"Shh," I say, waving a hand at the others before crouching behind a boulder.
"What is it?" asks Cassandra, coming to crouch beside me.
I point with my head.
A lone Templar walks along the path, sword drawn, shield ready. His face is masked behind a black helmet, and his body engulfed in heavy iron armour—the Templar sigil painted upon his chest. He hasn't spotted us yet, thank the Maker.
The lowering sun glints against his armour, sending rays into my eyes. I lean back against the boulder, trying to control my breathing. The sun beginning it's descent—it must be mid-afternoon by now. We've been walking for most of the day. I don't know if I have the energy to fight.
"He's alone," whispers Varric.
"Let him be," says Cassandra.
We watch in silence as the Templar continues along the path and it's only when Cassandra is sure he won't hear us, that we move from our cover.
"A lone Templar?" asks Solas. "Very unusual."
I frown, "Perhaps he's lost… or on patrol."
"Either way, we must get to Mother Giselle."
My company travel in silence, along the path. I want to say something, but everything I say or do seems to leads the others to think I'm an idiot.
But what else am I supposed to say? I was thrust into this mess when I fell through a Rift, with my memory gone. I see the disappointment in Cassandra's eyes every time I open my mouth—like she wants me to be someone else.
Maybe that is the truth though. I came into this unintentionally. Being the Herald of Andraste perhaps was meant for someone else.
The sounds of swords and yelling cut through the air like a knife. My thoughts dissipate, swirling into the back of my mind.
I break into a sprint, headed straight for the fighting. Maybe I can prevent a few deaths. That might gain me some respect.
Inquisition soldiers struggle against a small group of Templars.
One Templar brings his sword down, tearing straight through a young soldier's chest. I gasp and back up, losing my footing. I feel myself fall and land on my back. Pain shoots through my shoulder and when I look up, I see a sword coming straight for my face.
I whip my blade up just in time to stop the sword from carving my nose from my face. The Templar who killed the solider glares at me, his eyes just visible in the slits of his helmet. I push his blade away and kick him in the knee. Surprised by my own strength, I do it again and the Templar stumbles. I roll to my feet, wheeling away from the Templar, just as a steel bolt pierces his throat.
Bleed spurts from his wound and the dying Templar clutches at his throat in a desperate attempt to undo the damage.
My eyes flick to Varric, his cross bow—Bianca—pointed at the Templar now lying on the ground. The dwarf's lips are tightly pressed.
More Templars rush from the paths, swords raised.
"Hold!" yells Cassandra. "We are not apostates."
"I don't think they care, Cassandra," I yell, deflecting another attack. Using one blade to defend and the other to attack, I gain the upper hand quickly and the Templar goes down, a blade in his chest.
I turn, seeing the Templars surrounding Cassandra—possibly because she's our best fighter. I rush towards the group, slicing at the men as Varric and Solas pick them off from the outskirts of the battle. Cassandra slams her shield into the last Templar's face and as he stumbles back, I stab him in the spine.
I swallow down my guilt, steeling myself to continue on. If I show any sigh of guilt to Cassandra, she'd probably gut me.
I straighten as we regroup, the Inquisition scouts giving us thanks.
"Harding was right—the fighting is bad," says Varric.
I open my mouth, but a flash of orange stops me.
A fireball shoots through the air, straight for our group. We split, Cassandra bringing up her shield just in time for the fire ball to smash against it. The warrior jerks back with a grunt, but seems unfazed.
Solas spins his staff, aiming a cold blast of air at the group of mages now scrambling towards us. They're slowed by the cold and gives me a chance to attack.
I leap towards the nearest mage, slicing across his unprotected stomach—my blade easily slicing through his robes. The mage loses grip on his staff and clutches his stomach as he falls to his knees.
Bolts slice through the group, sending mages to the ground, while the last one standing sends a fireball at Solas.
My legs work on their own accord and I leap, stretching my body in mid-air. My blade cuts through the fire ball's path and I slap the bolt of magic from its course, sending it to the ground.
My stomach hits the ground and the wind is pushed out of me. I blink away blurry vision and lift my head. Cassandra comes to stand next to me as I lie on the ground.
"That was an impressive move, deflecting that with your blade."
I swallow, "Thank you. Although, I didn't really know what I was doing."
Cassandra gives me a small smile and extends her hand. I take it and she helps me up. Brushing the dirt from my armour, I glance around, "No more mages or Templars?"
A scout comes towards, "No, Herald. No more. Mother Giselle is just down the road."
As we walk, I notice the fires burning. Multiple fires burning. The flames lick at the trees, the grass, the rocks. And right in the middle is a small community—a little village sitting amongst the cliff faces and bushes.
The fires are yet to reach the village, but I can only imagine one rebel mage could send the whole community up in flames.
But the amount of refugees is astounding. Many stand in clumps, clutching what little they have left. Children play naked in the small stream, while their parents try to sell elfroot 'for their starving children'.
Various Inquisition scouts and soldiers stand around the perimeter of the village, keeping watch for rebel mages and Templars.
Carts and crates are scattered around the place, the provisions sent by the Inquisition obviously running low. But there are merchants willing to trade and sell.
Cassandra cocks her head and I turn to see a larger building, brimming with mages and the wounded.
"Loyal mages helping the wounded?" I ask.
"And Mother Giselle."
We walk up the stairs as she tends to a patient, a soldier whose knee is bent a way it shouldn't.
"Just relax," says Mother Giselle, easing the soldier of his pain. She looks up and spots us. Leaving the soldier to one of the mages, much to his look of horror, Mother Giselle comes over to us. Her hands are tucked in the sleeves of her red robes.
"You must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste, are you not?"
I glance at Cassandra, "I am. I'm told you asked for me?"
"I did," nods the Mother. "I know of the Chantry's denouncement. There are many left wanting to become the new Divine. Others, though are just terrified. So many were taken from us, after all."
"What happened at the Conclave was horrible," I say.
"Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason."
I blink. Her words ring the truth, the utter truth. Everyone is scared. The Breach is something to be feared. The Chantry, Chancellor Roderick, the people of Haven all seem beyond reason. Haven had resented me—hated me for something I didn't do. They didn't know me, but they were quick to judge, even without hearing my side of the story yet. And Chancellor Roderick—he doesn't want to believe in the one organization that could save the world.
Mother Giselle places a hand on my arm and I fear she sensed my thoughts, "Go. Go to the remaining Clerics and convince them you are no demon to be feared."
Not now, not now that people know where I've come from. Before, it wouldn't have been so easy.
Demon.
Am I a demon? This mark on my hand may be able to close Rifts, but what about the one at the temple. I had to open the Rift first. I can open them just as easily as I can close them.
"Give them something else to believe."
"Appeal to them?"
"Let me put it this way: you needn't convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt."
"Thank you, I'll try."
"I honestly don't know if you've been touched by fate or sent to help us… But I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us… or destroy us."
Demon.
Mother Giselle looks at the refugees, "I will go to Haven. I'm sure Sister Leliana will need the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can."
I watch her leave, some Inquisition scouts ready to escort her back to Haven. She turns back to me and nods then continues on her way.
I let out a sigh, brushing my strands of black hair from my face.
"I am glad Mother Giselle is safe," comes a voice from beside me. Cassandra looks at me, "Her influence will be needed."
I nod, feeling my lips press together.
"Come it would be best to find the horsemaster. Some scouts believe his stables are a few miles up the road—we'll get there in an hour, then Haven will be a fast journey with the horses."
I look at Cassandra, "You might get there by sunset, but…" I trail off and glance at Varric, who's playing with the children in the small stream. Thank the Maker he's got clothes on though. He roars at them and the children scream, running away us he tries to catch them.
Solas leans on his staff, his face soft. Cassandra watches and I see a small smile cross her face.
It is good to see someone still able to bring light in this time of darkness.