Note: I AM SO SORRY THAT I'VE BEEN GONE SO LONG. Moving to a new country did things to me. Unspeakable, non-productive things. If it helps any, I've already started the next chapter. But, since I am in a new country now and will continue to be fairly busy, I may not be able to get it up in a week but I will die trying. Thanks for sticking with me and Eve despite my terrible delays. Now, on with the show!

Warnings: the usual. Violence.

Chapter 6: Haven, Hello

[10 days later]

"-spank paddle!" Eve swore as she skidded on the icy cobblestones. Shartan's elfy ears, she was a breath away from getting shanked on an icy bridge in the middle of the Maker-forsaken mountains because of course the Herald had chosen the most remote sacred village in the frozen tits of Thedas to nest in. There was so much space out here, so much snow and dirt and trees. Who needed so much of these things? And the Herald chose to be far, far away from any sort of civilization, convenience, or sense. Apparently, this is what blessed-in-the-head people do. So here she was, about to die on the Herald's blasted welcome mat without delivering the warning that had burned in her and Dorian's hearts since their escape from Redcliffe. Splotches of muddy snow sprayed into the frigid air as Eve skidded around a desk weighed down by snow and paperweights and shouted, "Stop! Uh, what if I pinky swear that we won't tell anyone about your little massacre? Deal?"

The Elder One's soldier stepped over the bloody body of a guard and judging by the shiny sword he held aloft, he wasn't going for the Deal Of The Age. In fact, whoever the person was underneath the full-faced helm had shown no sign of relenting ever since she and Dorian had started crossing the bridge that would lead them to the village of Haven and accidentally stumbled into the aftermath of a bloodbath. The Elder One's soldiers had looked up from the crimson slush surrounding the fallen bodies of what looked like guards and hadn't stopped chasing them ever since.

Never mind that she didn't even have a stick to defend herself with. While Dorian had smote one with lightning, she had successfully dropped two of them with her paralysis and sleep spells. The remaining two were stubborn, shaking off her paralysis spells easily and seemingly angrier at the attempts to put them down. She scrambled to the side of the desk, keeping it between her and the soldier absurdly like a game of tag in the alienage except the stakes were much higher than a filched apple.

"Dear girl, they aren't listening!" Dorian called as he fought the other soldier though with considerably more grace. She chalked it up to the fact that he had a staff and not because she had never been in a real fight in her entire life.

The soldier cocked his head to the side then stamped on top of the desk. Shit. Eve was a breath too late in twisting away from his lunge and the sword sliced into her arm through her heavy wool robe. But she was finally close enough. She slapped a hand on to his leg and while his greave was in the way, this close it didn't matter. She blasted a sleep spell through her hand. He dropped like a sack of potatoes on her and they both hit the ground in a resounding crash.

Dorian staggered over to her while leaning heavily on his staff, looking just as bedraggled as she felt but still managing to tsk at the sight of her struggling to crawl out from under her snoring would-be murderer. "Evey, I am sending a strongly-worded letter to the White Spire First Enchanter about your lack of deadly education, if they're still alive in all this mess," he tutted as he shoved the soldier aside with his foot. Pulling Eve to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather, he smiled grimly. "Your body count will never catch up if they're still breathing."

Eve whistled in a painful breath, then healed her bruised ribs in a blink. Blood stopped blooming in her sleeve as she healed the slash. Dorian kept a strong grip on her and didn't comment on the fact that she was still shaking, had been shaking for the last day now that the red stuff was burning out of her blood leaving behind corroded, jangling nerves and throbbing headaches. But they had relied on her red lyrium infused powers to survive the terrifying journey from Redcliffe - pushing themselves to run ahead of the Elder One's army, dodging into forests or ditches if the stamp of marching soldiers rode too close to their heels. So they had both ignored her shakes and retches and mustered on with jokes and banter.

"Seeing as they aren't waving their swords around and trying to stab us in their sleep, I'm counting them," she said grumpily, waving a hand at the two other soldiers snoring by snow-dusted crates. She carefully avoided looking at the very dead bodies of the other two soldiers which were smoldering gently in the night air. "Remind me, who snuck us past four groups of evil Tevinter without having to make a bonfire about it? Magisterial not-magister 5: sneaky spirit-healer 13."

"And as I keep saying, they don't count because they may wake up from their power nap at any time and ambush us from behind," Dorian pointed out as they finally crossed the icy bridge and started to wearily climb up the mountain trail. "You need to put them into their last, permanent sleep for it to count. Like this." He turned and raised his staff aloft, a bright ball of fire spinning into being at the tip.

Eve yanked his staff so it pointed away from the defenceless soldiers sleeping in the snow. "Dorian, stop," she said, trying to keep the note of pleading out of her voice because she knew he was right but she couldn't let him flambe the soldiers anyway. "I've put them into deep sleep, they won't wake up before they freeze to death in all this blasted snow. Their sleep is going to be pretty permanent and we don't have time - that army is getting close." Eve knew that she wasn't making a whole lot of sense, but she just couldn't bring herself to slay anyone, just like that. Better to give them the sliver of a chance to wake and stumble off home…

She tried very hard to ignore the pragmatic voice inside her, which was pointing out that the Frostback Mountains were aptly named for their cursedly cold conditions. The sleeping soldiers didn't have the benefit of a heating spell sheathing their bodies, like the one she and Dorian maintained around themselves. Never mind that constantly burning mana on low made her temples throb; she needed it to survive. Snowflakes hissed into light drops of rain before clinging to the wool robe she had traded for her healing services, but as the night passed, the snow would frost then bury the soldiers. The hard, frozen ground underneath them would leech their body warmth away.

They probably would not see the sun crest over the mountain.

But at least they had a chance.

Dorian sniffed as she wordlessly pulled him up the mountain path. "Alright. We're so close to Haven it would be a pity to get there only to be stabbed in the back," he said as he cast a final glance over his shoulder. "Imagine explaining with your dying breath that we were supposed to warn them except we were done in by our pacifist attitudes. Yes, I would technically be dead due to a sword wound but truly, it would be death by embarrassment."

"Look, my body count still stands. Well, lies down," Eve groused. Slowly, signs of life emerged through the slow flurry of snow. A strange, wooden tower with wheels that Eve was pretty sure was called a trebuchet, an open smithy and stables... Just beyond them, pale moonlight washed a deserted training ground and camp in black and white. Finally, signs of civilization. Which meant food, fire, and baths.

Sounds of merriment drifted over the palisade built into the boulders, along with flickers of light. As bone-tired, dirty, and delirious for sleep as Eve was, relief buoyed in her chest - this rough wooden village hewn into the side of the mountain was Haven. The gates looked formidable, if small, and the wooden mabari guarding it on either side announced it as a very human encampment. But behind them sheltered the Herald of Blessed Andraste Herself and their army, the hero who had been ushered out of the Fade by the Divine and had healed the Breach closed. Only a faint, shimmering scar remained in the indigo sky as a testament of the Herald's abilities and blessed hand. It didn't matter how big or remote this village was - the sheer fact that the Herald made this modest place their home cast a holy sheen over the rustic walls and canvas tents. Even the golden palaces of Val Royeaux wouldn't be good enough to house the Herald.

They were so close.

"Alright, bringer of gentle deaths," Dorian said as he swept his dark gaze around for a guard. His mustache twitched at a particularly bawdy verse that drifted over the palisade. "Do you have a spell from that pitiful Circle education to open the gates? Because it doesn't sound like they're expecting company and probably won't hear us over all that premature celebration."

"I've got just the gift to do the job and I was born with it. Ready?" At Dorian's piqued look, Eve raised her hands and waved them spookily before cupping them around her mouth. "HELLO, EXCUSE ME. IS THE HERALD HOME?"

Dorian rolled his eyes as the sounds of the party continued, unchanged. "This is how it's done." With an unnecessary flourish, he summoned and shot a fireball at the doors. Just as the fireball showered into embers on impact, an arrow sprouted from his staff right at eye level with a thwok.

"WHO TAUGHT YOU MANNERS FROM TITS?" someone shouted with a distinct slur from somewhere above. Roughly, Eve dragged Dorian behind a nearby upturned wagon as arrows thunked into the planks. "I OUGHTA-"

"Sera!" A new voice shouted as more arrows pelted into the wagon, some going absurdly wide of the mark. "What are you- Maker, what are those lights?"

"DUNNO, DO I? IDIOTS TRYNA ATTACK US-"

"Yes master, please teach me how to open my mouth and stick an arrow in it," Eve muttered, giving Dorian a quick once-over to check for any injuries.

"Well, it did the job-" Dorian defended.

"-and made them think we're with the Elder One!" Eve retorted.

"Who are you? You with that army?" a strident voice called from the top of the palisade. This must be a proper guard, since they didn't sound like they'd had too much to drink.

Dorian pointedly ignored Eve's see what did I tell you look. "No, in fact, we are here to warn the Herald about it," Dorian called back as arrows whizzed past their shelter. Eve sincerely hoped that someone had confiscated the drunken archer's bow. "Or, we will if we live through your idea of a welcome!"

The arrows suddenly abated. Eve's pounding heart filled the ominous silence - what if the villagers were trying to lull them into a false sense of security so they could shoot her and Dorian as soon as they popped their heads around the wagon? What if they had run all this way for nothing? What if the Herald didn't even bother to listen to them and killed them outright instead of risking a chance on strange mages who claimed that they weren't part of the Elder One's army? Who would listen and understand that the rebel mages had been tricked into the Elder One's army and were being controlled against their will? Would they be spared? She glanced over at Dorian's tense expression as he peered over a wheel; what if they decided to kill him because he was also Tevinter and looked like the other Elder One soldiers?

Eve couldn't let that happen. Not to the man who had escaped Redcliffe with her and bolstered her throughout the journey with his glib jokes and cutting wit. They had lived in each other's hip pockets this past week and a half, her and this strange Tevinter man, watching each other's backs and encouraging the other to press on for another hour. She had sold her meager possessions and healing services to feed them and took care of their injuries; he had charmed their way into more than one spare bedroll and spelled their defenses. While trust had taken root out of necessity somewhere between the begged wagon rides, relentless hikes and sharing a cloak under a tree, a tentative friendship had budded. She liked this crazy ex-patriot who was so far from home. His fiery passion and inexhaustable conviction to do what was right had carried her long after when her endurance would have given out in a ditch somewhere.

And she wouldn't let anything happen to him if she could help it.

Eve scrambled to her feet as the sound of a door being thrown open cracked through the stillness. Dorian straightened with considerably more grace as he grumbled, "About time, as if the Elder One wasn't nipping at our heels already-"

He drifted off mid-sentence as a stream of armored soldiers trotted into the clearing to form a tight circle around them, their shields facing inwards. The bottom of Eve's stomach dropped out even as her guts tried to shoot up her throat at the sight of the sword of Andraste emblazoned on each shield. The symbol was engraved into the mind of every Circle mage, just as she recognized the pearly glow emanating from the hand of each of the templars. There were more templars here than the number that typically served at any Circle. More than either she or Dorian could take on.

For a moment, Eve was back in the Harrowing chamber, panicked and struggling to free herself from the templars' execution slab. She bit her lip and wildly looked around for an escape like a rabbit caught in a snare, but it was no good - they were surrounded by a ring of steel and 'righteous' conviction. One of them would step forward at any moment to kill the two of them in cold blood, no explanations needed - they were mages, apostates running free of Circles or Chantry-loyalist factions, tainted by magic and at the fore of an invading army. The thunder of her heart almost drowned out the alarm bell in her head.

"Not good?" Dorian muttered to her as he grasped his staff with both hands.

"Not good," she agreed just before the ring of templars shouted in unison and blasted them with Holy Smite. Her simple heating spell was extinguished in a blink. The sudden cold was nothing compared to the excruciating sensation like her bones being pulled out from her body one by one. White-hot fingers churned mercilessly through her skull. She promptly fell to her hands and knees, heaving up bile from her empty stomach and she was suddenly glad that they had found nothing to eat in the blasted foothills around the mountains yesterday. There was no denying it - the red lyrium that still ran through her was making this worse; if she had legs to stand with, she had forgotten it. If she had eyes to open, she was convinced that she had been born blind. Her mouth was meant for nothing other than spewing vomit. Maker, this had to stop-

Suddenly, her brains were no longer trying to puddle out of her ears like oatmeal and she gasped in a sour breath. Coughing, she peered through streaming tears to see that Dorian had summoned a shimmering barrier and instead of draining them both, the templars were only leeching from him. Under the chill that penetrated further than her bones, she was deeply impressed that he remained upright and shouting right back at the templars. Granted, he was clinging to his staff like a wilting vine and there was a grey pallor under his bronze skin - he wasn't going to last long against a dozen-odd templars.

Trembling like a newborn lamb, Eve mustered the strength to stand beside Dorian. Hiding her hands in her sleeves, she curled a favourite incapacitating spell in her fists - it would make the victim spew from both ends horribly unless she chose to relent.

She wasn't going to be executed without a fight. Not again.

"Templars! Cease nullifications!" A deep voice roared, cutting through the chaos.

Dorian slumped as the templars obeyed, but maintained his barrier, now as fragile as spidersilk. The templars to her right stepped aside to make room for a tall armored soldier to stride in to the circle.

It was immediately apparent why every single templar had their eyes trained on the man.

"Is that supposed to be a lion head?" Eve muttered to Dorian as the soldier approached.

"It's supposed to be a travesty," Dorian muttered back.

Lionhead would have attracted attention anywhere he went due to his height and breadth alone. If that didn't work, then the way he walked - self-assured, ready for anything, wearing a fortune in steel and carrying a sword and shield like he didn't notice their weight - would have made anyone wary. Yet, crowning the formidable soldier was a steel helmet fashioned to look like a lion baring its mouth in a roar unfortunately paired with a ruff of crimson fur. An opening between the jaws allowed the pale man inside the armor to glare out at them as he came to a halt right outside of Dorian's barrier. All she could see of his face were the hard planes of his cheekbones, heavy brows pinched into a V, and snapping eyes that tracked every shiver she tried to suppress. It was familiar - too familiar to mean anything other than 'templar' through and through. Every Circle mage knew that look.

Just as every Circle mage knew that a templar could break their magical defenses, if pressed. Eve flinched when the shimmering barrier cracked and dissipated under the hand Lionhead laid on it. Her mind distantly noted that strangely, Lionhead flinched when it broke as well. "Mages, identify yourselves," he ordered in a tone that brooked no compromise. She'd thought that maybe he was Orlesian, based on his fashion sense, but that accent was as Ferelden as the mabari statues behind him.

A startling thought popped into Eve's head. Was this the legendary Herald of Andraste?

Heart drumming, Eve shared a nervous glance with Dorian. He gave her a subtle nod and braced her with a reassuring arm around her shoulders. The burst of affection she felt for him gave her the strength to finally speak. "My- my name is Eve. This is Dorian." She gulped down a breath and finally - finally - started giving the warning that had beat in their hearts since escaping the castle. "We bring grave news from Redcliffe," she said, pointing east into the mountains gleaming pale in the moonlight, "right behind us is an army of rebel mages. They are drugged and being controlled by someone called the Elder One." Eve watched Possibly-the-Herald's eyes widen as he realized that the inky shadows and specks of torchlight crawling over the snowy foothill was not the shadow of the mountain, but hundreds and hundreds of soldiers marching down to the trail that would take them to Haven's gates.

Before she could elaborate on how the rebel mages were being twisted by red lyrium and plead their case, Dorian continued. "They are under the command of the Venatori," he said, pointing at the closest cliff. Two dark figures, one of which was impossibly tall were just visible in the distance. "One of them is Calpernia. She commands the Venatori for that, the Elder One." He dropped his hand and fixed Possibly-the-Herald with an imperious look, only marred slightly by the fact that he was still clinging to his staff. "They were already marching on Haven. We are not with them. We actually risked our lives to get here first to warn you. Fashionably late, I'm afraid."

"How do you know this?" If Possibly-the-Herald was shaken by the news, it didn't show.

Eve shared another quick glance with Dorian. "We were at Redcliffe," Dorian said evasively just as Eve blurted, "We saw the Venatori take control of Grand Enchanter Fiona and the rebel mages."

She didn't need Dorian's foot helpfully trodding on her toes to know that she'd said too much.

Possibly-the-Herald scrutinized them. "Because you are also rebel mages or part of these Venatori?" he asked softly.

They were saved from having to answer when a small group of people pushed through the line of templars.

"Cullen, what's going on?" a brunette woman asked in a noble's precise accent as she hastily buckled her breastplate. She didn't seem to notice the crown of elfroot leaves and wine bottle corks sitting on her head or the empty mug swinging from her sword hilt.

Possibly-the-Herald urged her back and firmly planted himself between her and Eve and Dorian. "Herald, you should stay back, these two may be forward spies or assassins-"

This was the Herald of Andraste? Was this a joke? Disbelief and disappointment sank like a stone in Eve's gut as she surveyed the unremarkable human woman. Chestnut hair, heart-shaped face, an aquiline nose and fair skin that smacked of noble blood. Drunk noble blood, judging by the high flags of color on her cheeks. She was a couple hands taller than Eve, with a lightly muscled build that hinted more at horseback riding than needlepoint but… where was the holy aura? The larger-than-life stature that Lionhead had in spades? She didn't seem able to close the Breach anymore than closing a wine cask. And she didn't seem to have any sort of holy mark on her anywhere. Were the stories of a brilliant, demon-defying symbol blessed into her hand by Andraste just that - stories?

They might as well bend over because they were so screwed.

"We don't have time for this, Commander," a tall, short-haired woman said brusquely as she shouldered up to him. The sword she was holding seemed rather pointless - that scowl was deadly enough.

"Cassandra is right," an alabastor-pale woman in purple robes and eyes like ice chips chimed in. She was reading from a scrap of parchment paper, uncaring that a large black crow was squatting on her shoulder. "My scouts say the first wave of soldiers are approaching the eastern bridge."

The Heraldic-Disappointment turned to peer into the mountains. "Cullen, give me something. Anything!" she ordered. Eve begrudgingly gave her a sliver of respect for keeping the I'm-shitting-bricks note out of her voice.

Lionhead shook his head, unhooking a horn from his belt. "Haven is no fortress," he said ruefully, "If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle." He somehow fit the end of the horn under the jaw of his helmet and blasted a series of notes into the night air, then started barking orders. Wincing, Eve pressed closer into Dorian's side as the templars fanned out into a defensive line around the gate and other soldiers behind them began shouting to each other and running. The Heraldic-Disappointment vanished in the flurry of activity, along with the scary woman and crow woman.

"Evey, think it's best if you stick to the back," Dorian said gently as he stepped away from her. Raking his hair out of his face, he shook himself and bounced on the balls of his feet with renewed vigor. "We're going to need your cheery bedside manner soon. Tevinters turn everything into a pissing match when 'honor' is on the line. Which, of course, it always is."

She shivered in a sudden gust of snow. "And where are you going?" She tried to convince herself that her voice didn't sound as pathetic as it seemed. Now that it didn't seem like the Heraldic-Disappointment and her people would kill them on the spot, Eve had started permitting herself to take a breath. She and Dorian had hoped that they would arrive early enough to warn them and escape with them out of the Elder One's reach, but here they were - sitting ducks. What was she going to do? She didn't have any delusions that she would be an effective fighter in the ensuing fray. She'd get creamed into elf-pate. And what was she going to do without Dorian?

"Well, I didn't come all the way here just to hand them the warning and run. There needs to be at least one sane Tevinter fighting against these fanatics." Dorian glanced around and noticed a couple templars approaching them. "Oh good, here are your ruthlessly efficient southern templars. Charming. Hopefully with some spare lyrium so we don't collapse after the first volley of pleasant exchanges," he said with a grim smile, and stretched out an expectant hand.

If Eve had ever seen anyone else go from smiling to looking like they'd been gobsmacked by a frying pan in a blink, she couldn't remember it. Dorian blinked dumbly at the silver shackle that cuffed one tanned wrist to the other. Eve yelped as a templar reached around to do the same to her.

They stumbled as the templar yanked them through the wooden gates. "You're to stay together and stay silent in the Chantry. Commander's orders."

"-right outside!"

"-LEAVE IT, IT'S NOT WORTH-"

"There's a whole horde of them-"

"-will the gate hold up-"

"-you have to stick by me-"

Pale, panicked faces streamed by as villagers fled into the Chantry. They clutched their meager possessions to their chests, the torchlight flicking over the whites of their eyes as they swarmed like panicked rats past Eve. Children cried and clung to their coattails as Sisters tried to direct the chaos, their shouts shredding away into the cacophonous din. Eve swallowed a curse as she dodged back behind the helm-headed templar guarding her and Dorian. A burly bald man cradling a soot-stained hammer barrelled by, almost catching Eve's cheek with his shoulder.

Despite the river of jabbing knees and elbows, Eve was loathe to give up her piece of prime real estate by the open Chantry doors. She couldn't have retreated further into the warmth of the only stone building in the village anyway, what with the iron shackles weighing down her wrists and held tightly in their guard's hand. He seemed just as intent on watching the snowstorm outside for a hint of the battle as they were. Clashes and cries pierced the night, cloaked in a shifting veil of snow and shadows.

Eve's jaw ached with how tightly she was gritting her teeth. With every scream carried on the winds and she tried to will her elven eyes to be sharper, to actually see the Elder One as he marched his army into the village. Judging by the distance of the sounds of battle, the Herald's army was putting up a good fight - but she and Dorian had fled past fields of Venatori soldiers when they'd escaped Redcliffe. The Herald and her disappointingly small army may have closed what Helm Head had called The Breach and scarred the sky shut, but what could they do against thousands of well-armed soldiers and dozens of mages hopped up on red lyrium?

Randolph's face passed through her mind, crimson crystals bursting between the cracks in his waxy skin as his brow furrowed in confusion, his stunted tongue garbling between broken teeth…

"Is this the heroic welcome you were expecting?" Eve said tightly, elbowing Dorian rather harder than necessary. Andraste's frothy cock wallet, she needed a distraction before she did something marvellously stupid. Like hunting down that villager and taking his hammer to break her wrist, squirm out of the shackles, heal them whole and actually do something useful. That would take her mind off of feeling like a cornered rat… or from dwelling on that savage crimson song that was draining from her veins.

Dorian chuckled bleakly. "As well as could be expected, given that my idiot countrymen are doing their damndest to kill the one true Herald of Andraste," he said, flourishing his shackled hands in mock merriment.

Right, the completely generic and tipsy human noblewoman. She was probably barking orders from behind three lines of soldiers or letting someone else do all the work. Eve frowned. "Do you really think that she's the Herald? Because if she is, we're kind of screw- you there, stop!"

Maker of Makers, here was the perfect distraction. Distraction came in the form of a human man stumbling past her who bellowed in pain when she caught him by the arm. "What the void are you-" he recoiled away when he spotted the iron cuffs. "Maker's balls, you're those apostate spies!"

Either he was one of the villagers who'd seen her and Dorian being frogmarched through Haven, or gossip spread ridiculously fast even in the thick of battle. Figures. "We aren't. And you definitely need a healer-" Eve yelped as she was yanked away.

"What do you think you are you doing?" the guard demanded, apparently deciding that this was the perfect moment to finally do his job. "Back, apostates! And stay here-"

Dorian snorted, yanking back on the shackles. "What do you take us for? We may be mages but we are housebroken. It's not like we were going to widdle on the Mother's blessed carpet in the middle of a battle-"

"Look at him," Eve demanded, pointing with her chin since her arms were busy trying not to part with their sockets. The once-blonde hair on the left half of the villager's head was crinkled and black, his quilted gambeson singed and smoking, and the skin around his nose and mouth was swollen like a ripe strawberry. Obviously Burned Man was bent double with his puffy red hands braced on his knees, doing his best to cough his lungs out. Between chest-rattling hacks, he laboriously whistled in breaths. Stretching her magical senses, Eve could feel that this man's life force was dimming with each strangled breath. She didn't have much time. "He is whistling. Meaning he's having trouble breathing in air, otherwise known as the stuff that helps keep you alive?" She gave the helm-headed guard a withering look - it had been a few months since she'd been among templars. Had they always been this thick-headed? "Surely you've heard of it."

Helm Head gave Obviously Burned Man a terse once-over. "What happened to you, Seggrit?"

The muscles in Seggrit's thick neck jumped as he whistled in a breath and hacked out grey phlegm. "Storeroom caught fire somehow," he wheezed. "Got out by the skin of my teeth. I'm taking it out of the Inquisition's payroll for my lost goods."

"Right," Helm Head drawled. "Just find Mother Giselle. One of the Sisters will help you."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Seggrit said, tears clearing tracks in his charcoal-smeared cheeks. "Keep them away from us," he spat as he limped away.

"I'm starting to see a theme in everyone's gratefulness here," Dorian muttered as he glared at Seggrit's singed back.

Eve waved that aside - she'd said goodbye to getting any thanks the second the templars had blasted them with Silence - and glared at Helm Head. "Sisters?" she scoffed, gesturing to the throng of villagers cowering behind her. The Sisters' white robes flashed as they ran back and forth, guiding the villagers through doorways on either side of the great hall. "He needs a real healer, not someone who will tell him to suck on a snowball and call it a day. His airway is swelling shut and he's going to need magical healing-"

"That is not for you to decide," Helm Head objected, eyes jumping from her to Dorian and back again. "Neither of you are to unleash magic until you are verified by the Commander or the Nightingale and seeing as they are busy, you will shut your blighted mouths."

"So we are to sit around and wait for this Elder One to crush us after we barely survived the thankless journey to get here and warn the Herald?" Dorian asked imperiously, though there was a telltale heat to his words. He gestured at the Chantry doors furiously, "How many times must we repeat ourselves? We are of far more use helping you fight out there against the-"

Helm Head pulled the chain taut, yanking Dorian's hands back down. "Try that and you will be silenced," he promised.

"Alright!" Eve said, thrusting a hand in the middle of Dorian and Helm Head's tug-of-war. "No magic or we'll be gagged faster than a whore in a Chantry, got it." She dropped the placating tone and raised a single finger. "One stipulation: let us flag down a healer, because that man's condition is serious. He's obviously inhaled a lot of smoke and it's swelling his airway. It may not stop until it is choked shut. He needs a healer who knows what they are doing and he needs one now."

Helm Head paused then glanced around the Chantry. "He will have to wait. I have not seen Adan all night… he may still be out in the village," he said, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Dorian tossed his head impatiently. "Then summon the others. Or let Eve go, she's a decent mage healer and more than capable of unswelling his airway or whatever."

Helm Head shifted his weight from foot to foot. "We don't have one," he admitted, "The Sisters are knowledgeable and have been caring for the-"

"Hold on," Eve said, the corners of her lips tilting upward in a disbelieving grin. "Surely I've misheard you. Are you saying that this village, that the Herald of Andraste and her blasted army don't have healers?"

Helm Head made a noncommittal sound. "We do. The Sisters do what they can with Adan's assistance. Although, he is more of an alchemist..."

She stared at him in outright disbelief, aghast. No magical healer? All Haven had were some Chantry Sisters and an alchemist? The memory of every cut, scrape and bruise that had glared out at her from the villagers' chalky skin as they ran past jumped to the forefront of her mind's eye. She had thought that the Sisters would lead the villagers to safety, and in those rooms receive healing from a proper healer or surgeon. How had the Herald survived so long without one?

Icy horror bloomed as a thought occurred to her: how will the Herald survive the Elder One and save them?

"MOVE! Where is Adan?"

The shout interrupted her daze. They turned to see two templars lurch through the doors, supporting another templar draped between them as stragglers followed them inside. Eve grit her teeth again upon seeing that Lionhead was one of them, easing the insensible templar to lie face up on the Chantry floor. Orange torchlight slid over furrows and hand-sized dents in the templars' armor, and dark stains glistened in the light. Brunette hair matted with blood spilled out as the caved-in helmet was lifted away to reveal a woman, chalky under her tan and vacantly staring up at the ceiling.

"Lysette?"

Before she knew it, she and Dorian were doing stupid little hops to catch themselves from falling as Helm Head dragged them over like dogs. If she ever got out of this, Eve promised herself a hot bath and a night with someone who owned a pair of strong, miracle working hands.

Dorian steadied her from tripping as they reached the templars. Helm Head stood before Lysette, seemingly dumbstruck. Lysette didn't seem to have the faintest idea that she was lying in the grimy rushes of the Chantry, nor that her commanding officer was standing nearby barking orders at soldiers and messengers. Her eyes were fixed in the far distance, one of them a yawning pit while the other was a pinprick in a flat chestnut disc. The left side of her head was a snarled, bloody mess of snaggled hair and crusted blood. Whoever, whatever had done this had enough brute strength to cave in plate metal like tin… perhaps it had been an abomination.

Lysette wouldn't be out of place in the Circles. The double doors would silently swing open, allowing Eve, Old Turin and a contingency of templars to walk into what had once been a laboratory, a library room, a dormitory. Sometimes the rooms were wrecked beyond words as if a giant had shaken its contents like a salt cellar; sometimes, the rooms were remade into filthy nests decorated with glass shards and bones. Sometimes, the room was ordered on a different plane - as if the abomination had taken affront to gravity and had nailed everything to the ceiling as a giant middle finger to the natural laws of the world. In all cases, after the abomination was killed, Eve had walked past dead templars who resembled jam mixed into crumpled steel with the surviving templars little better off. The worst times were when the abomination hadn't outright crushed them and instead played with the templars for a time. Those had been the most critical patients to care for… and the ones who slipped through her fingers.

Hopefully this one would receive help from this Adan person or whatever. Splinters of white glimmered out from Lysette's hair; was that bone-?

Eve's magic was bathing them all in cool, pale blue light before she even realized that she'd called it forward.

Immediately, the templar trying to unbuckle Lysette's chestplate and Helm Head were on their feet, hands on their sword hilts. "Cease-"

"We have been over this," Eve snapped, "I am a spirit healer, not a spy or a demon. Let me help or she will die."

"How could you possibly-"

Dorian gestured at the bloody side of the templar's head, his dark brows knit together. "How could anyone not know is the better question."

The templars glanced at each other, then at Lionhead's back as he conferred with a female soldier in an orange hat. "Help them without magic, then," Helm Head said tightly.

Eve rounded on him incredulously. "Andraste's braided pits, what in Thedas can I do for a hemorrhaging skull fracture and a comminuted rib break piercing her lung without magic? Slap on a bandage and pray the Maker makes it quick? Assuming that we survive waiting around like idiots, the Sisters won't have it easy when scraping her brains off the cobblestones before the next service-"

"I don't know!" Helm Head shouted, his voice cracking. "Maker, this is the best I can do-"

"No, what you can do is let competent people do what they are good at," Dorian advised, not unkindly.

"I can't go against orders-"

Eve was seeing red and about ready to blow an aneurysm. She wheeled on them and called to the tin soldier overlord before they could protest. "Hey! Lion- uh, Ser!"

Lionhead wasn't listening as he marched to the Chantry doors. Soldiers trotted to and fro around him as they came to give information and left with new orders. "Threnn, reinforce the Chantry defenses. Holden, lead your squadron to the eastern trebuchet and meet-"

Eve screwed up her courage. "Knight-Commander!" she shouted.

That got his attention. Lionhead turned and glared, his cold eyes making her skin ripple in chills. "Do not call me that, apostate. I am no templar."

If it barks like a dog and acts like a dog… Under the weight of all the soldiers turning to look at her, Eve forced her spine straight. "Ser, you need a healer. A mage healer-"

"We have Adan," Lionhead dismissed. He scanned the crowd over her head as if expecting for the not-healer-slash-alchemist to pop out of his hiding place at any second.

"We don't, Ser," a pale woman standing at his shoulder replied crisply. The strange hat she wore had extra flaps made for no purpose that Eve could discern, the entirety dyed a glaring shade of orange, possibly to match the wearer's eyebrows. Eve could see Dorian in her peripheral vision, eyeing the trembling feathers topping the atrocity with a sort of affronted mirth. In that split second, Eve dubbed the woman 'Hatrocity'.

"Haven't seen him come in, yet," Hatrocity finished.

"As I said," Eve reiterated, "you need-"

"What I need is for you to-"

"My apologies, Commander," Helm Head interrupted, yanking Eve back, "I have repeatedly told her-"

Eve yanked the chain right back, though Helm Head didn't budge so much an inch. "That you would rather this woman die than let a mage help her!"

"That's not what I-"

"I am a spirit healer," Eve said over Helm Head. She pointed a glowing finger at Lysette. "Give me a chance to help her."

Silence greeted her declaration as Lionhead swept his piercing gaze from the top of Eve's unwashed, bedraggled hair down her travel-worn robes to her scuffed boots. A chill worked its way down her spine as Eve crossed her arms and glared back stubbornly; she'd forgotten how unnerving it was to face down a hostile templar in full armor head-on. She had no idea what his face looked like aside from his brown eyes but she did know that the rest of his face was probably set in the same derisive lines that cocked his heavy brows. Eve grit her teeth to prevent herself from blurting something dumb and ruining the chance when Hatrocity piped up.

"Right, you're a spirit healer," she said, arching an auburn brow. "Exactly what we need at exactly the right time. Or you could still be a spy, easing into the backranks to stab the Herald from behind-"

"Ser, she's telling the truth," the templar who had had one foot out the doors said. Eve couldn't bother telling them apart anymore - and at this angle, she couldn't see his face anyway. "That is Enchanter Eve from the White Spire. She was one of the resident spirit healers there before the rebellion. I was stationed there for three months before the Circles fell. She looked after everyone with Old Turin in the Chantry clinic."

"And I will add my vouch as well, if this is to be a vote of all things," Dorian said tartly. "She's taken care of our injuries since our escape from Redcliffe-"

"You mean 'deployment' from Redcliffe," Hatrocity interrupted. Eve's opinion of this woman was past the bottom of the barrel and now digging into bedrock with every word out of her mouth. Hatrocity wasn't even looking at Eve and Dorian anymore, instead scoffing at the templar by the door. "Just because you knew her months ago doesn't mean she and this other apostate haven't been recruited by that maniac since-"

"Are we all forgetting that Eve and I both risked our lives to get here?" Dorian asked with a tight grin, though his tone was rather testy. "Effective spies are usually alive, if I recall. We would have to survive this invasion and so far the Elder One's army seems to be doing its best to kill all of us, so-"

Eve opened her mouth to do something to end all this pointless arguing while there was someone dying on the floor right in front of them when Lionhead suddenly marched over, the small crowd scrambling to get out of his way. She watched, dumbfounded, as he fished out a small silver key from the depths of his cloak and popped open her manacles.

YES! Eve had to stop herself from punching the air, settling for rubbing her chafed wrists instead. She finally had those icy and embarrassing leashes off! And despite reminding herself that Lionhead had ordered her and Dorian in shackles in the first place, she could feel her respect for him climbing. Perhaps he truly cared for the soldiers in his command and had some sense; magic was useful, especially when someone didn't have to needlessly die. Feeling like she should probably give him a quick thank you before turning to her patient, she opened her mouth just as Lionhead held up a gloved hand.

"Before you help Lysette," he said grimly, slipping off a gauntlet, "you will heal me."

Eve clacked her teeth shut and scowled, scrutinizing him from head to toe with lightning efficiency. Old and healed breaks, scar tissue concentrated in a T-shape on his face, hands, chest and back along with feet - old wounds in all the signature areas a veteran templar earned over a long career. Other than that, he was in good shape - she couldn't even tell if he'd been in the battle raging outside yet. "Only if you're dying faster than this woman and it doesn't look like you need help breathing," Eve retorted, her newfound respect suddenly as nonexistent as her patience. "Then that Burned Man - Seggrit? - is next-"

She trailed off as Lionhead unsheathed the dagger at his hip and flicked its sharp point over the heavily scarred and calloused palm of his hand. Blood quickly welled and dripped on to the Chantry floor as he presented it to her with a glare. "I am not letting you work magic on anyone else before-"

"Of all body parts, why would you slice your hand?" Eve demanded as she seized the proffered limb, light flaring under her fingertips. "Don't you soldiers need these to bludgeon each other with? What if I weren't actually a healer or botched it?" She shoved Lionhead's hand back at him in disgust, the palm now seamless under the droplets of blood. "Where would you and the Herald's army be, then?"

Lionhead flexed and examined his palm, then looked at her as she chewed her tongue. Yet again, the absurd helmet blocked her from reading the rest of his expression, but there was something undefined in his eyes. "Good thing you seem to know what you're doing, then," he said briskly. "Ivanna, give this mage a draft of lyrium. Mattrin, continue as her guard. And you," he said, catching Eve's eyes with his, "get to work. And stay inside the Chantry."

Eve did not stay inside the Chantry.

Note: So, you're not seeing things. I uploaded the latter half of this chapter today! Chapter 7 will continue the Haven disaster!