Chapter 4: Nobody Expects the Inquisition

'What happe— need a doctor — heart rate just dropped — we're losing h—'

The dream faded into nothing. It was warm here, the light around her honeyed and yellow. Errol snuggled under the covers, glorying in their weight despite the bruises that ached all over her body.

Did I fall while hiking? she thought sleepily, grasping at a pillow and pulling it closer. Her pajamas were so soft, like pure cotton. Must have slipped in the river. Shouldn't have been in it in the first place. If it wasn't for the Northern Lights, I wouldn't have—

The river. The Northern Lights.

The Breach. Rifts. Demons. Magic. The Fade. The blast.

Errol's eyes flew open and with a huge gasp she sat up. No no no! It wasn't a dream. She wasn't in her studio apartment. She was in a cabin covered with animal pelts and an elf - another freaking elf - dropped his box of something breakable and was staring at her like she was the devil come to life.

"Noooooooooooo," she whined in a small voice, flopping back down on the bed and wincing as she thumped the bruises on her back. "It's not possible, it's not possible."

"I am so sorry, my lady," the young elf said, terrified, as if he was personally responsible for everything that had happened to her. "I wasn't supposed to wake you. I wasn't! And now—"

Errol cracked her eyes open. "I'm not convinced yet that I'm awake," she said crankily. "And please calm down, you're freaking me out. I'm not going to eat you."

The elf fell to his knees. "I said the wrong thing! I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven, my lady."

Errol sat up, and the room spun a bit before steadying. "So I'm… not in prison," she said carefully. She stretched out her left hand and noticed that the pain had all but subsided.

"Oh no!" he said, still sounding oddly scared. "They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It's all anyone has talked about for the last three days."

"Ah, no wonder I'm starving."

"There's food by your bed, my lady, and once you've eaten you're to see Lady Cassandra at once. She's in the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor."

"The angry one with the silly hat," Errol said, looking over and taking a piece of still-warm bread from the bedside table. "Not looking forward to that. Now what is a Chantry and where would it be?"

Silence. She looked back, but the skittish elf was gone.

"This place is weird," she muttered, taking more offerings from the plate. "Good cheese though."

As she ate she explored the room. There was a small washroom with a rudimentary toilet, which she used gratefully, mourning the lack of running water or hand sanitizer. After emerging, she found her jeans, t-shirt, underwear, sports bra, socks, and windbreaker clean and neatly folded on a chair. On top of them was a small package with a note pinned to it in a looping, elegant hand.

'This was found in your coat. I'm afraid whatever technology that causes it to work ceased functioning when you crossed over, but perhaps with the right magic…'

It was signed Solas. Errol tipped the package into her open hand and found herself staring at her ipod and electric blue earbuds. She clenched them tight in her fist, feeling her hand shake. A little something of home, even if it was broken.

Next to her old clothing was a stack of new clothing, with its own note in a different, courser hand: 'Wear this.'

She shook out the clothes and laid them on the bed. There were heavy animal-hide pants, a thin but deceptively soft and warm dark green long-sleeved shirt embroidered in gold thread, and a long, tan coat with a high collar that flared down to her calves. She wasn't sure what it was made of - it bent like leather but was tougher than anything she'd ever felt, and knew instinctively that a bullet wouldn't cut through it.

"Bendy armor," she said, marveling. "So they can make bendy armor but not anything waterproof. What a society."

There were also soft leather fingerless gloves and knee high boots and a snug cap, as well as various pins for her hair. There was even makeup, which Errol immediately disregarded. It felt weird enough to parade herself out there in these otherworldly clothes, she wasn't going to paint her face as well.

There were undergarments too, but after deliberation Errol kept her own, as her sports bra seemed much more comfortable than binding her breasts. She also kept her own hiking boots, as they were broken in and molded to her feet. It occurred to her, as she shrugged on the tight pants and cloud-soft shirt, that she really must not be a prisoner anymore. A prisoner wouldn't be given armor.

After brushing and pinning up her surprisingly clean hair (she shuddered to think of them bathing her while she was asleep), Errol ate the last of the food and drank huge mouthfuls of cold water. Did they have toothbrushes here? She'd have to ask. All the little things she'd taken for granted before.

Finally, she couldn't put it off any longer. Errol tucked the broken ipod into her coat pocket like a talisman and faced the door. She put her hand up, inches from it, arm wavering, and struggled to move forward. You have to go out and face them. This is real, Errol. Remember what Dad said. It's kept you alive so far. Be the Owl. Be bigger and stronger than you are. Don't let them see your fear.

Her hand didn't touch the door, but it opened anyway with a blast of wind that made her stagger back. Oh, right. You can do magic now.

That made her feel better, somehow. And worse. Mostly better.

She stepped outside of her cabin, expecting to see hordes of angry eyes like she had the last time, but instead there was nothing but stillness. If she had been worried about how to find the Chantry those fears dissipated and were swallowed up in a feeling far larger and far less definable.

The entire population of Haven stood in rows on either side of her, creating a path from her cabin to the large building on the other side of the courtyard. They stood silently, reverently, their heads bowed, only a few whispers breaking out as she passed.

"Is that her—?"

"The Herald of Andraste—"

"She closed the rift—"

"Saved us all—"

"Herald—"

"Savior—"

"They say she came from another world—"

"Herald—"

The whispers started to grow and become oppressive as the crowd inched forward. Errol had the sudden fear that they were going to reach out and touch her. She tucked her head into her chest and started to sprint toward the wide double doors, slowing only to throw them open as the crowd's rumbles turned to shouts.

She slammed the doors shut behind her and leaned against them, panting, the sounds muffled once again to near-silence.

What was that? She guessed it was better than outright hatred but it was creepy.

Errol looked up, flyways already coming undone from her pins and curling around her face. She was facing a long, empty hallway, and at the end of it was a door, through which sharp, familiar voices echoed faintly.

I guess that's my cue, she thought, wrapping her fingers tightly around the ipod in her pocket. Come on, feet.

Straightening, Errol lifted her chin and marched down the hallway, only hesitating for a moment before rapping sharply on the door and opening it.

Chancellor Roderick spun on her, his face red. He looked a strange combination of angry, frightened, and smug. "Chain her!" he snapped immediately to the two guards lingering by the doorway. "I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial."

The guards hesitated and looked to Cassandra. She waved her hand. "Disregard that, and leave us."

They bowed, fists over their hearts, and complied, closing the doors behind them.

The Chancellor leveled Cassandra with a glare that was meant to be intimidating. "You walk a dangerous line, Seeker."

Cassandra acted like he hadn't spoken. She still looked tired, but stronger, her back straighter, her eyes bright with renewed determination. "The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it."

Errol interjected before the Chancellor could spout more bile. "I'm still a suspect?" she asked incredulously, encouraged by Cassandra's strong demeanor. "Listen, Ministry of Silly Hats, you do know I literally fell out of the sky, right? I don't know any of you people enough to even want to hurt you. And I just helped your Breach problem with my magic hand. What more do I have to do to get you to believe me?"

The Chancellor snarled, actually snarled at her. "You absolutely are. And about this other world nonsense everyone has been spouting—"

"No, she is not a suspect," Cassandra snapped. "And we do have reason to believe she is from a world not our own."

Some tightness behind Errol's ribs relaxed at Cassandra's proclamation. Finally, they're starting to get it.

Leliana stepped forward, her tone deceptively light. "Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone the Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others - or have allies who yet live."

The Chancellor sputtered for a satisfyingly long time. "I am a suspect, and the prisoner is not?"

Errol bared her teeth in the parody of a smile. "Doesn't feel good, does it?"

"I heard the voices in the temple." Cassandra's voice was shining, almost reverent. "The Divine called to her for help. It's possible the Maker even called her here. Why else would she appear, pulled through the Breach from another world, perhaps another universe, in our time of need?"

"Because she helped orchestrate it? You think her survival, that thing on her hand, is the Maker's will? You think he let the Divine die so this little foul-mouthed creature could live?"

"Perhaps she is the savior we need."

Errol couldn't help herself. "I'm not going to disagree with you being on my side, that's great, but… now I'm a savior? When we first met you nearly ripped the hair from my head. I actually think I have a bald patch. It still hurts."

Cassandra looked suddenly unsure, her dark eyes wavering when they caught Errol's. "I was wrong. Perhaps I still am. I will not, however, pretend you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it, despite your… oddities. Even your surprising mage powers were a blessing in disguise. That must be more than coincidence."

Leliana's voice was soft, almost coaxing. "The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it."

The Chancellor stepped between them. "This is not for you to decide! She is coming with me now and there's nothing—"

"Will you shut your mouth?" Errol said loudly, and could almost feel herself ruffling her feathers, puffing herself up. She was done with this argument. "There is a hole in the sky. Your world could literally end, and your rambling about trials and petty shit? I'm not even from here and I get that this is a Big Deal. Either help us or get out of the way, but I am going nowhere with you."

The Chancellor looked at her with loathing. "And this is what you call the Herald of Andraste? You little—"

Cassandra slammed a book on the table. It was a huge tome, leather bound, an eye wreathed in flame in the middle. "You know what this is, Chancellor?" she hissed, stabbing her finger at it. "A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act." She raised her voice and turned her finger on him, bringing it so close to his chest that he backed up. "As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval!"

His mouth hung open. Then, with a loud clack, he closed it, and the Lord Chancellor roughly pushed Cassandra's arm aside and stomped out of the room.

Errol let out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding. Part of her had still expected them to hand her over to him and lock her back up in chains. She wandered over to the table and let her fingers brush the book's leather binding. It was handmade, and beautiful, and oddly warm, as it was alive. She halfway expected the flaming eye to blink at her.

Leliana came up behind her, her footsteps silent against the stone floor. "This is the Divine's directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos." She exhaled softly. "We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support."

"But we have no choice," Cassandra said firmly. "We must act now. With you at our side."

Errol turned. They were both looking at her.

Cassandra held her gaze, her mouth pressed into a thin, serious line. "Help us fix this before it's too late."

Errol looked between them. The room was cold, and quiet, the stomps of the Chancellor's footsteps having long since dissipated. She thought of the feeling of the rifts, jagged tears in the fabric of the world, and what would happen to these two strong, desperate women if those tears pulled and pulled until it all came undone.

She took a deep breath. "Here's hoping the word 'Inquisition' has better connotations here than it does in my world. At least one thing it has in common is that no one expects it." Blank looks. Errol sighed. "And no one in this world will ever get my jokes." She reached out her hand. "Okay, I'll help, because I'm not a heartless monster and because hey, magic. But I warn you: I have limited fighting skills, no control over my magic, and no knowledge of even the name of the world we're in right now."

Cassandra took her hand, her fingers warm and calloused. "It's Thedas. The country is Ferelden. And believe me, we're aware. We're just glad you speak the common tongue."

Errol cracked a grin. "I know, weird, right? I'll need to get up to speed, fast." She didn't let go of Cassandra's hand, just gripped it tighter, the smile slipping from her face. "And you need to promise me that when this is all over you'll help me try to find a way to get back home."

Cassandra nodded stiffly. "If there is a way, we will find it."

The two women assessed each other before finally releasing hands.

"Welcome to the Inquisition, Herald," Leliana said, relief in her light, musical voice.

Errol turned to her. "Oh yeah, and there's that. What exactly is a Herald of Andraste, and why are people calling me it?"

Snow was falling again, soft fat flakes drifting hazily down from the sky. They landed feather-light on Errol's cheeks and dissolved almost immediately. Despite the snow it wasn't that cold, and she found the crisp air refreshing.

She sat on a low wall outside of the Chantry, watching the recruits train. Now that they had spied their first glimpse of her things had gone back to a semblance of normal, though they knew she was there. Every once in a while someone wouldn't be able to help themselves and would sneak a peek, and the Commander would thwack them over the head.

It was still early, but it had already been an exhausting day. After agreeing to join an organization she knew nothing about, Errol had been whisked away to meet the rest of the team - Josephine, the gentle noble who apparently loved ruffles, and Commander Rutherford, who seemed stern enough that she didn't address him by his first name, even in her own head, despite the fetching fur he wore over his armor. They had sat with her and patiently explained the basics - Andraste and the Maker, why she was considered the Herald, the barebones of mages, templars and the Fade, and a bit about Orlais and Ferelden and the various races. Apparently there were giant blue people with horns? It was enough to make her head spin.

They outlined a tutoring plan for the next month. Josephine would go over the history of Orlais and its nobility and relationship with Ferelden; Cassandra would hone her fighting skills and teach her about the Chantry; the Commander her tactical skills and the history of the templars; Leliana on basic potion making, the relationships between the races, and rudimentary reconnaissance work; Varric on the basics of how to function in the world (how did people brush their teeth, anyway?), and his experiences dealing with the recent historical events in Ferelden regarding blights and red lyrium; and Solas would teach her about the Fade and how to use and control her magic. Together, they figured they could create one semi-functioning human mage of Thedas. Only then would she be ready to travel to someplace called the Hinterlands to meet with someone named Mother Giselle.

Errol sighed and unconsciously stretched and shook out her hand. The maybes and the someones were driving her crazy. How could she ever be what they expected her to be, this Herald of Andraste, symbol of a God she had never heard of and didn't believe in?

"Does it trouble you?"

Cassandra's voice interrupted her thoughts. Errol looked up to see her standing a few feet away, a smudge of dirt still on her face from where she had slammed into a practice dummy.

"Everything troubles me," she quipped, and Cassandra glared at her, though there was no bite in it. Errol sighed. "The hand? It feels like pins and needles and a bit of burning."

Cassandra shifted closer. "That sounds… uncomfortable."

"It's no weirder than being here is for me."

"I see your point."

Errol moved over, and Cassandra hesitantly sat next to her.

"Should I sit somewhere else?" Errol asked, threading her fingers together. "I think I'm a bit of a distraction to the troops."

As if on cue, Commander Rutherford took the opportunity to knock the sword out of the hand of a gaping recruit.

"We can hardly call them troops," Cassandra said dryly. "And you are fine. They need to learn to fight amidst distractions, or else they will be dead in battle."

"I'll make a point to smile and wave, then, maybe do a little dance," she said, and Cassandra made a choking noise that was almost a laugh.

"Don't."

Errol snickered quietly. "I won't, I won't, don't worry."

There was a lull in the conversation. Cassandra seemed to consider her next words carefully. "We haven't been able to speak much yet. Are our worlds so different? I know that you lack magic and other races, but we share the human race, and a common tongue…"

Errol hummed a little as she thought. "It's very different, in ways I can't even begin to explain. For me, this is like going back in time hundreds and hundreds of years. Because we have no magic, we've been forced to make technological advances, and we really have."

"Such as?"

"We're cleaner."

"Ah."

"Not to be rude. We just are, because we can pipe hot running water through every building. Also, we have flying machines. And devices that can communicate over long distances. Still getting used to this whole 'horseback and ravens' thing. And flush toilets. The internet, ohhhh the internet. Television. I'll never know how House of Cards ends. Anyway. Very excited about the magic."

"Don't be," Cassandra said sharply, though everything she said sounded sharp. It was the accent. "It's not something to be envied in this world."

"It would be in mine. We have nothing else. It's-" She searched for the right word. "Flat." That wasn't the right world.

Cassandra dwelled on this. "Perhaps we will never understand each other. I'm sorry we can't give you… flush toilets."

"That's okay, I can burn people with a thought. Much better." Cassandra's lips thinned. "I'm joking! Is it not coming across? Sorry. This is awkward. I'm very out of my depth."

"That I can see."

There was a pause that went on a few breaths too long.

Errol cleared her throat. "So about that Breach…"

"Yes," Cassandra said, latching onto the new topic. "You've given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed - provided the Mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by."

Errol's mouth twisted into a skeptical scowl. "I believe Solas referred to my power as 'unstable.' Multiple times. Now you want to give me more?"

"We are still working out the details, and until then Solas himself will be teaching you how to control your fledgling mage abilities. The last thing we need is for you to become an abomination."

"Yes, as everyone keeps reminding me, that would be the worst."

Cassandra frowned. "You still fail to grasp the seriousness of the situation."

"Something riding around in my skin, getting inside of my head? No, I understand, and I'm appropriately terrified. But what do you expect me to do, start tearing what remains of my hair out? I need to keep my eyes forward. I need to laugh so I don't cry."

Cassandra looked a little ashamed. "You're right. You have an… unorthodox way of viewing the world, but you are not simple minded. We both need to learn to understand our differences."

"Am I interrupting?"

The two women looked up to see a slightly winded Commander Rutherford standing in front of them.

"Not at all." Cassandra stood immediately. "I'll speak with you later, Herald."

"Of course," Errol said, and Cassandra turned and briskly walked away.

"I hope it wasn't anything important," the Commander said, resting his hands on his sheathed sword. "It's just that the recruits are breaking their fast and it's time for your first lesson."

Errol stood and stretched. "Of course, Commander. Lead on."

She followed him inside to the empty war room. He pulled two chairs up to the grand table map and said, rather abruptly: "You don't have to call me Commander. You're not a recruit. Cullen will do."

"Oh." Errol gnawed on her lower lip. "Okay, then."

He settled into his chair. "You seem to call everyone else by their first names. I'm just surprised I'm the one you felt deserved a title."

"Everyone else can take it. You seemed like a title kind of guy."

He gave her a half-smile. "What about Cassandra?"

"I'm trying to soften her up. Keep up a feeling of camaraderie. I wasn't sure if I could do that with you."

"We could try," he said, earnestly, and she looked at him with surprise. "You are the only one who can close the rifts, an integral part of the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste. As your advisor and teacher, it would wise to also be your friend, if you'll let me."

Errol was momentarily taken aback, but then she grinned. "I'd like that, Cullen." His name sounded strange on her lips. "But in return please don't call me the Herald. Just Errol."

"I will try," he said seriously. "It's strange, you're not how they said you'd be."

She raised an eyebrow. "And do I want to know?"

"Probably not." A beat. "Wild. Feral. Foul-mouthed. Uncultured."

She held up her hands in supplication. "I get it, I get it. It's all an act, you know. It's easier, when I'm scared, to just act angry, to not let them see…" She trailed off, surprised by how much she revealed. Where did that come from?

He nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. We do what we must in the field to stay alive."

Errol was suddenly struck by the color of his eyes, a warm amber. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed before. Actually, he was very handsome, with wavy, dark golden hair and a strong jaw. She clenched her hands into fists on her knees. Aw, shit. She hated noticing that people were attractive. Especially when they were older men who were out of her league.

"How old are you?" she asked abruptly.

"Thirty-five." He seemed taken aback. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious." The answer sounded lame in her own ears. Too old for you, her brain scolded. Too stern. He's from another world and you're at war, Errol, you idiot. "I'm twenty-five."

"Yes, I read in Leliana's report." He was still looking at her oddly.

She shrugged. "Ok then. So. Right. This is a big map we have here. Where do we start?"

He turned his gaze to the war table and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, yes, the lesson. First of all, I really should explain in detail the intricacies of mages and templars and the Circles to you…"