The party selected by Jacquelyn waited by the gates for her to arrive, then waiting a little longer for Varric, who seemed more than willing to make everyone wait on him. He started to jog when he saw them all waiting, Bianca safely secured on his back.

"Nice of you to wait for me," he said, Jacquelyn smiling slightly while Cassandra looked less than impressed. It was perfectly obvious that the dwarf and the Seeker didn't overly care for each other, though they weren't about to rip each other's throats out.

"We didn't have a lot of choice," Cassandra told him, only slightly harshly.

"If you say so, Seeker," Varric smirked slightly, Cassandra grunting in annoyance.

"Can we just get a move on?" she asked, Jacquelyn and Solas sharing a look, Jacquelyn slightly amused, Solas maybe slightly resigned, though his expression was still more unreadable than most.

"Please tell me the whole trip is not going to be like this," the Trevelyan almost groaned, maybe a hint of laughter on her voice.

"Only most of it, I expect," Solas told her.

"Hilarious," Cassandra muttered, starting to walk off, Varric grinning as the rest of them started to follow, turning and walking backwards for a moment. He raised a hand to Siara, who stood watching them from the wall, her face blank, which seemed to have become a bit of a norm for her. After Jacen's death, it was hardly surprising. He just wasn't entirely expecting Siara to be quite like... this. Solas dropped back to be walking beside him, raising a hand in farewell to Siara, who absently raised a hand in return.

"How long have you known Siara for?" he asked Varric, who had returned to walking the right way around.

"Around fifteen years. Met her a bit before the Blight, if memory serves."

"That's a long time."

"That it is."

"I assume you know her quite well, then?"

"Why are you asking me this stuff, Chuckles?" Varric was getting vaguely suspicious by now. He was rather protective of Siara, though he knew perfectly well that the young elf was perfectly capable of looking after herself.

"I am merely curious about how much she has changed due to recent events."

"You mean her brother getting killed?"

"Among other things."

"She's been through some rough shit, believe me," Varric almost growled out, "but this... this is still fresh, still new to her. She'll pull through. If I were you, I'd just be careful she's not manipulating you. She's good at that."

"Why would she manipulate me?" Solas asked, surprised by this statement.

"The moment you know what is going through that girl's head is generally the moment before she kills someone. I wouldn't take the possibility of her manipulating you as an insult. I'd just be careful. Make sure it isn't you she's planning on killing," Solas frowned at this, but nodded, seeing no need for any further questions.

Meanwhile, Siara was busy getting a few things together in preparation to leave. First, she would return to where she'd been expelled from the Fade. Perhaps she'd be able to find something of Jacen's there, though she doubted it. Then she'd continue on, find that blood mage again. Get the second half of her payment. Maybe use him as a punching bag for getting her brother killed. Her teeth started grinding together as rage boiled inside her. She'd like to do a whole heap worse than use the guy as a punching bag. She was planning just what she would like to do to the guy, her packing growing more and more messy, with more force, when someone knocked on the door. She stopped, waiting for herself to calm a moment before she went and wrenched it open. Cullen stood there.

"What do you want?" she asked, clearly unimpressed. "I'm busy."

"This isn't a social call," Cullen told her, also not seeming too happy about being there, but able to hide it a little better than the elf. "I have a job for you, if you'd like it. I hear you've been doing random jobs around the keep, thought you might like something more interesting."

Siara stood glaring up at him for a moment longer before she shoved the door open the rest of the way, heading back to her bag.

"Talk," she ordered, Cullen stepping inside, watching her as she continued packing, rearranging things to fit more neatly now that she was concentrating on something else.

"We received word from Lord Kildarn," he explained, hand resting on the pommel of his blade. "Apparently there are refugees on his lawn and he's suspicious of them."

"Kildarn is an idiot. Likes to throw his weight around, thinks he's more important than he actually is. Not as smart as he likes to think, either."

"You know of him?"

"Of course I do," Siara stood up straight, flicking her hair out of her face and looking at Cullen. "Jacen participated in an archery competition he was holding while I snuck in and laced his food with a mild laxative. Don't ask me why someone wanted to give the guy the runs, but they paid decently," she shrugged. "So what do you want me to do to the guy?"

"A mild... never mind. I'm sending patrols to the area. If possible, I would like to give aid to the refugees."

"And?"

"And I would like you to go with them."

"How much are you going to pay?"

"How much are you asking?"

"Since it's dealing with refugees, I'll give you a discount. Plus there's only one of me now, so... we'll make it transportation cost and feeding, then round it so you end up paying around eighty gold all together."

Cullen looked surprised.

"All things considered, that's... rather cheap of you."

"Don't get used to it," Siara turned and flung her bag over a shoulder, turning once more to look at Cullen. "So, when do I leave?"

"As soon as my men are ready."

"Well tell them to hurry up. Or I'll leave without them," Siara told him, striding past him and out the door, bag flung over her shoulder.

Cullen watched after her a moment, slightly taken back by her abruptness, but soon shook himself out of his stupor and went to check on his men. Siara was certainly an... interesting character. But he couldn't say he liked her overly much, though that might have been partially because she quite clearly was not overly fond of him, or any templar for that matter. Clearly she didn't understand everything that templars went through, didn't seem to understand their addiction. Or the withdrawals.

He rubbed the back of his neck at the thought. Thankfully today wasn't one of the worse days. For once his limbs barely even ached, and his mind was clear enough to think without struggling through the pain. Trevelyan seemed to better understand what was going on with the templars, though. She seemed like a fine woman, less short-tempered than Siara, at any rate. Now Cullen was rubbing his neck for an entirely different reason.

Why had Trevelyan asked those questions? Maker, she seemed intent on making him feel as uncomfortable as possible. The way those aqua eyes had glinted... Cullen cleared his throat, forcing all these thoughts as far from his mind as he could as he approached his recruits, his hand once more resting on the pommel of his sword.

Siara was lent a boring chestnut horse with white splotches and a white star on his forehead. His mane seemed a little tatty in places, but on the whole he was a nice enough horse. The elf sat upon him surprisingly well, considering she usually walked everywhere. Travelling as much as she did hardly allowed for horses being practical.

The troops she was sent with didn't bother hiding their whispering. Some of them clearly knew who she was, and the news was passing through the ranks. It took a while, but eventually a young man steered his horse up beside hers, a dark grey gelding with even darker grey specks. The lad himself was maybe in his early twenties, at most, with dark grey eyes and black hair half tied up, the sides shaved, a scar running along his jawline. He seemed a little awkward about talking to her, perhaps a little awestruck.

"Is what they're saying true?" he asked.

Siara looked around at him, leaning her head to the side slightly.

"What are they saying?" she asked, perfectly politely.

"They're saying that you're the Blade," he told her, "that you've killed dragons, that you fought in the Blight even though you were just a kid."

Siara smiled slightly as she returned to looking ahead of her, scoffing slightly.

"Yeah… the dragon killing is going a bit far. Drakes, sure. Full grown dragons, not so much. Them you're better off having a group of people, all with enough experience to know what they're doing. I've never been called in to fight one."

"Oh…" the boy looked a little disappointed. "But you did fight during the Blight?"

"Yes."

"How old were you?"

"I would have been somewhere around fourteen, at oldest."

"By the Maker…" Siara's eye crinkled slightly at the corners in her amusement, the boy watching her intently. "That's… wow…"

Siara just shrugged, flicking her hair out of her eyes. She really needed something to tie it up with.

"So… what was the hardest battle you fought?"

"Couldn't tell you."

"They're all so easy?" he sounded almost hopeful, but Siara just laughed.

"No, because things have changed so much since I was a kid. I don't know which one would have been the most difficult fight I've had. There was one time my brother and I had to fight a wyvern. That one was interesting."

"Go on!" one of the party members called out from behind them. "Tell us the story!"

The rest of the trip was spent sharing stories, mostly the younger recruits begging Siara for tales of her life as the Blade.

Many of the refugees didn't even have shelter, sitting out in the mud and rain when the small group arrived. Siara frowned. They shouldn't be being treated like this. Sure, there were elves around the place. But there were children among the refugees, human and elven alike. A group of Inquisition Soldiers already stationed there came over to the new comers, lead by a tall woman with rather broad shoulders, her brown hair shaved short. Her grey eyes were old, but still sharp. She was obviously a woman you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of.

"You lot are late," she snapped as she strode up. "Split off into teams of two and peer off with a patrol each," her eyes lingered on Siara as the reinforcements headed off, doing as they were bid. "I'm Captain Tilma Frost. I recognise every one of the reinforcements, except for you. Introduce yourself, soldier."

Siara scoffed, eyeing Frost up. Another one who clearly demanded respect. Semi annoying.

"Siara," She replied, "and I'm not a soldier."

"Then why are you here?" Frost demanded. "We need soldiers here, not more refugees."

Siara raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly so the blades on her back moved. They were matching, clearly crafted from strong materials, one shimmering golden in the light, the other black.

"Do I really look like a refugee to you?" she asked, "Commander Rutherford sent me. Wanted me to help with this situation."

Now it was Frost's turn to look unimpressed.

"What good can you do?" she demanded.

"More than you can, apparently, else I wouldn't have been sent," Siara smiled, overly kindly, then pushed past Frost and started walking through the camp, ignoring the glare that was being shot at her back.

There were some whispers passing through the crowds as she walked, some people clearly recognising her for who she was, but not many. It was understandable, she generally worked in higher circles than this. Most of the people here would probably be guessing, just judging by her blades and her armour. If they got close enough to see her eye colour they might know for certain, but none of those whispering as she passed would be able to see them. She flicked her hair back out of her eyes. It was starting to get annoying. Perhaps she should cut it… but it would probably still get in her eyes.

"Hey, Siara!" it was the kid that had been interrogating her on the trip over, waving her over to the group he had joined. "Want to join?" he asked.

She shrugged, then made her way over to them. It was as good a place to be as any.

Jacquelyn looked out over the crossroads, breathing heavily, her sword hanging loosely in one hand, her shield still strapped to her other arm. Fighting templars just felt… wrong. She was planning on becoming one once upon a time, and now she was fighting them? It wasn't right… But it had to be done. They were out of control.

"You all right, Princess?" Varric asked, Jacquelyn looking down at him and half smiling.

"Just a bit out of shape," she replied, sheathing her sword and putting her shield on her back, taking a deep breath before slowly releasing it.

Varric watched her carefully for a moment longer before casually leaning against a nearby post.

"Something's bothering you," he said. "Want to talk about it?"

A sigh escaped Jacquelyn and she looked around at the dwarf, long blonde hair escaping from the bunch of braids she'd put it in to try and keep it out of her face.

"This all feels wrong," she explained, looking out at all the people walking around, beginning to clear the area of bodies, people who she had killed. "None of this should be happening. If that mage had not…" she sighed. "Maybe things would be different if the war between mages and templars had never started."

"Try talking to Anders about that one," Varric told her, not seeming very happy about the topic.

Jacquelyn looked around at him in surprise, remembering his connection with all this.

"Varric, I did not mean –"

"Relax, it's not you I'm angry with," Varric told her, smiling kindly. "Anyway, didn't we come here so you could talk with someone?" he reminded her, Jacquelyn nodding and smiling in return.

"Thank you, Varric," she said, then headed off to find Mother Giselle. The woman was helping with the injured, trying to soothe a man who was terrified of a mage coming near him, using magic on him. Jacquelyn walked over and knelt beside him.

"They can help," she assured him. "With so many people around, they will not hurt you. Or they will suffer the consequences."

Mother Giselle watched Jacquelyn closely, possibly a little uncertain about the young woman's words. The soldier, however, seemed to calm a lot.

"Okay," he forced out, terror still thick on his voice. "Okay."

He leaned back, and Jacquelyn stood up, Mother Giselle following suit, and they walked away as the soldier was healed.

"You handled that well," Mother Giselle told her, Jacquelyn shrugging slightly.

"I did what I could."

"Did you have to talk about the mages in such a way?" Jacquelyn frowned slightly.

"I do not think of them in that way, Mother. But many do, including that young soldier. What I said was what he needed to hear."

"I see," Mother Giselle still didn't seem far too happy about it.

"You are with the Chantry," Jacquelyn pointed out, "do you not feel similarly about mages?"

"The Chantry does not teach that magic is evil," Giselle explained, stopping and turning to face Jacquelyn. "We teach that pride is evil, and that doesn't corrupt only mages."

"But your view of magic?" Jacquelyn asked. "How do you feel about it?"

"I believe that it is not something to be feared, that it is something that can be used for good."

Jacquelyn smiled, nodding slightly.

"That is what I believe," she agreed, "only I see that many fear it, and as such I know how to adjust to those beliefs, know what to say to make others feel at more ease around mages. Not all mages are evil, just as not all those without magic are good. For me, the key is figuring what to say in what situation. And that man needed assurance that no one was going to hurt him, understandable, too. Mages are going mildly insane, as are many templars," she looked down and away for a moment. "Anyway, you wanted to see me?" she asked, bringing the conversation around to the purpose of her being there. Giselle leaned her head forward slightly in acknowledgement.

"Indeed," she confirmed. "The world is in chaos, our divine dead, and rifts are appearing throughout Thedas. On top of all that, the Chantry denounces you and the Inquisition."

"They need to stop worrying about my being called the Herald of Andraste and start worrying about the rifts."

"Precisely. You need to go to them, show them that you are no one to be feared."

"You think I should go to them?"

"Yes."

"They want me dead."

"They are afraid," Giselle explained. "Many are. You need to show them that they are wrong."

Jacquelyn thought for a moment.

"I think you are right," she agreed, then nodded, stepping back slightly and bowing. "Thank you, Mother Giselle."

"I…" Giselle was taken by surprise at Jacquelyn's actions. "I shall do what I can to help. I shall go to Haven, do what I can to help the refugees," she finished once she managed to get past the surprise. Jacquelyn nodded again.

"I appreciate it. I will do what I can here then head back to Haven myself."

They'd just gotten in from patrol, and the rain hadn't let up. If anything, it had gotten heavier. Siara stood there watching, frowning slightly.

"They need more shelter…" she muttered.

"Kildarn wants them gone," the dark-haired boy said, "they're not about to get any."

Siara looked around at him, thinking.

"There has to be something we can do."

"With Kildarn and Captain Tilma's consent, then sure. But without it…"

Siara sighed, then stepped out into the rain. She was still wet from patrol, her armour needing a good clean, but she didn't care. She walked through the refugees, watching them, seeing some of them huddled together, their fires slowly being put down by the ever-increasing rain. Why couldn't Kildarn see that these people needed help? She stopped in front of a young child that was crying, clutching a ragged, soaked doll to her chest.

"Hey, you all right?" she asked gently, kneeling before the kid. The girl sobbed, clutching the doll closer.

"Mama said…" she sniffed, "Mama said I'm not meant t-to talk to strangers."

Siara smiled, nodding.

"It's a good bit of advice," she agreed, "Kinda wish my mama had told me that. Maybe then I'd still be at home," the kid didn't reply, "I'm Siara. What's your name?"

"Lily." The girl sniffed, shivering slightly.

"Well, Lily, where's your mother?"

"I don't know, sh-she went to find food and hasn't come back."

"How about I help you look for her? I'm sure she can't have gotten far."

"B-but your eyes are creepy."

Siara blinked a couple of times, then smiled, nodding.

"Yeah, they kinda are, aren't they? Wish I could change them, maybe a pretty blue? I think I'd suit blue eyes," the kid almost smiled, burying her face in her doll. "So how about it?" Siara asked. "Want to go find your mum?"

The kid slowly nodded and Siara stood up, offering her hand down for the child to take. Lily took it readily, still clutching the doll tightly to her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Siara knew that voice. Her expression darkened, and she slowly turned to face Kildarn.

"Decided to come down off your high throne and slum it with the refugees, have you my lord?" she asked, her voice thick with sarcasm and barely contained hatred, perhaps a hint of boredom.

"Siara," he returned, his voice just as dark.

"It's been a while. How's the health?" she asked, a slight smirk tugging at her lips.

Lily half hid herself behind Siara, not liking how the adults were talking. Kildarn simply scowled, his two guards resting their hands on the pommels of their swords. Siara calmly reached up rest her hand on the hilt of one of her blades, giving Kildarn's men a half smile.

"You sure that's a smart move?" they shared a look before lowering their hands. Siara smiled properly, though her eyes were still harsh, calculating, trained on them. She slowly lowered her own hand, shaking her hair back out of her face.

"That's what I thought."

"What is your business here, Blade?" Kildarn demanded.

"It's what I'm being paid to do," Siara told him. "Help the refugees. Do your job for you."

"The Inquisition is meant to be removing the bastards!"

"The Inquisition is a decent organisation," Siara snapped back, "doing your job for you. You're a lord, this is what you should be doing."

"You cannot tell me what I should be doing!" by now a crowd was forming, refugees and Inquisition soldiers alike, watching with rapt attention as the elven mercenary faced down the human lord. "You have no right!"

"And you have no right to be condemning these people!"

"Siara!" Frost snapped, struggling to push her way through the crowds. "Stand down immediately!" she was still too far away. There was no way she could stop Siara.

"How dare –"

"I challenge you," Siara's voice was suddenly cold, calculated. "Pick your champion. A fight to the death, or I suppose surrender. Winner chooses what happens to the –"

"I accept," Kildarn cut her off. "If my man wins, the heretics leave."

Siara inclined her head slightly.

"If I win, the refugees stay, and you help them. Provide them with shelter. Without complaining."

Kildarn scowled, but stepped forward and shook Siara's hand.

"Done," he agreed, "Today, nightfall."

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic, my lord."

Kildarn scowled, then turned and marched off, his guards following close behind him. Siara looked down at the kid, a slightly concerned frown creasing her forehead. She turned and knelt down before her again, resting her hands on the girl's shoulders.

"Are you okay?" she asked. The girl nodded slightly.

"I want my mama…" she whispered. Siara nodded.

"We'll go find her, shall we?"

"Siara!" Frost snapped again, now reaching Siara, placing a hand on her shoulder as she stood up, spinning the elf around to face her. "What, by Andraste's flaming pyre, was going through your head when you challenged him?" she demanded.

"More than was going through yours when you let him spend days walking all over you and the refugees," Siara spat back. "The way you were going, nothing was going to get done about this situation."

"Please don't fight…" Lily whimpered, but Frost was fired up, and Siara sure as Hell wasn't going to let her win.

"This was none of your concern."

"Yes, it really was. I got paid to be here, got paid to help. The sooner I get the job done, the sooner we can all head back."

"You've been here a day," Frost growled, "you don't have the authority –"

"I have plenty of authority," Siara's voice was low, menacing. "I don't report to anyone except myself. I have a job to do, and I will stop at nothing to get it done. Are we clear? Or do I have to fight you, too?" Frost and Siara stood there glaring at each other for a while longer before Frost growled, then backed down, turning away and pushing back through the crowds. Siara let out an annoyed breath, not quite a growl, but not a sigh either.

"Come on," she said, her voice returning to surprisingly gentle, "let's go find your mum."