Through A Cloudy Looking Glass

by OldDDGuy

What if a group of people found themselves on Thedas, but they knew little or nothing about it. How would they adapt? Would they? What if they were able to defend themselves with modern weapons, but nothing else? Would they be able to make things better or worse? Rough language, some adult situations.

16. Champions of the Just

May 12, 2022

To my readers, thank you for reading my story. I am sorry that I have taken so long to publish this chapter, but I have been trying to improve my craft, and I have gotten busy with Real Life. I have two more chapters in process and hope to have them out soon.

Thanks to CherryJamOnToast, Shadeslayer113, and Efion63, who have encouraged and supported my meager efforts.

There is course language and some mature material consistent with the game.

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Champions of the Just

Therinfal Redoubt

"Well, this is fun!" Eric shouted to John from his cover. John was behind an overturned table just a few paces from the table where Eric had taken cover. The shouts and sound of battle washed over them both.

John was crouched behind a thick table festooned with glowing crystals. Although protected from the crystals, the cover blocked his view of the struggle a few feet away.

Occasionally, a new red shard would embed itself into the thick wood protecting him. He could tell by the resounding thud and shudder of the table. It seemed as if the projectile was looking for someone behind it.

'Now I fuckin' lose that mirror!' The fragment of silvered glass had served him well in Iraq, but it disappeared when he was captured. He had not thought to ask about it.

"Diplomatic mission, she said." the noise of battle ⁶swallowed his words. "This was supposed to be a milk run, easy peasy, right? No problem in and out."

'A fucking diplomatic mission to see what the Templars were doing,' he said to himself; 'it was not, absolutely not, supposed to be a firefight.'

Serrada had been very clear - don't start a fight. That is what she had said.

John took a quick look over his cover and was rewarded with a wave of crystal impacting his table. For better or worse, he saw what he expected.

The hall was about 120 feet long, maybe 30 wide. Behind their position, the end of the hall was a solid stone wall, unbroken save for narrow windows high up. However, the wall at the other end was different; two doors on either side bracketed an altar. Those doors appeared to open onto a courtyard; it was tricky to tell; only God knew for sure — maybe the Maker knew too, but John only had guesses.

A shimmering wall of energy made up Envy's barrier — a flesh wall of corrupted templars protected the barrier.

Between him and the red templars was another wall, a wall of uncorrupted, the 'Good Ones' as John had come to see them. Those young templars were fighting for all their lives against a group of tortured, twisted templars Cassandra had poetically dubbed corrupted Templars. Sera, always the pragmatic, had called them red arseholes. Whether corrupted or simply red did not matter; Eric inserted a four-letter word. But, in the end, both red and corrupted stuck.

'And we are fucking useless! We will kill as many templars as reds if we light them up!' John's thoughts were interrupted by movement to his left.

A small group of corrupted templars had broken loose and flanked the Inquisition, forcing their way down the far aisle; if they succeeded, it would be the death of the Inquisition troops and the uncorrupted Templar. It took a second to realize that no one else could fire; rubble and injured templars blocked Eric and Little John.

John checked his M4. 'One mag left, two partials.' He figured 40 maybe 50 rounds; every round would have to count. He moved to break cover and brave the hail of red crystal shards, trusting in his new Inquisition armor and the Kevlar under it; he crouched as Eric frantically signaled for him to stay in cover.

Abruptly, Cassandra and Blackwall appeared as if by magic. Well, on Earth, it would be 'as if,' but on Thedas? It might be magic.

The duo chopped and hacked their way through the new threat. For John, time slowed, and he watched in fascination as two experienced sword warriors worked. He was a man who had spent most of his life in combat; John could appreciate their skill.

He noted that Blackwall and Cassandra's fighting styles could not be more different.

Cassandra used her weapon with more finesse than Blackwall for all her physicality. Blackwall tended to batter down defense, whereas Cassandra tended to find openings and exploit them. As he watched, John recalled watching her destroy fencing dummies, then go cut down whole trees to build new ones, but here in actual combat, she parried then turned and thrust with the subtlety of a dancer.

The comparison to a dancer suddenly had his mind on Serrada, who made Cassandra look like a Druffalo.

"Fuck Gray! What is wrong with you! Thinking of her at a time like this!" He could feel his cheeks growing red.

John could not help but chuckle; he recalled Cassandra's praise for his progress with the blade and realized she could have killed him instantly. However, it was humbling and still inspiring to watch a true master of the blade work. He could also recall Serrada's eyes as she discretely watched his training. However, she never seemed to be there when he was done.

Cassandra's earlier pronouncements about his position in the Inquisition caused his cheeks to redden more.

"The Herald of Andraste and I will have a long talk when I get back to Haven." His red cheeks were more from smoldering anger than embarrassment at that moment.

"If we get back to Haven." That thought broke the spell, and John got back to business.

John also noticed something else — Eric.

Eric worked his way toward the duo as quickly as possible, sometimes too quickly. As a result, he exposed himself several times and nearly paid the price.

"Eric! Keep undercover!" Both Johns shouted simultaneously; Little John, from behind the pillar, laughed a bellow which caused the room to look at him.

Just as Eric was about to be completely exposed to the corrupted templar fire, a half dozen arrows planted themselves in the foreheads of the corrupted templars facing Blackwall and the Seeker.

"You two get your arses down. NOW!" Sera shouted from some shadow to the left. Then, sending another arrow into the chest of an archer who had tried to spit the retreating Warden, the corrupted templar crumpled with a hideous sound as unnaturally fiery red blood sizzled from his mouth and nostrils.

John took one last glance at Eric, who had scrambled back to his cover, then scanned the great hall behind them. It was littered with the dead, dying, and more than a few injured of the last uncorrupted templars—the very men he was sent to bring to the Inquisition.

'We are losing this fight!' He glanced at Eric, who seemed to read his mind, and then pointed to an empty spot where a grenade would usually be. John glanced down to see the single concussion grenade he had thought to add to his loadout.

'Shit!' John knew what Eric was suggesting. In that instant, John Gray, Lieutenant Commander of the Inquisition, joined a small and much-hated group of infamous commanders who were forced to consider the unthinkable.

Throughout history, commanders had sometimes found themselves in the horrid position of firing on their men to break a stalemate or turn a losing battle into a victory. From Thermopylae, Agincourt, Gettysburg, or the Battle of the Bulge, commands faced this decision. Some took it without thought or concern. After all, soldiers die ― that was their job. Others, like John, knew the men who might die, identified with them, felt for them, but finally did what must be done.

John signaled Eric and Little John to be ready and pulled the pin on the concussion grenade.

"The day started so well!" Little John shouted from his cover, a stone pillar just beyond Eric.

The day had actually did start reasonably well - for once.

It was a crisp cool morning, with the usual fresh-smelling air that most of Thedas seemed to have in abundance. Breakfast was hardy but straightforward, and everyone chatted quietly about nothing, they all knew that the day would end differently than its beginning, but none of them knew how it would end or whether they would see it.

Cassandra lectured John again as he tried to enjoy his tea and prayed that the coffee beans would sprout back in Haven; the peppercorns had done well in the makeshift greenhouse beside Solas's cabin.

Cassandra was trying to prepare him. He let her try; as they finished breakfast, the woman did not even take a breath, as far as he could tell. John noticed Sera, Eric, and Blackwall exchanging looks and occasionally coin.

'Those three would bet on anything,' John smiled and turned back to his teacher.

Around him was the core of his team; Eric, Little John, Jose, Casandra, Blackwall, Lysette, and Sera were all walking up to the throng of preening peacocks from Val Royeaux. John had considered bringing more of his people, but there was so much work in Haven; besides, this was an envoy, not an attack.

"This delegation of noble houses that Josephine managed to get to come…." Cassandra had been trying to brief him again on the details of the Inquisitions envoy to the Templars. She had done so for the entire walk from the valley camp up to the redoubt at the top of the hill. To John, names and dates flew by; he listened and caught a few more each time; too many to count or memorize even though John tried, he knew it was necessary.

"Cassandra, stop," John smiled, then whispered, "there is no more time, and my brain already hurts."

At first, she looked as if she would say something cutting, but she just smiled and nodded.

"It is unfair, isn't it?" Cassandra was sympathetic to his plight. "It seems enough of a burden to be thrust into our world, unprepared, even at the best of times, but these are not the best of times."

"Stay close in case I need help," John added, seeing all the strange hats and false masks were foolish. Still, Cassandra and even Madame De Fer, who had suddenly become less rude, explained that the masks allowed the Orlesian to pretend a level of honesty that would otherwise be hidden behind the false masks that we all wear.

"Yet more bullshit, but whatever." Sera's response to overhearing Vivie's explanation is yet another instance in which John secretly agreed with the elf.

All of this was pushed aside when they finally got to the group of overdressed fools.

"The Herald of Andraste!" A man approached them. He must have thought himself essential since he was bracketed by two bodyguards, dressed in similar clothing to himself — the leader wearing the gold mask rather than the silver of his companions. John scanned the rest but his voice, although trying for bold confidence, showed insecurity.

"I thought she was to be with the Inquisition group?" His voice showed evident disappointment.

"She was detained." Cassandra started without even allowing John to respond.

"Oh pity, it would have been polite to send word. We all would not have wasted our time." The unnamed man, plainly indignant, started back toward the camps down the hill.

"And who might you be?" John asked; he positioned his hands on the M4 strapped across his chest. The movement caught the attention of the bodyguards, who looked at the strange device with genuine fear.

'They must have heard rumors,' John was happy that resting his hands caused such concern.

"Lord Esmeral Abernache, if you must know, who are you?" The unmistakable superiority and disdain rang clear all around. He was very proud of proclaiming himself to anyone and probably did it in bed, possibly his only tool to seduce a lover.

Again, Cassandra took the lead. "Lord Abernache, may I present Commander John Gerald Gray, leader of our expedition, commander of the Inquisitions shock troops, founder of the Inquisitions Navy, and" there was a moment of hesitation. Several of these titles were news to John. It was evident that Cassandra had been practicing them.

'Since when did the Inquisition have a navy?' John only mentioned the idea to Serrada at tea the day before they left. The real shock did not come until Cassandra's next title.

"And consort to the Herald of Andraste." Cassandra did not even look at John, and the shock of such a public pronouncement was enough to cause him to choke. The peacock did not notice his reaction.

"Aaahhh, well then, that is different. You represent the Herald; this is good; the Lord Seeker has gotten above himself; having you here will take him down a peg or two, very good, very good." Lord Abernache had gone from disdain to approval in a heartbeat. John was sure the reverse would be just as quick.

"Lord Esmeral Abernache honored to participate; it is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed dales." Abernache seemed to have a line memorized.

John wondered how often he practiced it.

"I bet 'e says it in bed!" Sara's loud whisper was just loud enough for John to hear; Cassandra must have heard it; he caught a smirk as she stifled a laugh.

'What the fuck is the second dispersal?' John thrashed through all he had learned and could remember nothing of a dispersal, first or second. He repressed a desire to glance at Cassandra for some hint of what the man was referring to, but that would come later.

Abernache scanned the group, trying to find someone he recognized, until finally, he landed on Cassandra.

"Ahhhh! Lady Pentaghast, I am sorry I did not recognize you; I believe we met once at Divine Justinia's Elevation Ball at Halamshiral." Abernache was trying to drop as many names as possible in one sentence. "I believe Grand Duke Gaspard introduced us."

"Truly? I am sorry; how could I possibly forget such a meeting." Cassandra had an edge to her voice, John was not sure if it was for the posturing peacock or because of the whole Orlesian social scene, but he suspected booth.

"Shall we continue? Time is of the essence." Cassandra stepped forward next to John, and Abernache fell in as if he was invited.

Abernache commented about the Lord Seeker and some alliance between some motley crew of Orlesian houses and the Inquisition. John was only half-listening but thought of a response Josephine would like. But, of course, they were just hangers-on trying to garner some glory after he and the others cleaned up the mess.

"It is a shining day to have the best of Orlais in step with the Inquisition; let us hope that it is just the beginning of many such inspirational and transformational partnerships." John was pretty proud of himself; it was just the word salad that politicians would spout every couple of years, with many syllables meaning nothing.

"Oh, you are a natural, I can tell; people will give you anything." His tone meant that he was not fooled but was still impressed.

The group headed toward the fortress, Abernache still pumping him for information.

"Speaking of which, I don't suppose you will divulge what finally got their attention. Rumor will if you won't." Abernache's voice showed he was desperate for some hook to hang on to, the question that he did not ask 'does the Lord Seeker know you are not the Herald?' That was a question that was obvious in its answer. Clearly, the answer — No!

"I am the consort to the Herald," John almost strangled on the word consort.

John added, "I am not the Herald; I go where she sends me."

His heart wanted to say, 'I am a soldier; I had sworn myself to the Inquisition, mostly because I had little choice, but also because they had taken us in when they had their own problems. I pay my debts.' But, of course, he never said that.

The certainty in his mind was even less solid. He wondered how he felt about Serrada; was he not seeing something? Besides, would consort to the Herald be a lousy job? He felt something stir in his armor that was a little tight.

"It will certainly be interesting. The Lord Seeker's willingness to meet the Herald was quite a surprise given the spat in Val Royeaux; however, I do recall that his messages said it must be an in-person." Abernache seemed to imply that the entertainment value of the situation was undoubtedly worth the trip.

'Things must be rather boring for the nobility in Orlais after all,' John could not help but wonder if The Great Game was as entertaining as everyone pretended.

"Regardless, it is clear to me you are a true soldier, and between you and I, the Chantry never took full advantage of their templars nor understood their value and contribution. Wiser heads should steer them to greater purpose." Obviously, Abernache had ideas as to what that greater purpose might be but was not going to say now, he had plans for after the closing of the Breach, and he wanted his seat at the table.

John was glad to get to their destination, although he was not impressed. Nevertheless, it was apparent that his opinion of Therinfal Redoubt was shared.

"The Lord Seeker abandoned the White Spire to come here?" Cassandra asked the question on all their lips, except John and his people.

"What is the White Spire anyway?" Eric asked.

"It is … was … the main fortress of the Templar Order; it is located at the center of Val Royeaux and is where the Orlesian circle is and the repository for all the most important phylacteries." The Seeker's answer showed how impressed she was and her confusion as to why anyone would trade that fortress at the center of the most powerful empire and its most opulent city for this dump.

"Why would he bring the order here? It is beyond me, but he must have some reason." Cassandra fell in behind John as he started toward the gates ahead, "He must have some reason…."

"I can not understand why all of this is necessary; it should not be…." Cassandra thought over the whole mess, but the stress was blocking her inner dialogue.

"He sure did change his mind quick" Little John added, "I mean, I was not there, but I heard he had a real shit storm when they left the capital and all. Why the sudden change?"

"I have no idea. It makes no sense" Cassandra sounded confused but worried, and her worry made John's shoulders itch.

"Well, nobs all will change their tunes for gold, but what would a helm polisher want out of this?" Sera asked, and her insights were as good as any but also made the itch worse.

"Get geared up! Nothing in this makes sense." John charged the M4, then his pistol, and checked his mags. He had brought six topped off with two backup pistol mags for insurance.

"Jos é, you stay safe; we may need you. Have the healers stay outside."

He turned to the woman in full armor behind Jos é. "Lysette, you keep an eye out for trouble and guard the nobles and the healers. Organize their bodyguards; you are our reserves if things go to shit. Keep the nobles safe and come in only if we signal you. Clear?"

John had given her orders without considering if Cassandra had an opinion. Lysette only glanced at Cassandra, who nodded her assent.

"Yes, Ser!" Lysette saluted as smartly as if John was the Knight Vigilant, turned, and started barking orders of her own.

"You did that well, Lieutenant Commander; the Herald chose well," Cassandra's expression was a cross between a smirk and a genuine smile "you will be an excellent consort."

Cassandra started toward the porticus and was several steps ahead when John recovered from her last statement.

"About that!" John ran to catch up to the Seeker; with those trying to follow him exchanging smirks, Blackwall tossed Sera a copper coin which she quickly tucked into the bodice of her armor.

"It was a decision the Herald made just before we left. She thought it might be necessary to garner the proper respect" Cassandra gave that leering smile again, "Besides, I think she was trying on the idea, mostly to see how we in the Inquisition would react."

"Well, she could do worse," Sera shouted from a few paces back, "She could go for the Qunari; I mean, who wouldn't, well I wouldn't but ― have you seen his …."

"Enough!" Cassandra turned on Sera, who was enjoying the Seeker's discomfort.

"Worse would be Blackwall or Cassandra" Sera never knew when to drop something.

"Or maybe you, Sera? That would be a disaster…." Blackwall just had to get into the act.

"Hey, she is right fit. I mean, I have seen her naked a couple of times, she, Cassandra, and I have gone swimming to clean off the road dirt, she is right fit, and a great set of" Sera continued.

"Enough!" John hissed while wheeling around on them all; his face was flame in anger. "This is a mission, and you are talking about our commander, the Herald of Andraste. Enough!"

He turned back to the march; he noticed several looks; perhaps he said it with too much vigor.

"Well," Cassandra started, but John's look silenced her. "I am sorry, I never realized…."

"I said … enough" John's voice was a whisper, not anger but finality.

The Seeker took the hint but only for a step or two, she moved closer to him, and in a whisper, only he could hear, "Have you told her?"

John shook his head, 'How can I? I am not sure what I feel.'

"You should; there is not always a tomorrow," Cassandra responded, but John was sure she was talking about someone else. But he did not press it.

They moved through the gate toward the inner porticus. Again, the greetings were formal and not completely friendly, although not outwardly hostile.

Finally, Abernache decided to play host "I present Knight-Templar Ser Delrin Barris, Second Son of Ban Jevrin Barris of Ferelden." Abernache had inserted himself in through his knowledge of the players; it was somewhat helpful. Moreover, his need to show off what he knew meant that John did not have to dig through his mental notes of Cassandra's instructions. Abernache began to carry one, but Barris was having nothing to do with it.

"I am the one who sent word to Cullen; he said the Inquisition works to close the breach…." Barris was a forthright man; John could deal with that.

"I did not think you would bring such lofty company…." Barris's tone showed he was not impressed with the 'elevation' of the noble families. "When I met the Harold in Val Royeaux, she … well, I thought she would come here herself."

"She was occupied with other matters and sent her regrets; I was sent to negotiate your assistance." John stared, hoping that his being a soldier would hold some sway. When it did not, he played Cassandra's card. "I am also the consort to the Herold and have full authority to negotiate on her behalf."

"Consort? Well, that is different; we had not heard." Barris visibly relaxed, believing John had a position giving him authority, even though that position was the Herald's bedmate. "Let us hope the Lord Seeker will agree with me."

"This promise of status has garnered interest in the Lord Seeker. It makes no sense; that is not our purpose, but there it is." Barris was frustrated with his superior's commands. "The sky is broken and burns with magic, yet he hides here until the nobles, and your Inquisition arrives. It makes no sense!"

"Cassandra, you are a Seeker. Is this how things should be?" John asked, and the look on Cassandra's face answered.

"If they are in chaos or there is a breakdown in discipline, that could account for it; but he should restore them to proper order and rank, that is all." Cassandra was not happy with the Lord Seekers' actions; that was clear.

"He has taken command, permanently," Barris answered the question that Cassandra had raised with her observation.

"He would need a Holy Mandate, but without Justinia…." Cassandra made it clear that this made no sense.

"He claims he has one, and our commanders parrot him," Barris responded; his tone said he did not believe it.

Barris moved close and lowered his voice, saying, "The Lord Seekers' actions make no sense; he promised to restore our honor then march us here to hide." His voice had an edge that was not there before. "Templars should know their duty even when held from it."

John agreed on principle but wanted to ensure his position on blind obedience was known.

"Soldiers who follow orders blindly are not soldiers; they are slaves." John held Barris with a look that had caused Generals to step back. "We owe it to those we serve and those we protect to follow orders but, more importantly, to think while we do it." John paused to let that sink in, then finished, "And follow our conscience."

John stepped passed Barris, "Come, we have a meeting with the Lord Seeker."

"Ah, that comes to a point," Barris moved toward a display of banners hanging on the inner wall of the keep. "The Lord Seeker has asked that you participate in a ritual for guests. It is a simple thing; really, one is to proclaim one's balance by adjusting the position of banners, each representing the People, the Maker, and the Order. There is no correct answer, per se. It is intended to show what you honor."

Barris hesitated, "In truth, the Lord Seeker demanded it of the Herald by name, I am not certain if he wishes the Heralds consort, but perhaps he meant…."

"I am certain that the Herald would be honored, but I am not her…." John felt there was something deeper in this ritual; he had been trained in psyops and had participated in them. Information was power.

"I am not refusing; however, as I am not the Herald, it would be inappropriate for me to complete the ritual in her hame." John stood tall, shoulders back; he was a good half a head taller than Barris; he was not trying to intimidate the man but make a silent point.

"Very well, I believe you speak rightly," Barris replied, then moved away from the standards toward a door.

Cassandra moved up close. "That rite has not been practiced in an age; I wonder what he is about?"

'He is trying to get into my head, or more accurately, the Herald's head.' John thought. It was clear that this ritual was meant to reveal the participant's inner views, 'I will have to play this close to the vest.'

They entered a dimly lit room, with a few torches here and there and lots of dark places to hide. Barris led, and John and his team followed. The rear was brought up by the ass himself, Lord Abernache, who was plainly upset that John had captured the attention of Knight-Templar Barris and was not happy with being upstaged.

Abernache had engaged Barris in a debate over the role of faith in command, and it was going in circles.

John was glad when a side door opened, and in came three men in full armor. John's shoulders itched from his neck to his ass cheeks. These men had the aura of command, and from Barris's body language, they were his commanders. There were others around the table; some, like Barris, moved to attention. Still, others moved around to supporting positions. Something was wrong; John just could not put his finger on it.

Eric and LJ knew John's subtle signs, as well as he knew theirs, and they moved to flank positions, and Blackwall and Cassandra followed suit. Sera moved back into the shadows.

Unfortunately for him, Abernache took this opportunity to try and press his agenda, stepping up to the table where those who approached were clearly in authority. He wanted his chance in the sun. Too bad he would never see the Sun again.

"Knight-Captain! Lord Esmeral Abernache. Honored. It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed dales." He started again; John made a mental note to ask Cassandra about the dispersal. The way Esmeral repeated it repeatedly, it had to mean something.

Something made John's shoulders itch.

"Abernache, I suggest you give the Knight-Captain some distance."

Barris asked for clarification, but John did not need any; the sound of battle told him all he needed to know. He nodded toward Eric, and weapons were drawn.

"The Elder One is coming! No one will leave Therinfal, who is not stained red!" The Knight-Captain went through his own prepared speech. John was happy for the delay the dialogue brought him if nothing, but for the time it bought him. All John remembered was Elder One and purge.

"Templars to me!" John shouted and turned toward the officers, but not before an arrow passed through Lord Abernache's temples. An answering arrow flew from the shadows killing the Abernache's murderer; although it was doubtful, Abernache was grateful. He could not thank Sera for her efforts, and given the man he was, it was unlikely he would have anyway.

John went on instinct, "Kill the officers!" The M4 barked, sending three rounds through the chest of the Knight-Captian, Eric, and Little John, killing his lieutenants.

Barris drew his sword, unsure what to do. He hesitated until a dagger was driven through one of the youngest recruits, just a boy, by yet another red-tinged junior officer; he finally understood.

"The officers are corrupted!" He shouted as he drove his sword through the heart of a man preparing to backstab yet another young recruit.

The battle was mercifully short. The Lord Seeker had not thought much of the Inquisition or its party of nobles. That said, the sounds of the 'purge' could be heard all around them.

"There is battle in the grand hall; most junior knights and enlisted were ordered to gather there!" Barris shouted over his shoulder as he ran to a door. John followed as Barris was their only guide. The rest followed close behind.

Eric moved to the door and shouted. "José, we have wounded in here!"

He ran after Barris as José and his medical team rushed in.

Barris was through the door but engaged almost immediately; if John had not been behind him, it would have been ugly.

"They are monstrous!" Cassandra was horrified; it was a statement of the obvious. Sera agreed without hesitation, fear dripping from her every word. John noticed both Blackwall and Cassandra take up flanking positions around the young elf girl.

"Barris, how did this happen?" John asked as they moved, sweeping through the hall together, Barris with his sword in front and John's M4 shouldered. Barris was about to answer when another voice boomed in John's ears.

"Prepare them! Guide them to me!" It was low and booming but sounded strange, unnatural.

"Was that the Lord Seeker?" John asked, looking around for speakers, but it could have been magic also.

"Where? I did not hear anything." Cassandra responded; the others looked at John with concern, and all but Sera looked at him in fear.

"Well, that is not good," John added and moved down a hallway, sweeping and pieing the corners looking for lurkers, but none appeared.

All along the corridors, they saw signs of struggles, the hallways lined with offices sometimes locked but usually with doors broken open and scattered papers everywhere.

"Well, this will be an intel feast if we get out of here alive." Eric looked around at the piles of reports and maps in one office.

"Well, we shall have to ensure that happens, shall we not?" Cassandra was now close to Eric; Sera was behind them with her back to them, an arrow nocked.

"Can we just leave now?" She asked; her voice quivered, but her bow and point were steady.

"Soon, little one, we will be done soon." Blackwall was trying to be soothing, "As soon as you plunk the Lord Seeker, we can leave."

Sera laughed a little.

"Not if I get to gut the bastard first. This is all his doing, all of it!" Barris was angry, and the look on his face would kill if his sword did not.

"Let's move. Later we will collect the papers for the Nightingale" John took two steps and heard the voice again.

'You will be so much more!' It boomed in his ears, almost to the point of pain; he reflexively covered his ears.

"Can you hear a voice?" Cassandra asked, her eyes filled with concern, and moved close.

"It might be demon work." Cassandra had moved very close. "I had thought you immune, perhaps I am wrong, or perhaps this is a powerful demon." She seemed to be considering the situation.

"I do not have time to instruct you properly. Focus your thoughts on our mission, they will try to fool you, but you are strong. Focus on what is real to you." She looked doubtful but did not look away. "You are strong-willed, you can overcome this, but you must not lose control of your emotions or yield to them in any way."

Somehow her words of warning were not encouraging.

"Let's move; we don't want to get caught out or flanked. Eric and LJ have flanks, Barris and I will take point." John rechecked his mag count while turning to Barris, "You are our guide, don't get into trouble-we need you alive. Now move!"

Hallway to door to hallway again, always the same, finally they were at a large door.

Occasionally John heard the booming voice 'Show me what you are?' or 'What kind of man are you?' or his favorite, 'What kind of woman is the Herald? Tell me that I might know her!'

Soon, John was happy with the short-lived skirmishes that occurred. They kept his mind busy and not on a demon who had its plans.

There was a hairy fight in the courtyard; a dozen or more of the corrupted Templars were engaged and killed.

A young officer exclaimed, "I don't know what is happening! All of the officers have turned into those things." A common sentiment often repeated, or some version of it.

"It looks like the corruption started in the officers and worked down. I wonder how it started?" John asked Cassandra.

"Red lyrium. It is a new kind of lyrium. We often get different kinds, but this was supposed to be more powerful." Barris answered John's question.

"It started in the senior officers; they took it to show it was safe." His voice trailed off. No one needed to point out that, without a doubt, it was not.

"This is the shit that Varric warned about?" Eric asked Cassandra.

"It seems so." Cassandra's worried reply.

They worked their way up into the keep, finally getting to the officers' quarters.

Things were a mess, but the rotting corpse of a man in armor was the most disturbing.

"That is the Knight-Vigilant! The Lord Seeker said he died at the conclave!" Barris still seemed to be holding on to some frayed hope that some of this might make sense.

"Well, perhaps the Lord Seeker was lonely and wanted to keep a souvenir?" But, unfortunately, Eric added, his sense of humor was lost on everyone.

"Is anyone here not a murdering bag of shit?" Sera was past fear and now was in full-blown pissed off.

"Was the Knight-Captain hiding the body for the Lord Seeker? Did he murder the man himself?" Barris wondered aloud.

"Probably all of the above, plus a couple more things," Eric added in a loud whisper.

"Not helpful, Eric," John added, checking the room for anything useful.

Finally, they made it to the top of the keep. Unfortunately, it was raining, as it always seemed to be.

"The Herald of Andraste, it is time we got better acquainted." The voice boomed in John's head.

'Clearly, he did not get the memo about the leadership change.' John was tempted to chuckle, but he did not. 'So not all-powerful then, good to know.'

"What do you think to accomplish? What will you become?" The voice was asking questions constantly; John kept his mind clear; he had learned to focus through years of meditation.

Finally, they worked their way up one last flight of stairs to a man standing on a landing.

"That is the Lord Seeker," Cassandra whispered, a heartbeat before the man turned and grabbed John.

The top of the keep swirled and shifted, and John found himself in what could only be described as a misty green hell.

"I wonder if this is the Fade?" John looked around. It seemed something out of a bad Hollywood horror movie. Then, ahead of him, he saw two figures. Both looked familiar, but he was uncertain.

'Cullen and Josephine, yeah, that is it.' It did not make sense, but he would go with it. Unexpectedly the shapes morphed to others and back again. This time it was a more petite figure, and Josephine, he got closer before he realized it was Gliril! He felt his heart stop, then realized that was the reason for all of this, to get a response. He focused on his breathing, finding his center, relaxing, and breathing.

"Is this shape useful? Will it let me know you?" A vague Leliana voice sounded like an inadequate representation of a vampire. "Everything tells me about you."

It was challenging to keep his composure when the Leliana apparition walked calmly from the shadows making a threat to each and calmly cutting Gliril's throat. John nearly leapt forward.

"Interesting, you care so little?" Leliana stepped back into the roiling shadows as Josephine started her soliloquy. John realized that this was a fishing expedition. It all fell into place; whoever, or whatever this was, needed him to crack to become emotional; that was its way into him or his mind.

"Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker." A knife fondling Josephine added as she moved toward him.

'Mother Mary, full of grace' John had heard this prayer over and over from his youth, even on the lips of dying men. Why it came to him then, he could not say, but it did. 'The Lord is with thee, Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now at the hour of our death.'

The prayer he had been taught as a child rolled through him; it was automatic, it was a focus.

Mother Gissel appeared where Gliril had been, 'Who is this Mary'

"When I am done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend; then I will be you." A twisted blend of Mother Gissel and Josephine echoed through the tortured colonnade.

'Great, a nut job that thinks he can become a god.' John remembered all the cults and religions on Earth based on that fallacy.

John chuckled and let the sound echo through the halls.

Gliril appeared, black eyeless pits mocking him. "I am not your toy, I am Envy, and I will know you!"

"Tell me what you think. Tell me what you feel!" Gliril demanded as he watched a pantomime play out around him, with himself as the only actor. "Tell me what you see!"

But John simply found his center, 'Mother Mary, full of grace…' he started the prayer repeatedly.

He watched as Serrada was held a sword point in the very cells he had been locked in, Cassandra blaming her for the explosion at the Conclave. 'Blessed art thou among women….'

He moved forward with twisted apparitions of either himself or Serrada, showing their demonic souls through glowing green eyes.

'Strange that it is either Serrada or I? I wonder why?' John wondered as he passed from one scene to the next.

"Interesting, you care for her." The disembodied voice droned on.

'…pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death.' The prayer went on; it cleared John's mind; only the prayer mattered as he moved through the scenes.

"Will you stop that insipid prayer! Who is this Mary, this Jesus?" The voice demanded; it showed cracks in its resolve. "You will tell me what I want to know; you will allow me to become you."

"Why did you not choose the flags? Did you think to hide from me?" Again, the voice probed, asking for more. "Or do you love them all? Will you weep when I destroy them?"

Some fire fountains blocked John's progress - turning and twisting fountains vomiting strange blue flame. John felt trapped and turned to go back when he found he could not go back; he would have to go through.

'I should not have to do this! It makes no logical sense; what does this even do?' John stared at the collection of odd features, 'This is just stupid.'

He watched the features move; there was a pattern to the movements of the fountains. He found he could move, with care, through the elements. He could work his way through but always seemed to find himself in different rooms. The puzzles had a purpose, foolish and childish, but they required his concentration. That concentration took away from his ability to starve the being and keep himself centered. Once or twice he got too close to the blue pouring flame; it burned.

"Do you not see the hopelessness of your situation? I will wear your face, and there is nothing you can do to stop it; it is a matter of time, and I have all the time in the world!" Envy teased John in that booming baritone voice. But it was in a bedroom when another voice broke the pattern.

A young man's voice, "Envy is hurting you. Mirror on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake; I want to help you, not Envy, I want to help you."

"Yet another lie, Envy? I am bored with playing your games." John was tired but confident that feeding Envy information was a horrible idea, and this new voice was likely just a ploy.

"I am not a lie; I am Cole; it is easy to hide inside you. Well, I am inside you, you are … you. But I am here, hearing, helping; at least I hope I am helping." Cole added while hanging upside down from the ceiling, but given the furniture was on the ceiling, John wondered if he were not on the ceiling after all.

"Mother Mary, full of grace…." John started listening to Cole but jumped to another point.

"The Templars are impressed with you—more than the Herald. You are a soldier; she is not. The Lord Seeker was afraid. Envy wants you, needs you; the Lord Seeker is weak. I heard and reached; then I was here." The spirit calling itself Cole was now on the ceiling come floor.

"Envy wants your face, to control to contort to channel. From your face, he can control her. I heard and reached out, and now I am here." Cole was evidently trying to explain something that could not be explained to someone who could not understand, but he continued to try.

"Why should I trust you." John was getting frustrated; his emotions were roiling like a boiling pot, "Nothing you have said helps me know what to do; tell me something useful."

"All of this is envy, people, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches; it takes strength to make more." Cole added he hoped it helped. It was true, but it was still not something he knew how to do or use. "Being one person is hard enough; being many … too many … is hard. Add more and more and Envy breaks down; you break out."

'Now that is useful.' Then, for the first time, John had a plan. 'If it is hard to make something he had seen, like these rooms, what would it be like to create something only I knew?'

John focused on the farm in Missouri, the people, the animals, and most of all, the machines.

"What are you doing? Where is this place?" Envy shouted as the twisted blending of Thedas and Missouri appeared in his head. "What is this? Is this you, the real you?"

"You wanted to know the man I am…." John responded, and the house formed; he focused and ran toward it.

'How to fill it?' He focused on the cows, the horses Sarah wanted, the flowers, and the garden, nothing like he had seen in Thedas; he focused on the details, everything that was strange and unique and different from Thedas, no details the Envy could use, just the differences.

A twisted tractor appeared in the barn as a six-legged cow wandering through the pasture, followed by a house cat the size of a lion. John imagined all sorts of creatures, all fanciful and different; a gorilla in an apron was washing dishes as giant ants pulled carts with seats for the children.

'The housewarming!' John needed people, and that was perfect. He focused his mind on the party. Suddenly, a hundred people were there; all mixed, some had armor of the Orlesian army, and there were demons all wandering across the grass, giant war dogs attacking the monsters, as did the cows which John imagined goring and stomping demons to pieces.

"What is this? What is this place?" Finally, the demons disappeared, and the party resumed, with the gorilla serving drinks to the Orlesian army and Mariah's parents.

"John, we love what you have done with the house; it is remarkable." Mable leaned into him. "Mariah is so happy, thank you." She patted his arm.

'Fuck, I had forgotten about that.' John thought.

"You are helping him, do not give him you," Cole responded.

They climbed a hill outside, where Sarah wanted a playhouse; beyond the slope were a range of mountains with trees and more houses. John focused on people, more people he knew, friends of friends, men and women he had served with, and even his first-grade teacher.

"Why are you doing this!" Serrada is now in a cage, naked, bound hand to foot, her arms pulled tightly behind her forcing her breasts out. Tears streaming, in a voice filled with agony, "I gave you everything!"

He ignored her, moving past, some trigger occurred, and the scene exploded.

"Keep going, going up!" Cole's voice rolled through him with a glimpse.

John focused on New York after 9/11, one of their anniversary trips. 'Cole wants high? I will give him high.' He focused on the Empire State Building and the fond memory of his second anniversary trip with Mariah.

Higher and higher, up to the top of the observation deck. Mariah was with him, on his right but suddenly, so was Serrada holding his left hand. The left hand with her right.

"They say the Harold summoned these demons after Celine was murdered." People in armor chatted with them on the elevator.

Up to the top, higher and higher, his head was getting lighter, and both Mariah and Serrada were holding his hand tighter and tighter. Then, finally, the elevator doors parted, and the city spread out around them, block after block of buildings, steel, and concrete, a jumble of construction and height beyond Envy's conception.

"What is this place." Envy screamed as John felt as if he were going to throw up.

Suddenly a black caricature of himself with glowing green eyes appeared; all the other observers were gone. Only himself and the doppelganger and Cole walking the railing of the deck hundreds of feet above the city street below.

"Unfair, unfair!" That thing kept you whole, kept you from giving me your shape!" Envy forced John by the throat up against the building's walls.

"What is the point of all this? What could you gain from being me?" John asked; Envy seemed to wonder the same question.

"AHHH, we will start again, more pain this time. Finally, I will have your face. The Elder One still comes; I must have your face!" Envy's voice showed frustration but also fear.

'Is it afraid of me? Or of this Elder One?' John wondered.

"It's frightened of you," Cole answered his question.

Envy turned to threaten Cole, but John brought his arm down hard on Envy's elbow. If it was trying to be him, John took a chance. Fortunately, Envy had the same weaknesses as a human. The elbow bent, and John dropped, then struck hard and solid to Envy's chest and head, a flat fisted punch to the sternum trying to damage his heart while driving up into his nose trying to drive bone fragments into Envy's brain. It would have worked on a human.

Suddenly John was on his feet again; Barris was near him, as were the others, but what shocked him was the Lord Seeker looked decidedly different.

"A demon" in stereo, Cassandra behind and on his left and Barris behind his right, both shouted their surprise.

The demon seemed to dissolve into smoke; for only an instant, the group stood in shock, but John charged after it to the keep's Main Hall. He got to the center only to see the misty form of the demon pass through a force field of some kind.

"What the fuck is that?" Eric shouted the very question John was thinking.

"A magical barrier," Barris answered, "We can have it down, but we can't fight an Envy demon easily. They are powerful and subtle."

"I am confused. I thought that Seekers are immune to possession?" Eric directed the question to Cassandra, "I mean, he was supposed to be the Lord Seeker…."

"Yes … yes, we are, which means that the Lord Seeker must have allowed this." Cassandra's words sounded like they were choking her. The betrayal of all she believed in was written clearly in her whole body. "Why would he do such a thing?"

John did not answer. He had seen his share of incompetence and even betrayal from the brass and the civilian leaders. He was never sure whether it was intentional, self-serving, or just rank incompetence and stupidity.

"Focus, Cassandra, we have a problem to solve and a mission to fulfill; we will sort his ass out later." John turned back to Barris.

"Alright, what do you need to get through that barrier?" John asked.

Barris considered the barrier; "The Envy demon has had time to entrench itself; it is the architect of this whole disaster." Barris was getting angry over the whole situation. John slightly smiled as he could see that Barris was not just reacting, but now he was starting to lead, taking command of the Templars.

"Templars! Tell me about Envy demons." He addressed the room. Templars were gathering from all around; seemingly, most had survived.

"They hide; they are smart but stay hidden if they can," a young woman answered.

"We don't have the experience to deal with an Envy demon, but our senior officers are compromised with the red lyrium." Barris was thinking.

"How did this all start?" John asked; Cassandra looked like she was going to answer, but with a look, John silenced her. First, she looked at Eric, and he whispered into her ear; then, she seemed to understand what John was trying to do, getting Barris's head out of his ass and into the fight.

"It is not unusual for the leadership to give us new lyrium. There are all sorts; at least we have had them since we abandoned the Chantry." He choked on those last words. "We left because of a demon!"

"You left because you followed orders blindly; only a fool does that." John turned on him. "Now, will you continue to wallow in self-pity, or will you help us? The Inquisition is here to set things right. Are you going to follow your corrupt command and its orders or chart a new path?"

John spoke to the surrounding Templars, "Listen, all of you! The Inquisition has the Right Hand of the Divine, a true Seeker, an honest woman who has pledged herself not to follow orders blindly but to follow her faith and end the Breach and find those responsible. She had pledged herself to the Herald of Andraste," his voice rolled through the hall even above the din of battle outside.

"I have pledged myself to her as well. You have to choose now, fight for your corrupted leadership and follow their false orders, or follow one who is serving Andraste!" John knew the power of belief and how it could be used for good or ill, he hated manipulating them through their faith, but he needed these men and women.

"Follow one of your own, for the moment, follow Barris, and help us defeat this Envy demon and put things to right; we will sort the rest out once the Breach is closed." John raised his voice a little more, standing on a mound of rubble. "Are you with me?"

The room was quiet, then Barris broke the silence, "I am with you. Command, and I will follow you, Seeker Cassandra. What are your orders?"

The room filled with a chorus of agreement, even cheers; there were many voices as one. "I will follow the Herald" or "I follow Barris wherever he goes" others pledge themselves to the Right Hand.

It did not matter to John; all that mattered was they were his for the moment.

"Barris, what do you need?" Barris looked at John with the eyes of a subordinate but also with eyes that were fully opened.

"We need veterans. Our commanders have turned, but the lieutenants may still be fighting. We need all that can be saved, and we need good lyrium. There are still some stocks from Chantry, but I don't know where it is." He held John in his gaze. "I will not take, nor allow others to take, anything else, even if it means we fall."

'Good, now you are thinking!' John held him in his gaze.

"You take command here, try and hold the Main Hall; we will find who we can and get the lyrium. Hold this hall!" John shouted over his shoulders as he left. "Come on, let's move."

The sweep of the rest of the Redoubt was depressing; far too few of the untainted Templars had survived, but where they could, they engaged the Red and rescued those they could find.

The disturbing parts were the discovery of a room with graphic depictions of Empress Celene with a dagger through her forehead, pinning an incomprehensible note of rambled hatred.

"He hates her; I do not know why but he does…." Cole's voice rolled through his head.

"Who does?" John asked out loud; everyone looked at him in confusion.

"Who does what?" Eric asked, his voice betraying his concern.

"Oh, sorry, something I was thinking," John answered; it was clear that they were not relieved by his response.

"When I was in that dream, the demon told me that Celene had been murdered; I don't know much about her, so I was just thinking aloud." John kept moving, gathering what he could in notes and trying to stuff them in his pockets. Mostly it was to change the subject.

"Let's find that lyrium" he moved out of the room fast. Sweeping through the final corridor, they had cleared most of the courtyard; the battle got hot in several places. He had fired more rounds than he would have liked; he was down to two full mags and a couple of partials.

"We are burning ammo, boss; we need to wrap this up!" Eric had just fired a three-round burst through a corrupted archer on a roof, the last in the courtyard; two dozen Red Templars lay around them, most dead, but Blackwall and Cassandra used the tips of their swords to make sure, as Sera gathered more arrows.

"Agreed, just that wing to search. Eric, you take point, Little John and Blackwall the rear, Cassandra, you are with me!" Everyone started moving, and John moved to Cassandra.

"Look, I am sorry for what I said" John was uncomfortable with using her status to get the young Templars to listen.

"You did well, you said what you should have at the moment, and honestly, you were correct in all you said." She glanced around to see if anyone was in earshot. "I am surprised you understood the structure so quickly. Clearly, Josephine, Varric, and Lelianna's lessons are not lost on you."

She smirked at him. She was rather attractive when she was not trying to chop your head off.

"Remember, they are not your soldiers; they are the Heralds and only until the crisis is over. Otherwise, it will all come apart." She moved back, then blocked an arrow from above and to the right.

John would have engaged the archer, but Sera had already put an arrow through the bridge of her nose.

"Are you two done whispering? Do you need a room?" She almost giggled at the thought, "I mean, we could all wait while you to…."

"Enough, Sera!" Eric added from upfront without even glancing back. "Leave it."

John looked at Cassandra, who almost blushed but looked at Eric's back. John glanced at Sera, who had a very naughty look while stifling a giggle.

'Oh, Eric and I are going to talk….' John smirked to himself as he moved up to the man in question.

"Just up ahead, I think, is the last room; probably somebody's bedroom, guessing by the others." Eric did not even acknowledge the elephant pirouetting in the conversation.

"Alright, you go right, I go left." They bracketed the door and were ready to burst it when Sera stepped up and deftly unlocked it.

"One of these days, you boys will get yourselves in trouble" She checked the door, and there was a tripwire. It took her only a moment to disable the trigger and step through. A dozen crossbows were set and ready, their tips covered with dark liquid or glowing red edges. "See?"

Another cabinet was across the room; it had vials of glowing blue liquid.

"That's the Chantry lyrium," Cassandra took up the vials in their holder, "now we have to get back to the Main Hall!"

The return trip was quiet compared to their outward journey, and dead Red Templars were lying everywhere, along with a few dead junior templars. The battle at the Main Hall rang through the door; John and company burst through two side doors.

The main hall was a vision of mayhem. Red Templars had breached the door behind the barrier and had moved toward the young Templars. The junior officers and enlisted were hard-pressed; the floor littered with the dead and dying of Red and uncontaminated alike.

There was no time for orders, and it was easy to see who was who. If it was glowing Red or twisted out of shape, shoot it. They did; round after round was fired till it was difficult to hear; even the field suppressors were of little use inside a stone room. The supersonic snap of the bullets was loud enough to make even shouted orders inaudible. They all fought on instinct. Luckily, they had a height advantage and could shoot the Red cleanly without much concern about hitting friendlies. Even with their weapons, it was touch and go, and now their reserve of ammo was low.

"Sera, get Jose and the med teams up here; you can get down there faster and back up. Make sure they bring escorts!" John waited till the elf had left before he gathered the team.

"This is going to get hairy. First, move the wounded back away from the barrier; then move some debris to cover them." He expected his people to move, but he was happy to see the uninjured Templars start moving the injured back away from the barrier and assist in moving some of the toppled tables to cover them.

"Barris, what now?" John checked his gear; he knew the fight was not yet over.

Jose and the med teams came rushing in, followed by a collection of bodyguards. John noticed that Sera had a few more scrapes and fewer arrows, but the med teams were here.

"Jose, they are behind the barrier over there," John waved, "do what you can and keep the wounded safe." Jose did not need to speak; he moved his people, and the gaps in the makeshift wall were closed.

"Alright, Barris, let's finish this" John moved up to flank the Templars.

"Keep them off us, and we will tear down the barrier." Barris moved up to lead the assault with the lieutenants. "This might take a little time, and I doubt that Envy will take it lying down."

John watched the ritual. There seemed to be a lot of rituals involved with everything in Thedas, probably all the magic.

He did not have much time to think about it.

"Red Templars are coming through the barrier!" Cassandra's shout woke him from his reflections.

The battles were short but intense, protecting the templars attacking the barrier and then stopping the attacks on the wounded.

The barrier was thinner, wispier. The final wave appeared. So intense it drove them back for cover, behind overturned tables decorated with countless crystals and more than a few corrupted Templar arrows. That is where John sat trying to help the line of Templars protecting their veterans and Barris, who was destroying the barrier.

"Get down!" John shouted and threw the concussion grenade.

In civilian circles, they are often called flash-bangs and too often are thought to be non-lethal. But unfortunately, that is not true; they are less lethal than their fragmentation cousins; they kill over a much shorter distance. That was why John threw it high over the heads of the combatants.

Even with covered ears, the sound was impressive. It was meant to disrupt the targets' ability to process their surroundings. John and those who stepped through the mirror in Iraq had trained with them, they were soldiers, so they knew what to expect. The demons corrupted Templars, and junior Templars did not.

As one, John, Eric, and Little John broke cover and fired center of mass for the Reds and the few demons that had come with them. Three-round bursts had been enough for most humans, but what about the corrupted Templars?

It took as many as nine rounds to stop some of the most grotesque of the corrupted templars. The largest was grossly corrupted, barely recognizable as human. Some were so twisted even that was lost.

John emptied his magazine, then swapped to a partial and emptied it, and the last partial, then burned through half his final M4 mag, a total of 38 rounds. So he had only 12 M4 rounds and five magazines emptied at Therinfal. He saw Eric had slung his M4 over his shoulder; he was dry. Little John did the same, picking up a discarded sword and shield.

Blackwall was limping; a claw slash rent his armor, and his shield was split and filled with crystals.

Cassandra was beside him; she would be sporting a new scar across her cheek. The cut was not deep, but it was bleeding. Sera was helping Cassandra with Blackwall.

"You three stay here, and you kill anything that gets past us." John could see Cassandra trying to formulate an argument. "Do as you are told, Cassandra; these Templars need a leader, and you are the one they will see as a leader, at least for the moment."

"Eric, Little John, you are with me." John checked this last mag and moved forward; Little John and Eric followed, pistols and sword in hand.

The courtyard beyond the tumbled-down colonnade was probably rather lovely once. Now it was in ruin. Somehow it fits the state of the Templar order; once magnificent, now a decaying remnant of its former self.

John advanced bracketed by his people. Three against who knows how many.

John took point; his pistol was ready when needed, and his combat knife after that.

"It's raining; why is it always raining?" Eric just had to be helpful at times like these.

"I touched so much of you. But you are selfish with your glory; now I am no one!" Envy was not happy with his situation.

"Well, that is what you get for unwanted touching," Eric added, focusing on the sound source.

Cole strode up bold as brass, Eric, and Little John watched as the boy approached John.

"Who the fuck is that?" Eric asked, sweeping his Glock over the boy.

"Oh, that is Cole. I will explain again later." John added, squaring his M4 at what he hoped was the Envy demon's heart. 'Do they have hearts? I have to ask Minaeve if I make it back to Haven.'

"Dark and desperate, death to make yourself alive. I used to be like you." Cole marched up to the demon as if it was a kitten. "I'm not anymore, and you shouldn't be either."

The demon lashed out at John, and Eric fired into its torso.

"Funny, I thought that was a pretty compelling argument." Little John added, slashing at the creature from the left, he landed a solid blow to its back, and a gash appeared.

"I don't know, it was pretty good, but still, I don't think this thing wants to reconsider its life goals," Eric added, seeing Envy react to LJ by aiming a slash at his head; Eric used the time to fire three rounds into this center of mass. It seemed to stagger the creature, but those rounds would have killed a man.

'Hmmm, probably no heart, at least not where humans have one.' John aimed higher, putting a three-round burst stitched up the right side of Envy's face, blasting chunks out through their exit wounds; the creature screamed but did not go down.

"I don't know; if someone had said that to me a few months ago, I might have made different career decisions," LJ added, throwing a shield bash into the back of the creature, staggering it.

Envy screeched high and long, then disappeared.

"He is trying to hide" Cole's voice tore through the sound of rain and thunder.

"Who is that talking?" Eric asked, entirely as if he had not heard the voice before.

"Cole!" John responded as a handful of Red Templars appeared on the right flank. He fired into the center of mass for two of the five. Eric aimed at a third, and Little John beheaded the closest to him. LJ's face said he was as surprised as the Templar, although probably much happier about the outcome.

"Who is Cole?" Eric fired two more rounds into the last of the five who went down after Little John ran his shield through the side of her head.

"It is hard to explain," John answered while turning on Envy, who had reappeared to their left behind a stone wall.

Another burst stitched up the demon's chest, flesh and gore seemed to fly from behind it, and Eric tried for a head shot again. Little John tried for a knee but was kicked for his efforts, sending him flying backward.

"He approached me when I was locked in my head with Envy," John answered; he had gone to select fire and was shooting for some of the eyes.

"Who?" Eric asked, taking a shooting stance next to LJ, who was trying to catch his breath.

"Cole!" John answered, firing a single round through each eye; the eye seemed unimpacted but again, more gore.

"I wish I knew if this was working!" John asked no one.

"Who the fuck is Cole?!" Eric was getting exasperated when the second group of Templars appeared; they were barely human-looking giants. More twisted and torn than the first group, but fewer in number. He fired the rest of his first mag into them, and they went down, but now he was down to a single partial mag.

"John, I am almost dry!" Eric was looking at his options. He had been practicing with Cassandra, but he was definitely a beginner.

"Roger!" John glanced at LJ, who was getting to his feet but was injured.

"You are hurting him, don't stop!" Cole was suddenly beside John; then, he wasn't.

"Who was that?" Eric asked while finishing his reload and helping LJ get to his feet.

"I will tell you later," John added, looking for the Envy demon who had disappeared again, but this time when he did reappear, he was not alone; more Templars, and Envy was a giant.

"Shit, this is not good!" But, as always, Eric was helpful.

"Take the Templars. I will deal with the demon." John responded. Ignoring the Templars, Little John and Eric engaged them.

LJ had his pistol out. Although he did not like them much and never thought of himself as a good shot with them, he said often, 'You use your pistol to fight to your rifle, nothing else.' It was why he had only one pistol mag. He used the entire mag on the Templars; most went down with three rounds each. After that, he decided he preferred the shield and sword.

John fired into the Envy demon. He fired and fired till his M4 was dry; he swung it up and back behind himself with practiced ease as his Walther PPQ came out to play. The Walther barked, and .45 ACP hollow point bullets flew, striking home with as much energy as the M4 but in a slower thicker slug.

Now shaped like a giant warrior, the Envy demon lurched backward as John fired round after round between the head, the torso, and even in its groin.

Corrupted Templars raced toward John, but LJ or Eric placed lethal rounds into each, or LJ cleaved them. They were so focused on John that they ignored all other dangers, leaving the less-than-experienced LJ to cut them or even behead them from behind.

One last magazine change, the last mag he had. John got close and emptied it into the demon's body, aiming up into it. Huge gaping holes were punched clear through, and finally, with a shriek that would cause Johns's ears to ring for days, it died. Or did whatever demons do, since it dissolved into nothing but goo and a few bits of flesh.

The Templars stopped coming. The rain even seemed to stop.

"Well, are we done?" Eric asked; his voice showed his hope and exhaustion. His pistol was holstered, and he had grabbed a fallen mace from one of the Templar's bodies.

"I think so," John responded; his voice showed how exhausted he was. "Let's go see where we stand."

The three men turned toward the Main Hall again. They were limping, LJ was leaning on Eric, and John was trying to help keep the big man up; given his exhaustion, it was not easy, but somehow they managed.

Out of the Hall came Barris, the lieutenants with the remaining junior Templars who were still on their feet. Behind them came Cassandra, Blackwall, and Sera, who all had bandages in one place or another.

"The demon is dead, Andraste be praised; she shielded you from its loathsome touch." Barris started; his voice showed he was nervous about what would come.

"We have numbers across Thedas, but we let this happen. Our officers either failed or were complicit." Barris continued. John could see that his audience was not the Inquisition but his fellow Templars. This would be a delicate thing. They had seen what he and the Inquisition had done for the Order, but others would only hear a rumor, and normalcy bias would sway them to the old ways.

"The Templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us," Barris asked, pulling himself to full attention, while those behind him did the same.

John glanced at Cassandra; she was looking at him with the same level of expectation as Barris.

"I am not the Herald of Andraste, but I believe that Lady Trevelyan is indeed Her Herald, Her will made manifest." John could almost see the shock in Eric and LJ's. "The Templar Order has for too long forgotten its true purpose, to protect innocents from corrupted magic. But to also defend those gifted with magic from the ignorant and the superstitious."

"I do not believe you were meant by Andraste to be the jailers of the mages, and certainly not their tormentors." John felt compelled to finish this and make a change. "You should also protect them from those who willfully do them harm. You are better than jailors and must purge yourselves of those who would be willfully cruel. That is the true source of the corruption that Envy used, the willingness for you to see cruelty as a tool to keep control, rather than reason and justice."

"Therefore, until your order is restored as it should have been, we offer you an alliance under the Inquisitions direction. Through that alliance, you may regain your honor by aiding the Herald of Andraste to close the Breach and restore order, regain a sense of duty and justice for all of Thedas, both mage and non-mage alike."

The gathered Templars were silent for a moment; John held his breath.

Barris stepped forward, "We will not deny Our Lady's Will. Not anymore."

"But the Order is leaderless, gutted by betrayal, and we must rebuild it." Barris showed his misgivings.

"We have excellent role models, our own Templars and their officers, and the Right Hand of Divine Justinia and our Commander Cullen. Your order is a symbol of true respect, but you also play a key role in how the justice and mercy of Andraste should be shown." John could see the uncertainty in their eyes. He needed to close the deal, to make them know that they were crucial, as human beings, not tormentors.

"I have met more than one mage who credited their lives to Templars. Those templars rescued young mages. Saving them from angry mobs bent on finding someone to blame for every misfortune that befell them. One was a seven-year-old child just trying to keep warm. She praises the Templars for saving her, protecting her, and feeding her. That young woman repays that mercy by protecting others who cannot protect themselves." John searched the faces of all the surviving young Templars, willing them to see his vision of their future.

"Surely that must be worth preserving? Rebuild upon the foundation of Andraste's vision for your order, not the vile intent of sinful men who would use you for their gain." He had no idea that the Order came from Andraste's chant, but he hoped he was close.

"We offer you an alliance, under the Inquisition's guidance and command, at least until the Breach is closed, and the killer of the Divine is identified and punished. After that, well, we shall see what the Maker wills. However, for now, help us, and we shall grow together!" John finished; the air was electric but silent. He looked at Barris, holding him fast in his eyes. Finally, Barris turned to those following him.

"Do we take the Inquisition's terms, brothers and sisters?" Barris cried out to the remnant of the Order that stood before him. The response was immediate and emphatic — cheer "Yea!"

Men and women held their swords high over their heads, turned points down, and knelt before John and his team. Barris turned and nodded to John.

"We will follow the Inquisition and obey their orders and those it appoints and promote over us until the sky is healed and the murderer of the Divine is found and punished." Barris unsheathed his sword and knelt, "This I swear in Andraste's name."

The oath rolled from the lips of the ranks of kneeling Templars; not one refused the oath.

John started breathing again. He watched Cole walk away, then wondered why.

"You did well," Cassandra was beside him, "that preening peacock Abernache was right; you have a gift for this. I am just wondering how the actual Herald of Andraste will react to your offer."

John watched her walk away; her ass was swaying. It did not move with all the grace that Serrada's did, but it was a nice bottom nonetheless.

"Keep your eyes above the waist; boss" Eric chuckled beside him. His tone was friendly, but there was an edge to it.

"Don't worry, Eric, she is all yours, and good luck. Personally, I think it would be like going to bed with a beehive, but whatever turns you on." They both chuckled; Eric took a deep breath.

"Let's go home and see what the Herald says about your diplomacy." Eric walked away, leaving John alone on the terrace. He walked to the balustrade alone, looking out over the land below the redoubt. He watched the wind move through the brush and trees, the small animals living their lives ignorant of the drama that had just unfolded within the stone walls.

"I wonder what she will say." Then, for the first time, he had a moment to think of the visions he had seen, of Mariah and the farm. Mariah was always beautiful; he missed her so. But, of course, that was not new; he had missed her every single night for years. Then he thought of Serrada; he allowed himself to see her as a beautiful woman for the first time.

His visions were becoming cloudy now, like dreams when one wakes, but she had been in the elevator with him and Mariah. Did that mean something?

At the time, it did not seem strange as it does now? On the contrary, as odd as it sounds in the chill air of mountains, it felt … right, which brought a shiver to his spine and a smile to his lips.

What unnerved him was in Envy's nightmares; he had seen the Herald stripped, bound, and gagged, with a torturer whipping her. He knew Envy was trying to break him, but the rage he felt was genuine, and it choked him. But now, it made him feel cold and nauseous.

'What do you mean to me, Lady Trevelyan?' He asked himself, his fingers gripping the cold stone of the rail. He did not know, but he did know that her presence made him miss Mariah less as if Serrada's presence would allow no rival in his … what? His heart?

It did not help with missing Sarah; of course, that pain was always there, but what of Mariah?

Yes, he missed Mariah, but nowhere near as much as before … but before what? Meeting Serrada? Was that it, was it only that? There were no answers, not yet, but he had a long ride home to think about it and lots of camp watches too.

He watched a fennec male chase a female; he could not help but smile, "Good luck, buddy, but do a better job than I did." Then turned back to the job at hand.

It took some time to search Therinfal and gather all the intel, with mounds of documents and materials, not to mention the mountains of supplies, arms, and armor. But, that gave José and the healers time; thankfully, they could get the wounded ready to travel faster than John thought possible.

José was becoming something of a hero, combining Earth medicine and the knowledge of Thedas he and the healers had taken great strides in so short a time. Men and women who would have died from infection were treated with basic antimicrobial techniques like concentrated alcohol and sterile bandages while José was working to recreate some antibiotics. Even without antibiotics, the number of deaths from less severe wounds had decreased by fifty percent.

The trip back was slower, days longer than the journey to Therinfal. But, the good news was that the trip was faster than they initially thought, and more survived than expected; the Templars would be in good number to aid with the Breach.

With Cassandra's support, John put Lysette in charge of the Templars; there was some grumbling at first, but when Barris lay his sword at her feet, then took a knee, and swore loyalty and his obedience to her orders, well, the rest fell in line.

"Welcome to command, Lysette, or should I say Knight-Captain Leathrem," John responded with a smile, and Cassandra concurred.

"You have earned it. If you need some assistance," Cassandra added, then whispered, "you may need it. You know where to find me."

Barris was made her Knight-Lieutenant, with Cassandra acting as Knight-Commander until such times as other arrangements could be made. Cassandra's position was not controversial; she was a senior Seeker and behaved more as the young templars expected than the false Lord Seeker had. If anything, this caused those who were concerned about Lysette to be mollified.

And that was that. Lysette fell into command quickly, and the Templars were sorted and becoming, more and more, the well-ordered and disciplined men and women they once were.

Ravens flew back and forth with reports; John hoped that the radios would be up and running soon; birds sometimes went astray or got eaten.

On the return ride, John pulled the cloak close around himself. Unfortunately, his Inquisition armor was ruined. He loved the piece of craftmanship that Serrada had so proudly presented him; now, the leather either stank from Envy's blood or was torn to ribbons between slashing demon claws. He put it away carefully, hoping that it could be mended. But for now, he just wore a borrowed cloak, no insignia or sigil, just good solid warm gray wool. Like an old army blanket, it was comforting and familiar.

His horse plodded along at foot pace, leaving John time to think.

Finally, one night he and Cassandra had the Middle watch. The White moon was rising. It was beautiful and reminded John of some late nights by the campfire before Sarah was born when they tried to make a baby. It made him nostalgic but also determined.

"Cassandra, I have a question." He started, not sure exactly where he would go with his thinking.

"Yes, Commander Gray?" She tried to keep her voice neutral, they had been engaging in some verbal fencing over the consort title, and she expected the duel to begin again, so she girded her loins.

Keeping his voice level and quiet. "Since I woke up in her bed, everyone has been pushing Lady Trevelyan and me together. Why?"

'There, it is,' John thought. 'I said it.' It was then that John realized he had been holding his breath.

He had managed to get it out. It took a while to formulate the question and ensure it was even a legitimate question. He assumed Cassandra would deny any knowledge and deflect to another topic or stop talking at all … for days. Neither happened.

"Because she needs someone, and you need her." She said no hesitation, a classic Cassandra answer.

"What? So, you just admitted we are being pushed together?" John incredulously responded.

"Why not? You are not her equal in social rank, but she is not so much a noble as that will matter." The Seeker poked the fire with a long stick and then threw it into the blaze.

"If she was Orlesian, it might mean something, but she is the fourth child of a minor Free Marches lord," Cassandra took a deep breath. "More importantly, she needs someone who does not care that she is called the Herald of Andraste."

She glanced at him; his brow was furrowed as if he did not understand, which was all the confirmation she needed that they had been correct.

"So because I am a heathen, I fit the bill?" John asked with no small amount of sarcasm. "What about Bull? He does not believe in anything."

"Don't be foolish." Cassandra shot him a look that would kill a lesser man and maybe John if he looked at her. John was focused on the fire while trying to imagine Serrada and Mariah and how similar and very different they were.

Cassandra took a deep breath.

"Commander Gray … John," Rolling on her hip. "You need her, and she needs you."

"Do you know what the first thing we did when we finally pacified the crossroads?" Cassandra asked, knowing that he had not read her report. "We still had rebel mages and templars running about causing mischief, but we stopped to hunt to feed the people."

Cass turned completely to face him. "I offered to send scouts out in a day or two…."

"She told you no; the food was needed now." John finished her thought; Serrada had told him the story while sitting on the rock outside Haven. "Did she tell you the rest?"

Cassandra's eyebrows rose just a fraction of an inch. "Rest of what?"

"Did she tell you she hates hunting?" John responded. "She hates killing in general, but animals most of all. But, she does it anyway because it is necessary."

"When did she confess this?" Cassandra asked; this was news to her. She had spent far more time with the Herald alone than had John Grey, so how could he know this?

"On the rock, we started talking … just talking," John responded, kicking the smoldering log back into the flame. "I wondered why she spent so much time at the range—practicing, so I asked. She told me she missed a rabbit or at least made it suffer. So, she wanted to practice so nothing she had to kill would suffer again."

Cassandra turned back to the fire, the moon, a ball of white light was well above the horizon. She wondered if she should say what all of the leadership was thinking or keep it secret. Finally, she decided that more surprises would be wrong and potentially disastrous.

"When Matherath was married to Andraste, he was happy; she was a woman, a mother of his children. Then one day, she became Andraste, the spiritual bride of the Maker…." Cassandra's eyes were focused on the moon.

"She became so much more, even in her time, too much for one man to love and too much for men's marriage." Cassandra's voice showed some compassion for the betrayer. "He may well have been a good man, a loyal husband, and a good father; all those things are lost to time, but he is remembered only for his betrayal, for the anguish he caused and felt."

She turned to John, "You know nothing of our faith and world; you see her as a woman with a title and reverence. But you see that title and reverence separates her from everyone," She paused for breath or perhaps dramatic effect; John could not tell.

Finally, she carried on while staring directly into John's eyes. "Everyone but you."

"She must have someone to confide in, someone who will not see her and wonder if Andraste did save her and all that means." Cassandra rolled on, "Even if that someone is a stranger. A quinary would never do; they would want to enslave her or convert her to help convert the world to the Qun."

Cassandra seemed to be on a roll, and John was content to let her roll on.

"But you, well, you are a thoughtful man and the leader of your group; she saved you, nursed you not once but twice." Cassandra continued. "I do not think even she understands what she is feeling, but I believe that she cares for you, whether she recognizes that or not…."

"She cares for everyone," John scoffed; his opinion was written on his face. "She doesn't care more for me than anyone else, just like in her dreams of judging the dead…."

"What?" Cassandra asked, turning fully on him. "What did you say?"

'Fuck!' John searched his memory whether Serrada had told him to keep that quiet. He could not remember being told to, but that might have been implied with the topic and her knowledge that it would be sensitive. John had no such knowledge. 'She has not told them.'

"Nothing, forget I said anything," John added quickly, too quickly for a woman who was a trained interrogator.

"You must tell me what she said," Her voice was initially challenging and sharp; she softened it a little, she needed his cooperation. "Please, it is important."

"That is just it, isn't it?" John whispered in harsh reply, "I don't know what is and isn't important. One false move or one dropped word mentioned at the wrong time, and I could undo everything she is working for…."

Cassandra's stern searching expression softened into a smile; she put her hand on John's arm.

"There, you see?" Her voice was as soft as her smile. "You did not think to worry about the Inquisition, the Chantry, or anything else but what she is working toward. That is why she needs you; you care nothing for all the trappings of Thedas ― no, you only thought of her."

Cassandra got up, stretched, and poured two cups of overcooked tea from the pot near the fire. She was allowing John to think about what was said.

'Am I falling for her?' John thought of their time together and how he felt near her. 'Shit, I am. Fuck!'

"And as for you, John Gray," Cassandra handed him a cup of tea that should have been tossed the night before. As she sat, he overlooked that fact, and he sipped. "You and the Herald are alike; you must take care of people, help them, defend them, even at the cost of your lives. You are two of a kind in a world that has forgotten such people."

They became quiet, and both lost in their own thoughts; by the time John wanted to carry on the conversation, the rest of the camp began to stir, and the moment was lost.

The final few miles to Haven were quiet, everyone thinking of returning, a lover, or the next mission, or Maker knows what.

Upon passing through the outer gate, John could not help but notice the somber mood. It was not just quiet; it was as if the whole town of Haven was holding its breath. Leaving his horse at the stable, he noted Serrada's horse was there. She must have returned. He also noticed the thrill that thought gave him.

'Fuck I have it bad.' He realized, but somehow that recognition made him feel lighter, almost giddy.

He started toward the main gate to the stockade. Then he noticed something else.

No one would look at him, and a knot formed in his stomach.

John walked past his quarters, up through the main gate to Serrada's cabin, there was smoke from the chimney, but something was off. There was a wreath in black on the door. John felt the knot in his stomach become a rock.

He walked past Charter and the other scouts milling around her cabin in silence. Then he saw Cassandra was whispering with Cullen, and their conversation was animated, Cassandra froze, and John caught the look in her eyes. It was fear and sadness.

John felt his heart freeze in his chest, and he ran to Serrada's door and pounded on it.

"Herold, I need to speak with you!" He pounded again, he glanced around, but no one would meet his eyes. "Serrada! Open this door!"

The door did open, but it was not Serrada; it was Gliril, the little elf girl who had been crying, crying for days by her look. She collapsed into his arms, and all she would say was, "Master … she is gone."

John's world turned to ash.