August 3, 2023 Update fixes some typos but does not change the chapter.
This chapter takes some liberties with the Inquisition canon, more than most previous chapters.
Thanks go out to:
CherryJamOnToast,
Shadeslayer113, and
Efion63.
Who encouraged and supported my meager efforts.
Special thanks to those who have read and reviewed this story, especially Kora, Judy, and Kanta.
There is coarse language.
PLEASE COMMENT; it helps me know if you are enjoying the story.
Preserving Wisdom
"Far worse than the loss of what is, was the loss of what was or what might have been."
Elnaril the Younger — concerning the burning of the Library of Arlathan
Bang bang bang
Serrada could hear the pounding on a drum or something, and she rolled over only to find John's side of the bed empty. It was early morning, early fucking morning!
'Not one nightmare!' Serrada could feel the smile explode on the undamaged side of her face, it pulled funny on the rest, and she didn't give a shite.
Bang bang bang
The door to the bathroom opened, and John hurriedly tried to find his small clothes among her clothing on the floor.
"Damn it! I forgot to have Josie get us some bathrobes," John whispered as he shuffled along the floor. "And some slippers, fuck even the wood is cold."
Serrada put her fist in her mouth to keep from giggling; she felt so giddy.
Bang bang bang
"Ugggggh, alright, alright, I am coming! Keep your pants on!" John bellowed, finally finding and then reaching down to grasp his small clothes, giving Serrada a prominent view of his muscular bottom. He stood while tying the waist ribbon, then holding his head as he moved down the stairs in nothing but his very tented underthings.
Serrada blushed, embarrassed, and reassured that it might have been because of her.
The doors clicked, and the heavy door swung open; then Serrada could hear soft voices; one was John's and not so peaceful. His voice carried more through the room.
"What do you want? It is early Sera, Rachelle, can't it wait?" John asked, but Serrada knew that neither would be at the door before breakfast if it could wait, particularly Sera, who grew up poor and hated to be late for a meal, and Maker forbid, miss one.
"No, it can't," Rachelle replied, pushing past John as she Fade Stepped up the stairs to appear by Serrada's bedside in a magical blur. Serrada had not realized that Rachelle had mastered that spell.
'When had that happened?' Serrada covered herself as best she could, propping herself up on her elbows. She made little effort in covering herself as Sera had seen her bath many times in camp; she figured Rachelle would one day as well.
"Serrada, Wisdom is in trouble; we need to go help her," Rachelle grabbed at Serrada's covers and effortlessly pulled them free, exposing the Inquisitor completely.
"It is about bloody time, you two," Sera was beside Rachelle while John was just behind.
"Shut up, Sera, they haven't done anything yet," Rachelle sat on the edge of the bed. "Listen to me, Serrada, the spirit we know as a Spirit of Wisdom has been captured by someone and is forced to do horrible things. We must help her before it is too late…." Tears rolled down Rachelle's face like the waterfall beneath the cells; she was on the verge of hysteria.
"Hold on, that spirit that visited me in my dreams?" John asked, his face showed both concern and confusion. "She is real? I thought it was just a dream."
"No, commander, Wisdom is real, and she is in danger; she came to me as well," Solas was standing at the top of the stairs, equipped and ready to ride, which was unusual for his more contemplative nature.
"I am leaving this very morning to do what I can, but it is a long journey, and I fear it will be too late," Solas started to say.
"No, we don't have time for horses, please get ready, and I will get us there faster, Wisdom showed me. Meet me in the mess hall in an hour," Rachelle stood and started for the door. "I am going as soon as I can get ready, I will go alone if I have to, but I will go."
"Wait, Rachelle," John answered, "Dial back on the drama. You won't go alone; give us a little time to get it going. Rachelle, tell José to pull some shit together; we might need him, we might not, but I would rather have him and not need him. Sera, go tell Eric and Cassandra to gear up. We will meet in Josephine's office in one hour. And Rachelle, I promise we will rescue Wisdom if we can, but if we can't, we will find out why she is in trouble and deal with them."
John turned to look for his pants; finding them, he looked at everyone, still standing where they were a moment before.
"Well? What the fuck are you waiting for? Get moving!" With that bark, all jumped, even Solas. Rachelle and Sera raced for the door. Solas close behind, Sera paused only a moment to look at Serrada.
"Nice tits there, Inky," then burst into laughter and ran down the stairs, slamming the door shut.
Serrada smirked as best she could with the good side of her face.
'As if she had not seen my tits before, cheeky elf, she said it to get to John.' Serrada gave him a side-long look to see if it had; from his demeanor, she doubted he had heard the comment.
"Maker!" John threw on a shirt, then went to Serrada's dresser and gathered up her traveling clothes, all freshly mended and laundered. Without turning, he said, "She is right; you have nice breasts."
He tossed her a bra and some knickers, all while Serrada blushed. Finally, he paused in his packing. "Go pee; I will pack."
Serrada did as she was told, and through the door, she could hear him whistling the hymn from the mountain camp; it sounded odd to hear someone whistle a sacred hymn as a work song.
John whistled and helped Serrada pack her kit. His had been ready for weeks.
Serrada came out; she was suddenly embarrassed as he helped her dress. He even helped with her new bra; it was padded and tight to keep her from moving so much. She dressed in her new armor, dark now with Silverite in critical spots, and new matching combat-ready Inquisitor helmet and mask. She emerged from her quarters with John in tow, both equipped for full combat, which was strange since she usually wore lighter armor closer to traveling clothing.
They met the rest of the group in Josie's office; Solas, Cassandra, Lysette, Cole, Varric, Eric, Rodeo, and José, who was itching to return to the field after his long studies.
Those John had expected, there were no extra soldiers, which was a slight surprise; a little more interesting was Lysette, whom he had only worked with once or twice. His interactions had convinced him she would have been a very competent soldier on Thedas or Earth.
All those little shocks paled compared to the fact that not only was Sera there, as usual, but so was Rachelle, dressed in Inquisition-issued mage combat armor. Perhaps what surprised him was that she looked like she knew how to wear and use it.
"Just wondering, but since when has Rachelle been in the field, and for that matter, what about Blackwall and the others?" John asked, but Cassandra and Solas answered together.
"Weeks, Command Gray" Cassandra answered, "Rachelle requested training before we left for Crestwood."
"It is part of the reason I stayed behind, you see, to assist in her training on several levels," Solas answered, shifting his pack and staff, ensuring not to meet John's eye.
"What about Blackwall then," John double-checked his magazines.
"'e is deawing wiff the paperwork for the mayor of Cwestwood, making sure he goth to the Gway Warden's and doesn't sneak off somewhere," Serrada's tone said she was tired of the conversation. "And befowe you askth, Dorian is hewping with Fewix, and Vivienne is away preparing her viwwa for the upcoming baww in Hawamshiraw; she will be expected to hoss some befowe and after parties suwwounding the main even'."
"Yoff are naw tee onwy one capabbe of supwises, John," Serrada whispered before turning to Rachelle. "Wha' now, we 'ave days of widing ahead o' us…."
"Follow me please, Inquisitor," Rachelle replied; without waiting, she turned and walked back through the door of Josie's office, turning right and down the stairs that lead to the lower floors. There was a large room used daily as a mess hall for the Inquisition staff and troops and an occasional formal dining room, but more frequently as a gymnasium where some Newcomers tried to teach soccer and basketball; the mess hall furniture folded neatly and was stored against the walls.
The floor was empty and swept clean, but not entirely so. Drawn on the floor was a circle of blue, glowing letters and symbols around an ample circular space. John thought it looked like some of the casting circles from witchcraft movies Mariah had dragged him to; she loved that stuff.
"In the middle, make sure you don't scuff the symbols," Rachelle carefully stepped inside.
The rest of the group carefully followed, treating the markings on the floor as if they were dragon venom. The circle was large enough that everyone easily fit inside the glowing lines.
"Is this a summoning circle?" Cassandra asked, aghast, but still entered the perimeter mostly because Serrada and Eric already had; Lysette followed only because of the Seeker.
Everyone was nervous, and Eric could not help himself. John knew some comment was coming and hoped it would be funny.
"Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times," The Newcomer's nervous laugh broke the tension, followed by another at the expense of the perplexed looks on the faces of those born to Thedas.
John was smiling, it was a funny remark and smiled broadly at Serrada and her quizzical look.
"Too long to explain, Rachelle; what is this? It looks like something from Blaire Witch or a Steven King movie," John turned to the Earth born mage; Rachelle opened her mouth to answer, but Solas beat her.
"It is a magical circle, Seeker, there are many ways such symbols and circles can be used, but I have never seen one like this before," Solas looked at Rachelle with a look that was mixed. John wondered what he was thinking; and doubted he would ever really know what the elf mage was contemplating.
"Yes, well, Wisdom thought it was best only to show me; the symbols are simply the beginning," Rachelle's face was as unreadable as Solas's. "Is everyone ready? I suggest you draw your weapons, as we might be walking into a sticky situation."
Everyone did; the Newcomers charged their weapons; Lysette, Cassandra, and Serrada drew weapons, while Sera nocked an arrow, smiling around another two in her teeth; the mages just looked bored.
"What is gowing to happen, Rashow?" Serrada asked as she moved to a combat stance, trying to be ready for anything without a clue as to what anything might be, which is much more complex than it even sounds.
"Haven't the foggiest. Everyone ready?" Without waiting for a response, Rachelle drank a flask of lyrium, and her eyes glowed bright white, as did the ruins on the floor.
"Wait!" Who shouted was swallowed by a massive roar and an equal rush of wind, then complete silence, an eerie stillness where you could not breathe. They were a tiny island swallowed in the darkness; little lights floated around them like snowflakes in the moonlight; all else was an inky black void. Everyone in the party felt sure that there were unseen eyes clothed in the darkness, creatures kept at bay by the circle of blue-white runes that floated on the surface of a spherical barrier of magical energy about them.
It lasted only a moment or two when suddenly another howling and brief maelstrom of air, and they were standing in the light of a morning that must have been at least an hour or two earlier than it was in Skyhold as the dawn was breaking, not the mid-morning they had just left. It was unnerving to suddenly go from the lower hall in Skyhold to find themselves in an empty field. But they had little time to appreciate the change.
The sounds of battle washed over them, mixed with the stench of death; both seemed to surround them, and smoke and debris were scattered as far as they could see.
It was clear that a battle had taken place right where they stood, but it was over and done with some combat having moved off to the east.
"She is hurt!" Rachelle bolted toward the sounds of combat. Sera was right with her, with Serrada not far behind, daggers drawn, both with bows strapped across their backs. Everyone followed quickly as John and Eric brought up the rear guard.
"Do you have a fucking idea what we are doing?" Eric asked as they ran; they were running fast enough that it was hard for the Newcomers to talk, which meant that the others must be running full speed.
"Not a god damned clue," John replied, trying to keep an eye out for an ambush. "Keep your eyes open; this place stinks of a major ass-kicking, and I don't want to be part of it."
John watched as Rachelle climbed the hill, then disappeared down the other side, with Sera at her side; then came the larger group, then all disappeared over the ridge. John, his head on a swivel, checked behind them, then climbed the crest only to see the group stopped just beyond it. When he looked at the scene before them, he understood why.
Battles, by definition, tend to be chaotic. In his experience, two sides fought to win the day, each with clear objectives that the other tried to deny.
This battlefield was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
The hill they had just topped was the last in a series; at the foot was a long sloping plain that ended at the shores of a wide river as wide as the Mississippi at the flood. Maybe six hundred meters away. To their left, a jumble of boulders formed the shore of a small tributary river perhaps two hundred meters off; on their right was the tumbled remains of a building of some sort, and next to it, protected from the wind, was the still smoking remains of a camp.
All pedestrian and nothing unusual, at least for Thedas.
John shouldered his rifle to scan the scene through his optic.
What did capture John's attention first was the gigantic demon, seemingly stomping around like a caged animal in a zoo, always within a circle of what looked like improvised pillars of stone, all covered with glowing runes that John had come to recognize as some spell.
Outside of this circle were several groups, men and women in robes and gear, that told him they were mages, and among them were what he suspected were mercenaries hired by the mages; they all had their backs to the circle but were being careful not to cross into it.
On the side, nearest the burning camp, was a small gang of ragged looking soldiers in tarnished armor, all with battered templar symbols on them.
Direct at the base of the hill was a band of lightly armed and armored but similarly dressed individuals he suspected might be like the brigands encountered in the villages near the Crossroads.
To the left was a collection of fighters with a banner he did not recognize but was not the one on many of their chests. Their armor sported a lion's head, although several had been defaced, but not in a way that damaged the armor.
Finally, in and among the boulders by the small river, there seemed to be a band of what he assumed were Dalish hunters, all in armor, carrying nocked bows but were largely milling about trying to keep out from underfoot.
The Dalish were not engaged in the fighting but were deployed as a skirmish line to keep the combatants from crossing the small river.
Each group engaged with those nearest, no matter who or how. The mages were using barriers to protect their sale swords, while the probable renegade Templars focused on the mages using their abilities to try and disrupt the spells; there were enough mages to prevent this but not enough to overcome the Templars. The Templar numbers were dropping as the sale sword archer's fire was focused on them specifically.
Those that John thought were bandits were focusing on staying alive and waiting for either the mages to weaken or the Templars while fending off the soldiers on their left, who were keeping either attaching the mages or throwing ugly looks at the elves who returned them with shocked expressions rather than arrow point.
Occasionally, a soldier or mage would get too close to the barrier and pass through; the demon would usually pounce on them, causing as much damage as possible, then throw the body away onto one of the other groups.
The demon was massive, more enormous than any other John had encountered. The Therinfal demon was minor in comparison, but this one was visibly worse for wear. It was seriously injured; arrows buried fletchings deep dotted its hide; those were nothing to the other injuries, for scattered across its body were gashes and burn marks crisscrossed its body, proving it had already been in the thick of the fighting.
"They are killing her!" Rachelle was enraged, stomping her feet. "Leave her alone!"
The volume of her shout sounded like a thunderclap, the fighting stopped, and all turned toward the small group. A dozen Inquisition standing against more than two hundred enemies? For a moment, all was silent; then, with a great shout, they went back to killing each other as if nothing had happened.
"What the fuck is going on?" Eric shouted; Cassandra pointed to the far left and shouted something about Free Loaders, or that was the best John could make out; she said something he could understand, Rebel Mages and Rogue Templars. Eric pointed to the unknown group in the middle; she shrugged, then the elves.
"Dalish, this is … was the Dales." She shouted back, arms waving to show the extent of what once was.
John was so focused on what Cassandra was trying to say; he didn't see Rachelle rush to the top of the hill, quaff a vial and raise her hand to the sky, which suddenly erupted into a boiling cauldron of coal black clouds swirling and twisting, she stood, raven hair flying about her and from her, her eyes sparking with light and fire, her left hand reaching high engulfed in blue tinged white light and sparks going high above her to the pillar of angry cloud.
"STOP FIGHTING NOW!" She shouted like rolling thunder; it was so loud John cupped his ears.
The only reply was a series of arrows from archers in each group did not come close, all bursting into flame long before their targets. The archers would never get a second chance, each consumed in brilliant white lightning from the pillar of could above their target. No more arrows flew.
Rachelle's right-hand engulfed in pure blue, white light shooting out, bouncing from combatant to combatant, all held fast for a moment before the wave moved on, then falling where they stood as if struck down from heaven, which was relatively close to the truth.
She turned to the Dalish, who immediately raised their hands, only they had been wise enough not to send a shaft in her direction.
The storm seemed to melt away as quickly as it appeared.
Sera beamed with pride near Rachelle as she moved up to take the hand of her beloved and walk toward the circle and the still stomping demon.
The beast bellowed and pounded its chest as they approached.
Everyone but Rachelle checked the bodies; most were unconscious, and some were dead.
"What the hell was that" Eric whispered to John.
"Magic, I think," John answered a silly question with an appropriately foolish answer.
"She is in such pain she can't think straight; it is these wards we have to do something about…." Rachelle did not finish; Eric took one, John another, and Rodeo lit up a third. Soon, although their light weapons did only surface damage, it was enough to disrupt the magic, and the wards were destroyed.
The moment the last was destroyed, the demon shrinks down to the visage of an elven woman cut and injured in a dozen places, her glowing green eyes as they had in his dreams, but much less bright and rapidly dimming.
Rachelle rushed to her, as did Solas, who spoke with the girl, Rachelle beside him, Sera a little way off. It was then that John noticed Serrada beside him. In silence, they saw Solas speaking, they could not understand the words, but his sorrow was evident.
"No, no, you can't let her die!" Rachelle was filled with rage and sadness. "Wisdom, you can't die. I need you."
Sera shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.
"There is nothing to be done, Rachelle; she is too gravely wounded. She cannot hold her form," Solas's voice was as compassionate as either Serrada or John had ever heard it. "We must let her go and find whatever…."
"No!" Rachelle shouted, then took four lyrium vials at once, she shook seeming to lift from the ground at once.
"You fool, that is too much," Solas stood, grasping Rachelle by the shoulders.
"She knows what she is doing; let her finish," Sera's quavering voice broke. Her dagger was at Solas's throat.
"Wisdom, I can't hold this. I need you," Rachelle whispered, holding her hand out to the spirit. "Please …."
Wisdom looked from Solas to Rachelle and back to Solas, who only nodded in surrender.
The spirit girl seemed to dissolve, breaking into a thousand tiny sparkling green and white points of light, streaming and swirling around Rachelle, who floated a foot above the ground. Then they settled on her like a beautiful green gem encrusted gown which closed around Rachelle, passing through her armor to her skin, living makeup, then bit by bit sank into Rachelle's skin only to be swallowed up, leaving only Rachelle.
John heard Serrada exhale when he realized he had also been holding his breath, both watching, frozen to the spot.
Rachelle dropped like a puppet whose strings were cut, only to be caught by Sera, who gently helped her unconscious love lie on the ground.
Sera crumpled under Rachelle, holding her lover as gently as a babe in arms.
Sera cradled Rachelle in her lap, oblivious to anything but her lover.
"Kill her now while she is unconscious!" A man's voice broke their revelry. John turned to see the shabby leader of the Templars rising, leading what few of his soldiers could stand.
"Stand down, knight-commander," Cassandra stood behind between the templar and his target, Rachelle. John saw Serrada inching toward a position to protect the stricken girl, trying not to incite the knight-commander with sudden movements.
"She is an abomination, Seeker. We … you can't let her live!" The knight-commander was an enormous man, tall even compared to John, not as large as Bull but as large as LJ. He was accustomed to having his way if by sheer size alone.
When Cassandra did not move, the knight-commander shoved Cassandra knocking her off balance. He broke toward Rachelle and Sera, snatching up discarded two-handed battle-axe, and made a bull charge toward Rachelle.
Solas tried to cast something, but the remaining templars suppressed the spell, and John didn't have a clear shot. There were too many casualties and Inquisition forces between him and the raging Templar. Worse, he and Serrada were too distant to intervene even as they both raced to do so.
The knight-commander sprinted toward Rachelle at an astonishing speed for such a large man. Sera desperately tried to grasp her bow, but she was entangled with Rachelle and could not draw it; she cast it away and threw herself over Rachelle to protect her from the killing blow. The fact that Rachelle was helpless, nor that Sera was defenseless with her back to him, meant nothing to the knight-command. He planted his feet and raised the axe, prepared to bring the axe down on both women.
Serrada knew that Sera and Rachelle were doomed even as she sprinted toward them. Being such a large man, a solid swing of the axe would have cleaved through both women in a single stroke.
Sera whispered her love to the oblivious Rachelle; their eyes were closed while waiting for the killing blow.
It never came.
Heart still beating, she waited … finally Sera chanced a glance. The knight-commander stood fixed. The would-be executioner stood set in place. His face was frozen in hate, but with a foot of bloody steel passing through his armor and out of his chest. Blood pulsing from his ruined heart, out and around the fullers of a sword. Bull would have been proud.
The corpse of the knight-commander remained locked in place like a flesh statue. Finally, Cassandra grabbed the back of the dead man's armor and pulled hard on her hilt, she removed her sword from his body. Allowing him to fall harmlessly backward away, his dead hands still clutching the haft of the battle-axe.
"Thank you, Cassandra," Sera said, wiping tears on her sleeves as she stroked Rachelle's cheek. "I don't know if it helps, 'cause she ain't hardly breathin', and if I lose her, I don't want to be alive either."
"Come back to me, Rach; I can't do this without you," Sera whispered between wracking sobs.
Varric did not want to disturb Sera but nudged Cassandra and used his boot to kick the corpse.
"That was Knight-Commander Vincent De Gadea of the Kirkwall Circle" Varric looked down at the corpse. He sounded vaguely sad. "He was not a bad man, just a stupid one."
With a deep sigh, he continued, "He was transferred in after Knight-Commander Meredith turned into a statue. You left before he showed up; I doubt if even Cullen remembers him, they did not overlap by much. A shame, really. I suppose that means the mages are also from Kirkwall Circle, but I don't think I recognize any of them. It is a small, damned world."
Both Varric and Cassandra surveyed the scene all around them. Finally, the unconscious among all sides began to stir, and things might have gone ill for Inquisition. Still, the fight seemed to go out of all combatants except for one of the bandits and another scruffy-looking man with a tattered uniform and a defaced lion on the breast. Each, apparently seeing an opportunity to resume the fight, tried to strike out at the nearest Inquisition agent. Unfortunately for them, one was Rodeo the other was Eric. Two quick bursts of automatic rifle fire sent each to the Maker, and that display quelled any remaining belligerence as the survivors dropped their weapons and then sat down to wait.
John, Eric, and Rodeo stood watch while the rest of the Inquisition collected weapons and checked survivors, passing out supplies as they had them.
Serrada watched, pleased with her people; they could take lives when needed but show mercy as quickly. Something the Inquisition should be proud of.
"Wiw she be awight?" Serrada asked José when he finally got to Rachelle. There were so many wounded. Serrada had been forced to separate Solas from the mages, the elf mage was seething, and she was worried he would execute them without a hearing. She would not let him do that, not out of a sense of justice; she was rather angry with them herself. But the reputation of the Inquisition was at stake; given the number of witnesses, it would be impossible to take any action that was not seen as simple revenge but not justice.
"Honestly, I have no idea, her vital signs are weak, and she is unconscious and shows no signs of waking. I hope she needs rest more than anything." José collected his gear and moved on, there were still many more injured to attend, and he was alone. That is when Serrada again took notice of the elves keeping watch over the humans. Serrada stood and began to make her way to the small group of hunters who, seeing her, stood and prepared themselves.
Seeing this, John and Eric took notice, but Serrada silently waved them off with a single look at John, who signaled his men to stand down.
"Be careful, Inquisitor, not all Dalish are friendly; I have learned from painful experience," Solas was standing on his staff, near Rachelle and opposite the mages he kept under constant supervision. They had relaxed since Lysette had led the remaining templars away under Varric's watchful eye. She intended to interrogate them about their purpose in coming to the Dales and who they were loyal lay. That meant the mages were starting to feel their superiority again, and that would undoubtedly lead to trouble.
Serrada strolled, open handed toward the Dalish. She was about twenty yards away, well within bow shot when she spoke.
"Andawan atwish'an" Serrada spoke softly but as clearly as she could.
"That is close enough, shem," a handsome young elf hunter responded. "Your heart is at the tip of my shaft. Leave now; take the rest of your shem filth with you."
Of course, it was then that the anchor decided to make its presence known, which made the hunters lose their arrows. Instinctively, Serrada tried to duck, but the distance was too short.
"Dirth ma banal. Mar sola sena mar din!" Serrada heard the voice of an older man who just cleared the stone ridge as the last arrow turned to smoke just inches from Serrada's heart. "Do you seek our slaughter, Alrel? Has there not been enough useless killing here today?"
"No keeper, there are still shem breathing here," Another young female elf answered in a whisper loud enough for all to hear, then spat on the ground toward Serrada.
"You will muck out the stalls this week, Sevel," The older man sounded exhausted with the whole affair.
"But keeper!" Sevel started to respond.
"And next week as well. Do you have anything further to add?" The Keeper smiled at the young elf maid who finally thought to keep her tongue. "Good, Alrel will assist you, of course; I assume you have no objection, do you Alrel? If not, lead the hunters back to our camp, and start your chores, while I speak with our guests."
The older elf moved nimbly down the boulders to stand before Serrada, and he leaned on a gnarled staff of yew wood topped with a softly glowing crystal.
"Greetings, my friend; I am Keeper Hawen," the man's relaxed stance belied a tension he could not hide. Serrada could sense he was holding magic close in case she was a threat.
"Wewow met, Kweeper Hawen; I am Sewada Trevewyan. I am wiff the Inqwuisition," She had little experience with the Dalish, although her father had been very generous with the clans that wandered his small realm and would punish any criminal actions taken against them; even so, they did not tend to interact with humans any more freely than anywhere else in Thedas.
"I know who you are, Inquisitor," Hawen stepped closer, taking Serrada's left wrist and scrutinizing it. "It is a great burden for someone so young; you have my pity and prayers. I would aid you, but my clan has its own concerns. We are trapped here in the middle of this foolishness. I have already had hunters injured; none have died, thank Mythal, but some are seriously injured. I would move us, but the trenches and traps the shem left each other have damaged many of our aravels, so we are trapped here until we can repair them."
"I 'ave wounded among my priwsonews as wew," Serrada interrupted. "And wiffin my pawty, I wiw guawantee wesources and assistance if you wiw aid us."
"Forgive me, Inquisitor, but promises of future aid, in exchange for immediate assistance strikes me as wishful, more than practical," The Keeper took half a step backward and leaned on his staff, but his mood was friendly. "However, I believe your offer is in good faith. We who wander the Dirth must be cautious, as you are no doubt aware; however, let me think on this. You and your group are welcome to camp near our aravels; the young mage and her companion are welcome at our camp. In the meantime, we will do what we can to heal her. However, the rest must disperse; they are dangerous to us and yourself."
It was not what she hoped, but it was better than she might have expected.
"Thank you, Keepew; we shall be awong shortwy. Thank you again," Serrada bowed, her hand over her heart as she had seen the Dalish do in Ostwick when they met with her father, hoping her gesture was appreciated.
"Your parents have taught you well, Inquisitor," Keeper Hawen returned the farewell gesture and climbed the rocks as quickly as a child might.
"We shall expect you shortly, dareth shiral, Inquisitor," Hawen said, then disappeared over the boulders along with his hunters and vanished as if by magic.
"Inquisitor," Cassandra shouted from the scattered knots of prisoners near the battlefield.
It was the first moment she had to see how things stood; Solas stood guard over the mages, who looked terrified and dejected, while the older mage, who appeared to be their leader, looked about defiantly, especially at Solas but with contempt at Rachelle. Serrada knew he would be trouble; all he was missing was a bloody great placard saying so.
She was somewhat heartened to see Lysette sitting with the remaining templars a short distance from the mages. However, the groups paid no attention to each other, as they seemed to be in a heated discussion. Lysette seemed relaxed and as confident as Serrada had seen the young templar. Serrada had watched the young Lysette blossom, working with Cullen as a mentor. She had been promoted several times and was an Inquisition Corporal but was now a Templar Knight-Corporal on the recommendation of Cullen and the newly minted Knight-Lieutenant Barris.
Serrada suspected she knew what it was about. The templars would not have been happy with the death of their leader at the hands of an erstwhile Seeker to save an abomination. Serrada shook her head slowly, she had hoped to recruit them, but that seemed unlikely now. They were good soldiers; a handful of them had held off both the mages and the assault of the bulk of the others as well.
That thought brought her to the others; they looked like a ragtag lot in dirty and damaged uniforms and armor. Her considerations took the remaining time for Cassandra to reach where she stood, looking at the elements of this rancid stew.
"Inquisitor, the combatants are all secure, but I have no idea what to make of it all," Cassandra stood near, Serrada, a bandage loosely wrapped over her injured forehead; poor Eric looked like an orphan puppy desperately wanting to comfort Cassandra, it made Serrada smile.
"As you have undoubtedly observed, there are three groups of opponents, first the templars there and the mages, who brought their lovers quarrel with them from Kirkwall," She pointed to the two groups, an unnecessary gesture. Still, Serrada knew the Seeker could not help herself, so she said nothing.
"There, those are a group of mercenaries. Just who hired them is not clear, but it seems they were sent just to cause trouble and thought the mages easy pickings, but learned differently," That group was seated a good way off, by themselves, Rodeo and Varric were guarding them, soon Varric conversed with Rodeo who nodded to something Varric. The dwarf slung Bianca over his shoulder and started running toward Cassandra and Serrada.
"The rest are rabble deserters from both Gaspard's and Celene's forces. It seems they did not take well to the rigors of duty and decided to chart their own course, pillaging as they went, while calling themselves Freeman of the Dales, useless deserters; there is an old scaffold just over the hill, might I suggest we make use of it?" Cassandra did all but spit with this report.
Before Serrada could respond, Varric approached them; for once, his arrival was a welcome relief.
"Planning more summary executions, eh Seeker?" His smirk showed he was teasing, but only just.
"I would suggest you volunteer to test it, but you seem a bit short for the purpose," Cassandra retorted with a smile, which Varric returned with a laugh.
"All wight, you two, get a woom. What is going on, Vawwic?" Serrada could not help but smile herself; for all her occasional venom, Serrada was sure that Cassandra was fond of the dwarf despite herself and his behavior.
"Turns out both the mages and templars are from the Kirkwall Circle," Varric watched both warily. "It took me a while to recognize them; they look scruffier than the last time I saw them. Funny how sleeping rough will even things out."
Varric chuckled; Serrada wondered if he was thinking of some long-ago interaction with arrogant mages or self-satisfied templars, more than likely, both.
Varric glanced over at the mages, "Seems that the senior mages had done the same, leaving the head librarian in charge of some mages who were too young or just had their harrowing. The templars got scared and more authoritarian, and things went from bad to worse, and the remaining mages decided to leave and join up with the rebels in Red Cliff." Varric glanced at Cassandra.
"That is consistent with the story the templars relate to as well. They are all young, and without proper leadership, fell pray to … that arsehat." Cassandra's mouth seemed to roll that word around before she said it was, causing Varric to chuckle, and even Serrada grinned before she realized it. "Be that as it may, these are rebel mages and are not protected by our treaty with the mages; further, they summoned a demon which is forbidden by Chantry law…."
"They did that because they were being attacked, Seeker," Varric started.
"That is no excuse Varric, besides," Cassandra squared on the Dwarf, who had no problem looking straight up at her just as defiantly.
"Enough, boff of you; what about the othews?" Serrada was becoming weary with their constant bickering; neither would change nor consider the other's point of view; it was all tiresome.
"We 'ave some agweements wiff the mages and the tempwar ordew. The mages and tempwars are few; I am wowwied about what to do with the othews," Serrada scanned the two larger groups of fighters. The deserters were clumped together to one side, and the mercenaries gathered across the wall of a low ruin.
"Let them go," Cole was suddenly standing beside her. Serrada could not remember when he came up here. "They will go back to where they started."
"What? Do you want me to fwee ttem? Some are thieves, kiwers, Cole; I just can't wet them go," Serrada thought that at least would be evident to the boy.
"Why not?" Cole always looked through you when you spoke to him like he saw some distant land far beyond your vision. "Gaspard and Celine have enough soldiers; these are tired of war; let them go home. The rest needed money to feed themselves or their families, so let them go home."
"But they may 'ave committed cwimes, Cole. I can't just welease 'hem," Serrada was trying to explain to him like a small child when she realized he was doing the same with her. "What did you do?"
"I helped them forget to be who they were, not who they are. They can go home now, should go home," Cole said as a matter of fact. A smile of satisfaction was all Serrada could get out of him as further explanation.
"They will remember — nothing? They can answer for no crime because they remember nothing of committing it?" Cassandra was completely nonplussed; how could someone defend themselves against charges they did not know of?
"What wiw they do, Cowe?" Serrada asked, Cole's solution would not bring justice for some crimes, but if the perpetrator of the crime is essentially erased from existence, what justice is there in punishing what was left?
"Some will return to their armies, but most will go home to be with their families. Isn't that for the best? I thought you would be happy," Cole looked confused; his solution was a way out — if it worked.
"So, they wiw wemember noffing of the battwe, the demon, or what happened with …" Serrada leaned close to the group. "They wiww not wepowt what happened with Wisdom and Wachelle?"
Cole looked confused for a moment, "What happened? To some, it was a week, a month, some a year; they are who they were before it all went wrong, they will go home." With that, he was gone again.
"Welease them, Cassandwa; tell them to go home and in gwoups as faw as possible. The lands are dangewous, for those who intend to wetuwn to eithew of the awmies, give them lettews of passage" Serrada thought it a good solution if an imperfect one. "Say that the Inqwuisition fweed them from theiw wespective enemies, and each was head injuwed in the fighting and that they are confused with poow memowies and may no longer be fit fow combat."
"Inquisitor!" Cassandra nearly spat out the title, "That is a lie; some of these are criminals…."
"What would you have me do, Cassandwa? Can they answew to chawges? If what Cowe says is true, and I do not doubt it, they have no memowy of cwimes they may have commiwwed. Shall we hang ouwselves for cwimes we might commit in a week or a year? I don't wemembew what happened at the Conclave; should I be hanged jus' in case?" Serrada could see that Cassandra was at war with herself. The logic of it was cold, and the justice was not. "Cassandwa, what other choice do we have? Do we stawt hanging peopwe for a cwime they cannot confess? Then it would help if you got stawted, it will take some time, but I am not intewested. Let them go."
Cassandra looked hard at her Inquisitor, then her head dropped, and she took a long slow breath. "Yes, you are right. It seems we have no choice."
She and Varric turned and left; in moments, groups of men and women started to disperse, some toward fortresses, for either faction, with strict orders that an Inquisition truce was in effect until they returned to their respective camps. They accepted this until they were out of sight and, thus, out of Serrada's hair.
Soon only the hand full of templars remained; suddenly, Cole was beside her again.
"Shall I help them?" Cole seemed about to do just that when Serrada answered him.
"Only the templars, for the moment, must follow Lysette. Can you make that happen?" Cole smiled then a shimmer flowed over him and the templars; all suddenly jumped to their feet and began to beg the pardon of the Seeker and the most senior templar nearby.
"At ease, this is Knight-Corporal Lysette Leathrem; you will follow her orders until we can reunite you with the order," Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast was in her element. "I assume you have questions; please keep them to yourselves until we are in private. Knight-Corporal, please escort your charges away so we may discuss things with the other prisoners. Templars, your duty remains, but you will act only under orders, is that clear?"
"Yes, Seeker!" They could not have been more in sync if they had practiced it.
Lysette immediately took charge, leading the younger templars away, all while deflecting questions about how they got to the middle of nowhere when their last memories were of Kirkwall.
That left the mages, which would not be easy, Solas as not in a mode for compassion. Serrada could see that as she approached him.
"Sowas I…" Serrada started; she could not believe how nervous she was with him. How far had they traveled, and how many camps and meals had they shared?
"No need, Inquisitor, I know what you wish to say," Solas did not seem emotional, which made Serrada concerned for the Kirkwall mage's safety. He only showed a certain level of cold disconnected consideration.
"Shall we discuss the situation with them? I look forward to what they have to say in their defense." Solas spoke with a level of detachment that frightened Serrada to the core.
Together they walked over to the small group trying to be invisible, all but the one who appeared to be the leader.
"Who is the leader here?" Serrada asked, already having some understanding from Varric; she waited to see if anyone would admit what she already knew.
"I am, I am Reimar Hacke," the leader started; he had puffed himself up as much as he could, given he was filthy. "First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle…."
"First Enchanwer? Weww, I am honowed," Serrada responded with a gesture and bow that could be sincere or mocking. She then took out one of her daggers and started cleaning her nails. Solas knew that as a sign to wait, although he was seething.
The First Enchanter thought the bow was genuine; he puffed himself up, looking to burst, smiling like a fool.
"It is nice to be appreciated, and thank you with the ruffians, but the abomination does have to be dealt with, I suggest …" Hacke could not have helped Solas more if he doused himself with oil and struck the flint to the iron.
Serrada continued as if she did not hear anything, flicking a bit of soil from her index nail toward the arrogant mage.
"Howevew, I must say I am a bit confused. My undewstanding is the Fiwst Enchantew of Kiwkwall was dead, and his assistant died at the Conclave befowe being named his successow, so how exactly did you become Fiwst Enchantew … Hacke? My guess is you just called youwself that, and the youngew mages didn't know enough to cowwect you. Am I wide of the mawk?"
Serrada waited and watched the mage become angry, and she continued to smile.
"How dare you question my authority? The mages of Kirkwall selected me," Hacke drew himself up as his friendly façade melted away; his true nature, a vain fool, was fully revealed.
"I was the foremost authority on ancient lore in Kirkwall; I was a council member," He was starting to roll with his resume.
"Yes, I am suwe; I am fwom Ostwick and am famiwiar with the goings on in Kirkwall; what I don't undewswand is what you are doing hewe and why you dewiberately wipped a spiwit from the Fade and fowced it to pewfowm like a twained dog?" Serrada's tone was now openly hostile.
"We were trying escape to Val Royeaux, to join the circle there," Hacke seemed particularly desirous of defending his worthiness of being First Enchanter. "They might gain from my expansive knowledge. Navara had closed the roads because of tensions with Orlais, so I booked passage with a trader willing to take us as far as Val Chevin via Jader. In Jader, we learned that the war had closed the docks at Val Chevin."
As the monologue continued, even Solas sat down beside Serrada. Serrada elbowed the elf mage, whispering, "Don't you feel sorry for his students?"
Solas had to stifle a burst of laughter threatening to escape.
"I reviewed the situation and chose the most efficacious course whereby we would offer our invaluable services to a caravan bound for Lydes, where we hoped to book passage to Val Royeaux. We had no idea that the civil war had expanded to the Dales. Thieves set upon our caravan, and we barely escaped with our lives, but the road was too dangerous."
He prattled on, causing Serrada to wonder if he used some spell to make himself an unlimited windbag.
"So the bottom wine is, you got into a jam and decided to enswave another being to pwotect your sowwy assth?" Serrada had lost her patience. Her spitting got worse when she lost her patience.
"I am sorry I don't understand," Hacke seemed genuinely confused for a moment, but only a moment, then his temper flared. "How dare you! I am the foremost authority …"
"On things you are hopelessly ill equipped to grasp, from books you cannot understand," Solas took Serrada's cue to continue. "You first summoned a spirit, then bound it, and compelled it to serve you against its nature; you corrupted her, against her will."
"Her? You ignorant brush apostate, they are not male and female. They are mindless bundles of drive and will," Hacke had lost what little dignity he might have once possessed. "I will not have the foundations of my life's work questioned by some ill educated bloody knife ear!"
Solas raised his staff to strike Hecke, but Serrada beat him to it; her left uppercut caught the arrogant ass under the chin. His mouth snapped shut with the punch, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell to the ground as if struck by lightning.
The younger mages watched in wonder and fear, Solas seemed to have grown in stature, and even Serrada was surprised by how forceful he appeared for a man who always presented a humble façade.
"Now wisten up, you wot," Serrada stood feet apart, her daggers in her hands clenched in fists at her hips. She leaned slightly over the young mages whose eyes were casting back and forth between Solas and herself; they were silently pleading with her for protection from the angry elf mage.
"You wave been fowowing a foow who may have cost you your wives. If that woman dies, I will personawy gut each of you, starting with this awse," she kicked the unconscious Hecke in the ribs, producing a groan from the librarian.
Finally, a very young woman threw herself down at Serrada's feet.
"We meant no harm, Miss; we had no other choice. Please, Miss, no one would take us in; please have mercy, we knew he was a fool, but Hecke was the most senior of us," Serrada could see the girl was maybe 13 or 14, a child just becoming a woman, the girl was terrified and sobbing. Serrada could imagine her little brother in just such a state.
"The real First Enchanter took all the senior and most talented with him; we were left as dregs to fend for ourselves or die. I can barely start a campfire; the templars wanted to make us Tranquil but didn't have enough mages. They planned to drug us and cut our throats in our sleep. What choice did we have? Please have mercy." Her begging just melted into wracking sobs.
Serrada glanced at Solas, who was watching; his anger seemed to have cooled some.
"You heawd her, Solas. Do you beliewe hew?" She held the elf in her gaze as one might a butterfly for the pinning. "Wew? Do you?"
Solas drew a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled, nodding in agreement.
"Do they desewve deaf, when? I know you want to kiw whem for what they did to Wisdom, but what would Wisdom say?" Serrada still held him, her eyes unblinking, his barely meeting hers, he opened his mouth to say something, but it was lost in the words of the one who spoke.
"She would say, no they do not, Solas, for children are not responsible for the sins of their parents," the voice was strange, the blending higher and lower notes than the one Rachelle's once bright soprano combined with Wisdom's contralto. Even so, both sounded tired; if the Dirth were not so quiet, no one would have heard it. Sera was gently stroking Rachelle's hair and weeping while trying to shush her.
"Be quiet, baby. Just let them talk it out; you rest, please," Sera plead.
"Ar lath ma, vhenan. We are dying; we must do this before we go," the voices spoke. Then Rachelle's voice alone, saying goodbye to her lover. "I need to say this before I go."
Sera started sobbing again, but silently while stroking Rachelle's air, Serrada could see the life leaving Sera as it did her lovers.
"Sowas, we need to do somewwing now. I wiww not lose boff because of this ass," She kicked Hecke again, then when he groaned, she kicked again but harder.
Serrada went closer to Rachelle to see that she looked worse, pale and drawn. The green flashes in her eyes were becoming weaker and did not last as long. Sera just continued to brush her lover's hair and weep silently. Solas followed Serrada closely, also focusing on Rachelle.
"I don't know that there is anything to be done, Inquisitor. Once Rachelle took the lyrium drafts, she overloaded her body. I suspect that Rachelle would die of the damage caused by her effort to save Wisdom. I surmise that it was enough energy for Wisdom to hold onto herself but not enough to repair either the damage to herself or Rachelle, in effect condemning both — I am sorry." Solas looked away; Serrada thought she saw a tear but knew he would not allow that to be seen.
"So, they need more energy, more lyrium? Do we have any more?" Serrada already suspected the answer, lyrium was expensive and difficult to attain, Josephine and Leliana had been working to secure more, but the cost and powers arrayed against them as well as the number of mages and Templars that were now in the Inquisition made the situation worse.
"No, she took the last. It does not matter if she consumed more lyrium; it would likely only destroy her. Her body is new to lyrium, the time needed to absorb it without harm and such a large quantity would likely prove fatal to anyone." Solas seemed genuinely sorry for Rachelle's valiant but fruitless sacrifice. "I am sorry, it would take so much lyrium that it would kill her, only blood magic could restore her, and that is forbidden …."
Solas was explaining the situation when Hecke finally spoke.
"How could you even contemplate such a solution? What are you? To even think of something so horrid, I knew you were an uneducated buffoon speaking of things you knew nothing about, but to even suggest such a …" Hecke stopped speaking. Serrada looked away from Rachelle and back to the fool mage.
Behind the man was a tall angry John Gray. Commander Gray's left hand across the fool's forehead, thus holding the mage's head up and back. The danger came from John's knife in his right hand, whose blade was against the mage's throat.
"Shut up, you piece of shit," John's voice was cold and sharper than the dagger he held. John's iron grip forced Hecke to look at Rachelle and Sera. "This is all your fucking fault; I should end you here and now. If the Inquisitor even blinks, I will."
"So that is it, is it? You are an illiterate child of a nothing lord born in a jumped-up pig sty, and she presumes authority over me? One of the foremost scholars in all Thedas…." He would have continued if John's hand did not end the speech, as it drew the dagger deep through both arteries.
"Use it, Solas" John's voice was cold, his eyes on Serrada, holding the struggling mage as effortlessly as he might a babe; he did not break eye contact with Serrada even as Hecke's heart pumped the life out of him.
The blood did not fall to the ground, useless, but was caught up in a ball floating an inch beyond the mages grasping fingers, both hands reaching for the spinning orb of his life's blood. His grasping hands, driven by pure instinct as a person who had been split open, might grab their exposed guts now lying before them.
Blood gurgled from the mouth and nose of the mage, but soon he was still, the shock taking him, but his heart still pounded out what blood it could, trying to feed the dying brain with blood that would never reach its destination.
When it was over, John dropped and then stepped over the corpse. The pulsing and rolling ball of Hecke's blood floated by Serrada toward the prone Rachelle. Finally, Solas said something elvish; Rachelle shook her head, then he said more, and she glanced up at Sera with tears in her eyes, pursing her lips, and finally nodded her accent.
Solas said something, and the blood shone brightly. Rachelle reached out to it, and beams of brilliant white reached for the glowing orb, which shrunk till finally nothing was left, and Rachelle's arm dropped.
"What did you say to her," Serrada whispered to Solas.
"I told her the truth, that not only would Rachelle perish, and her sacrifice would be for naught, but that I had seen what becomes of Sera without Rachelle, Sera would follow them into the Fade. That it was her sin if that happened as the fool Hecke would still lie dead." Solas was a matter of fact.
Serrada remembered the drunken Sera, dying by inches without Rachelle.
Serrada nodded to Solas; she knew he was right. She glanced at the other mages, terrified by what they had seen.
"I would 'ave execuwed him anyway, just fow being an awsehole," Serrada quipped, causing Solas to chuckle as they both relaxed in the horrible situation. She looked for John again, but he was gone. She started to wonder if he had been training with Leliana.
Serrada, Solas, and the mages watched as Rachelle's color improved, then they were all shocked when suddenly she burst up as if awoken by a clap of thunder.
"Rach!" Sera's dirty and tear-stained face was as bright as the sun with joy; she threw her arms around Rachelle, kissing her, then bursting into fresh tears again, sobbing, but now in relief and love; not all tears are evil. Rachelle held her beloved, stroking her, whispering in her lover's ear as they hugged and held each other.
Serrada's face was a placard of joy as well; she wanted so much for Sera and Rachelle to grow old together and have a long, wonderful, blessed life. Being the Inquisitor made that very unlikely for herself, but Serrada still fought for the happiness of her friends.
"Sewa, Wachelle, you two hawe been inwited to west in the wocal Dawish camp, it is pwobabwy coower thewe, and we can get some west," Serrada spoke softly to both. Sera did not answer but nodded and helped Rachelle to stand. Rachelle stood up straight, pulling her shoulders back and head up; she turned to face Serrada.
"You have been so kind, Inquisitor; you were generous to me from the start. You were compassionate to Wisdom also when you had no reason to be with either of us," Rachelle extended her arm to take Serrada's left hand; the voice of Wisdom and Rachelle came together, saying a single word in elven.
Serrada felt the magic flow over and through her like nothing she had ever experienced, hot and cold, electricity and ice water. Her eyes were ablaze with light and color. Her skin was on fire, with millions of beetles crawling under her skin. The beetles pulled and stretched her tissues like thick dough for a pie crust; her muscles burned, ripped loose, and reattached, and her bones ached and screamed. She could not move. Dying while being born, frozen while burning, pressed under the weight of a mountain, and pulled on the rack until every bone cracked and then shattered.
She could hear a woman screaming; Serrada could not tell who she was, but her throat was raw and sore when it was all over.
It stopped as soon as it started; an exhausted Rachelle and a frightened Sera stood before her.
Rachelle was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane; Solas had reached out on her right side to keep her standing, Sera on her left, but Cole was of help too.
"Inquisitors, are you well?" Solas asked, his voice filled with concern, Serrada nodded, but Cole got her attention.
"She had energy left to help, so she did, but it was almost too much, so I helped too," Cole said quietly. "I will help again; they will think he died in the battle."
Cole was gone again, and he stood by each of the mages, one after another. Finally, the look of fear in their eyes at the murder of their leader was replaced with a look of pity and sorrow at the loss of their teacher.
"What will we do now?" One asked another; she was the young mage from earlier.
"You will come to Skyhold, swear to the Inquisition, and resume your studies with outstanding teachers, including this man here," The Inquisitor patted Solas. "He knows more than anyone or anything you have studied, and you will be diligent students, do you understand?"
"Yes, Inquisitor, we will do as you command," Each stood, swearing on their souls to the Maker that they would serve and obey.
"Well done, Inquisitor," Solas seemed genuinely impressed. "You have met an enemy you did not expect and dispersed their forces, you dealt with a criminal with strength and conviction, but also mercy, and managed to save my friend. You impress me, Inquisitor; I owe you a great deal."
With that, Solas walked up to help Sera and Rachelle scale the rocks.
"I will go with them; these recruits may not be welcome in the camp, but we will camp a distance off between them and the dangers of the civil war. We will do all we can to protect the Dalish camp; maybe it will win us some support." Lysette stated, with Cassandra listening and nodding.
"Well done, Lieutenant; let us go make camp," Cassandra added.
"Take the mages with you; they need to start talking to each other and realize neither are monsters." The mages slowly stood walking with and among the Templars, occasionally offering or taking the hands of the other in the introduction and, hopefully, one day, friendship.
"You have done well, Serrada; I am impressed." John Gray stood beside her, along with the other Newcomers. "With your permission, I want to send them ahead of us; we will be along shortly."
Serrada did not comment but nodded. She was trying to decide what she would do with John; after all, he had committed cold blooded murder.
"Move you, all of you, if we don't catch up in 30, come look for us, now get going," John's voice broached no resistance; he used to command, they were alone in moments.
"Serrada, I know what I did was wrong, but I was not going to let Rachelle die for that shit; if you need me to hang, I will go quietly. I know how discipline is needed. I won't fight you on this," John stood a little closer this time before he continued.
"Serrada, I just have one more thing to say. I love you; no matter what happened to you, that will not change," He started to lift her Inquisitor's mask, but she resisted. However, he was much stronger than her, and his left arm held her like a steel band. She relented, and she knew she would start crying soon. She felt the tears on both sides of her face beginning to fall as both eyes blinked.
Serrada froze in shock, and he removed her mask; she blinked again, staring into his eyes; she blinked first her right, then her left eye. She could see his smiling face, eyes filled with love and joy. He kissed her; she could feel his kisses on both sides of her lips. Her fingers reached up to her face and found not the jagged bone and exposed teeth she had only just begun to become accustomed to, but to her cheek, the lost one was somehow restored.
She threw her arms around John, leaping up to grasp him with her legs above his hips, her arms pulling him to her as she kissed him hard and refused to stop.
It was an hour before they came looking for John and Serrada; they had not stopped kissing, Cassandra and the guard watched over them for another hour, but they never noticed.