A/N:
A/N at the end. I hope everyone enjoys it.
Disclaimer: see original disclaimer.
III
Varric wasn't sure what to make of the Inquisition just yet. On the one hand, they were trying to help the ones in need and make sense of what had happened at the Conclave. On the other hand, he felt like they might turn this whole thing into a holy war. One that would not end even if the Breach was closed. And Maker the Breach! It felt like a huge, glaring weight hanging over them, literally.
It had been a week since the Herald had woken up. In that time they had made preparations to leave for the Hinterlands and were now on their way. As he sat next to the campfire, Varric couldn't help but notice the bags under the Herald's eyes. The man clearly wasn't sleeping or at the very least wasn't sleeping well and Varric didn't know what he could do to help.
Everything had been a little weird since that war council with Sparky. Every one of them had looked slightly lost when they had left the Chantry building that now served as Inquisition headquarters.
He'd caught both the Commander and the Seeker at prayer more times in the last week than he would have thought. Like they were looking for answers that simply weren't there. He had asked Chuckles about it; the elf had been distant as well, at least as far as Varric could tell with how reserved the man was.
Varric didn't know what was going on but he felt like the odd dwarf out on their expedition. It wasn't the most pleasant feeling.
He was distracted when one of Irina's watchers sat down next to him. If he remembered correctly this one's name was Caleb. Of Sparky's two guardians he was the most laid back and the most prone to conversation.
"So Caleb," Varric started, "how's life in the Inquisition treating you?"
The man seemed vaguely surprised at being addressed but it quickly turned into a large smile directed his way.
"I'm well... sir."
"Varric will do."
The smile got a little wider at his answer. "To be blunt it's been a weird time but it's not dull!" The young man retorted with a small shrug, still smiling.
Varric laughed at that, "That tends to happen when there's a giant, green, hole in the sky and we're all ass-deep in demons."
"Yes well, we all need a hobby," Caleb answered with a chuckle.
That one made Varric roar with laughter, a good full-bodied laugh. He'd been so worried about so many things this felt like a small liberation. Though everyone was probably staring at him now. Luckily it seemed Caleb had joined him.
"To be honest I would be far more terrified if we didn't have His Worship or Miss Irina…"
"I hear you, Sparky and Handy do come in handy," Varric added with a chuckle and for a brief second, he thought maybe he should've gone with Lucky for the rather unlucky leader of their little expedition...
He saw Caleb's eyes dart around as if looking for eavesdroppers before the boy leaned in and said in a low voice. "She kinda scares me."
Varric's smile faltered briefly and he shot a look towards Irina's tent. She was an enigma wrapped in a mystery, one that he had begun to unravel, though every time he thought there was no more to find she let something slip. Something that made him wonder if he was getting too old for the whole save-the-world spiel.
"Me to Laugh-lines, me too."
The young man shot him a curious look but seemed to let it go as one more eccentricity of the travelling group's members.
"Knight-Corporal!" came a sudden yell from across the camp. He saw Caleb tense, before he got up, gave Varric a nod and made his way back to his post.
His thoughts turned back to Irina, who had been given more freedom after they'd finally taken her out of her cell. He had seen a few hours every day as she wanted as much information about Thedas as he could provide. In that time they had covered most everything he thought she would need, geography, theology -though not in-depth-, the latest happenings in this 9:41 Dragon.
He winced at the memory of his time discussing the various races. While her face had remained impassive, her eyes had looked stormy at the mention of elves and their treatment. Varric had the distinct feeling she didn't really see herself as human, at least not fully.
He pitied any Orlesian nobles that angered her.
But it was time to turn in.. they'd be in the Hinterlands before long.
-DoT-
Maxwell was not alright, not even close.
He'd put on a brave face but he was shaken. I have never been a devout person, but to hear that another world not only exists but has a multitude of gods. He looked up at the canvas of his tent. It was the dead of night and he was supposed to be sleeping, yet sleep eluded him. It had for the last few days.
What hadn't helped had been the sound of quiet sobs coming from Irina's tent every other night. Not that he blamed her, he'd broken down himself on the night before leaving for the Hinterlands.
Not only was there the pressure of the Maker-damned Breach on his shoulders but now the revelation that other worlds existed.
To the Void with all this, I can't sleep. His thoughts roiled in his head like an angry sea in a furious storm. Distant worlds, full of different people and governed by different gods.
He threw his bedroll off his body and crawled out of his tent. When he was outside, he stood and walked to the low fire in the center of the camp.
He was indebted to Irina, of that there was no doubt. From her sheer presence on the battlefield to her deep understanding of the kind of pressure and expectations that had been placed on him. She helped, but it was hard to reconcile the woman that had helped him with the monsters she had described.
Three days after he had woken up, the leadership of the Inquisition had met once more. The main topic had invariably been Irina. Not a single one of them looked like they had come to terms with the revelations of the previous meeting.
Cullen looked as though he hadn't slept a wink. Cassandra's hand never seemed to leave her hilt. Josephine fidgeted nervously and jumped at every little sound. Leliana appeared unfazed to Max's eye, but he felt that, even with what little he knew of the former Left Hand of the Divine, she was frazzled.
They had stood in silence for what had felt like an eternity before Leliana had finally spoken up. In the end, she had insisted that the information regarding Irina would be treated as an official secret of the Inquisition and that none should discuss it save with the people in the room.
They had all agreed immediately, worried about the panic that might start if it came to light that another world existed. After that was settled they had discussed logistics about how to deal with the inevitable questions about where Irina came from.
Leliana had said she was still working on a fabricated history but that for now, Irina would be from a lost Avvar tribe that were all dead save her.
That sounded like fantastical bullshit to Max, but what can you do. The leadership? Council? Regardless the others had shifted the topic to the logistics of their intervention in the Hinterlands but Max had tuned them out. Eventually, the meeting had adjourned and he had left to do what he had done all week before leaving. Sit and mull over how ridiculous his life had gotten.
Over the course of the week, it had also come to light that Irina was a fantastical smith, and that was a direct quote from their resident blacksmith, Harritt.
Max had been on his way from the Chantry back to his house when he'd seen the man practically run up to Leliana's tent and Max hadn't managed to resist walking up to the tent and… eavesdropping for lack of a better term.
"You could have told me Lady Irina had a talent for the craft Sister…" he'd intoned, his voice filled with emotion.
"Pardon? You mean to tell me she is a smith?"
"An exceedingly talented one at that!"
"Truly?"
"You must come have a look, she is still working I believe."
"Very well," had answered Leliana ending the conversation. Max had stumbled away from the tent, not wanting to be caught listening to others' conversations.
Harritt had exited the tent walking at a brisk pace with the Sister close behind. When she had passed in front of Max, she'd thrown him a smirk, to which he had blushed. She had caught him it seemed. Once she had been ten paces away from the tent, she had stopped.
"Well? Are you coming or not?" she had said over her shoulder.
Max had started forward and the trio had made their way out of Haven with Harritt excitedly explaining he had found Irina in his smithy this morning with various small trinkets scattered around her. The smith had realized she'd been there for several hours already and had seemingly tested the various metals she had on hand.
When they had made their way through the gates, the man had stopped and turned back to them.
"When we get to my smithy don't disturb her, she's probably just finished testing and started on something concrete, a sword I'd wager."
He had looked so earnest both Max and Leliana had immediately acquiesced. Not long after they'd made it to the smithy where a small crowd composed uniquely of Harritt's few apprentices had gathered to watch Irina work. The three of them had gone mostly unnoticed save by one apprentice who had hurried to her master's side and started talking excitedly, albeit in a hushed tone.
"She chose Steel master!"
"An understandable choice."
"That's not the only exciting part! She pulled her own iron ingots out of that knapsack she has and let us have a look and see if there was a difference."
"Oh really? Well, it's good she's not taking up resources at least. But still, I wonder if she has more exotic metals on her..."
By this point, the apprentice seemed to be vibrating with excitement.
"Calm yourself Rana and tell me what has you so worked up, besides the obvious."
"She's folding it, master, she's done it five times already and she doesn't seem about to stop!"
"Folding it? Why? How?"
"I don't know master! Isn't it exciting?"
Both had fallen silent at the affirmation and Maxwell had walked closer to observe Irina in action. All in all, it was pretty… dull as far as he was concerned, though he could swear he had seen Irina glow a few times? He wasn't sure.
Over several hours she had repeated the folding another ten times by his count at which point she had heated the sword and left to cool in the air. By then, the sun was setting and nearly everyone save for Harritt and Rana, the excited apprentice, had left. Max had bid them good night and gone to bed.
The following morning, after a small breakfast, Max's feet had guided them back to the forge where it seemed Irina was still at work. The sword, it looked more like one now, was sitting in the same position, though the back was covered in something that looked a lot like mud to Max.
Irina had been in the process of removing the mud, or whatever it was, and on a table next to her had laid what looked like a handle, a guard and leather strips.
Harritt had still been standing near the forge and had probably been there all night, yet his eyes had shone with excitement.
A few minutes later Irina had completed the sword and had walked right up to Max. She had stared at him intently before holding out the sword in its sheath.
"Here," she had stated, "it's an Akaviri sword. I'll teach you how to use it, it handles a bit differently than a normal longsword, but it should help you if you run into something that you can't kill and I'm not there."
Max had delicately taken the sword, one hand on the hilt the other on the blade. He had marvelled at the exquisite balance and hadn't resisted the urge to swing it around.
"It is meant to be wielded with two hands," Irina had chimed in, looking somewhat pleased with his reaction. Max had nodded, entranced by the sword.
"May I have a look?" the smith had asked tentatively, eyes glimmering with hope.
Max had done so and after Harritt had finished examining it they had all gone their separate ways.
Every morning since he had spent an hour sparring with Irina learning to use the odd sword, often leaving him bruised and exhausted. While it was very demanding, it left little time to contemplate the numerous questions that Irina raised by simply being, for which he was grateful.
He yawned widely as he stared into the flickering fire. I really should get some rest. After going into the forest to relieve himself, Max crawled back into his tent and attempted to sleep.
-DoT-
After a little more than a week on foot, Irina was pleased to see a small Inquisition encampment. They had made it to the Hinterlands.
They were then introduced to another dwarf, one who had seemed a little put off by how much Irina had stared, by the name of Harding. Despite having spent a fair amount with and around Varric, she was still amazed by the small humanoids who were apparently entirely incapable of magic. The magic here is really, really odd though, she mused to herself.
They had then been given direction to a Mother Giselle and a man named Dennet and set off immediately for the Crossroads at Max's urging.
As they made their way down a dirt road on a steep hill, Irina heard fighting coming from below.
She put her hand on Max's arm, "I hear fighting ahead," she said simply. Their entire party stopped and Cassandra turned to her.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
With a nod from Cassandra, they rearranged themselves into a loose formation with fighters at the front and on the flanks and Varric and Solas at the back. They approached the fight tentatively, only to find Inquisition forces caught in the midst of a mage-templar skirmish. Cassandra tried to reason with both groups but in the end, they were forced to put all involved to the sword, as they refused to listen.
Maxwell then went on to speak to Mother Giselle but Irina wasn't included in the discussion. Instead, she wandered the Crossroads, her shadows never more than a handful of paces behind, until she stumbled upon a crying child, a little girl no more than seven winters.
As she approached, the child seemed to notice her and the crying abated.
"Hello child," Irina started, "what's your name?"
She stared dumbly at Irina, large watery eyes blinking.
"Where are your parents?"
At her question, the girl resumed crying, louder than before. Irina knelt before her, shushing her gently and wiped the child's tears away with her thumb. Slowly the crying lessened into an occasional sob. Irina then rummaged through her knapsack and retrieved a piece of jerky.
She offered it to the little girl, "Are you hungry?"
Hesitantly the child reached for it then snatched it away quickly and began eating.
Good, Irina thought, satisfied with the girl's appetite. She rose to her feet, drawing a startled squeak from the child, and offered her a hand.
"Come," she reassured her, "I have friends who can help you."
The girl stared briefly, her gaze switching between the hand and Irina's face before she grasped onto her hand tightly.
Irina lead her back towards the party, minus Maxwell. As they neared, she could make out a conversation between the Odd Elf and Cassandra.
"Seeker," the elf began, "you initially believed our 'Herald of Andraste', was involved in the attack on the Conclave, yes?"
"I did," she replied, "the evidence seemed damning, given the lack of an alternative."
"Yet you changed your mind," he added, his tone acerbic.
"You also heard the voices at the Temple. Is it so surprising I listened to them?"
"Sadly yes," he retorted, "too few invested with authority possess the courage to alter their course. They fear the appearance of weakness."
"The truth is more important than my reputation, and anyone wishing to accuse me of weakness is welcome to try."
The elf nodded in acceptance and silence fell between the two. Cassandra was the first to notice them, and a frown creased her brow upon seeing a child.
"This one needs food and shelter and someone to look after her when we have gone," she told the Seeker.
"We will ask the Revered Mother once the Herald is done."
Satisfied with her answer, the party lapsed back into silence. A few minutes later Max rejoined the group, a grim smile upon his face.
"We have errands to run!" he exclaimed with false cheer. All Irina could think was, Oh joy.
The following week was spent routing out both the Templars and the Rebel Mages, neither of which even attempted to surrender, finding food and blankets for the refugees, closing rifts, rescuing the Dennet farm from wolves and many other tasks that reminded Irina greatly of her adventuring days. Once satisfied the Hinterlands were, at the least, more secure than they had been before the Inquisition arrived, the party had returned to Haven.
Unfortunately for Irina, Maxwell had then immediately departed for Val Royeaux, Cassandra, Varric and the elf in tow, on a round trip that would take nearly a month to complete.
And the Dragonborn, Alduin-bane, and Savior of Nirn had found herself… bored. There was very little to do around Haven. The Inquisition grew, slowly but surely, as the days passed. The Commander would train his forces and any new arrivals, Leliana would dispatch her scouts to the Nine knew where and Lady Montilyet performed her duties as Ambassador.
Irina was watched at all times by Amara and Caleb, never allowed to interact too much with Inquisition soldiers, scouts, or servants, and was kept especially far from Chantry members.
Very quickly she had been approached by the master smith for her help in outfitting the soldiers. Thinking it could be a good way to buy goodwill Irina had acquiesced and from then on, would be from sunup to well into the night at the forge.
She had discovered she needed very little sleep, perhaps a handful of hours per week, and that while she felt no discomfort in direct sunlight, the night was when she thrived. It had the unfortunate side-effect of making her shadows' lives a little more difficult, though with such a steady routine perhaps not too difficult.
One day, no more than a week after Maxwell had left, Irina received a summons from the Ambassador asking her to have a meeting at her earliest convenience. Intrigued, Irina had put her hammer down and made her way to the Chantry.
Lady Montilyet's office was located at the back of the building, near the war room. As Irina walked through the door she noted the room did not belong to the Ambassador exclusively, a few tables could be seen throughout the room, as well as shelves filled with books. In the corner stood an elf, though I still find it hard to believe these people are Mer, or maybe that's exactly it, they are not Mer but simply elves…
Directly across from the door, towards the back wall, sat a large wooden desk whose surface was kept neatly organized, in front of which stood two large wooden chairs. The Lady Ambassador seemed deeply concentrated, scratching away on a piece of parchment.
Irina approached the desk, stopping a few paces away between the chairs, she threw a glance over her shoulder and only to find her shadows had stayed by the door. She cleared her throat and saw the Ambassador start slightly at the sound.
"You wanted to see me, Lady Montilyet?"
The woman in question looked up from her desk and gave Irina a small smile as she put her quill down.
"Yes, thank you for coming on such short notice. Please make yourself comfortable," the Ambassador greeted her, gesturing to the chairs. Irina nodded and sat on the edge of the left chair.
"I was wondering," the Lady continued, "if you might answer a few of my questions. While Sister Leliana might be content with fabricating a background in the event someone might inquire into your past Miss Bloodcrown, I myself would like to get a better understanding of who you are."
Irina frowned slightly and pondered the Ambassador's request. On the one hand, I don't feel like divulging too much to people whose motivations I still hardly understand, but on the other, I might gain an ally should I answer some questions.
"Very well ask your questions and I shall answer them to the best of my ability, Lady Ambassador."
A large smile appeared on the woman's face and she grew more animated.
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed, "you can of course address me formally but I would rather you simply call me Josephine."
Irina nodded once more, now to walk the fine line between answering her and not revealing anything I would rather not.
"Proceed."
"My first question would have to be, what was it like where you come from?"
"There are many different provinces on the continent of Tamriel, where I was born. As you already know I spent my early life in the Imperial City. It is located in the province of Cyrodiil, the heartland of the continent."
"The Imperial City," Josephine chimed in, "implies there is or was an Empire, yes?"
"Yes, but that is rather complicated. Suffice it to say I left Cyrodiil at an early age and from then on I lived in Skyrim, the northernmost province. It is a cold and unforgiving land, filled with monsters, wild animals, bandits and necromancers, but it is home."
There was a sparkle in Josephine's eye as Irina spoke, one that only seemed to grow stronger.
"And what of the people?"
"The natives were called Nords, but there were many different peoples in Skyrim. The Nords are hardy and proud and they can make fast friends or relentless enemies. Most believed in an afterlife called Sovngarde and that only honourable warriors could reach it and feast in the halls of the gods."
"My that is fascinating," gushed the Ambassador, "so many cultures and people I know nothing about. But, what about you? Where did you fit in?"
"I was… an adventurer and a landowner, though that was later. I won my battle-fame in my youth by killing monsters, bandits, necromancers and exploring ruins and the like."
Josephine's eyes went wide and she scrambled to grab a new piece of parchment.
"You were a landowner? Did you have a title?"
Irina hesitated briefly, took a deep breath and released a sigh.
"Yes, I did."
Josephine simply stared, as though silently urging her to say more.
"I was Thane in all the holds of Skyrim, and by the end of the Civil War I held the rank of Legate in the Imperial Legion."
As she answered Josephine began scribbling at a fast pace. Hopefully, this doesn't come back to haunt me, Irina thought.
"And what is a 'Thane' precisely?"
"A Thane is someone who either through money or deeds, has helped the Jarl -the leader- of a Hold. It can be simple or complicated and each Hold has multiple Thanes typically."
More scribbling ensued.
"I suppose by Ferelden standards you would be a Freeholder, perhaps a Bann, though no further, given you also held a military position. Hmm… Anything else?"
"Yes I there is more," Irina added, "but considering what I have learned of how you treat your mages I am a little reluctant."
The scribbling stopped as Josephine lowered the quill and looked up at Irina.
"This is mostly for me, and depending on what I learn it could help inform whatever story Sister Leliana chooses for you. But even then I rather think this shall stay between you and me."
She held Irina's gaze, her attitude solemn.
"Very well, I held two other titles that could be of import. I was the Archmage of the College of Winterhold and the Harbinger of the Companions."
I don't think I should mention leading a Thieves Guild to her. The scribbling resumed at a sedate pace.
"Would you mind explaining what each represents? I have some idea for the first but…" Josephine trailed off with a shrug.
"The Archmage is as it sounds. There is a single institution that teaches more advanced magicks in the entirety of Skyrim and its leader is the Archmage. To be blunt my title was more honorary than anything else. While I may be an expert in several schools of Magick I was by no means an avid researcher, save perhaps for Enchantment, and I was certainly not present enough to be responsible for the day-to-day."
Irina held her tongue, giving time for the Ambassador to note what she needed down.
"As for Harbinger… There is a group of fighters or adventurers called the Companions. You might call them mercenaries or something similar, but they operated solely in Skyrim, existed solely in Skyrim. The position of Harbinger is not that of a leader but their opinion on matters is always heard if not heeded."
"Thank you, Lady Bloodcrown, for your time and patience. If you'd like, could we have another sit down soon? I would love to help further your education of Thedas and its politics."
Irina gave a small smile, she is pleasant company and I might learn more while Varric is away.
"You can call me Irina if you like Ambassador, and I would like that as well."
"I insist you call Josephine then," she retorted, a large smile etched on her face, "oh, and I believe Leliana was eager to have a chat with you as well."
Irina got to her feet and nodded, "I hope you have a nice day, Josephine."
"And you as well Irina."
The conversation having drawn to a natural close, Irina turned and left the office. As soon as she had exited, Amara and Caleb had rejoined her. She exited the Chantry and found herself looking at a man she did not recognize, though with the number of new arrivals it was hardly surprising. Nevertheless, this seemed out of place.
When she approached him, there was a brief look of relief on his face. He was dressed in armour, one of unknown design to Irina, and stood at about her height, or perhaps a little taller. He had darker skin than she had become accustomed to seeing and smelled faintly of the sea. Behind her, she heard Caleb mutter 'Vint' under his breath.
"Excuse me," the man started, "I have a message for the Inquisition but I can't get anybody's attention."
"I am not a member, but I can direct you to someone who is, I am on my way there myself."
"That'll do thanks. I'm Cremisius Aclassi by the way, but most people call me Krem."
"Irina."
They lapsed into silence and Irina led Krem to Leliana's tent. It was still early in the day and the weather was cold, though not by Skyrim standards. Light snow fell lazily to the ground, pushed along by a breeze coming from the mountains. The Sister was in her tent peering over documents when Irina and Krem entered. She looked up, her face impassive.
"Ah Irina, good. And who is this?"
"Cremisius Aclassi of the Bull's Chargers mercenary company. I have a message for the Inquisition."
Leliana paused, and silence reigned in the tent, save for the wind outside and the bustle of Haven.
"Alright, your message," she turned to Krem, face neutral, tone even.
"We got word of Tevinter mercenaries gathering on the Storm Coast. Our commander wanted to let you know, free of charge. If you want to know what we can do for the Inquisition, come see us work."
"Your commander, what's his name?" Leliana queried.
"He goes by 'Iron Bull' and he's hard to miss," Krem replied, a slight smirk on his face.
"And what can you do for the Inquisition?"
Krem answered without hesitation, "We're loyal, we're tough and we don't break contracts. Ask around Val Royeaux, you'll see."
Irina saw as Leliana closed her eyes and seemed to ponder the information.
"Look," continued Krem, "talk is cheap, come to the Coast see us in action, hire us if you want to hire us."
Leliana's eyes snapped open, "Very well, return to your commander and we will send an observer shortly."
Krem gave a nod, first to Leliana, then to Irina and left the tent. Once he was gone, Leliana turned to Irina.
"Well, with that out of the way, on to business. I was reluctant to bring this to you and would have gone myself were I not so occupied," she pined Irina with a stare, "it seems the Grey Wardens have disappeared."
Irina heard Caleb murmur 'Maker' but was at a loss. I can vaguely remember Varric mentioning them and something called a Blight. She opened her mouth to ask but was interrupted.
"You may have questions but they will have to wait. I would like for you to go back to the Hinterlands and find a man going by Blackwall. You can take the opportunity to inform Master Dennet his watchtowers have been built."
Irina hesitated briefly before answering, "Very well, I will do this."
"Good. Six soldiers and two scouts are waiting for you at the gates of Haven."
"Might I suggest something?"
Leliana quirked an eyebrow, tacit agreement for her to continue. Hopefully, she'll say yes, it'll allow me to see more of Ferelden while we travel.
"I would like to go to the Storm Coast and have a look at these 'Bull's Chargers' myself. It would be quicker to go there directly from the Hinterlands than have someone else leave from Haven later."
A pregnant silence hung in the tent and Irina felt the urge to fidget but clamped down on it.
After several seconds Leliana said, "I'll allow this so long as both of your guards accompany you and that you make utterly sure that whatever your decision, both in regards to Blackwall and the Chargers, it benefits the Inquisition."
Irina looked Leliana right in the eyes. "I promise."
"Good," the Sister then turned her gaze on the two former templars, "and you two will report anything and everything to either Seeker Cassandra, Commander Cullen, or myself upon your return."
Within the hour Irina had left Haven.
-DoT-
Far beneath the earth, in one of the dark places that sunlight had never touched, a large creature stirred in its slumber.
All around, armoured humanoid figures scurried in the dark, barking commands to each other that filled the large cavern they stood in.
Elsewhere, a writhing mass of creatures dug through the earth, pulled and pushed by an unending melody, a song of madness, death and corruption.
Among them stood the High Priest of Beauty, lonely and lost, the only one of its brethren deaf to the music. It turned away, unable to bear its own impotence.
Above and a long way away, the Conductor of Silence sits in his stronghold pondering apotheosis. He rises and looks upon a map and smiles, soon all shall be his.
-DoT-
Irina was relieved when they finally made it to the Upper Lake, where, by all accounts, Blackwall was staying. At least I hope that is where he is, I do not want to go traipsing through the Hinterlands forever.
According to reports, the Warden had arrived and taken residence in a cabin by the lake. Perhaps it served as a base of operations while he went in search of Conscripts. Irina had asked a lot of questions on the trip about the Wardens and learned of their history, their roles and their sacrifice. I hope Blackwall won't mind answering some of my questions.
It had felt good to get back on the road, as she had so often done in her youth and she had been allowed to slip into armour and wield weapons now that she was away from Haven. She had fished out her Guildmaster's armour from her knapsack and two weapons, one of her favourite greatswords: the Bloodskal Blade and a Dragonbone Dagger of Subsuming and Nullifying. She had been delighted to find her armour was still in good shape and that it still fit rather well. While they travelled she did note that she drew more stares than usual, which wasn't unwelcome or unflattering, but a little difficult for poor Caleb.
The weather was stormy as she approached the lake, dark clouds hung low in the sky threatening to release their contents at any moment. The wind picked up, rustling the grass and the leaves, creating ripples across the lake. Behind her, her retinue clanked as they followed her along the bank of the lake.
A voice carried over the water, yelling out instructions sharply. As they continued approaching Irina could make out nearly a dozen figures standing in a line, while a singular figure stood apart. A lone swordsman bellowed and stabbed at the air, its movement mirrored by the others.
Finally, Irina stood by the cabin, a dozen paces away. The Swordsman wore armour, maintained but old and well-worn. The others wore peasant garb, sweat-stained and dirty, that gave off a powerful stench that Irina tried hard to ignore.
A low rumble of thunder reached her ears and her eyes shifted to the sky. Irina frowned at the dark clouds, it will rain soon…
Returning her attention to the men, she took a few steps forward and called out to the man wearing armour. From closer, she found that he was taller and larger, with mid-length deep black hair and a full beard. A very full beard.
"Are you the Grey Warden Blackwall?"
A dozen pairs of eyes turned her way and she noticed half the men held woodcutting axes instead of proper ones, while the rest had an assortment of tools more suited to farming than fighting. The only thing they had in common were shields, though a few looked to be newly made from… barrels.
The bearded man's gaze settled on her after taking in her heavily armoured retinue. She noticed a slight tensing in his sword arm as he answered.
"Who would like to know?"
"I am Irina Bloodcrown. I'm the Dr… I'm here on behalf of the Inquisition. They have questions about the whereabouts of the Wardens."
Just as he was about to answer, Irina heard a twig break, a few dozen paces beyond Blackwall, farther North and her head snapped to a bowman ready to let loose. Two more stepped up beside, arrows nocked.
Her vision narrowed, focused on the archers and she felt her heart beat against her ribs, pushing blood through her veins, setting a tempo of violence. A snarl made its way onto her face. Time slowed to a crawl. She saw the bowmen exhale, nearly in unison, and their fingers began to release their grasps on the deadly implements.
In one smooth motion, she drew the Bloodskal blade from her back and swung it viciously down. An arc of pure red energy flew forward diagonally, nearly grazing Blackwall, before speeding towards the archers. It engulfed the arrow on the left before crashing into the man behind it. It cut into his torso from shoulder to hip, leaving a nasty gash that spurted blood as soon as the energy dissipated. Unfortunately, the other arrows flew unimpeded and sunk into two of the farmers. One went down clutching his throat, blood seeping past his fingers. The other spun from a hit to his shoulder and landed on his face, driving the arrow through.
Not missing a beat, Irina sprinted forward, blowing past a startled Blackwall and leaving behind her equally unprepared shadows and soldiers.
She heard the startled yelps of the unscathed farmers and several thuds. I think a few have run off, best deal with the bandits quickly.
She cried "Bandits!" as she ran and quickly closed the distance. A dozen other bandits in ragged leathers, wielding daggers and axes came surging around the archers.
As she drew near the remaining bowmen hastily turned their weapons to her and a few of the other bandits converged on her, bellowing insults and dark promises.
I need to stall them even just a little to give the others a chance to regroup. When she was a half dozen paces away she took a deep breath.
Fus.
A wave of pure force emanated from her mouth, shoving everything out of its way. The grass split and flattened, the leaves were ripped from their branches, the arrows were deflected and sent careening away. And the bandits. Her immediate targets had been the archers and they felt the full brunt of her power. Both were thrown off their feet, dazed and confused, their bows snapped from the pressure. The nearest bandits were caught in the wave's wake as well. A few spun and lost their footing, some losing weapons in the process. Others, farther away, were staggered, the breath knocked from their lungs.
When it had passed both bowmen were on their backs, one unconscious the other dazed. Of the dozen other bandits, nearly half had been affected while the rest had stopped and stared.
Thankfully before they could gather their wits, Irina saw Amara and Caleb crash into bandits on either side of her, quickly followed by her other guards. Behind her, she heard Blackwall yell instructions to whatever was left of the farmers.
Within minutes it was over and the bandits lay dead at their feet.
As Irina went about inspecting her armour and cleaning her blade she noted only four of the farmers remained, one of whom had taken the arrow to the shoulder at the start of the skirmish. I should see about healing him.
Once she deemed her sword clean enough she sheathed it and walked over to the wounded man. He was seated, propped up against the side of the cabin while another looked over the injury.
She kneeled beside him and looked him over. He had dark brown hair and eyes the same colour, though they were unfocused. The other farmer looked at her, the worry evident in his face. His tawny hair was slick to his forehead from sweat and his hands trembled slightly.
"You should find him something to bite on," she told the worried man gently, "and I shall remove the arrow."
He nodded and undid his belt, slotting it in the man's mouth.
"On three." warned Irina, "One…"
As she spoke she snapped the end of the arrow and yanked it out the injured man groaned loudly. She quickly applied healing magick to the wound and held on firmly to her patient. He tried to break her grip to get away from the glowing hand.
"Hold still while I heal you," she intoned.
"Get it away from me! Get the witch away!"
The other farmer looked slightly panicked, unsure what to do.
"Calm yourself! I am nearly done. You must relax or you'll hurt yourself."
The more she tried to reassure the man the more he grew agitated until finally, Blackwall came over.
"What is going over here?"
"This witch is using her Maker-damned magic on me!"
As he voiced his displeasure, Irina finished healing his shoulder, fresh new skin in place of an arrow wound. She released her hold on her magick letting it dissipate. Of all the ungrateful… I don't look like a witch do I?
"There, all done."
"It's healing magic, you dolt! You should thank her! Now enough of your whinging, on your feet with the others," Blackwall berated the no-longer-wounded man. He paused and looked at the four remaining farmers.
"You did well, Conscripts and now you're free. Go back to your families knowing you made a difference for 'em."
They hesitated briefly before walking off, not one of them looking back.
"Now that that's out of the way would you mind explaining what kind of freaky magic that was? And what about your sword? And remind me why you've been searching for me?"
Irina was about to answer when Amara filled her field of view, having marched up from behind her. She held her helmet under her left arm but her right still tightly clutched her sword. A rictus of anger deformed her face.
"You are not supposed to draw too much attention, nor use magic without permission! Next time I'll smite you on the spot!" she spat, eyes narrowed to slits.
"And what was I to do? Let more farmers die at the hand of pathetic thieves when so many have already died to mages and rogue templars?"
"Watch how you speak of the Order! I will not have you disparage the good men and women who do their duty to the Maker!" she retorted hotly.
It occurred to Irina that she had never really seen the woman's face before now. With her green eyes set in a pleasant enough face, framed by shoulder-length dirty blond hair she might have been pretty if it were not for the sneer marring her face. As she stood there pondering the aloofness of her watchers, she noticed Caleb had arrived and was trying to calm a still ranting Amara.
"Are you quite finished?" she asked, injecting steel into her voice. This has gone on long enough! She must come to terms with her own powerlessness and understand she could not possibly have prevented the deaths at the Temple. Otherwise, I fear we might come to blows… Thankfully Caleb intervened before anything else happened.
"Knight-Divine! This is hardly the place. Please let us continue this later," he pleaded, though with his helmet still on Irina could not tell what kind of expression he wore.
For a few seconds, the fuming former Templar alternated between Irina and her colleague, before she sighed deeply, the tension leaving her visibly as she slumped forward slightly.
"Well… not that this wasn't interesting but, would you care to enlighten me as to why you sought me out?" broke in the Warden, his tone even.
Irina turned to him, "We came on behalf of Sister Leliana, the spymaster of the Inquisition. We are trying to find out where the Grey Wardens have gone, as they seem to have disappeared and whether or not it had anything to do with what happened at the Conclave."
"Maker's balls! You think there's a link between the Wardens being gone and the Divine's murder?"
"We are simply inquiring with the only Warden we have been able to find."
"I'd like to say that I had no idea they'd vanished," assured Blackwall as he paced nervously, "but we do that don't we? Once the Blight is gone we're the first thing forgotten but I'll tell you right now no Warden killed Justinia, that's not what we're about we don't interfere."
"We are simply after information, I am not accusing you or your order," promised Irina with a firm nod.
"I haven't spoken to another Warden in a very long time. See I'm a recruiter, I spend my time wandering the countryside looking for recruits though with little luck considering the archdemon is a decade dead."
"Oh… well I suppose I'll have to tell the Sister we do not have any answers for her. Thank you for your time Warden Blackwall and while I would love to ask you more for my own sake I must leave."
"Hang on a moment! Look I don't know where the others have gone. Maybe they went to Weisshaupt, maybe not but in times like these thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we might be responsible. If you're not opposed I'd like to join your Inquisition, help you put things right, if that is what you're doing…"
"It is," Irina replied brow furrowed, "but what can one Warden, alone, accomplish?"
"Save the fucking world if pressed," Blackwall answered emphatically.
Irina pondered his answer for a moment.
"I cannot speak for the Inquisition but if you are determined you can go to Haven and speak to Sister Leliana."
"How about this. I'll accompany you on your trip and return with you. That way I can see up close how the Inquisition functions and I'll be able to make an informed choice once we get to Haven. Plus if I go with you I can answer your questions," he added with a wry smile.
"Alright Warden Blackwall, welcome aboard for now."
As they made their way back towards the camp, Irina began peppering the bearded man with questions about the Grey Wardens. They spent the night at the camp and set out early the next morning. Thanks to the horses it only took a few days to make the trek to the Storm Coast. Throughout the journey, Irina got to know the Warden a little better though he stayed very aloof. Perhaps it is because he has spent much time on his own, though my inability to answer his few questions convincingly is no help, Irina mused as they approached the Coast and the location of the mercenary camp.
The Storm Coast was, as advertised, stormy. It rained and the wind coming from the sea wiped it to and fro. The temperature had gotten slightly warmer as they moved North but the seemingly endless rain negated that. Thankfully the rain had brought relief to Irina's newly sensitive nose. She had not yet grown accustomed to the smells, sights and sounds she could now perceive in greater detail. And while nature was that much more alive and pleasant to her senses, the sweaty stench of men and women stuffed into their armour all day was rather unpleasant.
The sound of metal hitting metal cut through the ambient noise, drawing Irina from her musings.
"There is fighting ahead," she announced calmly.
She kicked her horse into a gallop and the others followed suit after several moments of hesitation. Very quickly she found herself on a rocky beach, with the sea to her left. Bits of wood and flotsam dotted the ground, forcing her to slow her horse a little or risk injury. The wind pushed sounds of men and women fighting and dying from further ahead. As she neared she could make out a dozen people in mismatched armour fighting nearly twice their number of what Irina assumed were armoured and uniformed Tevinter mercenaries.
In the center of the smaller group, stood a tall, horned figure carving a bloody path through the 'Vints', as Caleb referred to them. It wielded a greataxe with deadly proficiency and sheer brutality and held the center of their line seemingly on its own.
She saw the figure jerk and turn slightly sideways at the sounds of hooves on gravel. Irina caught its - his - eye as he bellowed "Riders!"
There was a brief pause as each side of the skirmish hesitated at Irina's and the Inquisition's appearance. Without the din of battle, she could make herself heard.
"The Inquisition has come to observe the Chargers," she stated with a wry grin on her face, "would they like any help?"
The tall figure she vaguely recognized as Qunari, thank you Varric, shot her a strange look over his shoulder, "We'll take care of this, you just sit there, no need to worry."
As soon as their short exchange drew to a close, the tall Qunari warrior gave a mighty swing of his axe, taking an enemy's head clean off and the fighting resumed.
Seconds later the rest of her party arrived, Blackwall and her shadows at the forefront. They came to a halt beside her. Blackwall turned to her, a thoughtful look on his face.
"Not going to help?"
"We are here to observe them," she stated simply. As she spoke, she felt more than she saw mages draw from the Fade, somewhere towards the back ranks of the Tevinter mercenaries. As fast as she could, Irina drew her sword and sent an arc of energy towards the mages, both to stall them and prevent them from harming the Chargers and to see if any could defend against it. The deadly energy sped horizontally and caught an unprepared mage in the neck. As it washed over him and dissipated it left a deep gash in his neck and the mage crumbled to the ground.
"Just here to observe are we," Blackwall grumbled under his breath. Irina shot him a quick smile and turned to the scouts.
"Keep the mages distracted," she ordered. They hesitated briefly before nocking arrows and letting loose.
After it took little time for the Chargers to clean up the rest of the enemy mercenary band, start looting their corpses and taking care of their own wounded. There were surprisingly few, barely half a dozen, and Irina was more than happy to help with her Restoration Magick.
When Iron Bull noticed what she was doing he walked over and squatted near her, soothing his subordinate.
"So, not that I'm complaining, seeing as you're doing fine work, but I was expecting the Herald and I'm pretty sure he's a guy," he started, staring at Irina. She felt her cheeks pull into a wry grin and turned her head to the imposing Qunari.
"I'm sure you'll manage," she answered with mirth.
Satisfied with the condition of her patient, she ended her spell and sat back on her heels. Now that she was no longer focusing, the smells of a battlefield hit her full force. Gah! Blood and offal, the Nine take this nose of mine! Her smile left as quickly as it had come. She realized Iron Bull was observing her and she schooled her features and turned her attention back to him.
He cocked his head slightly to her right, "Yes, I guess I will."
"I have come here on behalf of the Inquisition to decide whether or not to hire the Bull's Chargers company."
"Well? You've seen us fight, we're expensive but loyal and we're worth it," he remarked with a chuckle, "plus I'm sure you can afford us."
As he spoke Krem walked up and stood beside Iron Bull.
"I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant."
"A pleasure to see you again my lady," the aforementioned lieutenant intoned. Irina gave him a quick nod.
They are a fine company and they did well against superior numbers. Their leadership seems competent and should they prove untrustworthy I'm sure they can be easily dismissed.
"You will have to work out the finer points of your salary with someone allowed to do so but I am sure the Inquisition would be glad to have you."
"It would be with your Ambassador Josephine," he retorted. Irina's eyes narrowed in wariness.
"But that's not something to fret about, the gold will take care of itself. And there's something else you should know," Iron Bull added, "might piss you off but I'd rather have everything clear from the start."
"What might that be?" Irina questioned, her tone flat and emotionless.
"I'm Ben-Hassrath."
Irina stared at him blankly.
"If you've never heard of them, they're enforcers of the Qunari… and their spies."
Anger bubbled in Irina's gut but she clamped down on it, forcing it away and keeping her face impassive. Unbeknownst to her, her pupils had turned to slits and her eyes glowed slightly.
"You have an explanation for this, yes?" she hissed.
"Told you it might piss you off," he chortled with humor. Irina didn't believe it, she could smell his apprehension.
"Look, the Ben-Hassrath are worried about the Breach so I've been ordered to join up with the people trying to clean up the mess. Make sure that shit gets done so we don't have to invade cause trust me when I say you don't want us to invade."
Irina sighed deeply, "and by letting us know beforehand you prove you are trustworthy enough to hire you… clever."
She felt more than heard three people walk up behind her and threw a look over her shoulder. It was Amara, Blackwall and Caleb. She turned back to the mercenary leader.
"I expect you to report to our spymaster as soon as we return to Haven," she intoned.
The qunari grinned widely at her words, "Krem get the boys ready! The Chargers just got hired!" he turned and spoke happily to his lieutenant.
"Are you certain about this?" Blackwall questioned warily.
"It is what I was sent here to do," she retorted firmly, "now get the others ready we are returning to Haven."
"Very well."
As he departed she turned back to Bull, "any questions of your own?"
"I've got a few."
She nodded, "walk with me."
Irina led him back to her horse, which she took by the bridle, and as soon as everyone was prepared led them off the beach onto a trail South. They walked for a few minutes in silence before Bull asked his first question.
"Not to sound ungrateful, but who are you exactly?"
Irina continued to look forward as she answered, "Is that your way of telling me the Ben-Hassrath have no idea who I am?"
He chuckled, "I guess it is. Our network is pretty good, as I'm sure that redheaded Sister of yours will find out soon enough. But when Krem came back from Haven and told me your name it was the first time I'd heard it, so I put feelers out and they all came back empty. You're not a noble, a mercenary or a Templar."
She caught Caleb, who was sitting on a horse parallel with hers, stiffening from the corner of her eye at Bull's words.
"Oh? You sound quite sure of yourself," she returned with a smirk.
"Your gear and poise could suggest noble, but there are no nobles anywhere with your name," he counted off on his fingers, "it could also suggest successful mercenary but someone would have heard of you for sure and I saw what you did in that skirmish. You picked out the mages before having seen a single one cast a spell and you took one out right off the bat. Thanks for that by the way, but you didn't smite them 'cause the others kept casting till they were full of arrows," his last finger went down, "so not a Templar."
"That is rather impressive Iron Bull," she offered. She saw him preen a little at her words but it was gone in a blink.
"Thanks."
"Unfortunately you are wrong on two counts," she announced smugly, turning her head to look at him. She saw the flash of surprise at her words and couldn't help but laughing lightly. He looked at her, face still full of disbelief.
"I used to be a noble and I have spent a good deal of time as a mercenary. If you don't believe me, we could spar," she suggested. His face seemed to light up at the mention of sparring.
"I think I'll take you up on that when we stop for the day," he laughed raucously and shot her a grin.
"Would you mind if I asked questions about the Qun…"
For the next few hours, Irina chatted with both Iron Bull and Blackwall in equal measure. The day passed quickly and before she knew it the sun had set and they were looking for a place to camp. It did not take too long for one of the scouts to report back with information about a suitable location for a camp. Inside of an hour, the entire group had set up camp, eaten, and were winding down in preparation for sleep.
Irina found the Iron Bull, as he had told he was really called, conversing quietly with one of his men. Before she decided to go find him, she threw a look over her shoulder and gave an annoyed huff at finding her shadows still standing behind her, as diligent as ever.
She rolled her eyes and chose to still go to the mercenary leader regardless. She walked over and stood a handful of paces behind him. She waited for him to finish and when he had she caught his eye. With a jerk of his head, he indicated she was to follow him away from camp. She trotted after him in comfortable silence and once they were far enough away from camp, jogged to catch up.
She heard the clanking of armor as Caleb and Amara did their best to keep pace with her. Once she was level with Bull she matched his gait.
"I'm normally all for giving the men a good show and I figured you might want privacy for when I trounce you," he boasted with a short chuckle, "but I see you brought Templars one and two as spectators. You always bring chaperones with you?"
She giggled and brought up her hand, before catching herself and throwing him a mock glare, "They like to watch."
Bull threw his head back and gave a deep-bellied laugh, "that's good, good for them," he crowed, a large grin on his face.
She heard Amara squawk in indignation and Caleb give a low chuckle, "it's their job," Irina replied easily. The Iron Bull grunted in understanding. He stopped walking and she came to a halt beside him.
"Here's good."
Irina looked around and found herself agreeing. He had found a clearing in the small copse of trees they were currently traveling through. The ground was even and mostly devoid of branches or rocks. It was spacious enough and the Moon shone brilliantly bathing the space in soft light.
"It will do," she acquiesced.
She waved to her shadows and they stayed at the edge of the clearing, observing. She and Bull walked to the center and stood ten paces apart, facing each other.
For a heartbeat, everything stood still. The wind didn't blow. The insects were quiet. Irina stood still sword in hand. She breathed deeply and the sounds and smells came rushing back in. She kicked forward, dashing across the space that separated her from her foe. The Bloodskal Blade gleamed red in the moonlight as she held it in her right hand. She mustered as much of her speed as she thought Bull could handle, feinted left and struck right, on his blind side.
He shifted his weight and brought up his greataxe, taking the blow on the haft with inches to spare. Her sword deflected, she stepped forward pivoting sideways and used her remaining momentum to ram into him with her left shoulder...
He gave a surprised grunt as her shoulder sunk into his lower ribcage and stumbled a few steps backward. Using the opening she had made, Irina spun clockwise and swung her sword in a deadly horizontal arc.
When her blow met wood again, she quickly jumped back and shifted her weight to narrowly dodge an overhand chop. In a heartbeat, she had stepped forward, inside his range. She kicked the inside of his knee as hard as dared to, sending him crashing down to one knee. She drew her dagger with her left hand, off of her left hip, in a reverse grip and set it against his throat.
The exchange had taken a dozen seconds at most. Bull breathed heavily, the dagger an inch from his throat while Irina looked the picture of calm poise itself. A few seconds passed in this fashion, neither moving until Irina sheathed her dagger quickly and offered her hand to Bull.
He took it and she helped him to his feet.
"You fought well, the Iron Bull."
"Bullshit," he retorted emphatically, "you took me apart in ten seconds or less!"
She gave a smile, "yes, but it usually takes less than that for an opening. You made me work for it."
He nodded and grew quiet. "You're strong for someone your size," he queried, an odd look on his face.
"I am," she stated simply. He grunted in response, whether to express disbelief or agreement Irina didn't know. He is big and strong and knows how to use it, he's not accustomed to losing or in normal circumstances he expects to die if he loses.
Together they walked back towards the edge of the clearing and Irina's guards who turned and followed them silently.
"Your style, where's it from? I don't recognize it…" he inquired as they walked. Irina pondered his questions for a few seconds.
"It is my own, mostly."
"I've seen self-taught warriors, even the good ones have something awkward in their style, something that clunks. I didn't get that from you."
"Well I have had a little formal training, but most of it is me I assure you," she retorted.
"Hmm, maybe it's the blend that works."
They continued discussing the finer points of sword work as they approached the camp. Once there Irina bid Bull good night and crawled into her tent. She then whiled away the hours of the night meditating, getting in touch with her dragon soul.
It took a little more than a tenday to reach Haven on foot during which Irina spent most of her time talking with either Blackwall or bull or both. They mostly discussed swordcraft and conflicts of both small and large scale. Both men were soldiers through and through, though with differing backgrounds and approach both different than hers. She enjoyed it immensely and her mood grew better than it had been since she arrived in this world.
They still asked her different questions, some of which she could not answer without revealing more than she felt comfortable. When that happened she tended to grow quiet, and in those moments the Iron Bull would shift attention away from her by striking up a conversation with either Blackwall or Caleb, or Amara. She was grateful for that.
His conversations with Warden Blackwall always intrigued her.
"Sounds like joining the Grey Wardens is like following the Qun," he affirmed one day as they neared Haven.
"How, do you think?" Blackwall had inquired.
"Service! Hard work for a good cause, always knowing where you fit in, what you have to do."
"I suppose I see the similarity, when you put it like that," Blackwall had retorted.
"Little surprised I got there before you did, big guy!"
They had found common ground, though the Warden was still wary of the admitted Qunari spy. He really is a people person… That must come in handy considering his job. Despite the pleasantness and ease of the journey, their group too large and too well equipped to be harried by bandits, Irina had been glad to return to the familiarity of Haven.
Upon arriving, she had told Blackwall that Sister Leliana would probably like to talk to him at his earliest convenience, should he intend to stay and had shot Bull a look to remind him to also go see their spymaster as soon as possible.
Her duty accomplished, she had sought out Maxwell. The guards at the gates had assured her the Herald was in fact in Haven. Heartened by the news, she had hurried Haven proper and found Max walking back towards his cabin, deep in thought.
She caught up to him quickly and tapped on his shoulder, a small smile on her face. He started and turned to look at who had drawn him from his reverie.
"Irina!"
"Hello Maxwell," she greeted him fondly. She was surprised when he drew her into a quick hug, before releasing her and giving her a once over.
"You're back! How have you been? I came back from Val Royeaux and Leliana told me you'd gone off to recruit a Grey Warden and a mercenary company on the Sword Coast."
"I am well. I saw a lot of Ferelden in my travels, and it gave a better sense of this... country," she added.
"That's good! And I look forward to meeting this Warden you recruited. That reminds me," he exclaimed with a snap of his fingers, "you need to meet the two people I brought back with me from Val Royeaux! They couldn't be more different from each other. Come let's catch up in my cabin."
Irina followed after and they were soon seated around the only table in the room, exchanging stories from their respective adventures.
Hours later there was a knock at the door. Max got up and opened it, revealing one of Leliana's scouts. He handed something to Max Irina couldn't quite make out and said, "for you Herald," he then bowed and left. Max pivoted and Irina realized he had been handed a piece of paper. He returned to his seat and spent a minute poring over the contents of the note. He then set it down and looked up at Irina.
"It seems there have been reports of High Dragon in the Hinterlands," he explained, his expression grim. A Dragon! They exist! They're real! I could talk to it, maybe, possibly.
"The Inquisition," he continued oblivious to her inner turmoil, "will leave tomorrow at dawn to deal with it."
He paused, watching for her response.
"Well, Dragonborn? Want to tag along?"
Irina gave him a toothy grin.
"Let's go hunting!"
A/N:
Welcome back all to this third installment of my story.
As always I'd like to thank everyone who read it and more especially everyone who reviewed it. I promise not to ramble on for too long.
This story serves as my proving ground. It is where I hone my storytelling in preparation for my own story one day. As such I would love any and all constructive criticism you the readers can muster. Now I know most people, myself included, can't really think of anything specific to criticize unless it was quite horrendous. Maybe, I can help. I believe that one of the places I struggle the most is dialogue, while another is consistent characterization. Hopefully, this gives everyone a narrower focus and might encourage some to comment.
That is all.
I hope everyone has a pleasant day.
The Would-Be King.