**Edit 11-28-2015 I went back through this chapter and cleaned it up. I'll be rewriting chapter 3 soon.**

I would cross oceans of time to find you.

~Dracula (sort of)

The morning light announced itself by breaking through the curtains of The Inquisitor's room, pulling her from the Fade, and annoying her with its blatant cheeriness. She groaned and rolled over, shielding her eyes with long dark hair. She should be happy. Hero of Thedas. Inquisitor. Peacebringer, Slayer of Corypheus, Savior of the World. She groaned again. Bearer of Decrees, and Bringer of More Paperwork, more like, she thought as she snuggled herself deeper under the covers. After the end of the Mage-Templar conflict; once the rubble left in Corypheus's wake had cleared, Starling found herself in a holding pattern reminiscent of early retirement. The Inquisitor was slowly discovering that her job consisted mostly of sitting, schmoozing, and signatures when there weren't battles to fight or people to inspire. She didn't exactly hate it. When she fought the war, she'd wished nothing more than for it to be over. Now, she found herself nostalgic. She missed the pull of the Fade when casting a powerful spell; the anxious thrill of battle; even the endless marching in rain. She missed camp the most; and the songs and stories sang and told by firelight. She'd traveled more than she ever thought she would, even as a the Keeper's First. She worried she would grow soft.

In her new life at Skyhold, she tried to keep herself occupied, and for the first time since the murder of the divine at the enclave, Starling found herself trying to remember what she did before. She was born a talented mage to her clan, and was thrust into the Keeper's hands without really considering any alternative. Becoming the Keeper was her destiny, and the only thing she'd ever known. Who was I? It was then she realized, I was duty. I was everything that was expected of me. Now, for the first time, Starling should be truly free. Vir revas, the Way of Freedom. Her face flushed at the memory of her first journey to Skyhold. It seemed so long ago; when Solas had learned the truth of her name. He held her face in his hands and whispered those words. His eyes, mysteriously intense; his fingers, tingling with magic. He thought it suited her. She felt a tremor in her core at the memory of his touch and the feeling of his breath on her skin. Her body reacted; breasts swelling and skin prickling in familiar anticipation. She groaned again and shook the memory away, dismissing the notion.

The first few months were a whirlwind, as The Herald and The Inquisition traveled the continent in a parade of drinking and song, proclaiming that the world had been saved. After meeting again with the king of Ferelden, the empress of Orlais, and many common-folk and lords in between, she and what remained of The Inquisition returned to Skyhold to oversee rebuilding and maintain the peace by day. By night, plagued with unanswered questions, Starling honed her dream walking. She read everything she could about latent energies, Somniari, and connections through the Fade. She sent letters to universities and tasked Leliana to locate any knowledgeable mage for correspondence. Measuring the positions of the moon and stars, she regularly and dutifully traveled to the Valley of Sacred Ashes, the place where it all ended, in hopes to find some answers. Her trip with Thom had been her third. She wondered if it would be her last.

After rolling around in rebellion under the covers, Starling gingerly stepped out of bed. Her bare feet pressed into the thick rug and she wiggled her nubby toes before standing and giving her body a much needed stretch. She rinsed her mouth and dressed quickly in a loose blouse and soft woolen breeches, leaving her long hair wild. She headed down to the yard, flanked by two of Cullen's guards, Sir Percy and Sir Glenneth. Sir Percy was a broad shouldered boy, green but alert, and Sir Glenneth, a rough man no older than forty, with black stubble to match his black eyes. The latter's gruff demeanor reminded her slightly of Thom Rainier, which provided some comfort. After the defeat of Corypheus, and the exodus of several of their fiercest and most loyal companions, Cullen's vigil over her was more tenacious than ever. The guard had at least doubled, and there was no more slipping away from them. Though she still tried.

Starling didn't prefer to train so early, but the sitting and schmoozing parts of her duties were required today. The day would begin with a Chantry service, to which Josephine insisted she attend, and then she would meet with a few minor lords, ladies, and diplomats from several countries. Next, came the Inquisitor's Audience, where she would hear from pilgrims all over Thedas. A few came to wish her well. A majority, however, traveled to share grievances, beg for her to solve their disputes, or requested the aid of The Inquisition. Sitting on a throne, arbitrating between farmers who stole each other's pigs was not her idea of a grand time, though she supposed it could be worse.

When she approached the yard, she felt a slight lump in her throat as she saw a large woman in training-mail familiarly hacking away at a wooden target dummy. Could it be? Starling's face lit up with a wide grin, and her legs quickened, unable to carry her fast enough. Suddenly, the woman looked up and stared at the Herald through unfamiliar slate-colored eyes. Oh. Starling tried to hide her disappointment and gave a brief nod in greeting. Starling missed her friend.

As a majority of her companions left The Inquisition, the few who stayed provided a welcome respite. Cole still wandered Skyhold freely, helping in his way and keeping Varric company. Varric was ... different ... after everything. A rift had opened briefly between them after he lost his best friend, Hawke. At first, Varric blamed Starling. However, his forgiveness came quick as he cried into a bottle for days. Starling had never seen him so despondent, and her eyes pricked with tears just thinking of the memory. The silvery hair and grey eyes flashed as the brave human mage brandished her staff menacingly, simultaneously defying and accepting her fate."I'm sorry, Fenris." The sound of her voice echoed through Starling's mind. Starling frowned as she stepped into the yard, readying her own stave. Varric never spoke of it. Starling felt guilty, for though The Inquisition had written Hawke's family, Starling had not thought to inquire after any of them. She heard Hawke had a brother in the Templars in Kirkwall. She made a mental note to ask Cullen his whereabouts.

She trained hard, and before long, several bystanders had gathered to watch. Wide eyed children clung to their parents skirts as Starling swung her staff against the wooden target dummy mercilessly. A group of travelers, dressed in hoods and finery of Tevinter, eyed her impassively, and a crowd of a Ferelden lord's bannermen slowed as they walked by, sizing her up.

"Please give The Herald some privacy," she heard the green boy guard, Sir Percy, say to the growing crowd. Starling stopped. She'd had enough of them gawking anyway.

"It's fine, Sir Percy, thank you," she called out to him between breaths. She smiled at the milling crowds, taking a moment to run a kerchief on her damp forehead. Sir Percy nodded and stepped back again, allowing her to venture to the fence to talk to her visitors. One of the children was a young girl, whose dark hair reminded her of a child she couldn't save; a child from nightmares that seemed so long ago. She stopped to speak with them for a few minutes and exchanged simple pleasantries. Soon enough, several Inquisition guards stepped forward to escort her back to the castle. She felt a twinge of sadness as she was lead away. I should be with them. I should be out there, helping; not crammed up in this damned castle. Skyhold was slowly devolving into yet another prison.

She found herself back in her quarters, alone. Her attendant, Nissa, she presumed, had placed a formal outfit on the bed for the day. Starling sponged herself off and stood, naked in her room, staring into the mirror.

You could have anything you want, anyone you want, and you choose a dream. She saw the way some men and women looked at her. People who would have never given her the time of day when she was just The Keeper's first, practically swooned at her feet. She was a hero; a celebrity; a bright light in the darkness; larger than life and not uncomely with wide expressive eyes and a youthful smattering of freckles on her bare elven face. She was a political goldmine; the current catch of all Thedas, a fact that Josie reminded her nearly every day. And still, he left. Starling approached the mirror of her vanity. She sat and brushed her dark hair, which had grown quite long over the past few years, though she still kept it shaved partially on one side. A small homage to her clan; to those she left behind. She watched the brush separate and tame the wild tangles, and her mind wandered to the place it often did when she was alone.

She'd tell herself that she held no romantic fantasies about him. No true plans of bonding or choosing him as her life mate. Her feelings, though strong, were practical. She hadn't known how long it would last, so she made sure to appreciate every day. And she knew in her heart that he felt the same. And still, he left. He abandoned her, leaving nothing but a cloak and some paintings. No warning; no explanation given. She was angry and crushed when Solas ended it with her romantically, but she always thought there would be an answer; some kind of reason; a reconciliation that they would work through. After the fall of Corypheus, she was shocked to find him gone, for they had been friends first, and she'd hoped to remain so.

It had been six months, but she could still sometimes smell him on the wind. At first, it was surprisingly easy. Her travels after the fall of Corypheus did not leave much time for naval gazing. Starling kept herself busy and employed tactics recommended by everyone she knew; drinking too much, not drinking enough, training too hard, reading books; burning certain other books; taking others to her bed for casual dalliances. The more recent diplomatic holding pattern allowed for more leisure time, and, in turn, reminded her of all she lost. On particularly lonely nights, she'd find herself ransacking her armoire for the cloak she'd secretly stored away. It was simple, soft, and grey in color. She would wrestle it free from a drawer and drape it about her small frame. She'd then collapse on the bed, stare at the ceiling, and inhale the faint scent of him; the only physical reminder.

In dreams, the soft timbre of his voice echoed in the Fade. At first, she'd tried to find him while dreaming in Skyhold, searching the pages of the Fade for his dream space. It was of no use, yet she could not rid his memory from this place. It was as if Solas was the lord of the castle, and she; merely a guest. He'd filled the walls with art, and she could not deny the empty room he left in her heart. He belongs here, and I do not. She set the brush down and gazed at her own reflection. Her hands absently grazed the thin freckled skin around her eye where her vallaslin used to dance. I belonged with them. But no longer. She was barefaced now, a flat ear. He had given her a gift in one hand and smashed her heart with the other. And to rub the salt in the wound, he abandoned them all with no warning. Some gift, she thought sarcastically. After a time, her anger subsided, but gave way to despair and incredulity. Starling felt a large sigh escape her lungs. She had moped for too long. Now, it was time to wake up.

Starling buttoned up the dark red top emblazoned with the golden eye of the Chantry. Then, she sat down on the bed, and slid her legs into the breeches. After pulling them up and tying them around her waist, she gazed into the mirror again. A practiced hand lined the rims of her eyelids with black kohl and gave her hair a final fluff. It is time to go. Wake up!

The Chantry service passed quickly, despite the droning of the Revered Mother. As did her morning meeting. She dined on a late breakfast with two Ferelden lords whose names she forgot immediately after meeting them. Luckily, Josephine played an excellent hostess, and Starling hardly had to speak three full sentences. From there, her guards escorted her to the hall, where the throne waited. The doors thundered open as she entered. She ceilings of the throne room vaulted to arches, and the murmur of voices echoed throughout the cavernous space. Her indigo green eyes scanned over the large crowd that had already gathered, stopping at her adviser, Josephine. Josie's dark hair was smooth and pinned up, and she was armed with her trademark candle-board and a quill. She gave a quick bowing motion in greeting to Starling, who approached her.

"They are eager to speak with you, Lady Inquisitor," Josephine said loudly in formality. Starling nodded in response and her feet turned leaden as she shifted her gaze to the throne. "The Red Seat," as Cole called it, was tall and oaken carved; upholstered with soft crimson dupione and topped with the golden star of the Chantry. The perfect shemlen throne. Though it was hers, the initial sight of it always filled Starling with dread. It'll get easier, Freckle. You just have to remember who you are. The memory of Varric's advice floated through her mind. Who am I? She crossed in front of Josie to take a seat.

"How many?" Starling whispered out of the side of her mouth to the other. The murmuring quieted as she approached the chair, which had been modified to support her short stature.

"We scheduled fifty-three today," Josie said, not unsympathetically. Maker's balls, Starling thought. She repeated the number back to Josie, her dark-rimmed eyes widening in horror. Josephine just smiled. Starling reluctantly lowered herself onto the throne, resigned to her fate.

"May I present Sir Gwendolyn Pierce and Sir Roderick Stanton," Josephine announced, as two armored humans stepped forward and bowed. Starling settled in. It would be a long day.

The morning dragged into afternoon as she listened to families quarrel and offered Inquisition resources to aid a man's sick wife. The minutes crawled to hours as Starling smiled, listened, and attempted to make diplomatic choices. From the measure of the crowd, and the look of calm on Josie's face, Starling assumed she was doing well. There were many aspects of her Keeper training that benefited this leadership role. Despite the exhaustive process, Starling actually enjoyed this part of her job. It was the one way she could directly touch the lives of those she wanted to help. After quite some time, Josephine must have noticed their leader's fatigue. She stepped forward, and cleared her throat.

"It is now time for a br-" She began to announce, but her voice was cut off by the sounds of hubbub in the back of the throne room. Starling craned her neck to see over the line of people standing at the forefront. A man's voice, raised loudly in anger, echoed through the hall. The voice's owner, wrapped in a dark cloak, strode quickly through the crowd, pushing past those not fast enough to move out of his way. Starling looked around the hall, measuring the room. The Inquisition guards stood up straighter, their hands readying near their swords in anticipation. Josephine clutched her candle-board, and Starling sensed Cullen moving to her side, but she waved him back. The Inquisitor sat up in the throne, somewhat excited for a break in the drudgery. As the figure got closer, she noted his height. He stood half a head taller than the tallest man in the room, though his face and physique were shielded by a dark woolen cloak. She thought she heard the figure growl slightly as he approached. His pace slowed and he came to a halt about three meters from where she sat.

Starling tilted her head and remained calm, though she felt the hairs on her arms prickle as she readied her magic. Her eyes met his from beneath his cowl. After a moment that felt like an eternity, his gloved hand reached up to pull back the hood, revealing an elven face with long white hair and large, startling green eyes. Pointed ears peaked from beneath the straight locks, and his chin ended at a sharp point. His skin, sun-burnt and ruddy, and he was clad in simple but well-made clothes. She didn't know him. Despite his size, he would have looked the same as any other elf were it not for the appearance of white vallaslin that graced his chin, strafed down his neck, and disappeared beneath his tunic. It was not a pattern she recognized. He might have been handsome but for the furrow of his brow and the flaming fury in his eyes. His lips curled into a sneer as his steely gaze regarded The Inquisitor. This man wants to kill me, she realized. The room grew silent. She heard the soft footfalls of Cullen's soldiers as they each took steps forward. The man inhaled sharply.

"So, you're the one," his deep voice rasped. The elf lifted a black-booted foot to take one more stride toward her throne. He was very large for an elf, tall and lean, and his looming presence slightly intimidated her. Her instincts told her to flee, but instead, she casually crossed one leg over the other. She sensed Cullen tense behind her again.

"'The One' has such an eerie and fatalistic ring to it, wouldn't you say?" she responded, her eyes locked with his. "Most just call me Inquisitor, or Herald, or Her Inquisitorialness if you're feeling cheeky. You may call me Starling," she said, eyeing him with confident curiosity. The rashness of this man intrigued her. Attacking her here would surely be a death sentence for him. He may want to kill me, but he wants something else more. And anyone who wants something can be dealt with, or so Leliana liked to claim. The man stared at her, but if he was losing his nerve, it did not show.

"The one..." he continued, his voice growing louder. His pupils grew large and even more intense. "Who killed my wife!" he shouted; his voice reverberating through the hall. And then, quicker than a serpent striking a mouse, he rushed at her, his hand stretched outward as if to choke the life from her body. The strange tattoos glowed a piercing white. He moved faster than a man of his size ought to, but not fast enough. The room erupted into confusion. Before he could take two more steps, her guards were on him, and Cullen appeared at her side, sword drawn. They grabbed him by the arms and he struggled, wrestling. His tattoos pulsed as he hollered curses at her in... Tevinter? Who is this man?

"He tried to kill The Inquisitor!" she heard a man shout.

"Save her! Protect The Inquisitor!" She heard another respond. Most of the crowd spread away from the man and his mysterious light-show, but a few attendees with martial training stood close. Starling could see the anger on their faces at the lone elven attacker. This could get bad. She shifted her gaze back to the elf, who futilely struggled to reach her, even as a guard clasped manacles around his wrists. Starling then looked at Cullen, who still stood by her side, barking orders. In all the confusion, Starling did not see a small hooded figure break off from the rest, green eyes searching desperately. Starling also didn't see Varric enter the hall from a side room, take a look at the scene, and declare:

"Oh, shit."