Hello everyone! This chapter is mostly having conversation with our dear advisers and making Roderick's life miserable. Prepare for the cranky elf!

STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIES

After her morning spar, Lavellan went to fill some of the Inquisition's requisitions with Threnn, ordering a few more, and then headed to the apothecary to speak with Adan about acquiring a few more poisons. While there, her nemesis Roderick showed, apparently looking for a tonic to ease his old bones. The chancellor had taken one look at the elf and sneered, his nose crinkling and lips curling in a way that was becoming all too familiar. Lavellan wanted to slice his skinny little neck every time he made that face. The gods knew she needed a drink after dealing with Roderdick – er, Roderick. Scratch that. Ratdick. Perfect.

Lavellan paused in her steps, however, at the sight of Leliana praying in the tent next to the quartermaster's table, down on one knee with her hands clasped together. She should have known better than approach her. She'd had enough dealings with the 'faithful' for one day.

Still, she felt like she owed it to the woman, if the tortured look on her face was anything.

"Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just." The redhead's whispers carried on the wind. "Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker's will is written."

I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?

"Is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so that Your will is done?" She straightened and broke her hands apart. "Is death your only blessing?"

Lavellan stepped into the shade of the tent just as Leliana turned to her, hardening her voice.

"You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker's prophet have to say about all this? What's His game?"

Merde… Lavellan sighed to herself. Yep, she was regretting this. She was not a religious person, and these were the last conversations she wanted to have at this point. "His… game?"

"Do you see the sky? What about the temple ruins? The bones lying in the dust?" Leliana's voice was rising, hardening, accusing. "Even if you didn't support the Divine's peace, you wouldn't call this right! Who could? So many innocent lives – the faithful murdered were the holiest of holy once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game, or a cruel joke?"

"Hun, look at me." Lavellan said in a dry voice, pointing at her vallaslin. "I'm not Andrastian. I don't believe in the Maker and he hasn't spoken to me yet to prove me wrong."

"Then we can only guess was He wants." Leliana muttered, looking defeated. "The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all – our lives, our deaths. Justinia gave her everything she had and He let her die!"

"I don't know what's worse." Lavellan gave a bitter chuckle. "The fact that your god listens, yet demands so much, or that the Dalish gods are silent and do not hear us at all. Not that I believe in any of them, either."

"She was the Divine!" Leliana continued, growing frustrated. "She led the faithful, she was their heart! If the Maker doesn't intervene to save the best of his servants, what good is He?"

If there really are gods in this world, Lavellan thought, but tactfully did not say aloud. Then they do not care about us.

"I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are." Leliana sighed, cooling off. "I thought I was fulfilling his purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people…" She met Lavellan's eyes. "But now she's dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing."

Lavellan remained quiet as they lapsed into silence. Words poured into her head, onto her tongue, but she did not speak. What to say? She doubted her irreverent outlook on religion would help ease the woman's wounded heart. Leliana was mourning and angry, and Lavellan only had callous words in return.

Finally, she managed to say, "You will find your purpose again. Or find an entirely new one." Lavellan looked away and into the blue sky above. "Neither of us would be here is we gave up so easily."

Leliana seemed surprised at her words.

"Yes… You are right. I am… I apologize that you had to see me this way." The spymaster seemed to straighten as the walls went up and she turned away. "It was a moment of weakness. It won't happen again."

"We all have moments of weakness." Lavellan said as the spymaster brushed her shoulder. "I will not hold it against you."

Leliana hummed. "We have work to do, Herald. Thank you for listening."

"Anytime." Lavellan shrugged as she made a hasty escape to the tavern just as the sun dipped below the horizon. She missed the suspicious glance that Leliana sent her way as she walked away.

She asked Flissa for a large flask of brandy that night. Too much religion for one day, and she was no philosopher.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

She was pacing along the walls of Haven again, early in the morning so that she would not be disturbed by anyone, save for the night watch posted by the gates and outside the village limits where they watched her anxiously.

The news arrived late last night that she had been invited to speak with both the mages and the templars about an alliance. But she could only choose one, her advisers had told her. But why only one? There was so much that could go wrong with closing the Breach! Too much magic and it could rip the sky further apart, not enough magic and it might not seal properly. They needed both! Why couldn't anyone see that! She felt the pulse of the Fade when she connected with those rifts. Push and pull, push and pull. Magic was needed to sustain it, templar juju was needed to keep it contained.

No, it wasn't that they couldn't see that both would be helpful, but it is because no one expected the mages and templars to work together willingly.

Fuck that! Lavellan thought. I'll punch both sides until I can beat some sense into them!

There had to be good and bad on both sides. Surely both could be persuaded to prevent the world from ending and then resume their pointless squabbles? They had been willing to sit down at the Conclave, no? Which meant that there was support for peace in the majority of either side.

What if I recruited them separately? Lavellan asked herself. Send a party to each to negotiate an alliance. And hope that nothing blows up when they convene in Haven… actually, no one will be allowed to enter Haven until they agree to work on the Breach together.

Creators, it was worse than wrangling children.

She could send Cullen to head the negotiations with the templars. He was well respected in the order, even after his "retirement". She had seen the way the templars in Haven looked at him – a leader, a hero. A legend among templars, the man who had survived the collapse of the Ferelden Circle during the Blight, and then rallied the templars and helped restore order in Kirkwall following the giant clusterfuck that had started this mess. He had advocated for better treatment of mages in Circles, understanding and friendship between templars and mages, and was a staunch supporter of the Templar Order, despite mounting scandal and accusations of abuse.

Yes, Cullen would be perfect. Even that dick Lucius would be forced to bow to the demands of those templars that followed him. There was not a templar in Thedas that would ignore the great Cullen Rutherford. Even with all of his rhetoric about retirement and leaving the Order, the templars regarded him as their own. Their leader, by default, by example.

Should she send Cassandra with him? The Seekers commanded respect and fear in the templars. They were the Chantry's boogeyman, a tier above the Order, the secret police. They were the ones that the templars whispered about in the night. And with Lucius being an asshole… it would be a good opportunity for the Seeker to demand answers from her mentor.

But, what of the mages?

Solas and Vivienne would be perfect companions, but not leaders.

However, Solas was unknown to the mages of Thedas. They would not trust a stranger, especially an apostate that turns his nose up at their Circle educations and their struggle. He was not a man that would inspire their loyalty. Plus, his attitude was pissy at best.

Vivienne was the embodiment of the Circle, and while mages across Thedas respected her authority and acknowledged her power, there were too many of them that had lost their trust in the Circle. And Vivienne embodied that.

Well, if Vivienne liked her Chantry and Order so much, why not send her off to persuade the Templars? Show them that there are still mages who respect them. Yes, that would work. The Iron Bull would have to go as well; she knew the Qunari were not fond of magic. But she needed one more… Sera! Of course!

Sera was terrified of magic. Not mages, in particular, just what they were capable of. Taking her to Redcliffe, the figurative hornets' nest, would be cruel. Besides, it would be good to have a commoner like Sera present to remind the Templars of their duty to the protection of the people.

So, the Templar group would be led by Cullen, followed by Cassandra, Vivienne, Bull, and Sera.

Lavellan's sympathies had always lain with the underdog – the mages. She would lead a group to Redcliffe with Solas, Blackwall, and Varric.

Varric was a little more in the gray area as far as morality goes, and Varric probably had more apostate friends than the rest of them. Despite what Lavellan had heard about Anders – and Varric rarely talked about his tragic friend – Varric could at least agree that the Circle were flawed. Blackwall was a fuckin' bleeding heart, he would always support the wounded party, which would be the mages, historically. And Solas… was an egghead.

What happened after fixing the Breach was not something Lavellan was willing to think about at the moment. She would have representatives from the Templars and the mages… maybe she could call up an impromptu Conclave? Force their leaders to sit down and talk, for once?

Whatever.

Fuck it.

She'd deal with it when the time came.

"Uh… Your Worship?"

Lavellan blinked, realizing with a start that the sun had long since risen. The clink and clank of metal on metal was slowly growing to a steady din over by the training grounds as Cullen roused his troops and began their drills.

Behind her was the elven servant that had been attending her since she first woke up in Haven.

"Ah, hello." Lavellan shook herself from her thoughts and turned to face the young girl.

"Y-You were not in your cottage when I arrived with breakfast, messere." The servant stuttered – what was her name again? "I came to find you, in case you were still hungry…"

Lavellan felt her stomach clench and was suddenly reminded that she had been standing on the wall for almost an hour now.

"Ah, yes." She nodded to the girl. "Breakfast sounds wonderful."

.*.*. ҉, .*.*.

After breakfast, she returned to the abandoned shack in the woods outside of Haven with a sack of food and a canteen of water. Alone in the woods without anyone to watch her, she pulled out her daggers and fell into a deep fighting stance, feeling the weight of her body settle in her thighs, her heels dug into the snow, and she began slowly practicing her fighting forms. With every block, every swing of the blade, her movements became faster and faster, steel glinting in the sunlight, dry lips, quick breathes, lungs burning between the exertion and cold air. Her entire body toed the line between pleasure and pain as her muscles stretched and contracted.

She had not practiced like this in ages. Years, even. Cullen's men were mostly cadets, a few of them veterans but not highly skilled. None of them were fast or ruthless enough to train with her without Lavellan holding back. A slip, a stumble, and she might accidentally stab them in the neck. Cullen would be pissed.

She had not practiced like this even with the clan, too preoccupied learning to use a bow and going on weekly hunting trips. When she wasn't hunting there was always someone needing assistance in the clan. Mirath was a mage, but had insisted that she teach her the basics of fighting with a blade, so every other evening she was busy teaching the First which end of a dagger to hold. Creators, that girl was so clumsy. When she wasn't teaching, Deshanna put her to work making salves and poultices, using her knowledge of alchemy (coughpoisonscough) to keep the clan's medical stores in stock.

Lavellan paused for a moment to take a break, her shoulders aching at the strain of her training. She was growled at herself as she stabbed her daggers into the snow and sat down to chug water and bite into a roll of bread.

I'm so much slower than I once was. She thought, kicking herself. Fool. I should have known better than to neglect my training.

And she wasn't going to get much better without a proper sparring partner to smack her every time she slowed down. There was only so far one could go on their own. Did they even have any master rogues in Haven? Leliana perhaps, but she was primarily an archer. Same with Sera and Varric. Damn.

She sighed and stood back up, grabbing her daggers and twirling them in her hands. Circles and circles, from the blade to the wrist, from the ankles to the hips. Circles and circles.

"Never stop moving. Never pause. Slow down and you will get caught."

The voice of her first teacher echoed in her head.

"Aim for the back, aim for the flank. Kill them before they even see you coming."

Her movements became less offensive, more defensive and she flipped and twirled around the clearing, bouncing off tree trunks or running up their ice-slicked sides and flipping over the head of an imaginary foe.

"Move in a circle around them, around and around. It disorients them, keeps them distracted. They will make a mistake, and that is when you strike."

Rolling, twisting, jumping, flying. She missed this feeling. There wasn't much need for such extravagant fighting in the woods of the Dales, unless a particularly cranky bear decided to have a taste of Dalish. She doubted that elves tasted very good. They probably tasted like spite and disappointment, with a dash of sarcasm.

Heaving a deep breath and relaxing from her fighting stance, Lavellan decided to call it quits for the day. The sun was at high noon. No doubt the world was ending without her presence in that blasted chantry. Lavellan stowed her daggers away and grabbed her snack bag, finishing off the last of her canteen and gobbling up her bread rolls.

She walked back to the gates of Haven at a leisurely pace, noting with interest that Cullen was on the training field and had started guiding his men through new battle formations, looking more than a little frustrated with the untrained men. These were not the templars he had once commanded, they were soft farm lads without an ounce of training. She pitied the man.

He sure is pretty. She thought with amusement as the light of the sun turned his hair to gold. He looked like a knight from a fairytale, destined to sweep the princess off her feet. Alas, he is too pretty.

He caught sight of her walking down the worn, snowless path along Haven's walls, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her disheveled, armored appearance, impressed that she had been training as well.

"Hello, Commander." She greeted him, detouring from her course to stand beside him and watch a lieutenant shout orders.

"We've received a number of recruits – locals from Haven, some pilgrims." He began. Always a serious man. "None made quite the entrance you did."

"What can I say, I've always had a flair for the dramatic." Lavellan chuckled dryly, sending him a wink. "I don't recommend the glowy parts, however. It tingles."

Cullen eyed her left hand with a curious mixture of discomfort and amusement. Then, in a lower voice, he asked, "Does it cause you pain?"

"No." She told him honestly. "Unless there's a particularly stubborn rift that doesn't want to close. Most of them seal right up, however."

His shoulders relaxed a little. "Good."

"So, your men are coming along nicely." She quickly changed the subject. "We're lucky to have you for a commander. However did that happen?"

"I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself." Cullen admitted as he motioned for her to follow him around the yard. "I was there during the mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused."

"Even the Dalish heard how awful the Kirkwall tower was." Lavellan told him, the commander wincing at the truth. "I hope most of the tales I heard were just horror stories."

"Unfortunately, most of them are probably true." Cullen sighed with a shake of his head. "The templars in Kirkwall were just as bad as the mages, probably. It didn't help that we were being led by a madwoman. I tried to change things, tried to make it right… but there was already such a long, deep-rooted hatred between mages and templars in that city that nothing could be changed."

Lavellan gave him a sympathetic look. "That is… disconcerting. Do you blame the mages, then, for rebelling?"

"Not at all." He admitted, surprising her. "I know there are some Circles that make it work, some that are good and healthy… but far too many are not. Templars are taught to fear mages, and that fear turns into rage. They stop seeing mages as people, but as rabid dogs on leashes, and the towers stop being schools and become prisons. But the threat of blood magic and possession does not excuse the abuses by the Chantry and the Order. I just wish there had been another way."

Lavellan was speechless, for a moment, staring at the ex-templar that actually pitied the mages rather than curse their existence. She had never been very interested in the mage-templar problem, it had never been a priority for her until now. But still, in all her travels, she had never met a templar that sympathized with the mages.

"That is… certainly unusual." She finally spoke. "If only all templars could see it the way you do. Perhaps, we wouldn't be here."

"Oh, I've had my bad moments too." He admitted, a dark look flashing across his face. Then it passed, like the shadow of a cloud on a sunny day. "Cassandra sought me out because she knew we had similar interests – to find a solution to the enmity between magic and the Chantry. I left the Order to join her cause, to be there should the need for the Inquisition arise. I never thought it would be because of a hole in the damn sky."

She chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think anyone planned for that."

"Except the ones that sabotaged the Conclave, maybe." Cullen muttered under his breath.

"It wasn't me!" Lavellan immediately stated and held up her hands.

He sent her an amused look. "I wasn't accusing."

"Yeah, well at least one person isn't." She sighed as she placed her hands on her hips and gazed over the field. He chuckled in response.

"Commander!" A soldier came jogging up to them. "Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines."

He glanced back at her and bowed his head. "I will see you later, Herald."

She nodded as he left. Feeling icky and sweaty from her training, Lavellan turned and headed back in the direction of the gates, entering Haven and seeking out one of the servants to have a bath set up in her cottage. She walked slowly up the steps and into the cottage, two servants were already there and setting it up. Much to her annoyance, the started apologizing profusely for not having hot water by the time she had opened the door, and it took several minutes to calm them down.

Damn. Why did nobles like having servants so much? Their stress was making her stressed!

Eventually she managed to shoo them away, the tray of hot coals beneath the small iron tub warming the metal and the water. A stool sat nearby with fresh towels and a bar of expensive soap sitting on top of it.

We can barely afford to outfit all our soldiers with armor, and were wasting money on lavender soap? Lavellan wrinkled her nose at the luxury item, then sighed. No use complaining. She stripped off the armor and the clothing beneath it, letting everything clang to the floor and climbing into the tub. Oh yessssss.

She washed and then sat in there for several minutes, closing her eyes closed, knees pressed to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. The sound of the door creaking open disturbed her from her thoughts, her hand slowly reaching for the dagger sitting under the water next to her bum.

"Oh!"

It was the servant girl that usually attended her. The elven one with the horrible orange tunic.

"My apologies, m'lady." The girl automatically began bowing, making Lavellan pinch her nose. "I didn't mean to –"

"Stop." She commanded, making the girl freeze. Then she softened her voice. "I am just an elf. Please stop treating me like some snobby noble. I will not hit you or punish you, or complain that you're a lazy knife-ear." Lavellan pointed at her own ears. "Just relax, would ya? You're making me tense."

"U-um, my apolo –"

"Stop apologizing." Lavellan growled.

"R-Right." The girl seemed uncertain how to treat her now. "I was just – I was just coming in to change your bed sheets."

Lavellan blinked. "They're still clean."

"Y-Yes but my boss insists that you have clean sheets every night –"

So that's why they always smelled so fresh. Lavellan sighed and lifted a hand out of the water to wave her silent. "What is your name, girl?"

"M-Mina…" The girl answered, taken aback that the esteemed Herald would ask for her name.

"Mina." Lavellan smiled at her. "You don't have to be afraid of me. Before all this I was just a Dalish hunter living in the forest, sleeping beside halla and hunting in the woods. I am as holy as you are."

Mina's eyes glanced at the hand that glowed green.

"Yeah, that is just an unfortunate occurrence." Lavellan chuckled when she followed her gaze.

"Do you really believe that?" She whispered, still a little reluctant to partake in such a familiar conversation with the Herald.

"Well I certainly don't believe in the Maker." Lavellan scoffed, making the servant blink in shock.

"Oh…" Was the girl disappointed or confused? It was hard to tell from her expression.

Lavellan took pity on the girl. "Sorry if you thought otherwise."

"No please don't – I mean, I didn't – " Mina seemed to struggle for words. "I never really knew what to believe. The Maker seemed like a mere story until… well, you. I thought that maybe you were a sign that I should believe."

"Well I'm not." Lavellan chuckled. "Anyway, it's about time I stopped marinating in the water. Are you bothered by nudity?"

"No, but someone of your station should not– m'lady!" Mina squeaked as Lavellan rose from the water and bent for the towel on the stool. The poor girl was turning red.

Lavellan chuckled at her as she began to dry herself. Mina quickly looked away, but found her eyes drawn back to the Herald's body when she caught a glimpse of something on her skin. Lavellan leaned over the tub to wring out her long hair, ink flowing from her shoulders to her back between the shoulder blades, but the Herald turned before Mina could see what the tattoo was exactly. But the ink paled in comparison to the various scars across her body, most of them small, thin lines, but altogether they made her body look like it was layered by a cobweb.

The girl's eyes widened at the extent of the scars, especially the larger ones, a slash or two on her torso and leg, short, thick tissue on her side to show where she had once been impaled. When Lavellan turned to begin binding her breasts Mina felt her throat close up at the sight of a raised and jagged line slashing diagonally between her breasts, from her left clavicle to just under her right breast. Someone had been aiming for her heart and missed.

"Those scars…" Mina whispered, horrified.

Lavellan paused after she had finished putting on her underclothes and looked down at herself. "Yeah, it ain't pretty, is it?" She chuckled. "But you should have seen the other guy."

"What happened?" Mina asked softly.

"Slavers." Lavellan replied quickly. "They caught me when I was a child. I ran away and joined the Dalish after that."

Mina seemed at a loss for words as Lavellan pulled on her tunic and breeches, then began putting on the light leather armor that she wore when she was not going off to the battlefield. Wordlessly, the servant approached her and began to help, tightening buckles and adjusting their length.

"Thank you." Lavellan murmured.

"Of course." Mina hummed as Lavellan bent down to retrieve her boots. "Would you like me to braid your hair, m'lady?"

Don't suppose she'd stop with this 'lady' stuff. Lavellan sighed inwardly as she responded with an offhanded tone, "Sure."

She left the cottage to start preparing for her next voyage out. Leliana's scouts had confirmed the presence of the mages in Redcliffe, and so far, suspected no foul play. She ran her fingers lightly over the elaborate crown of braids that Mina had created upon her head, a light smile playing on her face. Guess there was a perk to having a servant after all; pity that the braids would fall apart after a battle or two.

For now, at least, they certainly made her feel pretty.

She headed out with Solas, Vivienne, and Cassandra to Redcliffe that evening, intent only on scouting the area before speaking with the mages.

No one expected the Tevinters.

If Cassandra had not been there to reign her in, Lavellan would have seriously considered just cutting her losses and killing them all. Why were people so fucking stupid? Sadly, the Seeker was able to muffle most of Lavellan's expletives and hold her back from smacking the nearest mage in the head for sheer stupidity.

Why was she always cleaning up other people's mess?!

I know the elf servant isn't introduced in canon, so I made up a name. Anyone who has to put up with crack!Lavellan ought to receive a medal haha.

Poor thing.

Anyway, next up we've got encounters in Redcliffe, and you know what that means... sassy gay mages! *wink wink*

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