Haven was quiet at night. The tavern had long since died down, leaving the town to their slumber. The only people still awake were a few guards silently patrolling along the walls that were trying hard not to fall asleep themselves. Now that the breach had been closed– and the immediate threat of demons were gone– everyone rested peacefully in bliss, unaware of the bloodthirsty monster lurking within the camp.

Astarion stood in the middle of Haven, where there were seemingly endless tents full of sleeping, helpless bodies. Cazador's words replayed in his head as he gazed upon the tents: First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shalt obey me in all things. Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed. Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art MINE.

He was terrified at the thought of what Cazador might do to him. If he was late returning to Cazador– Cazador would flay him again. That's if he was lucky; with how long it would take him to return to Cazador, he might end up in a much worse situation than ever before. The year he spent sealed, starving, inside of a dusty tomb wishing for death might be nothing in comparison to what Cazador would do to him now. He wanted to give up on the Inquisition and run back to Cazador as fast as he could, so he at least would only receive a minor punishment. Yet… here he was, able to walk in the sunlight– and Cazador could not. Was he truly free, or was this just a fluke? Would Cazador hunt him down and hurt him if Astarion disobeyed his rules?

"You look lost, fangs," Varric says from behind Astarion, startling him and pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Fangs?" Astarion asked, turning to face Varric, a slight hint of worry showing on his face.

"I've seen those pearly whites of yours, peeking out as you speak – got a bit of that snake fang vibe, in a good way, of course. But enough about that for now. You seem a bit distant tonight – something on your mind, or did you venture out here for a good old staring contest with the stars?" Varric asked, crossing his arms.

"I just…couldn't sleep. The thoughts of demons and rifts were keeping me up," Astarion smoothly lied.

"Hah, listen up. I'm right there with you. Life's decided to toss you into the fire, making you the savior of the realm, pitted against all manners of twisted demons. And on top of it, you're the herald to a god that you know nothing about. Life's crazy, isn't it?" Varric says, giving a small smile to Astarion.

"You could certainly say that."

"Look–life's got its way of throwing punches, no doubt about that. But here's the thing – you don't have to take those hits all by yourself. We're in this with you. Whatever is bothering you– don't be afraid to come talk to us about it. We won't judge. Oh, and don't underestimate the power of a good night's sleep. It's like armor for your sanity, believe me. Tomorrow will be a long day, so you should get some rest," Varric says to him.

"I will soon enough– I'm just going to take a short walk to clear my head," Astarion replied, lying once again.

"Sure thing. Just a head's up: It might be wise to keep a bit of distance from the lake. There's been some reports of wolves in the area. I'm not so sure that the townsfolk would like to wake up and see their Herald torn to bits."

"It would take more than a few wolves to tear me to bits. I'll have you know, beneath this charming exterior, I'm quite the formidable foe," Astarion replied, gesturing to himself.

"Ha, no doubt there. Among the elves I've had the pleasure of meeting, you're easily the most ripped. But even with all that muscle, it's probably wise to steer clear of those wolves," Varric responded, chuckling lightly.

"No need to worry– I'll stay away from the lake. Until tomorrow, Varric."

"Have a good night, fangs. Hope you can get some sleep," Varric says, then wanders back into his tent.

As soon as Varric disappeared back into his tent, Astarion looked out towards the direction of the lake. There really weren't many animals around here; the mountains were too cold and snowy for most creatures. Wolves, however, meant lots of warm blood. He was hungry and the wolves were his easiest option, so how could he refuse? Well, not his easiest option to actually bite, but still his tastiest option around to hunt. Since Cazador wasn't around, there was no reason he needed to stick to his diet of rats and bugs, and the thought of tasting a wolf's blood made him salivate.

Astarion snuck off into the night, heading to the frozen lake, where he hoped to find the wolves Varric had mentioned. Amidst the moon's silvery glow, he prowled through the trees that bordered the frozen lake. His senses were heightened, keenly attuned to any signs of the gentle, rhythmic beat of life forces around him.

Under the pale moonlight, he followed the tracks of the wolf, each step bringing him closer to his elusive prey. The crunch of snow beneath his boots was the only sound in the serene night. As he drew nearer to the lake's edge, Astarion spotted his quarry—a magnificent white wolf, its coat glistening with a hidden vitality. The wolf's eyes, like orbs of burning amber, locked onto him, and it emitted a low growl, recognizing the predator in Astarion. Astarion was lucky; this wolf was alone. It was a young wolf, having just left its pack in search of a mate to form a new pack with. It would be an easy target for Astarion; he felt delighted that he wouldn't be facing an entire pack of wolves tonight.

Astarion lunged at the wolf; and missed, the wolf's agility temporarily outmatching his own. His lips curled into a sly smile, as the thrill of the hunt coursed through him. The wolf was clearly not going to go down without a fight, but that made it much more thrilling to Astarion. The wolf's heart beat faster as it defended itself; but that only served to make Astarion even more interested. The delicious life force that Astarion so desperately craved was right in front of him, ready to be taken.

The chase was on, a dance of predator and prey under the stars. The wolf darted and twisted as Astarion lunged forward once again, this time getting nicked on the leg by Astaron's knife. The wolf bared its teeth at him– to which Astarion bared his own teeth back– then it lunged at him, in an attempt to claw and bite at Astarion. It was a failed attempt, because as soon as the wolf lunged towards him, Astarion twisted and pushed the wolf to the ground with all of his might. The wolf fought against his hold, but it was too late– as Astarion had sunk his fangs into the wolf's neck. The wolf's growls turned to desperate whimpers as it realized the inevitability of its fate.

The wolf's blood flowed into him, hot and rich, an elixir that pulsed with primal energy. As he drank, he could feel his strength returning, his body rejuvenated by the potent life force of the lone white wolf. Astarion drank deeply, savoring every drop. He pulled the limp wolf closer to him, relishing in the feeling of the hot blood flowing into him on the freezing cold night. It was a true picture of serenity; the image of a successful predator, feasting under the moonlight as snow fell softly around them.

The blood gradually slowed as the wolf's heart became weaker and pressure dropped; Astarion's moment of bliss was ruined. The wolf had run out of blood, and now there was nothing left but a cold, lifeless corpse in his arms. He dropped the corpse to the ground– as it meant nothing to him anymore– and stood. He wiped the blood away from his mouth with his sleeve, then turned back towards Haven. He felt stronger, more powerful, and most of all: happy. It was a pleasant sensation– where he had felt so tired before, he now felt rejuvenated. "That was delightful," he says, into the empty, quiet air of the night. He still had a few hours before sunrise, so he walked back to his room in Haven.

Apparently, the cabin he had woken up in was actually the room he was meant to sleep in; as its previous occupant had succumbed to a demon during the battle. He couldn't complain though– it gave him a decent amount of privacy that a tent would not have given him otherwise. He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes, falling into his meditative sleep. It wasn't a true 'sleep'- As Astarion could not currently do that– but it was still rest, nonetheless. It was still a time to let his body recover as he relaxed and let the world around him drift away.

The next morning, Astarion made his way back to the chantry, where Cassandra was waiting for him. He felt much better this morning than he had in ages; and he had a cheerful mood to show for it.

"So, I couldn't help but notice the new banners hanging up everywhere. I love the new sword-through-the-eyeball look. It certainly does paint a vivid picture of the fate awaiting our enemies, doesn't it?" Astarion says, a small smile on his face.

Cassandra sighed, looking mildly irritated already. "It's the constellations of Visus and Judex– the 'watchful eye' and the 'blade of mercy'. It's a symbol representing both the Templar Order and the Seekers of Truth. The early inquisition used this symbol– so I thought it would be suitable to use it again, since we are the inquisition reborn," she explained to him.

"How very boring. I liked my version better," Astarion responded.

"How's your mark? Does it trouble you?" Cassandra asked, intentionally changing the subject.

"Not anymore. Now that it has stopped killing me, I think I quite like it," Astarion said, raising his hand in the air and looking at the bright green light emanating from it. It was true– Astarion needed the mark to stay as a vampire spawn right now. He also was enjoying being able to walk in the sunlight once more, so he didn't want to be rid of either the mark OR the tadpole until he'd killed Cazador (as he still wasn't sure which one was allowing his freedom). Plus, he could tell the mark was powerful, and it was a power Astarion intended to explore to its full extent.

"It's good you feel that way. Your mark is now stable– as is the breach. You've given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed– provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by," Cassandra said.

"We're going to give this more power? I'M going to have that much power?" Astarion asked, feeling a little bit excited at the thought. Perhaps he should be more concerned about powering up something they barely understood– but he wasn't, because gaining more power and more freedom is exactly what he wanted right now.

"That is the plan, so that we may close the breach for good."

"Have I ever told you how beautiful and smart you are, Cassandra? We should be friends," Astarion responded, feeling giddy at the thought of obtaining more power.

Cassandra didn't respond to Astarion– possibly because she found him to be annoying– and instead just led him into a room at the back of the chantry. There was an exceptionally large table in the middle of the room, which was covered by a large map. Astarion glanced down at the map, attempting to look for anything he might recognize– but there was nothing. He had absolutely no idea where he was.

"May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces," Cassandra said, looking at a man with blonde curly hair and thick armor. He had quite an attractive face, and Astarion just knew that this man had people swooning left and right for him.

Astarion smiled to himself, briefly picturing Cullen shuttering under him as Astarion bit into his neck. The man would taste like an aged brandy, bergamot, and vanilla, and Astarion would take great pleasure in it. The thought of having that man pinned below him, whilst Cullen willingly tilt his head and allowed him to drink, was actually quite hot. Not that it would ever happen, though.

"Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through," Cullen says, completely unaware of the picture Astarion was currently painting of him.

"This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat," Cassandra said, motioning towards another woman in the room who was wearing a very striking gold outfit.

"I've heard much. It's a pleasure to meet you at last," Josephine responded.

"And of course, you know Sister Leliana. She is our spymaster," Cassandra continued.

"You seem happier this morning. Sleep well?" Leliana asked.

"Very well," Astarion responded, even though the night had involved incredibly little sleep at all. "You all seem to be a very impressive group of titles," He continued, addressing the rest of the room.

Cassandra then looked back towards Astarion, and motioned at his hand once more. "I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the mark for good."

"Which means, we must approach the rebel mages for help," Leliana says to Astarion.

"And I still disagree. The templars could serve just as well," Cullen added, seemingly not too keen on the idea of approaching the mages.

"We need power, Commander. With enough power poured into that mark–" Cassandra said, but was interrupted by Cullen.

"-Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so–" Cullen continued.

"Pure speculation," Leliana said.

"I was a templar. I know what they're capable of," Cullen insisted, with slight frustration in his voice.

"Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The chantry has denounced the inquisition– and you, specifically, Astarion," Josephine stated, temporarily ending the argument over templars and mages.

Astarion shrugged. "Well it's not like I wanted them around anyways," he said, knowing that his life would be a little better without Chancellor Roderick in it. Or any other clerics, to be honest. Usually, large religious groups worshiping a god whose symbolic imagery involved the sun weren't too keen on vampires.

"The chantry is frightened. Too many people are calling you– an elf– the 'Herald of Andraste'. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you. Their opinions of us would only become even worse if they discovered that you were a slave. We cannot count on their help and we are not popular enough to approach anyone else yet, either," Josephine stated.

"Chancellor Roderick's doing, no doubt," Cassandra said plainly.

Astarion shrugged at that. "I did tell you that we should have killed him."

"Let's be honest– they would have censored us no matter what," Cullen said, knowing that the chantry would have denounced the Inquisition in any scenario.

"There is something you can do, Astarion. A chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far, and knows those involved better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable. You will find mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe," Leliana said to him.

"Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition's influence while you are there," Cullen added.

Josephine nodded her head at that. "We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you're better suited than anyone to recruit them."

"So, let me get this straight. You're suggesting I venture out and work my charms on folks, all in the hopes of recruiting them to aid the Inquisition?" Astarion inquired, a slight sense of déjà vu creeping over him.

"Essentially, yes. Will that be a problem?" Cassandra asked, studying Astarion's expression.

"Oh, absolutely not. These irresistible looks of mine are practically a recruitment tool on their own. I bet they'll be clamoring to join the Inquisition the instant they lay eyes on me. It'd be a missed opportunity if they didn't," Astarion remarked confidently.

"Good. We've already sent scouts to the Hinterlands, and they are waiting for you. Varric, Solas, and I have all agreed to tag along with you. Meet me back here, whenever you're ready. I suggest visiting the blacksmith first to get new armor and weapons, before you go. There have been reports of fighting in the area, so be ready," Cassandra said.

"Don't worry, darling. The Hinterlands are in for quite a surprise," Astarion responded, a mischievous grin forming across his face.