"You have your life." It was simultaneously better and worse than hanging. "You are free to atone as the man you are, not the one you were, and not the Warden you pretended to be. Take your post, Thom Rainier."
With his hands still chained, he made a couple steps toward Lyn on her throne, as if to say something, but the Inquisitor put a hand out, silencing him. "I know how you love your speeches and grand gestures, but save it. We both have work to do.
She turned him loose.
She stood bolt upright, like the chapel's statues of Andraste, and looked at the small crowd that assembled, silent and staring. "Nothing left to see here, everyone. I suggest we all just… um… move along."
The crowd may have taken a long time to disperse but Lyn didn't stay to watch. Within the hour she was back in her regular clothes and pacing the battlements, daring anyone to come within a country mile of her. The steady thunk of wood being chopped echoed across the courtyard, but she worked hard not to hear it. Instead, she stared out across the mountains and heaved a deep sigh. She would have cried if she could remember how.
On that Saturday morning, Cremisius Aclassi considered himself the luckiest man in Orlais. He had survived a killer of a week, and for once, had an easy duty schedule for the day. It was his turn to show the new recruits around as they turned up. Sometimes the job was crap, like when an entire band of Orlesian merchants arrived at once and immediately began complaining about the state of their lodgings. (The lodgings were just fine, of course, and even better once you considered that they had been nothing but rubble and pigeon shit a week prior.) That morning, though, promised to be slow. Word was still just barely getting out about Adamant, after which, naturally, recruitment would pick back up. As it was, he had the time to sit on a bench by the gate, feel the nip in the autumn air, and watch the steam rise off of the strongest, hottest tea the kitchens were able to brew. Between that and a hearty breakfast (burnt bacon aside), the fuzz in his brain was starting to clear.
Up in the main hall there was a small but intense din. It was audible even where Krem sat, and he silently thanked the Maker he was spared from it. From the amount of racket being kicked up, it was probably about Maker-Damned-Thom-Rainier. At this point, Krem was ready to execute the man himself. Not just for his crimes, but so that people would finally shut up about it already. It was a good story for gossip but not that good.
The door to the main hall opened and shut. Elsewhere, higher up, a door slammed. Krem leaned over for a better look. Rainier was walking out. Alive. Alone. Unbound. The slamming door was probably the Inquisitor then.
"Huh," Krem said. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He didn't quite have time to figure it out, though.
"This the Inquisition?"
Krem nearly startled right out of his boots. The visitor was taller than him, broader than him, and carried a wood-cutting axe over one shoulder. Beside her, a brawny black Mabari sat patiently with a quizzical look in his eye.
"S-s-sorry, um, yes. Yes. It is," stammered Krem. "What can we do for you?"
"I'm signing up," she said. It wasn't a question. "And so is Pig Iron." Here, she gestured at the dog.
"Okay then," Krem said, trying to push his voice a little deeper. The newcomer was intimidating. And pretty. But mostly intimidating. "You got a name?"
"Yeah. Valerie." She was like a stone wall. Solid. Impenetrable. Inscrutable.
"Valerie, and the dog's named Pig Iron?"
"Yep, because he's about that stubborn." She half-smiled. It was enough to unleash a full smile from Krem.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"Riel," Valerie replied. "Or what's left of it, anyway. I guess I'm not from anywhere."
"The war?"
"Believe it or not, no. The war killed my mother, but the demons burned the village. So now I'm here. No better place to be right now."
Krem let out a low whistle. "And so you just walked here? Just you and the dog?"
"Yep." They were walking towards the barracks.
"So what is it that you do?" Krem asked.
"Depends on what you need. I can hunt. I can build. I can garden. I'm pretty handy with this chopping axe." To demonstrate,she rolled the haft off her shoulders and spun it around her wrist expertly. "It's pretty good for fighting, actually. Snapped a shade clean in half back over by Emprise du Lion."
"I think you're going to fit in just fine around here. Now, normally, I'd introduce you around, but this isn't really a great time for that." Krem's eye caught the Inquisitor on the battlements, pacing and glowering. "We can probably try that tomorrow. You want to come spar with the Chargers though? I'm interested to see what else that axe can do."
Valerie's eyebrow popped up. "The Chargers?"
"We're a mercenary group. Got in at the beginning for the paid gig, but at this point I think a lot of us would stay for free."
"Yeah okay. Do you have a spare kit of armor that'll fit a big one like me?"
"Um, you could borrow one of mine if that's fine with you."
"That's just fine with me," she said, half-smiling again. "Pig Iron can come too?"
"Are you kidding? Of course! The guys would love it! I don't think some of them have even seen a Mabari in person." They were at the barracks door now. "So come meet me behind the Herald's Rest when you're ready for practice. Look for a bigass Qunari with equally bigass horns. He's the chief. He's also easiest to find. I'll let you get settled in. Just pick out a bed that looks empty and make yourself at home. Let me know if there's anything you need."
"Thanks," said Valerie. "Just one question though?"
"Shoot."
"Is it the real deal? The Inquisition, I mean. Is it really gonna fix things?"
" As real as anything gets these days."
"Good." Valerie turned and left Krem at the door.
As he turned and left for the practice ground, he shook his head. "See what else that axe can do. Andraste's tits, Krem Fraiche, you're hopeless."