Running On Empty: Ain't No Rest For The Wicked
It took us the rest of the day and all of the day after to hammer out the details. There was constant questions, from all sides, about my world, my people, my culture. I felt lame as an overridden horse, my throat cracked dry from the unending flow of conversation. My name remained the same since "Jaime" was not too hard to explain away. My last name was strange to them (I pointed out that Pentaghast and Montilyet were stranger) and it was changed to Welton. Close, I suppose. Made it less likely for me to forget it.
I was Jaime Welton. Orphaned at the young age of six (thus no memories of my parents), and grew up all along the coast of Ferelden (it helped explain my strange accent and that I couldn't remember any place specifically). I survived the Fifth Blight (whatever that was) under the care of the Chantry, but the building that housed me had been destroyed (thus no Mothers or Sisters to remember me). I was a free roamer, no friends or family, and being an orphan meant I had little to no skill for anything.
Essentially, a burden.
As to why I ended up at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the explanation goes that I was part of a mercenary group hired to protect the Divine. I still wasn't sure how they were going to pull that one off, but Cullen had been quick to assure me that in record time I would at least have a handle on how to use a maul effectively. We were few enough in forces and I showed enough of an understanding of the maul, that most soldiers were told that Cullen was refining my style and making me more of a warrior than a berserker.
Surprisingly, the troops took it without a second swallow. I was expecting some resistance to the story, sloppy as it was even with Leliana's careful picking, but they simply nodded their heads and obeyed. It must've had to do with the mark on my hand. Less and less that I believed it was something given to me of a higher power (throw me across worlds, sure, there were planets and galaxies in the sky, something else had to exist), but a divine hand coming down and delivering me here to these people? I don't think so. It didn't hurt anymore, at the very least.
It was a grueling three weeks. Every morning up at the crack of dawn, a hot broth and bread shoved into my hands, and I was marched out to the front gates of Haven. The Commander and his lieutenant stood at the front of our small collection of soldiers (me in the front line, oh god) and put us through our paces. Stretches, limbering us up for his torture, before we hiked on our armor and were forced to run. The lieutenant told me it was only a kilometer and a half, but goddamn it did feel more like I was going around the whole world.
From the running we dove into basic positions, holding shields, running with our weapons, learning to use them as an extension of the limb. I fumbled, I fumbled everywhere. I tripped and fell and rolled, knocking over whoever was my unfortunate partner that day. Half the time I practiced, the Commander wore a grimace on his face. Three weeks of jumping, running, lifting barrels, more running, push ups, even more jumping, climbing, pushing, pulling - oh what was that, someone pissed off the Commander? Ten more rounds - over and over again, and my days stated to blur together. Rest was rare, especially since the Commander seemed hell-bent on making me battle-ready at the turn of the day.
No way in hell it was just three weeks. My hands hurt and they were blistered. My feet had callouses around the heel and knuckles of my toes. My back ached and I felt like I had been put on a torture-stretcher and then forgotten about. Every night one or two of the soldiers took pity on me, taught me to take my boots off and put my feet in the snow, to hold a ball of it in my hands for the aches, and then taught me how to work the knots out myself. They were a blessing, the handful that would help me day in and day out.
It continued. Breakfast. Training. Lunch. Training. Sometimes I forgot dinner from my exhaustion and there were plenty of times I fell asleep on the shoulder of some sap who was too startled or too awe-struck to move once the Herald was dead to the world. Other times I fell asleep at the fireside by Varric's little set up, listening to his stories (which led to very weird dreams, would not recommend before bedtime). Many times I found myself back in my bed by morning with no recollection as to how I got there. I wasn't going to question it, because it meant questioning who was stripping me to my underclothes every night. Hopefully one of the female warriors.
Harritt was another blessing. He was studious and watched how I moved once I grew accustomed to his maul (or mine, rather, since he made it for me). He had been caring in making my armor (I found out) and took just as much care to make my weapons, sized and weighted for me. I loved him for it, because some nights he would let me sit in his makeshift forge area and watch him and his apprentices work. By the end of the month, Leliana finally approached me. I was slumped against a tent near where Cassandra was training, taking a break (read: escaping) from Commander Cullen's training. I moved to stand, but with a wave of her hand, Leliana had me stay and crouched with me.
"You must be exhausted." Leliana teased lightly. I snorted as she continued, "We've finally received word from Val Royeaux. Would you like some help getting to the War Room?"
"Short of carrying me?" I joked with a shake of my head. "Nah, don't worry about it, Leliana. I can do this."
"Truly?" Cassandra muttered as she stabbed her sword into the ground. "Last time you tried standing, you very nearly tumbled into the lake." I was up on my feet and following the ladies; Cullen was waved over from his post with his men and fell into march behind Cassandra. I was, for some reason, in the middle of our little parade.
"In my defense, I didn't know there was that spittoon nearby." I answered to Cassandra's scrunched face. Cullen laughed a bit, but I shot him a momentary glare. His men were the ones to put it there after all. Up over the stairs and across the courtyard to the church before we made our way to the War Room with Montilyet soon in attendance. With a blink, I noticed that they had cleared the table and placed two large, detailed maps labeled "Orlais" and the other "Ferelden." The Ferelden one I had seen and studied a bit since I had a need to know some handful of cities for my cover-up story.
The room was quiet for a long beat. What little heat the candles provided had turned cold. My gaze flickered between the occupants of the room. The three heads of state, as I had designated them, stood before me and Cassandra. Their eyes moved between each other, another silent discussion I was not privy to, and so thus I turned my attention to Cassandra.
"How is it?" She asked quietly with a look down to my hand. Worry crossed her face and I smiled as best I could for her.
"It doesn't hurt anymore." My answer was just as quiet, but I could see I had gained the Commander and Leliana's attentions. I swallowed and my fingers curled into my palm. "And it s-stopped spreading, so that's a step in the right direction."
Cassandra smiled lightly. "I suppose we take our victories where we can. What is important is that the mark is now stable, as is the Breach." I winced. The hell-hole that was The Breach, italicized and everything, still hung over our heads like a reaper's scythe. Despite all the trouble we had gone through to close it, demons still poured out of it. Not as many as before, but there were constant rotations of soldiers sent out to manage it.
"It has given us time." Cassandra was gentle. It was odd to hear it in her voice. I looked up and worry must have still been on my face. Her hand hesitated as if she was tempted to reach out to me, but instead continued, "Solas believes a second attempt - with more power - will seal it for good."
"Yes, but that requires the same amount of power that opened it in the first place." The Commander's rough cough interrupted us. Cassandra and I both turned to him, frowns marred on our faces. Leliana ducked her chin, amused.
Cassandra sighed. "It is not easy to come by, no, but this is why we are here now, to assess what is available to us." Lady Montilyet perked up from her end of the table, a sociable smile graced her face and she leaned toward our side of the table, quill and write-board in hand.
"Our messenger from Val Royeaux has brought word that the Chantry has denounced us." Lady Montilyet started. Her warm eyes turned to me and she frowned. "You, specifically, Herald. They are labeling you a usurper and heretic." I blinked, surprised by her matter-of-fact statement and deliverance. The woman did not mince words.
"Well that was fast." I joked. "It only took them a month."
"The world has been in chaos since the death of our Most Holy." Montilyet informed me, her quill waved through the air. "The Chantry has become frightened over the prospect of a Herald appearing in the wake of her death, and thus, the rest of us labeled heretics as well for harboring you."
"What do they expect?" I groused. I ran my thumb over my palm, the small callouses I had from riding had been overcome by the new ones developed with the use of my maul. "That I'm just going to charge forward with our merry band of misfits and annihilate them?"
"Technically," the Commander interrupted with a bit of a sour frown on his face, "You already have. The Temple of the Sacred Ashes was supposed to be a neutral zone for all parties to discuss peace, and yet..."
"And yet here I come, with a merry band of misfits from the explosion." I sighed, and then jostled a finger at the commander. "Don't do that, I don't like it when you're funny like that." The Commander snorted good-naturedly with a flush to his ears and I grinned. A few weeks of training together had loosened him up, and I was less of a burden and more of a wayward cadet in his eyes.
"Once we seal the Breach permanently, the relationships between the factions should improve." Cassandra figured, a toss of her two cents into the conversation. Montilyet shook her head and scribbled something down on her parchment.
"It would be impossible to proceed with our plan as neither the rebel mages or the Templars are willing to speak with us on the matter." Lady Montilyet harrumphed. I fought a smile. Leliana and the Commander shot haphazard looks toward each other. The Commander rose an inch or so higher in his stance while Leliana gave him a rueful smile.
"The rebel mages are still our best option." Leliana murmured, the words coming through from a long standing argument. "Magic opened this Breach, and it will close it."
"And I still disagree with you." The Commander intoned, shoulders stiff. "Magic is what got us into this mess. Templars were made to combat it and I believe they would help in keeping the situation from becoming even more disastrous. We need to seal the Breach, not let it grow." My spine had gone stiff as I listened to them; my eyebrows rose in alarm at how quickly I had lost any idea of what was happening.
"We need power, Commander." Cassandra interjected bravely. I glanced at her with a tight mouth. I was the only six year old at the adult table, watching my aunts and uncles argue over dinner. "With enough magic poured into that mark -"
"Might destroy us all." The Commander softly snapped. His gaze grew heated, "Or her, for that matter, since it's attached to her." I was torn between awe and amusement that the Commander would tack the statement on to the tail end of his argument. A hard swallow worked its way down my throat and I pulled my hand up lightly. The faint light of the mark blinked through my curled fingers.
The Commander huffed. "The Templars could suppress the Breach, weakening it so -"
"Pure speculation." Leliana rebuffed. The Commander snapped her with a pointed look and my face heated up with fear. I knew almost for certain that discourse would not come to blows (hell, Lady Montilyet seemed perfectly at ease with the other two heads of the hydra arguing), but that didn't mean the sight of it wasn't any less frightening. They were, essentially, powerhouses in their own ways.
"I was a Templar." The Commander was sharp. "I know what they're capable of doing."
Lady Montilyet sighed. "Even so. As I stated before, neither side is willing to parley with us, such as we are. With hostilities on either side, the Chantry's denouncement, and you," Lady Montilyet's warm gaze turned to me with a point of her quill, "An unknown - being labeled The Herald of Andraste - it has simply become too volatile for them to come forth."
"Are you serious?" I muttered darkly, my shoulders tight. "I would think that this hell-mouth sitting above our heads would be a bit more important that political grandstanding." My teeth ground together for a moment. I tried to keep my tongue in check, but several swears had taken residence in the back of my throat.
"Oh, they know it needs to be stopped." The Commander provided with mock-cheer. "They just don't believe we can be the ones to do it."
Lady Montilyet quirked a quick eyebrow. "The Chantry is telling everyone you will make it worse."
"Well... speculation." My mouth puckered momentarily. "None of us know what this thing does or who it works, aside from maybe Solas." The hydra heads at the other side of the table had finally gone quiet, their disputes nullified for the time being. A relieved sigh escaped me, but my spine tightened up again when I noticed Leliana's eyes on me.
"Yes, ma'am?" I inquired. This was a mistake, I should know better by now not to ask Leliana if she needed something. She always had plans, options, opportunities.
"There is something you can do." Leliana murmured thoughtfully. She raised her head toward me, gaze assessing. "There is a Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle, she is asking to speak with you."
I blinked. "What? Why? If she's with the Chantry, why would she want anything to do with us?"
"There are still some members of the Chantry who are willing to see reason." Leliana smirked briefly. "She's not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance in this matter would be invaluable."
I narrowed my eyes at Leliana. "When you say not far..."
- 0 -
"Best suited to recruit people, my ass." It was cold. There wasn't a single inch of snow anywhere on the ground but the Hinterlands was a giant flatland of spiteful, ice-down-your-ass temperature. The leather I wore only did so much to stave it off. Coats were generally out of the question when traveling in your armor, because apparently bandits and thieves were a real thing on these roads.
What the hell was this world?
The snow in Haven had been manageable. I was usually dashing from one place to another; say like, Varric's fire pit, the cabin I stayed in, the Chantry church that was warmed by standing barrels of fire, Solas' cabin was small enough to maintain a comfortable warmth and if I was stuck outside for extended periods of time, it was purely Commander Cullen's fault with his torturous training.
This here was making me livid. Where Haven was tight and compact and allowed for multiple escape routes from the cold, the Hinterlands offered nothing of the sort. The wind whipped through the narrowed pathways and over the flat ground like a train and snarled at anyone who didn't duck their head for protection. This was made worse by the fact that the Inquisition was low on supplies and animals.
We had met up with Scout Harding, with Varric making an off-handed comment about his book (one that I had tucked away in my rucksack, shh) but it passed over her head. Scout Harding seemed all business with only a spattering of humor in her words. Her tight-lipped warning had placed an unsettling scowl on Cassandra's face, as we had expected to retrieve the horses for the Inquisition without any trouble.
So much for that idea.
I was now stomping my unhappy ass toward the crossroads of the nearest settlement in search of Mother Giselle. Cassandra led the way toward the crossroads, as she was one of the few who knew her way around the area. Solas trailed behind me, quiet and observing of the nature around us (I resisted a jab at his stereotypical elf-like trait when I realized he would not understand the Tolkien reference), and Varric drew up the rear guard with Bianca resting on his back.
The wildlife scattered as we marched. Rams and fennecs and lizards bolted by our feet. The first few startled me. I was a city-girl, the closest I had ever come to wildlife of any kind aside from my brother's cat was at the local zoo where a falcon had nipped me and I ran for the car. Not the best of memories. Solas and Varric watched me with wide, wary eyes after my first jump when a fennec bounced out of a bush and hissed at me.
"... Are you alright there, sweetheart?" Varric was caught between laughter and concern. I shot him a glare over my shoulder, a blush heating under my cheeks and flushing to my ears.
"I a-am. Just surprised me, is all." I marched onward, ignoring Cassandra's annoyed look. Our path narrowed between two towering slabs of hillside and the echoes of singing blades and shouting shields came up from further along. Cassandra's boots bit into the ground as she sped up to reach the sounds of fighting.
"Mother Giselle is not far," Cassandra hissed. The rest of us were nipping at her shadow in an attempt to keep up. Despite my long month of training with Commander Cullen, I was nowhere near the control or speed of my viper, and I was in less armor that she was wearing. Either way, our group caught up and in the middle of the roads was a roaring fight between factions.
"Inquisition forces!" Cassandra brandished her sword and leapt into the fray. "They're trying to protect the refugees!"
I could hear Bianca click behind me, Varric held her firmly. "Looks like they could use a hand."
Solas' staff came away from his back and flared to life with a blue cackle. I swallowed hard and shifted in my boots, reaching over my shoulder to take my maul from my back. This would be the first time I used a weapon in battle with some actual knowledge behind what I was doing - that didn't mean it was going to go well, though.
I hadn't seen magic all that often in my month within this new world. The people closest to me were 'normal,' aside from Solas, who was an outcast on his own for being both elf and an apostate (I finally learned what that word meant). It was still just as startling as the wildlife to see white flames flash across the ground or shards of wicked ice blow into a tree.
Another hard swallow down my throat and I leapt in after them.
True to form, I had enough battleground awareness to at least keep my eyes open for immediate threats. I could practically hear the Commander shouting from behind my shoulder. Dodge, duck - roll! It was hard going for him to teach me, as he was more accustomed to a blade and shield than just a singular maul. Solas and Varric more than made up for my sorry lack of finesse with my weapon and Cassandra drew near to keep my back from being stabbed.
My maul crashed down on the leg of a stumbled mage and bile rose in my throat as his knee snapped like a twig. I may not have been particularly strong, my only musculature came from baseball and rock climbing, and those were not sports that required an immense amount of bulk, but the maul was made to take momentum and turn it into devastating force.
The only issue I had was control. A bolt of lightning came my way, but I was in mid-swing of my enormous hammer and the momentum that could snap a leg was now my downfall. Hence, Solas' presence. He caught sight of me and my flailing form out of the corner of his eye and whirled on his heel to bring a barrier down on my head.
The bolt hit and stung, but I wasn't electrocuted to a crisp, so there was that.
Cassandra leapt from my side and struck with all the force of a fanged beast, her shield knocking the staff to one side, and her sword coming down to break it. Always try to break their staff first, I could hear the Commander educate me, it's a rare thing for a mage to cast accurately from their hands in the heat of battle. Break it. Cassandra was well-versed in breaking things, her temper made her proficient.
The mage was soon dispatched and I licked the bile from the roof of my mouth as his head went rolling. Death was not easy, but there was a strange disassociation to it when it was a face that I didn't recognize or person out of sight and only their screams reached me.
It did not make it easier, not by a long shot. I'm surprised I didn't freeze mid-flight into this fight, but Varric had a way of urging me into moving. I had yet to decide if this was a good or bad thing. My throat was choked as I dodged another blow from a heavily armored knight, a Templar with a slick helmet and broad shoulders. My maul came up and twanged against his sword, knocking it back.
Varric's barrage of arrows sailed over my head with sharp whistles and herded the knight away from me, blocking his charge forward into my chest. Solas' spear of ice hissed angrily as it ripped into the ground near the knight's feet, once more knocking him further away. My eyes watered for some reason and blurred my vision; I desperately raised my weapon and stumbled forward, letting gravity take over and bring it down.
The helmet snapped off the shoulders with a wet click and I turned too fast away to see if the head had gone with it.
Silence rushed the crossroads, my heart slammed up under my tongue and fought for purchase amongst all the bile that had coated my throat. I don't know how much I swallowed back, but I was not about to throw up in front of my caretakers. What would Cassandra think? God, I didn't even want to imagine the disappointment on the Commander's face if my first outing came back with reports of, 'Famed Herald of Andraste has a weak stomach; Also we need new shoes.'
Right, that's fly over well. Fuck me.
I breathed deep and then could finally take stock of the world around me. A hand was on the small of my back and I looked up through my watery eyes to spy Varric standing next to me. It was his hand on my back and it rubbed along my spine as he spoke to Cassandra and Solas, watching. How embarrassing. I was twenty-six years old and being comforted like a sickly child.
"Back with us, sweetheart?" Varric was far too amused for having killed three or four men just now. I inhaled deeply through my nose since my mouth was preoccupied with holding back vomit. A nod was all I could manage and I exhaled roughly, my nostrils were Sahara dry.
"She'd been training for nearly a month." Cassandra growled. "I don't see why we still have this issue." My arms trembled and my knees shook in my crouched form. She was lucky I could swing the maul at all, lest of all aim it toward someone's head with the intent to kill them. I swallowed and brought my hands up to my face, breathing deep. Varric's hand on my back was a grounding rod for my turmoil.
"She's not you, Seeker." Solas gently reminded. "Your lady Herald is a gentle soul thrown into combat. Andraste only had a taste for battle because of how she was raised. Be mindful, yes?"
I was by no means a gentle soul. I cursed like a sailor and hand more than a handful of bar fights under my belt, but it came nothing close to watching someone's head cleanly pop off from their shoulders like a damn doll's head. I was thankful nonetheless, because Cassandra was left to huff and puff in silence. Varric was the only one of our group who wasn't totally aware of the truth of my predicament and for now, it would have to stay that way.
"Come on, sweetheart. Up you get." Varric tugged at my elbow and I stood up reflexively, aware that I looked like a mess. One more deep inhale and I swallowed back the contents of my stomach, proud not to have let any spill out. I shouldered my maul and carefully latched it back onto its holster; the weight of it soothed me, oddly.
Varric grinned up at me, "There she is. Ready to go?"
I nodded, wiping my chin. "I a-am. Thanks, Varric."
"Good." Cassandra commanded from the center of the crossroads. "Let us find Mother Giselle and move forward with our plans."
A heavy sigh escaped me, no rest for the wicked.
