt disgust coming from the man. Great he was one of those.

"Neither," John replied neutrally, withholding any anger he felt in perceiving Clive's emotions, "Just had a pregnancy scare recently and got out of it. Rather not tempt fate."

"Oh, I can understand that well enough. Very well, I suppose if you are truly adamant over it, I can shave a few silvers off." Clive replied with a suffering sigh.

"Much obliged, but would it be possible to have a warm bath here? And a razor? Trudging through the wilderness for days on end tends to make one filthy." John asked, depositing one sovereign on the bar in front of the man.

The bartender took it before grabbing a key and handing it over as he answered, "You can but that brings the price back up to one sovereign. Your room will be the third one on the right when you go upstairs."

"Alright then, I expect to find some hot water, a bar of soap, and something to shave with in my room." John said, taking the key before walking out to bring his horse to the nearby stable. The stable boy promised to take good care of his horse and that he'd be ready tomorrow. John then went back and waited for his meal, taking a seat at an empty table. As he waited for his food, he closed his eyes and focused on his thoughts.

He'd hardly eaten anything or drank anything in the past week yet he wasn't too hungry or thirsty. Why? Then there was the fact that he was apparently a spirit healer, had Cole's empathic powers, and for that matter he was just a bit tired despite not having slept much since his awakening. His feet hardly ached when he knew they should be practically barking after walking on foot in leather shoes and then ill-fitting boots for last couple of days.

Just what had his imprints turned him into upon his awakening? His thoughts spiraled into multiple possibilities involving him being an abomination, a spirit who became a human, and revenant of some kind before Susan showed up with his food. She placed a bowl of beef stew and a mug of water in front of him. He nodded in thanks and tipped her with a silver coin. She smiled and deliberately bent down low to pick up the coin giving John a nice view down her shirt before she went back to her duties. John didn't stop himself from watching her hips sway as she left. Well at least he knew her ass was nice and round now.

The fact that he was getting feelings of lust coming off of her only encouraged him.

From what he felt, she found him handsome in a wild sort of way, he was an mysterious stranger with an accent that added to the charm, and she had heard his conversation with Clive. John could tell she did not like Clive at all as he seemed to whore her out a few times. Susan liked the pay as Clive seemed to be fair with her wages, but that was about it. And she had nowhere else to go.

Plus, she hadn't shared a bed with a man in a while. She was starting to become frustrated.

Ripping his eyes away from her backside, and ignoring the aroused twitch in his trousers, John focused on his stew. Even if he wasn't hungry despite hardly eating anything over the last few days, he'd enjoy the taste if nothing else.


Some time later John was washing up in his room for the night. He'd taken the time to use the straight razor Clive had left inside the wash basin, cleaning up his facial hair into a neat beard and moustache combo with some stubble still remaining on his cheeks. His room was small, cozy, definitely meant for a couple of nights rest at most. John noticed that his body and muscles had become more defined than several days prior. He had a six pack already.

This was no true surprise as he'd seen this happen before with his incarnations, but it was interesting to see regardless. He got dressed and took the wash basin out to empty leaving it in a nearby pile of other washbins outside. When he returned to his room, he found Susan waiting at his door.

John studied her, trying to feel her out. His empathic abilities told him that she was here of her own volition. She was frustrated and horny, she found him attractive and he appeared decent to her, and the fact he seemed to be attracted to her helped. He would be leaving very soon anyway. He was perfect for a fling and...

She had taken her contraceptive tea and planned to take more in the morning if things go well.

That finally got a reaction from him as his trousers suddenly started to feel a bit too tight. His heart started race, its beat resembling a horse's full gallop. Apparently he hadn't been starved of food, water or sleep.

He'd been starved of sex given the reaction the mere thought of this happening gave him.

Susan noticed him as he approached and gave a coy smile.

"Good evening, Miss Susan." John replied, desperately trying to keep his voice level.

"Good evening, Master John." She replied in almost a pur.

"It's only John. No need for any title or honorific." Oh, she liked that, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"There is something that you can do," She practically purred, eyes roaming over him now as she sauntered up slowly, making his own eyes take in every movement of her body. "You see, it's awfully cold out tonight, and I do not have enough blankets to keep warm." She was at his ear, her full lips whispering hypnotically, "Do you think you can help me keep warm?"

Aw damn his pants were very tight right now.

"I'd be happy to help, if that's what you desire." He replied, voice steady but tense. Her perfume was so tantalizing at this range while her blue eyes were compelling.

"I do." She said voice velvet soft. He opened the door to his room and held it open for her.

"Ladies first."


An hour later they finished, gasping and panting for breath, sweaty and sticky in John's bed. Gone was the smell of her perfume, replaced by the musk of their coupling. They had started slow and steady, taking their time, kissing and groping each other, grinding against each other through their clothes before stripping one another down. Tentative touches gave way to light gasps and whimpers as John serviced her before she returned the favor by servicing him. Soon enough they took each other, on the floor, against the wall, against the window and finally on the bed. Their strangled moans and groans becoming a chorus of their passion.

There song eventually ended, with her on top of him in the bed, still joined together at her core. Susan was already dozing off while John was only now just starting to feel tired.

He gave a contented sigh and smiled to himself. At least tonight had been fun, tomorrow was when the real work started.


For those of you who were expecting to see a lemon, sorry, but FF has a strict policy regarding that. You will be able to find the uncensored version on Ao3 for the story under the same name later on.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

Please leave at least decent reviews with possible suggestion. Critiques are nice too so long as they're not hateful or flames. Such comments will be deleted the second I see them.