Hardly as soon as Arethin and her companions had returned to Haven, they were off again. This time, Varric insisted on coming, and nothing could be done to sway him. He did indeed finally look healthy enough to suit Arethin, so she allowed it. When they were on their way out of the gates, the Prince-Consort rode up beside them on a fine-bred horse.
“We will come with you,” the Prince-Consort said. “We must return to our lady wife, after all.”
“Of course,” Arethin inclined her head. Disregarding Cassandra's scowl, she added “It would be an honor to travel with you, Majesty.”
So, the Prince-Consort joined them on their trip. A few days in, Varric decided to start asking questions.
“So, Queen Aeducan and you...how did that happen?”
Arethin winced at Varric's overly familiar tone, but the Prince-Consort didn't seem to mind. When he replied, it was in a fairly familiar tone as well.
“Have you not heard the story?” he asked, aghast. “I encountered my lady wife in the Deep Roads, where she rescued us from a broodmother. Then we came across the paragon Caridin, who, against all sense and reason, was still alive, and he gave her a crown. Then we returned to Orzammar, where she threw her useless brother from the throne and was crowned herself.” he sighed dreamily.
“Why was this paragon still alive?” Solas asked. “I was under the impression that there were no paragons within this Age.”
“Well, that is not entirely correct,” the Prince-Consort said. “But it is a long story. Caridin had been entrapped within the body of a golem, and had spent many hundreds of years guarding the anvil upon which he was made.”
“Interesting,” Solas' brow furrowed. “How did that happen?”
“It was how all golems were made,” he explained. “I am no master smith, but as I understand it, in order to animate a golem one must put the spirit of a dwarf inside of it.”
“How is such a thing accomplished?” Cassandra asked. “That sounds rather like magic.”
“That is what Surana said!” the Prince-Consort laughed. “Caridin claimed it was not magic, but truly I do not know.”
“And then after she was crowned Queen...what happened then?” Varric pressed.
“Oh, I left to help finish the Blight,” the Prince-consort waved a hand. “Surana still needed my assistance. Then I had some business of my own to deal with, and of course, my lady wife needed to change many things in our fair city. Then I returned and we were wed.”
“And what did Orzammar think of her marrying you?” Varric asked. “They're such sticklers for tradition, you'd think they'd never allow it.”
“Well, my lady wife was crowned by a paragon, so she may do as she pleases,” the Prince-Consort grinned.
Varric raised his eyebrows. “And all the laws she made, reforming Orzammar? I was pretty surprised at those, let me tell you.”
“Funny, so were the rest of the deshyrs! She had had a great change of heart from being in the Deep Roads, and saw that change must be made if Orzammar was to survive. So change Orzammar she did.”
Their trip was mostly quiet. Cassandra kept eyeing the Prince-Consort with barely disguised suspicion, but nothing came of it. Varric and Solas both questioned the Prince-Consort at length, and he was quite happy to answer their questions, speaking on Queen Aeducan't decisions and on the intricacies of life in Orzammar.
“I still can't believe the Queen managed to get all those old traditions overturned,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Thousands of years, and poof! She just undoes them all, like that.”
“Well, it is not quite so simple as that,” the Prince-consort said. “She would never have been able to make so many changes if she did not have Caridin's blessing, for one. That has been vital.”
“I mean—making the Casteless not Casteless, and then making it so Orzammar dwarves can go to the surface?” Varric shook his head. “That's still something.”
The Prince-Consort smiled. “Indeed it is, my friend.”
“Personally, I find the alliance between the dwarves and the Dalish is the most fascinating aspect,” Solas said.
The Prince-Consort nodded. “In the past, they have not been so close,” he said. “But after Orzammar and the Dalish both worked with King Alistair to stop the Blight, they made several beneficial arrangements.”
After two weeks of travel, they came to the gates of Orzammar.
The gates to Orzammar towered over them, taller than the tallest tree Arethin had ever seen in her life.
She had been to Orzammar before, but the gates always shocked her. They were absolutely massive, carved with intricate geometric designs and kept closed with huge mechanisms and locks that were the size of wagon-wheels.
The guards at the gates stood up straight and bowed to the Prince-Consort, and let them through without any kind of fuss, which was a nice change of pace. Normally Arethin had to spend an hour arguing with them before she or her Clan could be let in.
Inside, Orzammar was as busy and colorful as ever. The shock of the Breach seemed not to have hit them, as the citizens went about their day as normal. There were seemingly countless dwarves and dwarrowdams, many Dalish and non-Dalish elves, even a Vashoth or two. The only race underrepresented was humans, as they only spotted one or two (dressed in telltale mages' robes), and there were many stares directed at Cassandra.
Everyone talked and bartered and shouted at each other resulting in a sound that was rather deafening. There was magic performed openly, and there were many merchants selling enchanted items, precious stones and jewelry, even spices and furs (though most of that trade came from the Dalish and Vashoth merchants).
Statues and elaborate mosaics decorated the city, and it seemed to fairly glitter with jewels and magical lights. The statues were mostly of dwarves, with some animals, but the mosaics depicted a wide variety of scenes, many of which had elves in them. The Blight, the alliance between the Dalish and Orzammar, Queen Aeducan and Prince-Consort Arainai's marriage—all this and more were represented with tiles that gleamed in the light.
“I wonder what dreams this place holds,” Solas murmured, looking around, clearly fascinated.
“A great many, if I understand things correctly,” the Prince-Consort smiled at him.
“Y'know, I haven't been here in years,” Varric said, eyeing the merchants and the buildings. “It looks better than it used to.”
“When were you here last?” Arethin asked.
“Oh, a long time ago,” he explained. “before the Blight.”
“Ah, before the reign of my lady wife,” the Prince-Consort nodded.
“I have heard endless complaints from the Lord Seeker about this place,” Cassandra said, looking around with wide eyes.
“Why?” Arethin asked.
"Many mages fled here after the Blight,” she explained. “But Templars were turned away.”
“That, my dear Seeker, is because Templars do not have the manners that apostates do,” the Prince-Consort grinned as he looked round at Cassandra. Cassandra scowled.
“What do you mean?”
“They liked to think they could just come and take people whenever they so chose. Apostates do us the favor of getting their papers in order, or supplying things we need. What do Templars do? Scare people and wave their swords around.” his grin turned wicked. “In more ways than one.”
Cassandra looked appalled.
“There have never been any Templars here in all the times my Clan came to trade,” Arethin said.
“That is for a very good reason.” the Prince-Consort said. "Likely our Dalish trading partners would have refused to come if we let Templars in."
Cassandra shook her head. “And you have no fear of magic? None of demons?”
“Why would we?” the Prince-Consort asked her honestly. “The mages who come here are Vashoth, or Dalish, or Avvar, or escaped from the Circle. Only the Avvar are very prone to spirit-summoning, and it has never been a problem before.”
Cassandra stared at him, and the Prince-Consort turned away.
“Perhaps Circles are not so needed as so many would believe,” Arethin said, her tone forcibly light.
They continued on, the crowd parting before the Prince-Consort, till they entered the district where the Royal Palace lay. The Prince-Consort dismounted his horse and went to the gates, where a dwarrowdam with long black hair stood in full armor.
“Mi amor!” The Prince-Consort waved, and Queen Aeducan ran to him. She pulled him down into a deep kiss, and it was a long moment before they broke apart.
The Queen looked at Arethin and her companions, who had followed the Prince-Consort.
“We are pleased to meet you,” she said. “We are even more pleased that you brought our lord husband back in one piece.”
Prince-Consort Arainai laughed softly and leaned down to brush a kiss on Queen Aeducan's cheek.
“Come,” the Prince-Consort said. “They must use the eluvian.”
Queen Aeducan nodded. “Of course,” she said, and lead them inside.
The Orzammar eluvian had an interesting history.
It was placed in the palace after much contention, and there was a great deal of disagreement about it on the side of the Coalition. None of the Dalish wanted to relinquish such an artifact to the hands of dwarves, however close their alliance was. Those who wanted the eluvian there cited this alliance, and the reasoning was that it would be well-protected in the palace, away from the hands of humans who might destroy it.
Eventually, the arguing had deferred to Keeper Merrill, who was at the time the only person who could restore the eluvians with consistency. She had agreed to put it there.
The mirror had been restored by Keeper Merrill herself, but the frame was a dwarven one, as the original frame had been too damaged to use. The frame was made of gold and silver, with images of dwarves and elves set into it, as well as depictions of trees, flowering vines, and the harder lines of buildings and architecture.
“And...no one is bothered by this...thing?” Cassandra asked, regarding the eluvian with some trepidation.
“Why would we be bothered?” Queen Aeducan said, her expression placid.
“Is it not...dangerous?”
“Eluvians can be dangerous, if the spellwork is decayed or damaged,” Solas said, gingerly touching the frame. “But this one appears to be in well order.”
“Do you know eluvians well?” the Queen asked. “Are you a student of Keeper Merrill?”
Solas shook his head. “I have simply come across broken ones before,” he said. “This one is not broken.”
“I should hope not,” the Prince-Consort said. "We use it a great deal."
“Come,” Arethin said. “We should go.” she turned to the Queen and the Prince-Consort. “Mas serannas, your Majesties,” she said, bowing deeply.
“Of course,” Queen Aeducan inclined her head. “The world cannot be allowed to perish. If you have need of us, you need only ask.”
They went through the eluvian, and Cassandra went pale.
“How can you stand this place?” she demanded.
“You will be alright,” Arethin said. “It is not harmful. The Crossroads simply reject humans.”
Cassandra glared at her, sweat already beading on her forehead.
“Come along,” Arethin said. “It isn't far.”
They walked through the Crossroads, this area like a misty courtyard. Some parts of the network were more open, filled with streams and plants, but others, like this place, were darker, the sky like a calm twilight. Strange statues dotted the landscape, heavily stylized elves and animals, and there were benches and some flowering plants. Only a few of the hundreds of eluvians here glowed.
Varric shuddered. “Do you seriously do this all the time?” he asked.
“It doesn't look to you as it does to elves,” Arethin told him. “For us, it's much more pleasant.”
“Pleasant?”
“Yes,” Arethin spotted a tree that bore pale violet flowers and walked over to it. “Do you see this?”
“A dead tree?”
She shook her head. “It isn't. It has flowers.” she picked one of the flowers, and gave it to him.
He stared down at it, and after a moment, it crumbled in his hand. “Andraste's ass...”
“It is possible that because this place was built originally for elvhen use, and the spells are so delicate, that the Crossroads respond differently to different races,” Solas said.
“Exactly,” Arethin nodded. “Keeper Merrill says that it's a bit like using medicine meant for an elvhen body on a non-elvhen patient. It won't hurt you, but it won't work quite right.”
Arethin spotted the eluvian they were here for.
“This way,” Arethin pointed to an eluvian that glowed silvery-green and whose frame imitated climbing vines and flowers.
They came out of the eluvian into a huge room, a ruin that Arethin recognized.
Cassandra sighed in relief, her color returning.
“Those are awful,” she declared.
“Only for you,” Arethin retorted. “No one else has a problem with them.”
“They're a little creepy,” Varric piped up. “But other than that...”
Cassandra looked at all of them. “None of you felt it?' she demanded.
“No,” Arethin said. “Dwarves and elves and Vashoth are all just fine when they go through.”
“But only humans have trouble.”
“Exactly.”
“Where are we?” Solas asked, glancing around, fascinated. The room that they entered was enormous, and the eluvian stood in the center. It was a grand central chamber, or it had once been grand. The ceiling was high overhead, and there were many elegant and ancient statues that depicted elves and halla.
“One of the ruins in Orlais, about two weeks away from Val Royeaux. We use it to visit the cities,” Arethin said. “I don't know what this one used to be. Not a temple, or a burial ground, I don't think...”
“Perhaps something of a more earthly nature,” Solas suggested, walking up to one of the statues and narrowing his eyes at it.
“What do you think?”
“I could not say, unless I walked in dreams here. Perhaps a theater of some kind?”
“This is not a Dalish ruin?” Cassandra asked.
Arethin shook her head. “No—this one is older. One of the ruins of Elvhenan.” she lead them out of the room and down a long hallway. “There should be other Dalish around here somewhere,” she explained. “There are always some people guarding active eluvians.”
They found the Dalish in a nearby courtyard that was more open to the sky. There were only three, all well-armed, a woman and two men.
“First Lavellan!” one of the Dalish, a very short woman with thick black hair, got to her feet when she saw them. “Ander'an atish'an! Your journey went well?” she glanced at Cassandra.
“Well enough,” Arethin assured her. “You were expecting us?”
“Indeed we were. I am Halla-keeper Ardeque, to Clan Quansyroth,” the woman said. Arethin blinked in surprise. Clan Quansyroth were an eccentric lot, focused mainly on halla, harts, and a medley of exotic mounts, to the exclusion of all else. They had once brought a moose to an Arlathvhen. “My Clan heard you needed some help getting to Val Royeaux.”
“Yes. Might we use some of your supplies--?”
The woman laughed. “Sister, we can do better than some supplies!” she lead the group over to the lone aravel, where several mounts waited. Two harts, three ponies, and two Arethin's surprise, two warhorses.
“Here,” Ardeque said. “You need a proper mount to go and tangle with those Chantry folk.” she pointed to one of the harts, a large animal with an impressive set of antlers. “There.”
“A hart!” Arethin exclaimed, staring from the hart to the halla-keeper. Clan Quansyroth were very loathe to part from their beloved animals, even more so than other Clans. “Oh—I couldn't--”
The halla-keeper laughed. “You need better than an old horse,” she said. “And those shemlen idiots would slaughter any halla that got close. You need a hart.”
“But--”
“Take the hart, Ambassador.”
Arethin sighed, and patted the neck of the massive animal. “Very well,” she said. “What about my companions?”
The halla-keeper looked them over and hummed. “You,” she pointed to Varric, who blinked at her. “You need a pony,” she said. “Let me guess—all these tall humans wanted to put you on a horse?”
“That's usually the impulse,” he said with a grimace.
“Come here,” she lead him to a buff-colored pony, very sturdy and solid. “She'll see you through.”
“I'm not really one for riding--”
“Nonsense. Take the pony.”
Varric still looked uncertain, but at a glance from Arethin, he sighed. “Alright,” he said. “Thanks.”
“You're welcome.” Ardeque turned on Cassandra and Solas. “And you...you need a proper warhorse,” she informed Cassandra.
“That would be...beneficial,” Cassandra glanced at Arethin, who nodded.
“Of course it would,” Ardeque shared an exasperated look with the two hunters. “Here,” she lead Cassandra to one of the warhorses, an absolutely enormous creature that looked like it could bash through a metal gate with its head alone.
“You have my thanks,” Cassandra said.
The halla-keeper paused when she got to Solas. “Hm...” she tapped her lip. “You're too tall for a pony, and I don't think a warhorse...”
“I do not ride with frequency,” Solas told her.
“Any fool could see that,” Ardeque waved a hand. She hummed to herself for another moment, then snapped her fingers. “Ah! I know!” she circled round the aravel and brought over an animal that resembled a halla or a hart, only it was smaller than a hart and larger and more sturdy than a halla. “Here,” she waved Solas over to the animal. “This one's called a reindeer,” she explained. “She'll be good for you.”
“I've never seen such an animal,” Solas examined the reindeer with interest. “Where does she come from?”
“Far to the south,” Ardeque explained. “At the far edge of the Korcari Wilds, where it's so cold even the sea turns to ice. Damn near killed myself bringing one back,” she said with a grin.
“Are you certain?” Solas asked, putting one hand gingerly on the reindeer's neck.
“Of course I am.” Ardeque rolled her eyes. “Anyhow, if you have need of any more mounts, give us a shout. Can't have the savior of the world running around with something...less than decent,” she grimaced. “Now—what else did you need, First Lavellan?” she asked Arethin.
They left the ruin after taking their supplies, and set out on the lightly-trod path away from it.
“The horsemistress--” Cassandra started.
“Halla-keeper,” Arethin corrected.
“Halla-keeper,” Cassandra agreed. “She was very kind to procure us mounts.” she patted the neck of her horse.
“More than kind,” Arethin said. “Clans hardly ever give their mounts away, and Clan Quansyroth is even more strict about their animals than anyone else.”
“They must deem our work of great importance, then,” Solas said.
Arethin nodded.
“Quansyroth—that's kind of a mouthful of a name,” Varric said. “It hardly even sounds Dalish.”
“Well—they're a little—eccentric,” Arethin said. “If you ask the Keeper about anything but halla or horses, she'll look at you as if she has no idea why you even thought of the question. They adore their animals, and if you want to know about just any kind of animal, they're the ones you should call upon. They have a moose.”
It was this last fact, about the moose, that was always the most surprising to Arethin.
“Who is even tall enough to ride a moose?” Cassandra wanted to know.
“I have no idea,” Arethin admitted. “They also have these—ah—they're called dracolisks, some sort of—domesticated drake?”
The others made exclamations of shock.
“Who is mad enough to domesticate a drake?” Cassandra demanded.
“And why would you want to ride one of those?” Varric asked.
“I haven't the faintest idea,” Arethin said. “They're smaller than moose, though. But the Clan was very generous,” she added. “More generous than I'd seen them before, actually, especially to outsiders.”
“We must remember to thank them,” Cassandra murmured.
Val Royeaux was not well.
The siege had made its mark on the city. Gone were the gilt and decoration of Val Royeaux under Empress Celene. There were many empty places where statues or murals should have been, like the gap left behind by a lost tooth. There were more boarded up buildings, more beggars, and more exhausted-looking guards bearing weapons that had been well-used. The city may have stood, but the people were frightened and wary, the colors and vitality drained out of it.
The place that had once been the jewel of Orlais was now dark and cold, and though the people might recover in the future, this place would forever bear scars.
People stared at them as they rode their mounts down the main street, and Arethin didn't blame them at all. There was a terrible fear and wariness in their gaunt faces.
“Maker...” Cassandra breathed, looking around.
“You were here during the siege, were you not?” Solas asked quietly.
“I was,” Cassandra admitted. “But I did not...it was not like this.”
“Sometimes recovery is worse than the wound,” Solas said.
“Should we keep riding, or should we walk, Cassandra?” Arethin asked.
Cassandra considered. “We should probably walk,” she said. “We do not want to seem like invaders.”
They all dismounted, but Arethin did not wish to be parted from her hart, so they lead their mounts further down instead of tying them up somewhere.
“Lady Cassandra!” a hooded woman waved them down.
“You are one of Leliana's people, are you not?” Cassandra asked, recognizing her as she came closer.
The woman nodded. “The clerics here have heard of your coming, and gathered on the other side of the square, there,” she pointed down the way. “They fear the Inquisition.”
“All of them?” Arethin asked. “Even the ones loyal to Justinia?”
The woman nodded again.
Cassandra sighed and shook her head. “Of course,” she gritted her teeth. “They worry about us rather than the Breach.”
“How surprising is that, really?” Varric asked.
“Send word to Leliana,” Cassandra instructed the spy. “We will return as soon as we are able.”
The spy nodded and was off at a run, while the four of them continued on. The street to the square was lined with statues, many of them broken or damaged, and an abandoned cart lay off to one side.
“This seems like a really bad idea,” Varric muttered.
“Varric, that is not helpful, and I hardly see you coming up with any better ideas,” Arethin sniped, nervousness making her patience wear thin. “As a matter of fact, I seem to recall that your advice was to run.”
Cassandra glared at Varric.
“Look, none of this has been a good idea,” Varric said, holding his hands up. “I'm not contesting that.”
“Well, we can all tell that much.”
Varric sighed and fell silent. Cassandra continued to glare at him.
The market square was very large, and clearly had once been a gathering place for many merchants and stores. Now, however, many of the windows and doors were boarded up, and no merchants sold their wares here. There were more cracked statues and plaster decorations, even some scorchmarks. Far on the other side of the square, there was the shining gleam of the bay.
It was very crowded. Many guards in full armor, peasants in ragged clothes, nobles in their own finery, some looking better than others. They were all gathered around a central point, a dais upon which a Mother in Chantry robes stood. The hem of her robes was ragged and gray with ash.
Arethin and her companions approached, parting the crowd before them and gaining many looks, ranging from curious to fearful to outright hostile.
“Good people of Val Royeaux,” the Mother called. “Hear me! We have all suffered hardships, and we mourn that the Chantry has been divided as it has not been since Tevinter declared their heretical Divine.”
Mutters of both agreement and disagreement swept through the crowd. Even more people began to stare.
“Definitely a bad idea,” Varric muttered, and Cassandra shushed him.
“We wonder who it was who destroyed the Conclave, who ruined the chance for peace, for reunification,” the Mother said, glaring at Arethin, and the crowd began to part more dramatically, leaving Arethin and her companions alone. “Well, wonder no more! There is the saboteur, the attacker who would destroy all of Thedas with her venom! They say she is the Herald of Andraste—but the Maker would send no elf as his Herald!”
The crowd began to rumble, growing more hostile, and Cassandra put a hand on her sword.
“We say, this is a false prophet, raised by the Inquisition, who has taken the word of Divine Justinia and used it to their own ends!”
“I never claimed to be your prophet,” Arethin called, cutting the Mother off. “There's some who call me the Hand of Mythal, and say the woman in the rift was not Andraste, but was a goddess of my people. None of you can say that that story is more right or wrong than the first.”
The Mother looked aghast, and several of the nobles began muttering to themselves about heathen Dalish gods.
“All that is known is that I, and I alone, can heal the rifts in the sky, and repair the Breach,” Arethin said.
“It's true,” Cassandra added, moving forward. “I have seen it! She can close the rifts, and she stopped the Breach from growing!”
“How are we to know that is the truth?” the Mother demanded. “How are we to know this is not some Dalish ploy—one of your heathen people has already made his way into the bed of the dwarven Queen!”
“If it was, you would know it,” Arethin said. She snorted. “Why should we do anything to you? You are already destroying yourselves.”
The Mother looked down her nose at Arethin. “We know the Dalish want our lands,” she said. “You would take what has been rightfully ours for centuries—you have many reasons to attack us.”
“Ah, but don't you have the blessing of the Maker?” Arethin asked. “You claim that for yourself, do you not? If you did, He would never have allowed us to pose a threat.”
The Mother glared at her. “That is not--”
“And if that is not the case, you must be guilty of something,” she hissed, venom seeping into her voice.
“Guilty?” the Mother was aghast, and several nobles began muttering amongst themselves, outraged. “You, a heathen who claims the name of Herald, say we are guilty?”
“Why else would you fear our involvement?” Arethin demanded. “People hate because they fear, or they do not understand, or because they are guilty. And those who have done what your Chantry has have a great many reasons to be guilty.”
“In any case,” Cassandra cut across Arethin, shooting her a sidelong glance. “We must close the Breach now, before it is too late! The only chance we have is if we all stand together!”
“And how do we know this is not a plot of yours?” the Mother demanded, pointing at Cassandra. “Some scheme against Divine Themistoclea--”
Cassandra stiffened, appalled. “You cannot claim--”
There was a shout from the other end of the square, and immediately, the entire crowd stepped back as one.
The Mother turned towards the new party. “The Templars have returned to us!” her tone was relieved, almost worshipful. “They did not suffer your like before, Pentaghast, and they will not now!”
Despite the Mother's conviction, several of the other Clerics backed up, nervous, as did the people around them. The Mother made no such movement, face profoundly relieved. The relief did not last long as, when she did not move aside for one of the Templars, he struck her across the face. She cried out and fell to the ground, and a gasp went up in the crowd.
Arethin and her group unsheathed their weapons as one as a man bearing the Lord Seeker's armor approached them.
The man was tall, and thin, and bore no helmet, which exposed his sallow skin and graying hair.
“Lucius,” Cassandra growled. “I had wondered what was to happen when Lambert vanished.”
“Pentaghast,” Lucius sneered. “Now dragging a heretical order behind you, but without any Most Holy at your side. I see your standards have slipped greatly.”
“You and Elthina attacked Justinia,” Cassandra snarled. “You betrayed your own Order!”
“I betrayed nothing,” Lucius said. “You have no proof of your claims,” he turned his gaze to Arethin, and eyed her staff. “And you have taken up with heathen mages. Pathetic.”
“As far as I can tell,” Arethin drawled, twirling her staff in one hand, and trying to sound more confident than she truly felt. “You are the only one here who has any reason to have committed a crime. Your order attacked Justinia once already, according to Cassandra—there is no reason you would not do it again.”
Lucius ignored her words, once again focusing on Cassandra. “And you, Pentaghast, would have more than enough reason to attack Divine Theostoclea.”
“She is no Divine!” Cassandra pointed an accusing finger at Lucius. “You tried to kill Justinia, but Elthina still stands! You are the one who allowed Dubois to lay siege to Val Royeaux—this is not our doing!”
“Baseless accusations,” Lucius curled his lip.
“Enough,” Arethin got between them, holding up her marked hand. “Whoever did what, the sky is bleeding. We do not trust you or your Divine, Lucius, but for the sake of the world—can you not see what must be done?”
“The Inquisition stands with Andraste's Herald,” Cassandra said, not taking her eyes off of Lucius. “What of you?”
Lucius looked down his nose at Arethin. “You are a distraction,” he proclaimed. “A pretty toy for the Inquisition. Divine Themistoclea has declared that her predecessor's death was an act of the Maker, and she will tend to the Breach. No heathen witch will interfere.”
Arethin's lip curled. “If that is so, are you here to kill me?” she demanded. “Are you going to attack the Inquisition, the Dalish, the dwarves? For we have taken steps to close the Breach, but I see nothing from you.”
“I came to see if your Inquisition is a threat,” he drawled, his eyes cold as a reptile's. “As I can quite clearly tell, it is not. You have shown me less than nothing.”
“The Breach would have grown until it ate everything, were it not for me,” Arethin snarled. “Redcliffe, overrun by demons, if not for me. And what have you done? Hid in your fortress and plotted more mindless bloodshed.”
Lucius turned away from her. “There is nothing for us here,” he said, his voice booming so all could be heard. “The Templars have betrayed no one and nothing—it is the true Divine who has been betrayed, by the sinners of this world.”
“What of those Templars who have turned on you?” Arethin called as he and his accompaniment left. “How much of an army are you, when your own soldiers betray you?” he ignored her, and the entire crowd hung back, letting him leave.
There was a long silence. Arethin shook her head.
“I had hoped...” Cassandra sighed. “With the Breach, and with Lambert gone, perhaps the Seekers had regained their senses.”
“Why now, of all times?” Varric asked. “If they hadn't before...”
“We have truly been abandoned,” the Mother who had spoken before spoke again, and they turned to her. Her face was already developing a nasty bruise. “First this terrible schism, and the war, and now the Templars forsake us...”
Arethin scowled. She pushed her way through the crowd, towards the woman. The woman attempted to scramble backwards, but Arethin leaned down and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Let me see that," she snapped, taking the Mother's chin and examining her face with a gentleness that belied her harsh tone. "You're lucky he didn't break your jaw."
"Let go--" the Mother hissed, but Arethin glared at her.
"Stop," she said. "Haven't you ever seen a physician before? Or were you too busy screaming about how I'm a heretic to notice?"
The Mother swallowed her retort, and the other surrounding them glanced at each other.
"It so happens that I have something that can help," Arethin reached into her belt pouch and withdrew a container of salve she kept for such occasions. The Mother flinched when she opened it, and Arethin rolled her eyes. "All it is is embrium and elfroot to heal," she said, putting the salve where the bruise was worst. "Some deathroot for the pain, and mint to make it smell like something other than embrium."
She finished tending to the woman's face, and looked over her work with a critical eye.
"There," she said, and got to her feet.
The Mother stared at her, gingery touching her jaw. "You..." she blinked, looking confused.
"The words you are looking for are 'thank you,'" Arethin snapped.
"Why?"
Arethin's mouth tightened. She leaned in closer to the Mother. "Perhaps I have more compassion in me than your Templars," she said, and couldn't resist twisting the knife a little. Her eyes darted to where Cassandra stood a little ways away. "Perhaps we Dalish witches have been right when we say that the Templars are not our friends."
Several around her flinched.
“Here is something that I shall promise you,” Arethin said, raising her voice and turning so the assembled crowd could hear her. “I will close the Breach. I am the only one that can do it. And if you put your faith in Templars, or in Divines, or in the Maker, nothing will happen. We have seen what your faith has done—and it has ruined you all.”
Arethin turned and swept away before the crowd could react.
“Perhaps not the wisest choice of words, even if true,” Solas said, catching up with her. “Very few people wish to see their beliefs questioned.”
“It was their beliefs that started this,” Arethin informed him. “And see where they are now.”
“I did not say you were incorrect.”
Arethin climbed up onto her hart, and likewise, Solas mounted his reindeer.
“What do you think I should have said?” she demanded of him, but was cut off when Cassandra and Varric caught up with them, both of them on their mounts as well.
“You should not have said that,” Cassandra chided. “They will think you antagonistic—this is no way to gain the trust of the last of Justinia's supporters--”
“They're hens, running around with their heads cut off,” Arethin snapped. “If they still think they can rely on the Templars after what they did--”
“They are afraid,” Cassandra retorted. “If both the Inquisition and Elthina give them cause to fear, they will never join us!”
“Then, it is possible your organization is past the point of no return,” Solas said. “If even this calamity cannot reunite you, it is possible that nothing will.”
“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine, Chuckles,” Varric said, rolling his eyes.
“A building rotted in its foundation will collapse,” Solas said. “As will any organization if it is corrupt enough.”
Cassandra sighed and shook her head. “I hope you are wrong,” she said. “The Chantry's collapse would spell chaos for the south.”
“And the Breach does not?”
Cassandra opened her mouth, but was cut off. An arrow slammed into the ground in front of Arethin's hart, who was startled into stepping back.
“What's that?” Cassandra had her sword out in a flash, and Solas summoned a barrier, but no other arrows came.
Varric got off his pony and leaned down the inspect the arrow.
“Red Jennies,” Varric chuckled. He picked up the arrow and held up a piece of paper that had been attached to it. “Looks like they want to be friends.”
“Red Jennies?” Arethin frowned. “I've never heard of them before.”
“You wouldn't have, unless you lived in a city. Bunch of troublemakers mostly, but they can be handy to have on your side.”
“What does that say?”
He held it out to her, and she read it over.
She wrinkled her nose. “It's instructions for some kind of...scavenger hunt,” she said.
“That's Jennies, all right,” Varric said.
“This seems like a waste of time.”
Varric shook his head. “No, this might be a good idea—if you piss them off, you run the risk of them screwing up shipments and intercepting missives for months. They're not a big threat, but they are a pretty big nuisance. Got on their bad side once—not about to do that again in a hurry.”
“In that case, we must at least speak with them, if only to convince them to leave us in peace,” Solas said.
“I do not know...” Cassandra's expression was doubtful.
“Well...we should at least see what they want,” Arethin pointed out. “It hardly does to reject allies in a time like this.”
The note contained clues that they followed, and in the locations indicated, they found several red boxes, each with more clues.
During this hunt, the others had questions for Arethin.
"Why did you help the Mother?" Cassandra asked. "You had such harsh words for all of them."
Arethin shrugged. "I wanted to make sure that Templar hadn't broken her jaw."
"We probably would have known if that was the case," Varric said.
"Not necessarily," Arethin said. "And either way, that is one Mother who will now have doubts about whether I am an enemy or not."
"And a large group of people who will, as well," Solas said softly.
"You'll probably confuse them," Varric said. He was staring at Arethin with narrowed, considering eyes.
"It is...admirable that you think to help, even when you do not believe them to be allies," Cassandra said.
"Should I not?"
"No, it is simply...I had not realized you felt that way." her eyes darted to Arethin's. "You have not exactly gone out of your way to be kind before."
Arethin's mouth pressed into a hard line, and her stomach knotted. Just as she was considering how to answer Cassandra, Solas came to her defense.
"We are in extraordinary circumstances, Seeker," he said. "Many people react differently to such circumstances."
"I suppose you are correct," Cassandra said with one last curious glance towards Arethin.
Arethin wasn't sure what to feel about Cassandra's curiosity. Cassandra was beginning to look at her differently, not with that fervent religious gleam in her eyes or with disapproval. Ordinary curiosity, Arethin had little concept of how to handle.
The final box lead them to a villa outside of Val Royeaux and slightly to the north of the city.
“This is a trap,” Cassandra gritted as they approached the house.
“Then we should at least see who wants us to come here,” Arethin said. “I hardly fancy getting an arrow in the shoulder the next time this happens, do you?”
Cassandra growled to herself, and insisted upon taking point.
There were mercenaries in the villa, but sloppy, underequipped and easy to defeat.
Cassandra stepped on the neck of one of them who was injured but alive.
“Who brought us here?” she demanded.
“I don't—I don't know who you are,” the mercenary babbled. “We're just here for the robe--”
“The robe?” Arethin asked.
“A mage,” Varric said. “What mage has a villa?”
“This becomes more curious the longer we are here,” Solas said. “I believe we should investigate further.”
They went deeper into the villa, until they went through a door and Cassandra narrowly avoided a fireball.
A man in noble's clothes and a mask stood on a set of steps opposite them, his hands ablaze.
“Herald of Andraste,” the mage sneered through his Orlesian mask. “How much did it cost the Inquisition to find me?”
“I don't know who you are,” Arethin said. “Unless you're a red Jenny, I'm here to meet someone else.”
“You can't fool me,” the mage put his hands on his hips. “I'm too important not to know!”
Arethin and her companions all exchanged baffled looks.
“Oi!”
In an archway on the other side of the room appeared the silhouette of a young woman, bearing a large longbow that she drew without any apparent effort.
“Just say what!” she called.
“What is the meaning of--” the mage got out before the woman landed an arrow in his neck. The man gurgled and fell, the arrow having gone right through his throat and out the other side.
“Well, that's a nice surprise,” Varric said.
“Ugh!” the woman stepped out into the light She was an elf with ragged blonde hair, dressed in a tattered red tunic and a pair of leggings. She walked over and retrieved her arrow from the man. “Squishy one, but you heard me, right?” she grinned in Arethin's direction. “Just say 'what!'” she laughed. “Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.”
“Well, that is...true, in my experience,” Arethin said, blinking in bafflement. “Are you one of the Jennies?”
The woman nodded and turned to face them. “Yeah, that's right!” she smiled, but then her face fell as she caught sight of Arethin. “And...you're an elf,” the elvhen woman wrinkled her nose. “Hope you're not...too elfy.”
“What does that mean?” Arethin asked, straightening her back.
The woman traced the lines of Arethin's vallaslin with her eyes. “You know all, 'Tevinter took our stuff! I'm better than you because I draw on my face!' All that bollocks.”
“Well, I'm not so worried about either of those things,” Arethin said. “The only thing I am worried about is closing that hole in the sky.”
The woman's face lit up again, and she glanced at the gleaming mark on Arethin's hand. “You're going to fix it, yeah?” she asked. “You're going to make everything normal again?”
“I shall try.”
The woman let out a cackling laugh. “Brilliant!” she said. “Bloody great! That stupid thing in the sky's just made everythin' worse for everyone.”
“One cannot argue with that,” Arethin said. “Now. I am Arethin Nadur Lavellan. And you are?”
“What?” she blinked. “Oh, yeah! Well, here, in your face, I'm Sera.”
“And this man you shot?” Arethin asked, nodding down at the corpse.
“I don't know, dunno this idiot from manners,” Sera said with a shrug. “Friends just said he was a bad one—kind of bastard who beats his servants, all that shite.”
“Then your organization helps servants?” Solas asked.
Sera looked him over and frowned. “You're elfy too,” she groaned. “And—are you both mages?” she asked, seeing their staffs.
“Is that a problem?” Arethin asked.
“I mean...sort of.” She grimaced. “I mean, with the demons and everythin', right?”
“Well, we shall not summon any demons, I promise,” Arethin said. “Neither of us are that kind of mage.”
“Can't you make a mistake and do it anyway or something?” she scrunched up her nose.
“That is something Circle mages are prone to,” Solas said, with more than a bit of disdain to his voice. “Apostates and Dalish mages don't have nearly the same problem.”
Cassandra grumbled under her breath.
“Oh,” Sera blinked. “Well—that's alright, I s'pose. Still weird, but whatever. But yeah, Jennies help servants and peasants and all the little people that big people like to push around, see?”
Arethin nodded. “I think so,” she said. “And your people want to help close the Breach?”
“We heard about you, with the glowing, and we—well, I did—figured I want things to be normal again, like. Tryin' to get in before you're too big to like, yeah?”
“Well, we could always use the help,” Arethin said. “Why don't you come with us?”
Sera made a face. “Come with you? I know you lot are all at Haven. I can get there myself.”
“Our way is faster. Trust me.”
Sera squinted at them, suspicious, then she cackled. “Oh, you are somethin',” she said. “Sure, I'll come with—but it better not be anythin' weird.”
“I can't promise that,” Arethin said.
“Actually, it's pretty weird,” Varric said.
“Ugh!” Sera stuck her tongue out. “No.”
“It's either take three months to get to Haven, or cut that time in half and come with us,” Arethin said. “Your choice.” she turned on her heel and started on the way back out of the villa.
Sera groaned. “Oh...fine!” she said, and hurried to catch up. “It better not hurt,” she said.
Arethin was startled into genuine laughter. This girl reminded her rather strongly of some people from her own Clan. “It won't.”
Outside, Sera gasped at their mounts. “Andraste's arse!” she exclaimed, darting over to Solas' reindeer. “What's all these? That one's a horse, and that one's a pony, but--”
“That is a reindeer,” Arethin explained. “And mine is this hart.” she patted her hart's neck. She mounted the hart and held a hand out to Sera. “Come on,” she said. “Up you get.”
“Can't I just walk?” Sera asked, eyeing the hart with trepidation.
“No. Come on, he's very friendly.”
Sera glared at her, then took her hand and mounted up behind her, and they rode away from the villa.
The next time Arethin and the others stopped to camp, Arethin was finally able to ask Sera more questions. When they were riding, Sera buried her face in Arethin's shoulder and maintained an iron grip on her waist, and would not have been receptive to questions. Now that she was on solid ground, however, she was fine.
“Are you familiar with the Dalish Coalition at all?” Arethin asked her. “I would have thought that one of the Alienages would have mentioned the Jennies...”
“All them elfy weirdos who've been at the Alienages?” Sera made a raspberry. “Ugh, no.”
“Why not?”
“'Cos they're weird and elfy,” she said. “All 'be mad about old stuff' this and 'magic shite' that—who cares?”
Arethin blinked at her. “You don't even care for the Alienages that are allied with us?”
“I thought your organization's aim was to help servants, and others who suffered injustice.” Solas pointed out.
Sera glared at him, then she shrugged and shifted from foot to foot. “Dunno,” she mumbled. “I mean—everyone gets hurt the same, yeah? Humans get bollocksed up the same too. Don't see what the big difference is.”
“You could join the Inquisition specifically,” Cassandra offered. “If you do not wish to ally with the Coalition.”
“What, the stuff with the Chantry?” Sera asked. “I dunno—it's good and all, but it kind of went tits up with the mages and everything, yeah?” she shook her head.
“Well, anyone who wants to help close that hole in the sky is just fine by me,” Arethin said.
“Sounds good to me,” Sera said with a grin. “'s long as you don't go all weird about it.”
“Weird?”
“Ugh—I dunno, all magick-ey or elfy or whatever.”
Arethin and Solas exchanged a baffled look.
"It is a magical problem,” Solas said. “You can hardly avoid that.”
“Sure I can! You point me to somethin' that needs arrows stuck in it, and I'll do it.”
“Well, we can do that,” Arethin said. “But what's wrong with...elves? You're an elf.”
Sera snorted. “Yeah, whatever,” she rolled her eyes.
Arethin narrowed her eyes. “Oh—Mythal's ass,” she muttered, struck with a sudden—and infuriating—realization.
“What?” Sera exclaimed, shocked.
“You have the same problem that he does,” she pointed to Solas. “Ran afoul of a Clan who ran you off, did you?”
Sera blinked. “Well...I mean...not that, but...”
Arethin groaned and ran a hand over her face. “I am going to have words with some people the next time I see them,” she muttered.
“I don't get it,” Sera said, blinking at the others.
“Not all of her people have the best manners,” Varric said. “Don't take it personally.”
“Oh,” Sera still looked confused. “Alright.”
“If I hear any more people spouting that--'we are the only true elves!' nonsense, I'm going to freeze their toes off,” Arethin growled. “I swear...” she waved a hand. “It's ridiculous! So many of them going on and on and bloody on about it, as if they were the Queen of the Dales! This is absolutely ridiculous—first him, and then you...” she grumbled to herself.
“I suspect this is a problem you might wish to take up with your people,” Solas said.
Arethin took a deep breath. “You're right,” she said. “Anyway—you needn't worry about 'elfy' things, Sera.”
“I wasn't,” Sera grumbled.
“Good, then continue on.” Arethin grumbled to herself and folded her arms.
Sera peered at her. “You're a little funny, for an elfy-elf,” she said. “All the other ones I ever knew were all up their arses about Arlathan this and Tevinter that. You're...normal.”
Arethin shrugged. “We're all more normal than people like to think,” She said.
“I don't go runnin' around in the forest with no shoes on.”
Arethin looked pointedly at Sera's flimsy house-slippers. “And I suppose those are boots made for wilderness jaunts?”
“'S better than him,” she jabbed her thumb at Solas, who still wore footwraps instead of proper shoes.
“Both of you are ridiculous,” Arethin decided. “We have a perfectly good armorer at Haven, I'm sure he can make you both a pair of boots.”
Both Sera and Solas grimaced.
Sera was not very happy to be going so deep into the wilderness, and even less happy to see the eluvian.
“What's this thing?” Sera demanded, staring at the eluvian.
“It's an eluvian,” Arethin explained. “It's our way of getting back to Haven.”
“It's creepy.”
“How so?”
Sera shook her head and didn't answer.
“It is perfectly safe,” Arethin said. “Come—I can show you.” she went into the eluvian, then stuck her head and arm out. “Follow me,” she instructed.
Sera shuddered again, then grabbed Arethin's hand and jumped in, as if she were crossing a river. She stared around at the Crossroads with huge eyes.
“Are you alright?” Arethin asked.
“'s weird,” she said.
“Weird how?”
Noting Arethin's intense stare, Sera blinked at her. “It doesn't—I don't hurt or anythin',” she snapped, jutting her chin out. “'s just—all—you sure there's no demons here?” she demanded.
“None at all.”
“Good.” Sera shuddered.
They came out of the Orzammar eluvian, and Sera looked around the room, wrinkling her nose. “Where are we?” she demanded.
“Orzammar.”
“We're in Orzammar?” Sera exclaimed.
Arethin nodded. “We can't stay long,” she said.
“Wasn't plannin' on it,' Sera looked around. “'s right fancy, isn't it?” she looked around the room.
“We are in the palace,” Solas pointed out.
“The palace?” Sera was startled anew. “Why do the dwarves have an elfy magic mirror in their palace?”
“It saves everyone a great deal of time,” Arethin said. “Come, this way.”
When they came to the main hallway, they encountered the Prince-Consort coming the other way, carrying an armful of documents.
“Ambassador Lavellan,” the Prince-Consort smiled. “I see you have acquired a new friend.”
“This is Sera, your Majesty,” Arethin said. “She's with the Red Jennies.”
“Ah, the Jennies! Quite the amusing group,” he said.
“You know us?” Sera asked, surprised.
The Prince-Consort nodded. “When I was still in Crow employ, I ran afoul of your friends quite often,” he said with a smile.
Sera looked at him with a strange grin, like she wasn't sure how honest he was being. “Yeah, well...Crows, right?” she said.
“Indeed. Well, I shall not keep you,” the Prince-Consort said.
As soon as they were out of eyeshot, Sera let out a breath as if she had been holding it a long time.
“Andraste's ass, that's that prince people bang on about?” she said.
“Yes,” Arethin said. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Knew he was a Crow,” Sera said. “Didn't know he was still good at it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dead freaky, he is,” Sera proclaimed.
Arethin tilted her head to one side, and Sera sighed.
“Ugh, I mean—Crows are all creepy, creepier they are, better they are at it, see?”
“I don't think I quite understand, but very well,” Arethin said.
Arethin and her group left the palace altogether, and when they did, Sera was fascinated. She stared around at Orzammar with huge eyes, taking in every one of the sights.
“You've never been here before?” Arethin asked.
She shook her head. “No—Heard about it, though,” she said. “Lots of people sayin' it was bloody nice, for bein' dwarfy or whatever.”
“I'm still not sold on that,” Varric muttered.
“Well, it's right shiny, so that's something, I s'pose,” Sera said. “Still weird, but never seen pictures like that before.”
From Orzammar, it took little time to ride back to Haven. Less so now, with their new mounts. Sera was much less impressed with Haven than she was with Orzammar. She shivered as she stood before the gate.
“This Haven, then?” she asked.
“That's right,” Arethin said.
“There a tavern anywhere close?” she asked.
“Up the hill, that way.”
Sera nodded and left them then.
“Come,” Cassandra said. “We must meet with Leliana and the others.”
Arethin nodded, and they headed up to the Chantry.