It was hard to live anywhere in Ferelden without paying the Maker some sort of mind. Jadia had never seen Him with her own two eyes, and had spent most of her life content to mutter the Chant and seem appropriately devout, and then think nothing more of it.

Jadia's faith, what little there was, could likely be traced to her mother; the middle-aged woman was devout as any Sister, even though her pointed ears stopped her from taking any vows. It was the same woman who had sung the Chant of Light every night like a lullaby, who sang it now as she ran fingers through her daughter's hair.

"Ah!" Jadia hissed as her mother tugged a chunk of dried meat from her hair.

"Another one?" Her mother dipped her fingers in the bowl of water on the ground beside them, moistening Jadia's hair until the food slipped free. "Almost done, darling."

From the entrance of the sickhouse, Jadia's brother scoffed. "Serves her right, dipping her head in soup." Lorance was tall for an elf, and hardened by more labor and strife than was fair for a seventeen-year-old. He shared Jadia's red hair, and his green eyes were filled with bitterness.

"Hush." Their mother used more water to work out a bit of carrot. "Your sister was just a bit foolish; she was in the presence of Andraste's own chosen."

Lorance rolled his eyes. "Right, sure she was. Why are you even doing that for her, mother? You should be resting, not working."

Their mother frowned. "I'm pregnant, Lorance, not dying. I can do your hair later, if you wish."

"I didn't stick my head in soup." Lorance opened his mouth to continue, paused, then ducked away from the door as someone marched up to it from outside.

"Blast it." Through the doorway barged Adan, the apothecary-turned-reluctant-healer, with two bundles of herbs in one arm and a roll of scribbled paper in the other. "Jadia! Where are you? We're about to run completely out of elfroot."

"Coming, serah!" The young elven woman leaped out of her mother's hands, wincing as another bit of soup was pulled loose.

Adan found his little table, already piled to near-collapse with bottles, mortars and pestles and notebooks. "Clear this off. Those three soldiers in the corner―why aren't they moving?"

"They're sleeping, serah." Jadia made herself small as she dipped around Adan, trying to clear a place on the table.

"Don't touch that!" Adan snapped, though he did not name anything specific. "And that―be careful! Maker's breath, this is why apothecaries don't apprentice elves. There, finally."

Jadia managed to clear a space; Adan dropped his things onto the table with an irritated huff. He grabbed his mortar and pestle and a sprig of elfroot, along with a few other things, and crushed them together as he strode over to the soldiers' corner.

"What have they been doing?" Adan asked. "Has this one torn her bandages again? You, wake up―I need to look at your back."

Adan tapped one of the soldiers on the chest, then tugged her collar. The soldier jolted awake, crying out "No!" and trying to shield her face with the one good hand she had left.

Adan sighed impatiently. "It's me, you're in Haven, you're safe and there are no demons here. Roll over. Er, please."

Jadia knelt at the soldier's bedside. "I'll help you, serah. It's alright. We just have to check your dressings."

The soldier took in her surroundings, cringing when she met Adan's hard stare. With Jadia's help, the woman rolled onto her side so Adan could look at her back.

"Hmph." The apothecary unwound the old dressings, spreading a new poultice over the old. "Well, the burns haven't gotten worse. You've got to stop wriggling around in your sleep or the scars will be all gnarled."

"Sorry," the soldier murmured into Jadia's arms.

Behind the scene, Jadia's mother gasped.

"Mother," Lorance protested, "Stop moving so quickly."

"The Herald," their mother whispered. By the shuffling, it sounded like she was getting to her feet. "Son, be respectful. The Herald of Andraste, I… we are honored by your presence."

Jadia looked over her shoulder. In the doorway stood the same human man she'd attended in the morning―tall and thin, with a haggardness about him that even new clothes could not disguise. There was a weariness in his eye, but when his gaze fell on her mother the Herald yanked that weariness down and pulled on an embarrassed smile.

"No need for that, please." He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tangling to where it pulled into a ponytail. "I'm no more holy than yourself―and likely a good deal less."

"Who's that?" Adan finished his work on the poultice and turned. "Who―oh, you? Right, I'd heard you managed to wake up. That hole in the sky didn't kill you the second time, either?"

"Apparently not." The Herald padded through the sickhouse, running eyes over the walls, the bedrolls on hard dirt, the table stacked with mess. "When they said the healer's house was lacking in resources, I didn't realize it was this bad."

Adan harrumphed. "The healer's house is lacking a healer, first of all, so much that the only person manning it is an alchemist who happens to know how to make poultices." He wiped one hand on his robe and held it out. "Adan Weyler. I'm the one who kept you alive those three days you lay tossing with fever. Almost a miracle in itself that you survived, considering how bad it was―and how many people broke in trying to kill you."

"Oh?" The Herald tilted his head. "And how many was that?"

"Three in total. Only two of them managed to get inside."

"Well, I suppose I should be thanking you." The Herald caught sight of Jadia, then the soldier in her arms. "Those patients there―what are their injuries? How long have they been here?"

The Herald made a quick pace, kneeling down beside Jadia and the soldier. Behind him, Jadia's mother hovered near enough to stare but not so near as to get in the way.

"Burns, stabs and breaks," Adan answered, setting his tools back on the table. "All those lovely things that come with demons running around."

The Herald touched the patient's shoulder. "You've got the smell of elfroot on you, soldier. Bitter stuff, isn't it? I'm going to touch you to get a sense of your injuries. Is that alright?"

"You." The soldier's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "You're the one who brought me back to life."

The Herald blinked, then chuckled awkwardly. "Ah, you were one of the scouts in the mountain pass? I assure you, I did no such thing; your heart was still beating when I arrived."

"No, my sergeant told me." The soldier grabbed at her stomach. "My belly was open, my ribs showing and all my blood was on the ground, he said so."

"Well, he was definitely exaggerating―"

"What's all this nonsense?" Adan walked toward them, frowning. "Why are you all up in her business? She's got what she needs; leave her alone."

"This man brought me back to life, apothecary." The soldier put her good hand on Anders' chest. "He's holy, he is."

"No, I'm just a healer." The Herald put her hand firmly back at her side. "You were lucky and I got to you in time and I used a little magic to get some breath back in you, and that's all there is to it."

"Magic?" This caught Adan's interest. "You're a mage and a healer?"

"Yes, and that's all." The Herald took a steadying breath. "Now please, just let me check you. No insult meant to this healer here―"

"Apothecary," Adan corrected.

"―apothecary, but I'll see if I can't get this mended before dinner."

The soldier shifted much more eagerly than she had for Adan, allowing the Herald to examine her back. He unwrapped the bandages with swiftness and skill, frowning as the poultice peeled away.

"Not the worst I've seen," he murmured. "Deep breath."

The soldier took a massive gulp of air, and the Herald pressed his hand into the mess of her back. Before she could cry out, a blue light flashed from his fingers and sank into her flesh; her pained cry turned into a gasp.

Before their eyes, the burns healed by seconds what should have taken days. Skin emerged from the muscle, knitting together into an angry red scar that took up most of her back.

"I… I can breathe." The soldier took a deep inhale. "It doesn't―it doesn't hurt at all."

Jadia's mother bent her head and began muttering the Chant of Light under her breath. It made the Herald wince.

"Well, give me wheels and call me a wagon," Adan said. "I guess the Maker really does answer prayers."

"Not with me," the Herald stuttered. "I swear any mage with the same training could do as much; this was a very normal magical and medical treatment."

"I don't give a damn about that mark on your hand," Adan laughed. "I'm talking about an actual healer showing up to take over my job! If I get to walk away from this mess, I might just toss a coin to the Chantry on my way out."

"I…" The Herald looked at Adan, then at the old poultice that had peeled off the soldier. From his grimace, the poultice must not have been a good one. "I won't be staying here long. I'll be following the Seeker to the Hinterlands, and after that…"

"And after that you'll be coming back," Adan huffed. "You said you're a healer―you saw my poultice, right? That's me at my best. This building is me at my best. You'll be abandoning these people to the same level of care if you don't come back."

The Herald looked back at the soldier. "I'll need your information on resources. Patients. Illnesses and such."

"Too easy." Adan went to the table and snatched the pile of parchment, waving it in the air. "I make notes of everyone I treat, we've got a common cold running around Haven, and the resources we have is whatever you see in this Maker-forsaken little shack."

The Herald blinked, looking around. "This is it?"

"This is it. These two bundles here are the last elfroot in the entire village, and Commander Cullen certainly won't listen to me when I ask for someone to go look for more. But since you're the high and mighty chosen one of Andraste herself, I'm sure he'll bow to your every whim."

"Jadia." The Herald's voice was soft. "Are there any more blankets than these?"

"That's all there is, Herald," Jadia stuttered. "I'm so sorry."

"Careful there," Adan laughed. "The Herald might call down the Maker's wrath if you displease him."

"It's fine, it's alright. Maker's breath, please stop feeling guilty." The Herald settled the soldier on her back once more. "I'm going to have to look at your chest, soldier. Is that alright?"

"Already using his authority to take women's shirts off," Adan snickered. "What will he think of next?"

"Enough!" The entire room startled as Jadia's mother stepped between Adan and the Herald, eyes simmering with rage. "Your words are unworthy of everyone in this room, apothecary, including yourself. Even if you do not believe he is divinely chosen, you must at least believe he is a healer who can soothe these soldiers' wounds. Do not harass him."

"Mind your place, elf." Adan's eyes flashed, and he took one step toward her before Lorance got in front of him.

"Mind yours, apothecary," Lorance snarled.

"You know what? Fine." Adan spun on his heel, marching for the door. "Your Herald has already said he won't be staying, anyway. Don't worry, you're all welcome to come back once I'm in charge of this mess again. Enjoy yourselves until then."

Adan slipped out of the sickhouse, leaving behind a silence which prickled on Jadia's skin.

"Well. Ehm." The Herald cleared his throat. "Thank you. You really didn't have to."

"Yes, I did." Jadia's mother bowed her head. "My name is Hallana, and so long as I draw breath, you will not be disturbed."

"As long as you draw… no, listen, I appreciate the thought, but I'm really not what you think I am. You don't need to go promising your breath to anyone, especially when you're so far along with child. Just…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just please don't feel guilty on my account. It is… unjustified."

Hallana spread her hands. "The Maker's will is never unjustified."

The Herald muttered something under his breath, then turned to look after the next soldier. The other two had remained asleep through the entire ordeal; they were more pale than the first, their foreheads slick with sweat.

"These two look like they've got a fever," the Herald said. "Jadia, are you certain there are no blankets anywhere else in Haven?"

"Adan has been having me search every day for a week." Jadia looked to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"No, please, no sorrying, just stoke that fire in the corner and find a shovel; we can bury the coals in the dirt underneath to keep them warm. You, soldier, can you hear me?"

He stirred one of them awake; the soldier opened his eyes and murmured something unintelligible. The Herald skimmed hands over the man's body, finding bandages and splints and pulling clothes away to expose them. Jadia leapt to the makeshift firepit at the center of the building, stirring the embers.

"Jadia," the Herald called. "Is there clean water?"

"At once, Herald." Jadia dashed to the bucket beside the table, lugging the cold water over as quickly as she could without spilling it. "Right here, Herald."

"Thank you." The Herald unwrapped a dressing on his patient's thigh, exposing a gash which was oozing yellow pus.

"Infection," the Herald whispered. "Have you seen this before, Jadia? This is what happens when you don't clean a wound before you wrap it."

"I've seen it once or twice, Herald, but never that bad."

"I'll see if I can teach you how to do it properly before I leave. I'm assuming Adan wrapped this one."

"Yes, Herald."

"I can bring down his fever and clear the infection, but he'll still need looking after for awhile. I don't know if I can stay long enough to get them all back on their feet."

The Herald summoned magic to his fingertips and sent it sinking into the soldier's leg. The soldier gasped, struggled for a moment, then relaxed. He blinked several times, looked around, and his eyes landed on the Herald.

"What… what's happening?" asked the soldier.

"You're in Haven, and your wounds are being treated." The Herald summoned another round of magic. "You need to go back to sleep, if you can. We'll get something warmer for you in a little while."

"I saw you in the mountains," the soldier whispered.

The Herald sighed. "Yes, and I'm here to make sure everything stays alright. Get some rest."

The gash in the soldier's leg remained half-open, but was now clean of infection. Jadia darted to the table and returned with fresh bandages; the Herald nodded in thanks and wrapped the leg back up.

On to the next. The last soldier was sporting several broken ribs and a clawed torso, also oozing with infection.

"Do you see what I'm doing, Jadia?" The Herald's movements were exaggerated as he unwrapped the wounds. "Do you think you'd be able to do it on your own, if you had to?"

"I-I can try, my lord Herald."

"Lord Herald?" He shook his head. "Please, 'Herald' is already too much. I'm just an ordinary man with the strangest luck in Thedas, and I really need you to stop feeling so guilty, if at all possible. It's, er, distracting."

"No guilt at all, Herald, I swear it." Jadia bowed her head. "No insult, neither."

"You're not feeling any guilt?" The Herald tilted his head. "Oh, I suppose you're right. Who's doing it, then? I can hardly hear myself think."

He glanced around the room; Jadia followed his gaze, bewildered, as it landed eventually on Lorance. Her brother was standing at the farthest point of the sickhouse, staring at the wall, hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Oh. That's it, then." The Herald leaned close to Jadia, whispering, "That lad there, what's his name?"

"M-my brother Lorance, Herald."

"Thank you. Give me a moment."

The Herald returned to the final patient, spelling away the infection and half-closing the open wounds. He rewrapped them all in clean bandages, hushed the soldier back to sleep, and brushed his hands on his shirt. When all that was done, the Herald stood and pulled on a gentle smile. "Lorance?"

Lorance nearly jumped out of his skin, looking toward the Herald as a wounded rabbit might look toward a wolf. He opened his mouth and failed to find words.

"Lorance." The Herald took slow steps toward the young man, hunching to appear of equal height. "Listen, it's alright. Really."

Lorance continued working his mouth, but no sound came out. The Herald halted just outside of arm's reach.

"You weren't doing it for yourself," the human continued, "and it doesn't do any good to carry so much guilt. You fill the whole room with it. You did the best you could with what you knew, and you were trying to bring justice when everyone else seemed to be doing nothing."

A moment of silence passed, and then Lorance attempted to fall to his knees. The Herald caught him halfway, then lifted him forcibly back to his feet.

"Nope! We'll be having none of that." The Herald threw a friendly arm around the young man's shoulders, tight enough to prevent any thought of kneeling. "I'm just saying this as a man concerned about another man who did nothing wrong. No one knows your heart but the Maker, and the Maker knows you were trying to do the right thing."

"Is he in here?" someone called from outside. "Herald!"

The Herald sighed, shaking his head. "In here, Seeker."

The door of the sickhouse burst open, and through it strode Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. Jadia and her mother both bowed their heads; Lorance seemed too shaken to notice.

"The apothecary has some interesting things to say about you." The Seeker paused, surveying the scene. "What's going on here?"

"A patient," the Herald answered. "Nothing to worry about, he's just―"

"I tried to kill him," blurted Lorance.

Silence.

"I was the one they never caught breaking in." Lorance managed to slip the Herald's grasp and successfully fall to his knees. "I'm so sorry, Herald, I beg your forgiveness."

The Herald knelt next to him, failing to hide his visceral discomfort. "There there, look, I'm perfectly fine. The, uh… the Maker works in mysterious ways? Please get up."

"Should I be trying to defend you?" asked the Seeker, crossing her arms. "I assume he didn't mean he tried to kill you just now."

The Herald shook his head. "No, it was when everyone thought I blew up the Conclave, but he was honestly trying to do the right thing. You were halfway toward killing me yourself, weren't you? This boy's been punishing himself as if he actually did it."

"I… see." The Seeker looked to Lorance. "I don't suppose you are going to try again?"

"Maker as my witness, never!" Lorance would have bent his head into the floor if the Herald hadn't physically restrained him. "Forgive me, I beg you."

"Oh, my precious, foolish son." Jadia's mother bowed down, taking Lorance's face in her hands. "Haven't you heard him? The Herald of Andraste has already absolved you of your sins, and lain the Maker's forgiveness upon you."

The Herald blinked. "I've absolved…? Oh, for the love of―" He swallowed what he was about to say. "That's really. Not. What I meant. At all. Maker's breath―what do you want, Seeker?"

Seeker Pentaghast arched an eyebrow. "I was coming to confirm that you had indeed taken Adan's place in looking after the sick, and to ask if this new position might interfere with our trip to the Hinterlands."

"It won't." The Herald unwound himself from Lorance, returning to his feet. "Can you give me tonight to tend this place? All due respect to that apothecary―"

"Which isn't much at all," Seeker Pentaghast said.

"―but it's best I leave behind as much good as I can. Actually, come to think of it…"

The Herald looked at Jadia, sending ice through her veins.

"I'd like to bring her along, if that's alright. She's the apothecary's assistant, and I'll feel better about leaving if I know at least one person can dress a wound properly."

The Seeker considered this. "It is a dangerous road we will travel."

"I will protect her!" Lorance surged to his feet, pulling away from their mother. "I'll protect you too, Herald, with my life."

"You absolutely will not." The Herald's eyes turned hard. "No one is to die for me. And Jadia, this is your decision, too. We can protect you, but no one will order you to go into danger."

"I…" Jadia rubbed her hands together. "I'm no one special, Herald."

"Neither am I. We'll match."

"If it'll help, and if you're really leaving…" Jadia squared her shoulders. "Yes. I want to learn how to take care of others."

"And you." The Herald pointed at Lorance before the young man could say anything. "Your mother is heavily pregnant and needs someone at her side. You need to stay."

Lorance placed a fist over his heart. "At your word, Herald."

The Herald looked back to the Seeker. "When will we leave?"

"As you asked―you will have tonight." The Seeker turned, making for the door. "We leave tomorrow. Make sure you are ready."