Right. Now, then. Focus. Laptop's functioning. Thank god. I haven't been stabbed, nor am I missing anything important. Well, body parts and possessions anyways. I think that my friends and family are- Nope, not going there.

Wait, I'm holding technology, technology that produces light and displays information with no discernible source, and the Templars haven't reacted... What the hell...

Wait... Oh, they can't see the screen... Although that's about to change since they're looking at it rather intently... and coming closer. Time to close it.

By the time I closed my laptop and placed it back into my backpack, the Templars were standing over me.

"Anything you want to know?" I ask as I zip up my backpack.

Ser Bryant nods. "Yes. I was wondering what that folding metal tablet was. Especially if it's valuable enough to spend that much money on. Also, how was it emitting light?"

Oh, ok that shouldn't be... Wait, what?

"Wait, what?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Well, the sun is behind us. And that device was casting a shadow..."

"On my lap, and it was not nearly as dark as it should have been." Wonderful.

"Also, it was blue."

"Of course it was... You're... taking this rather well."

Ser Bryant just gives me a look. "Young man, you are a non-magical human wearing clothes that clearly mark you as a foreigner who appeared from a tear in the Fade. To be quite honest, it would be more strange for you to be exactly like us. Also, we can detect magic, and there is nothing even remotely magical here. Unusual, certainly. But not magical."

I blink.

"That's... surprisingly tolerant of you..."

He looks offended. I raise my hands in a placating gesture as he opens his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend, but... well, from what I know, the Templars are known a bit more for their zeal for the Chantry than their..."

Again with the look. "Reason?"

A whining sound comes from my throat. "I wouldn't put it like that, but... kinda... ish?"

"Kinda-ish? What does that even mean?"

I blink for a moment before it hits me. "Right, common sayings don't exactly translate across cultures, much less ones that have not had contact in any form. Which just made me realize something. How the hell do we understand each other?"

I start pacing as Ser Bryant backs away a little. "I literally just crossed into what's effectively an alternate universe. Even if I ended up in what amounts to this world's analogue for England, there is no reason why I should be able to understand the language. Hell, the chances of me landing somewhere where the people speak perfect English, when there are literally hundreds of languages on Earth alone, are so astronomically small, it's ludicrous that things have worked out for me as well as they have. Granted, there are an infinite number of universes where people speak the same sort of English that I know, but compared to the infinite possibilities in the multiverse theory..."

Beat.

Now I have a headache. Wunderbar.

"Fuck it. I need a drink or a nap. Or both. In that order."

One of the helmeted Templars cough. I glance at him over the top of my glasses.

"Wha- Is that one of my boxers?"

The Templar is indeed holding up one of my boxers against the afternoon sun. "Boxers? Is that was this strange garment is called? Where do you wear it?"

"It's underwear," I spit through my teeth, a small part of my enjoying the sight of him flinching as he realizes the faux pas he just committed. "Kindly put. It. Down." Beat. "Not on the ground, back in the bag."

He seems eager to be rid of it. I stalk over to my bags, growling at the bastard as I pass by him, and proceed to pack up my stuff. Well, everything that the Templars took out. Which is practically everything except my clothes. Most of my clothes.

Fortunately, it doesn't take long to pack everything up. And then Bryant pips up.

"If you're done packing, let us go."

I blink. "Ok, great, go where?"

"Back to the Lothering Chantry."

That sounds vaguely ominous. Why does that sound vaguely ominous.

"Um... ok. So, by 'us', does that include me?"

"Yes."

I don't think I'm going to like where this is going.

"Um... Why?"

"Because we need you to stay in a place where we can keep an eye on you until we can muster a Templar escort to take you to Kinloch Hold."

It takes me a few seconds for me to realize exactly what he's talking about.

Oh hell no. I am not going to the Circle Tower.

"But you said I'm not a mage. Why are you sending me to the Circle?"

Given how the Templars' hands settled on their swords, that was probably the wrong thing to say.

"There is nothing magical about you that we can detect. That, however, does not mean there is nothing magical about you."

Well that's a bit of fucking troll logic.

"So, while you can't tell if I'm overtly magical, I'm being sent to the Tower in case I'm magical?"

"Effectively, yes."

Well, find me in the Alps, that's a bunch of bullshit.

"Oh, yeah. Brilliant plan. Hey, while you're at it, why not lock up everyone in Thedas. 이 바보 같은 놈아.*"

Oh, they did not like that. Although Bryant does seem to be the most patient of the three.

Probably why he's in charge.

"I did not mean that."

"Then what did you mean."

"I meant that you were an anomaly. We do not know much about you, and you did appear from the Fade. And while we Templars are trained to handle magical situations, the fact remains that the mages know more about magic than we do. And, as it was a mage who brought you here..."

"... it'll probably take a mage to send me back."

Huh. All things considered, that wasn't entirely unreasonable. Almost makes me feel bad for assuming the worst.

Almost. If it weren't for a few issues.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. To be honest, he was being rather polite, especially since I wasn't making it easy for him. The least I could do was be diplomatic.

"I can see where you're coming from. And I think that you honestly think that this is the best solution. Thing is, while you seem like an honorable guy, I don't trust your organization. The word Templar, or rather the phrase 'knight templar', is another way of saying fanatic where I come from. And while your organization is, in no way, related to the Knights Templar, what I've read has done little to present you as any different in terms of... devotion to your religion."

Bryant was definitely offended by that. "We are not all fanatics."

"No, but exceptions do not make the rule. And while you seem like a decent guy, the other two are a bit too eager at the bit. Although, to be fair, that isn't unusual in paramilitary organizations, now that I think about it."

"I assure you that Ser Levan and Ser Bernhardt are both honorable men."

"Their honor isn't in question. Their restraint is. And I'd like to remind you that Ser Bernhardt kicked me in the ribs."

I could feel his annoyance radiate from him, though whether it was directed at me or the Templar in question was anyone's guess. Probably both.

"I admit, he should not have done so. Just as I am pained to admit that not all at the tower would have your well-being in mind. However, I cannot simply allow you to roam around unguarded and unguided."

Just as I open my mouth to respond, he asks me something I hadn't even thought about.

"Do you have any money on you?"

My automatic answer of "Of course I do" dies in my throat as I realize that I don't. Rather, I don't have any money that anyone here in Ferelden would recognize.

Might as well ask.

"That depends. Does anyone take American dollars?"

"Pardon?"

I dig out my wallet and pull out a dollar. "This."

He takes it from my hand and holds it up to the sunlight. "Is this vellum? You use vellum as money?"

"No, it's paper. Cotton paper, to be exact. And it used to be backed by gold. Now, it represents a portion of the government debt."

"Your government... owes it's people money?"

I scoff. "It owes everyone money. I think it owes, what? Eighteen trillion dollars."

That got everyone's attention. "How..."

"How does it function? Or perhaps you want to ask how this happened? To answer the former, by borrowing more money. To answer the latter, well, military spending, public works, social programs that don't always work, an economic crisis, take your pick. But back on track, I take it that noone would take the paper."

He shakes his head. "No, they might buy it from you. A bit of a novelty item. Such fine images, and a masterful weave, if this is cloth as you say. And this portrait. Who is it?"

Huh. I hadn't considered that I could sell my money. Food for thought. "The man on the front is President George Washington. First President of the United States of America. He was the commanding general during the War for Independence. One of the nation's Founding Fathers."

"So, he was your king, then?"

"Not exactly. I'll explain later. Look, you had reason for asking me if I had any money. The answer is clearly no. Unless the coins I have count..."

"Coins? What kind?"

I sigh as I pull out a dollar, a quarter, a dime, a nickel, and a penny. "These. I'd tell you what they're worth, but that's time we're short on. Would any of these be accepted?"

He picks up the quarter. "Are any of these silver?"

"Nope, copper-nickel alloy. Penny's copper, though."

Technically copper-plated zinc, but they didn't need to know that.

Another Templar picks ups the penny. I blink for a moment when I realize that I hadn't noticed him approaching. "Remarkable. How do they engrave such a fine image onto these?"

I shrug. "Dunno. Not my field of expertise."

The Templar not holding a coin tilts his head. "Then what is your field of expertise?"

"I study history, economics, accounting, literature, and computer science. Going for an accounting degree. And maybe computer science. Look, we're burning daylight. Yes, I'm short on usable cash. Why bring it up?"

Ser Bryant hands me back my quarter. "Well, depending on how many of the copper ones you have, you might be able to buy yourself a meal, but that would be all. It is unlikely that you would be able to pay for a night at the inn. Nor do you possess a tent."

He didn't have to continue to make his point. "In other words, if I don't go with you, I probably won't be able to make it on my own."

He shakes his head. "It's far more likely that some brigand will murder you and loot your corpse."

That'll make for a shitty headline. 'Poor schmuck killed in a 12th century mugging.'

I rub my forehead after I put my coins back into my wallet. "You're right. I probably would get robbed blind within a day, if not worse. So I'll go to the Chantry with you. But, I'm not going to the Tower."

I could hear the man mumble "Maker give me strength" as he took a deep breath. "If I could give you a written guarantee from Knight-Commander Gregoir that you will not be unduly harmed at the Tower, would you agree to go."

Given the demonic bullshit that was sure to go down within the next few months, hell no.

"Sure," I lie through my teeth. I feel like a prick for lying to his face, but my self-preservation instinct is working properly for once.

The poor man sighs in relief. "Good. Then we should set out soon. Are you ready?"

I take a quick second to look around. All my bags are packed, and the only thing I need to put away is my wallet. I place it back in my backpack before I grab, well, everything. Sleeping bag went under my left arm, and my duffel bag slung over my right shoulder.

"Yup, good to go."

He nods before taking the lead. The Templar that I think is Ser Bernhardt falls in behind me, while the other one taps me on the shoulder and hands me back my penny.

Suffice it to say, nothing about today has gone according to plan.

* You stupid bastard.