It was just at the break of dawn, as the first rays of the morning sun crested over the horizon, that Cian rose from his seat on the edge of Athim's aravel, his knives sharpened, a bow sat beside him, the quiver now full of arrows. Ready to hunt, to bring back whatever game the Green Dales would provide. Other hunters lingered around the camp, some perched atop other aravels, others on vantage points surrounding the camp, bows ready and eyes searching for any sign of danger. They had only just arrived but a day ago, and the clans safety was still uncertain.
Others of the clan were moving about. The hunters and warriors had been awake for an hour, but the rest of the clan rarely woke before dawn. Mothers lulled their children to wake, though a few of the younger ones were already running around, enacting the battles the hahren told them each night by the fire, of Emerald Knights and Arcane Warriors, fighting to keep the people safe. Some of the older members were, sluggish as one was in the morning, getting ready to work, some going over supplies to find out what they had, and what they would need the hunters to gather.
He caught pieces of dirty jokes over pairs who seemed to have been getting closer, of arguments over stolen blankets, or complaints of misplaced tools needed to repair a loose wheel.
Sitting by one of the fires was Athim, sitting on an old stump and nursing a warm drink in her hands as she watched the tendrils of flame dance. Their Keeper was off to the side, conversing with her First; a young, scrappy girl no older than twelve, her face clean of any blood writing. She'd come to the clan only a year ago, sent from Avenus after her magic began to manifest. She was nice enough, and had had become a part of the clan so seamlessly that one would have thought she was born there. She listened to and took in everything Deshanna said like a sponge soaked in water.
A few of the hunters were gathered around Sulvin's table, replacing dulled hunting knives with something sharper, or a new bowstring for their bows before they left.
The aravel creaked behind him, and hands landed on his shoulder, pressing down, "Good morning, Cian!" Renan greeted loudly as she stood where he had just been seated, leaning her weight on him, stretched out in the air. She laughed as she did so, giddy, melodical.
Cian grinned, and moved just slow enough that she could detached from him and not fall from the aravel. "Aneth ara," he greeted in return, watching as his friends long, brown hair flowed in the gentle air. His grin turned crooked, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you doing all the way here? Shouldn't you be helping Vianna with the halla, or has she still have you banned from feeding them?"
"Psh! It was one time!" the woman complained with a pout. "It's not like the herd is as large as it was, either, not since we gave half our halla to clan Sabrae, harder to make that mistake again with fewer halla to keep track of."
He raised a brow, "That doesn't sound like something the Halla Keeper's apprentice should be saying."
She just rolled her eyes before reaching into her satchel, moments later she was tossing him an apple. "I'll be going back to help her in a bit, I just wanted to check up on you before you set out. You probably haven't even eaten anything yet—and you know that's just asking for a poor hunt if you're distracted by hunger."
"It makes for a better hunt," Cian countered, but he took a gracious bite from the fruit regardless and watched the clan. He spotted a younger elf lingering by a warrior, watching with longing, and nodded in his direction. "Fenvas is still getting his vallaslin tonight, right?"
"As far as I know, haven't heard anything about it being pushed back," Renan agreed as she followed his gaze. "He'll make a good addition to the warriors, he's already bigger than most them."
"Size isn't everything."
"Of course the pipsqueak would say that!"
Cian shoved her, but it only made Renan burst into laughter. As annoying as the remark was, he couldn't help but offer a slight grin as well. It was hard to stay mad at her.
The laughter slowly stilled as Keeper Deshanna approached, her aged face full of warmth, a gentle smile on her face as she watched him. "Garas quenathra, Cian?" she asked kindly, her arms folded together into her sleeves, and Cian felt his own smile falter.
"I—I'm sorry?" he asked. Why was he here? That made no sense, where else would he have been. "Sorry, Keeper, I don't quite understand."
Her smile widened; flickers of green started to brush against the blue sky. "You've done your clan proud, da'len," Deshanna said as she reached out to rest her hand on his arm. "You saved us. You saved everyone, and we could not be prouder of you. Have no regrets, Cian, and let your spirit rest."
The rest of the clan had stopped conversing, stopped working. Hundreds of eyes fell on him as their faces blurred and merged. Only the Keeper and Renan remained beside him, remained themselves.
Renan smiled, soft and sad, and held her hands out. In one was an elegantly carved oak staff. The other held a cedar branch. She carefully placed them both into his unwilling hands. "Ma serannas, Cian, for being my friend. Falon'Din mala ghilana mir din'an."
He tried to drop them, but couldn't, his fingers frozen around the wood. "Renan, Keeper, I'm—I'm not dead," he tried to plead, but a look at his own arms and—and he was translucent. There, but not. A ghost.
Cian reached for them again, only to slip and fall to the ground, into the ground. A hole—a grave.
"Falon'Din enasal enaste," Keeper Deshanna recited as she raised her hand, tracing symbols in the air over him as faceless elves shoveled dirt onto Cian. "Sleep, now, da'len, and may the Dread Wolf never find your trail."
Cian woke with a start, panting for breath as he sat up. His chest was heaving, and his clothes damp with sweat. It was just a dream, he told himself, though the panic did not subside. A dream, and nothing more. He was here, he was alive.
He was alive.
How was he even still alive?
Still heaving for breath, Cian slowly looked around. The room was warm, a fireplace on one wall carried a small, flickering fire. The smells of the room were foreign, but the pain was familiar—and everywhere.
Not just his hand or arm. His whole body ached.
But it wasn't as sharp, it wasn't as burning or disorientating as it had been. It was something tolerable. He… he could live with that. The pain didn't make him wish for death, at least, so that was something.
Letting his eyes adjust, he slowly looked around his surroundings. He was clearly not with his clan, not anywhere Dalish. A human settlement, maybe? An alienage—no, it looked too nice and to be an alienage house. It certainly wasn't the prison cell he had first woken to. He was even on a bed. Talk about an upgrade! It was a rather cozy little home abode, by the looks of it. An old desk sat in a corner with papers and ink, a box for belongings, a coat draped over a hook on the wall. There were books and rugs, and everything of warm colors.
He was rather… surprised, to put it mildly, that this was where he woke up to. There weren't even ropes or chains to keep him from leaving. Cian was still a prisoner… right?
Running a hand through his hair, he looked up at the sound of scuffling on the wood, and caught sight of a young elf, maybe thirteen at best, coming in through the door. The only door, as far as Cian could tell. The girl was humming a tune, and carried a box that, while sizable, didn't look particularly heavy.
That same box crashed to the floor, followed by the sound of glass shattering within, when the girl looked up and saw Cian, letting out a loud, startled cry as she backed away. Absolutely terrified. Cian wasn't sure what the girl had been told of him to cause such a reaction.
"O-oh, I, my apologies!" the girl said, her voice carried an accent Cian didn't recognize. She looked as frightened as a mouse, ready to flee, wanting to flee. "I didn't know you were awake; I swear!"
Cian shifted on the bed, he pushed the blankets aside, grateful he was dressed in something, even if it was not the clothes he'd worn when he was last conscious. "Don't worry about it," he assured the girl, finding his own voice rough and hoarse. How much time had passed for it to be so dry from disuse? "I only just woke—"
To his absolute horror, in the most bizarre and downright unsettling moves Cian had ever seen be done to him; the girl dropped to the floor on her hands and knees, and pressed her head down to the wooden planks of the floor. She was bowing—oh, Creators, the girl was prostrating. To him.
"I beg your forgiveness and your blessing," the girl pleaded, breathless, her head just inches away from the box she had dropped, a desperation to his voice, terrified of what Cian would do—as if Cian would do anything to her "I am but a humble servant."
This has to be a dream—a damned nightmare! Cian thought, watching the girl, horrified at the sight of a fellow elf bowing to him like he was something to worship. He was nothing, nobody. Cian was just a bloody hunter! "Where," he started, and swallowed thickly. "Where am I?" he asked, carefully broaching the question, worried that one wrong word would send the girl running away.
The girl lifted her head to look at Cian, before dipping it away just as fast, like it was some kind of crime to look up at him. "You're back in Haven, my lord," the girl answered, her body trembling as she added in a rush, "They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand."
Shit! The mark! Despite it all, Cian had nearly forgotten it, unbelievable with how much trouble it had been causing him.
He raised his hand and looked to his palm. The mark was still there, and it glowed in response to him, as if wielding its own sliver of sentience. But it was—smaller wasn't quite the right word. It was still there, a long green line like a wound still healing, with green veins spidering out from it. But the spread stopped just past his wrist, faint, green cracks along his skin.
It ached, yes, and Cian suspected that was something that wasn't going to go away anytime soon. But it wasn't anywhere close to the agony it had caused before. That was a good sign, as far as he could tell.
"It's all anyone has talked about for the last three days."
Cian looked back to the girl immediately. Three days? Had it really been three days? His stomach twisted, nervous knots tightening inside of him. "Then… are we safe?" he asked.
The girl hesitated, and Cian knew the answer, even before she put a voice to the words. "The Breach is still in the sky, but that's what they say," she confessed, and Cian felt disappointment crash over him.
He hadn't succeeded. Not completely. That wasn't good—wasn't what he wanted. He'd failed. He had one job, and he failed it.
Afraid of the darkening mood, the girl scrambled to her feet, her head remained bowed even as she scurried backwards, putting distance between herself and Cian. "I'm certain that Lady Cassandra can tell you more. She wanted to see you when you've awakened," she offered, gripping her hands tightly together. "She said 'at once'."
If Cassandra could tell him more of what was going on, then Cian had no reason not to go and find her. And where might I fight her?" Cian asked, carefully pushing himself off the bed, satisfied that he was steady on his feet.
"In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor," the elf stammered, still backing away, terrified of him. "'At once,' she said, 'at once'." With that, she turned and ran out the door, slamming it shut behind her in her mad scramble to get away.
Alone, again, Cian shook his head. Too much was going on, but he at least had a few moments to sort through his own mess of thoughts and try to work out what happened, and maybe what was going on. Cassandra already waited three days for him to wake, she could wait a few minutes longer for him to get his bearings.
Plus, he wasn't exactly thrilled to deal with the Roderick fellow.
A few minutes were spent rummaging around the room, and he found little more than a handful of coppers and some twine that he stuffed in his pocket.
There were a lot of papers on the desk, and Cian skimmed through most of them. One of them talked about what sounded like medical jargon, and he could only assume it was meant to be about him, but he paid it no mind in the end, either. It ultimately made no sense to him, so he found no reason to add it to his growing list of anxieties.
The pressing question was simple; was he still a prisoner? The girl had looked upon him with such fear that he might as well have been an Archdemon for all the difference it made. Was this just a moment of kindness, and he was going to be cast in irons as soon as he reached Cassandra, shipped off to Val Roy-whatever to be killed like the Chancellor demanded, her promise of a 'fair trial' be damned?
He found it hard to believe that whatever he managed to do with the Breach would have absolved him of any suspicion and blame.
The Breach was not gone. Was it to be as Leliana had said; they would remain in Haven to figure out what their next course of action at sealing the Breach would be? It couldn't be as simple as Oh, that didn't work, let's try this instead, could it?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
Reaching the hook on the wall, Cian took the coat waiting. It was a bit big on him, but it would work to stave off the chill of Haven. There was a green and brown satchel that had been hidden under the coat on the hook. His satchel. Cian felt a rush of satisfaction to see it. It had been a gift, handmaid, from back in the clan, and he would have loathed to have lost it.
Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he gave one final once over of the room, to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. There were no daggers, or knives, or any sort of weapon to be found. Understandable, they wouldn't want to leave their prisoner armed.
"Best not keep the scary lady waiting," Cian murmured to himself, steeling his nerves as he opened the door and stepped out into the cold, morning air.
Standing outside from the door were two soldiers facing him. Heads bowed; closed fist crossed over their chest. Beyond them were crowds of people lining the dirt path. Soldiers on either side, heads lowered with the same gesture.
Wait, Cian knew that gesture. He'd seen the soldiers to that to Cassandra, to Leliana. They were… saluting? Him?
He turned behind himself, just to make sure there wasn't someone important in his shadow, but—no. He was alone. They were definitely saluting him. Was this a dream—it had to be, yeah, he was dreaming. Otherwise, he truly did not understand what happened to make human soldiers salute a Dalish elf, one they had held in custody under suspicion of murdering the damn Divine just three days ago.
Beyond them, he could see the Breach still in the sky. Swirling and green—but calm. It was still a glowing, green hole in the sky, an open door for demons, but it was no longer the eye of a storm. No crackling lightning or earth-shattering thunder. It was just… there.
It wasn't a good thing, but it was an improvement to how it looked when he first woke up.
Cian looked from the sky when he realized people were murmuring, and he realized that it wasn't just soldiers who were standing outside the house. Behind the line of guards were people. Just normal, everyday people. Staring at him, gawking, whispering. The tones both awed and scandalized, and just… afraid. Like the elf girl. They didn't know who—what he was.
Swallowing, Cian walked, One step, then two. Whatever was going on… he wasn't going to be afraid. He wasn't going to let them know he was afraid. He was a hunter of Clan Lavellan, a proud Dalish elf.
Squaring his shoulders, keeping his head raised high, Cian walked to the two soldiers who had been at the front, directly in front of his house waiting for him to come out—and just how long had they all been waiting, anyway? He probably shouldn't think too hard on that.
"Hello," Cian greeted the two, his tone chipper despite his racing heart. "I was told to speak to Cassandra in the Chantry, where might I find that?" Because, while it made sense that Haven had a Chantry, he had no idea what to look for, how to identify the building.
"Of course," one soldier nodded, turning from Cian to point further away, to a building that seemed to tower above the others. "You will find the Chantry there. Sister Leliana had suspected you would need aid, and so the soldiers have made a path for you," he added, and motioned to the lines of soldiers further down.
The sight just made Cian want to run back inside and not come back out, but he couldn't do that. So, he just nodded, offered his thanks, and began walking.
He kept his head up, he nodded to a few as he passed, he smiled. He did everything to mask how frightened he was as he walked, to act as if this was all perfectly normal and not something to be concerned about.
People continued to whisper as he spoke, and though he wasn't actively trying to eavesdrop. he heard many mentions of a Herald… or maybe they were just saying Harold? That could be, too. It wasn't his business, Cian told himself, don't get involved. Just get to the Chantry, figure out what else he had to do so he could go home.
"That's him." Someone whispered, loudly, though he couldn't make out who in the crowd said it, everyone seemed to have been pointing and gawking that they blended together.
"They say that when he stepped out of the fade, Andraste herself was watching over him! That She sent him to us!" someone else spoke up—and were they talking about him? Oh, Creators, they were talking about him.
"Shush! We shouldn't disturb him!" Another hissed, and Cian couldn't agree more. Just please, for the love of all that was holy, stop talking.
"That's him, innit?" Someone else spoke further down the line, between a line of tents. "He stopped the Breach from getting any bigger."
"Wasn't he supposed to close it entirely?" Disappointed and confused as opposed to the awe of the others.
"Still a lot of rifts left all over. Like little cracks in the sky." A woman mused over the rippling, hushed chatter.
Someone responded to her quickly enough. "He can seal those too, though. The Herald…"
"He stopped the Breach, power given to him by the Maker Himself." Now that made him shudder and flinch. He was Dalish… mixing in the Maker and Andraste felt weird. But he couldn't say anything, not to them. That was asking for trouble.
All throughout it the soldiers kept a solid line, a shield between him and the crowds, making an easy-to-follow route through the small little town—and small it was. Little houses, plenty of tents, and one tavern that he could tell. He was surprised by how quaint it all looked, and honestly? He could have easily seen his clan living content lives in a settlement like this.
Eventually, though, he reached the Chantry, identifiable by the number of sisters and brothers standing about outside its doors as they murmured and talked to themselves. "Chancellor Roderick says the Chantry wants nothing to do with him, or with us," one whispered, her voice full of fright. The girl beside her reached out to touch her arm, and assured her that Roderick had no say in the matter.
Two guards stationed on either side of the doors opened them when Cian approached.
He was met with the smell of incense filling the air, of herbs and the musty scent of old books. It all made him feel dizzy in the head for a moment, but only for a moment before he recovered. The building itself was beautiful, it felt like an injustice to deny it that much. Simplistic, yet elegant.
Vaulted ceilings, smooth arches. Stone floors and stone walls, with red rugs and numerous torches and candles keeping it all alight. There were seats of course, a few with little prayer books by them; chairs and stools, and a few doors on either side.
At the end of the long hall were the Chantry banners, beside statues of a woman, Andraste, he could only assume.
Even though he was Dalish; Cian knew the Chantry. Not intimately, not by any means. But he knew enough of the lore and myths, and he knew enough of the worship to know that the building being so empty was unusual. Alien. It felt wrong, and Cian hated the uneasiness that came with it all. A building such as this should have been bustling with sisters and worshippers, not... this.
It was the door at the very end that he figured he was to go through. Not by any distinguishing markings or helpful people to point to it. No, his only base of assumption was through the rather obnoxious arguing that he could hear from the opposite side of the building. Still, though, Cian hesitated. He lingered by the door to listen, to get a sense of the mood, of what to expect.
Of course, none of it was good.
"Have you gone completely mad?" the familiar, outraged voice of Roderick hollered, his voice echoing against the stone. "He should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!"
"I do not believe he is guilty," Cassandra, and he was surprised by how certain she was in that claim. Touched, even. From declaring him guilty on the spot, ready to cut him down, to now defending his innocence, what growth in such a short amount of time. Impressive, really.
"The elf failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky," Roderick pressed, and it made Cian falter—because he was right. Cian had failed. The Breach, though calmed and pacified, was still there, and who knew how long it would remain still? It took everything he had—it nearly killed him!—and he still failed. "For all you know; he intended it to be this way!"
Untrue, Cian wanted to yell. He never wanted any of this, not the mark, not a hole in the sky, and he sure as hell did more than Roderick trying to fix everything, so how fucking dare he continue to accuse him like that!
Fueled on by anger, Cian pushed the doors open loudly and marched in, his shoulders squared, and chin held high. He scanned the room, a massive table full of papers and scrolls, numerous candles. Cassandra and Leliana on one side, a pair of guards at the doors, and Roderick—Cian's gaze locked on him immediately—at the head of the table.
"Chain him!" Roderick demanded of the guards as he pointed at Cian. "I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial!"
"Disregard that, and leave us," Cassandra countered immediately. Her voice was firm, but unlike Roderick, she wasn't screaming her head off to make her point heard. The guards saluted and went, shutting the doors behind them and making it clear who in the room had their loyalty.
Being alone in the room with the three of them didn't make him feel any less anxious, but Leliana's warm expression and silent greeting helped him keep his mask of control on, helped him keep a tight chain on his nerves.
Glowering at the closed door, Chancellor Roderick let his gaze fall to Cian, and then to Cassandra as he approached her. "You walk a dangerous line, Seeker," he warned, and Cian decided that he liked the man even less than he already did. It was amazing how much Roderick was wracking up disapproval points in such a short amount of time. Truly a record.
Cassandra held his gaze, and the ferocity in her eyes was far, far more intimidating than anything the Chancellor had to offer. "The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat," she said, giving Cian another stab of guilt over his failure, and her expression sharpened impossibly more. "I will not ignore it."
"I did everything I could to close the Breach," Cian reminded as he approached the table, crossing his arms over his chest as he let his gaze linger on Roderick for a few moments longer. "It almost killed me."
Roderick shifted to face him; his face twisted in ugly disgust. "Yet you live," he accused, clearly, oh so clearly disappointed by that one detail. "A convenient result, insofar as you're concerned."
"Have a care, Chancellor," Cassandra said, her tone warning. "The Breach is not the only threat we face."
Because of course it wasn't. Cian wanted to ask what it was, what other threat could they have to deal with along with the Breach. But he didn't need to in the end. Leliana approached, her gait graceful and silent, answering his questions before he even asked them.
Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect," she noted, standing beside Cassandra, and watching Roderick. "Perhaps they died with others, or have allies who yet live."
Cian was impressed how Leliana's words were deadlier than any knife or arrow he'd seen.
The cherry to top it all off was how Chancellor Roderick reeled back, his face shocked at the unspoken accusation. "I am a suspect?" he demanded, absolutely offended by the notion.
And really, Cian was honestly just as surprised. He wouldn't have thought any of the humans would point to someone in the Chantry and accuse them of a crime as horrible as this. As much as Leliana scared him, he certainly liked her and her boldness. There needed to be more people like that, as far as he was concerned.
"You, and many others," Leliana answered simply.
"But not the prisoner?" Roderick screeched in outrage, gesturing wildly at Cian.
Cassandra shook her head, "I heard the voices in the Temple," she pressed, and by her tone, it sounded like she had gone over this many times. "The Divine called out to him for help."
The man's grimace worsened, if that was even possible. "So, his survival, that thing on his hand? It's all, what? Coincidence?" he demanded crossing his arms over his chest, pointing out how ridiculous it all sounded.
"Providence," Cassandra said, and fuck, she sounded so sure of it. "The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour."
Cian swallowed sharply; his mask slipped as the shock hit him. The Maker. That was—what… how was he supposed to respond to a claim like that? He was a Dalish elf, he had his own pantheon of gods he was supposed to worship. The people of the Andrastian faith hated his people because their belief went directly against the Chant of Light's whole 'proselytization of all of Thedas' plan. They lost their home because of their 'heretical belief', and now Cassandra was claiming he was their savior?
He wanted to laugh but…
Oh, Creators, he hated how much it made sense. The Beyond, the flaming woman—was that… was that actually Andraste? Could he… is what Cassandra was saying… true?
"You…" Cian started, nervously twitching his fingers. "You really think the Maker would send someone like…me?"
Cassandra nodded as she turned her attention to him, that sharpness in her eyes had softened. "The Maker does as He wills," she said as way of answer, not that it did anything to quell the nerves and confusion Cian was confronted with. "It is not for me to say."
"Even if that means a Dalish elf is His chosen?"
She nodded, again as she turned to approach a table against the opposite wall, doing…something. He couldn't see what. "Humans are not the only ones with an interest in the fate of the world," and, dang, she was right. The Breach would affect everyone, no matter their faith or lack of. It really shouldn't matter what he was, he supposed.
Still, though, it left him stranded in a sea of uncertainty.
And with a lot of things he'd need to unpack.
"The Breach remains," Leliana continued, "and your mark is still our only hope of closing it."
Chancellor Roderick growled at her. "This is not for you to decide," he yelled, and Cian was more surprised he wasn't stomping his feet yet. He certainly seemed the sort of shemlen who thought that being the loudest meant they were the ones in charge, that louder meant important.
His pathetic complaints were ignored, drowned out by the heavy thud as Cassandra returned with a tome larger than anything other book he'd seen before. She dropped it to the table, just narrowly missing the Chancellors fingers. By the leathers, the insignia, and the locks to keep it safe, it was clear it was an important book.
Cassandra ran a finger along the symbol on the cover. "You know what this is, Chancellor?" she asked, but did not give the man a chance to answer. "A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn,"
She advanced on the Chancellor, each step measured, yet so quick that he couldn't just scramble away fast enough as he was backed into a literal corner. "We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order," Cassandra declared, jabbing a finger into his chest with each proclamation. "With or without your approval."
The air was thick. Cian didn't need to be of their faith to know how her words looked. She was effectively saying that if the Chantry didn't agree, it could stuff it. And really; Cian admired that, even if it scared the shit out of him.
Still, he half expected Roderick to do something. The man looked from Cassandra to Leliana with righteous fury written on his face. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn't physically confront Cassandra, and he had no real authority over her in any sense of the word. He was essentially powerless within the room.
After several long, agonizing moments, the man gave them all one final look of disgust before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
With him gone, the air in the room relaxed. Only a little. There was still a tension to it all, a wire pulled taut, with no knowing of what would happen if it broke. No one said anything, not for the longest moment.
Eventually, Leliana broke it as she circled the table to the book, her eyes on Cian the whole time, as if she knew he had questions. She probably did. There was no reason for her to think that he would have any idea what the Inquisition was. "This is the Divine's directive; rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos," she said, running a hand down the cover as Cassandra rejoined them. "We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support."
"But we have no choice," Cassandra finished for her, and both turned to look at Cian. "We must act now. With you at our side"
Cian had questions; his questions had questions. Every word they said left him spiraling deeper and deeper into confusion and wonderment. "What even is the Inquisition of old?" he asked, latching on to the first one he could.
"It preceded the Chantry," Leliana said, and that gave Cian even more things to wonder. Preceded the Chantry, did that mean they were with Andraste, or her disciples, or… he wasn't even sure how to think of it. "People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad."
Cassandra nodded and continued for her. "After; they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order, but the Templars have lost their way." she said, and boy did that not make him feel better about any of it. "We need those who can do what must be done. United under a single banner once more."
Was he… Was Cian being asked to reform the group that attempted to massacre his people? He really did not feel all that great about it if that were the case. "You're trying to start a holy war," he said, before he could stop himself. His mind was still on stories of the massacre within the Dales, of the Exalted March that stole from his people the land they were promised.
"We are already at war, and you are already involved; it's mark upon you," Cassandra shot back, and… she was right. They were at war against the Fade, against the demons that came out from it. "Whether or not it is a holy one… that depends on what we discover."
It was still a lot to take in, and it left Cian questioning so much of what he knew and believed, but underneath all the details and questions, the heart of it all was clear; close the Breach, save the world. Try not to die along the way.
He straightened his stance. "Well… when I woke up, I sure didn't picture this outcome." How could anyone have thought to be thrown into this kind of crazy? No one ever woke up and found 'world about to end, you are possibly the only hope to save it' on their list of things that would happen.
Cassandra stepped closer to him, offering him her hand. "Help us fix this," she said—she asked him. "Before it is too late."
He hated the pressure of it all. The weight of being responsible for so much.
But… it wasn't as suffocating anymore. The Breach was stable, for now, and the mark wasn't actively killing him. He wasn't a prisoner, desperate to prove his innocence. It didn't feel like everything was crumbling around him, where every second was vital to the survival of the whole world.
For some strange reason, Cian almost felt like they could do this. That he could do this. Perhaps their certainty was rubbing off on him.
Stepping forward, Cian took her hand. Whatever happened next, they'd do it together. "I'm in," Cian said, squeezing her hand in his. They'd form this Inquisition, they'd close the Breach, and they were going to hunt down whoever was behind it, and make them regret it. That much he promised.