And rest well I did.
A banging on the door wakes me with a start and Cassandra pushes the door open, "Herald?"
I let out a yelp, "I'm awake!"
Cassandra steps inside and shuts the door, turning her head, "I'm sorry I startled you."
"No, it's fine, don't worry about it," I say with a smile. Shrugging off the warm covers, I shiver as the cool air hits my skin.
Cassandra just fastens her sheath to her belt and fixes her shield over her back, "I'm glad to see you wearing that tunic for sleeping in."
I look down at the beige tunic, with golden buttons done up to my throat, "Well, I wasn't going to sleep naked."
Cassandra lets out a small laugh, "I gave you those to wear for casual appearances—when armour is not needed."
I smile, "Next time, I'll make sure I wear it to the tavern."
That earns me a look.
I reluctantly leave my bed and grab my armour, "So where are we headed today?"
Cassandra sighs, "Leliana is insistent on going to find the Grey Warden she told you about. I think it would be best to find him today."
"If it will help, I'll be happy to find him."
"And…" Cassandra begins. She leans against the doorway and holds out a piece of parchment.
"A letter?" I ask, grabbing it as I duck behind an oak dressing screen.
"An invitation," comes Cassandra's voice.
I glance at the letter as I slip on a cotton top and pants—just so my armour doesn't rub against my skin.
Unfolding it, I read it out loud, "You are cordially invited to attend my salon held at the Chateau of Duke Bastien De Ghislain." I struggle to pronounce his last name and let out a laugh.
"Keep going," urges Cassandra. "Who is it from?"
"Yours, Vivenne De Fer, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, Enchanter of the Imperial Court. It's tonight…" I finish tugging at the latches on my armour and step away from the dressing screen. Cassandra hands me my swords and I tug the sheath around my torso. "I guess we should go."
"We? You were the one invited."
"I'm not going by myself."
"Why not?"
"Because what if we're attacked? And I'll… I'll look like a loner."
Cassandra purses her lips together, "Count me out."
"On come on."
We walk together, heading towards the stables, "Varric should already be up."
"And Solas too," I add, noting her change in subject. And the topic being about Varric…
We reach the stables, and I throw a pack over my horse's saddle. I pat its black fur and feed it an apple. My stallion gulps it down and whickers.
Varric and Solas are both ready, their weapons slung over their backs, horses saddled and packs packed. Sera lazily sits on the wooden fence, swinging her feet.
"Ah, Seeker. Glad you're finally awake. I was scared I'd have to get you up myself," says Varric, a glint in his eyes.
Cassandra scowls, "It was the Herald who slept in."
"Guilty," I say, holding my hands up. "Sera, what are you doing."
Her hands wave at her nose, "It smells like horse."
"You are sitting on right next to a stable."
"Guilty," she copies.
The Commander, Josephine and Leliana come to say their good byes.
"Be careful," says Cullen, glancing at me.
I nod, "When am I not careful?"
"Well, the way you stumble over things when you walk, is quite worrying," says Varric as his mounts his white horse.
I grunt and pat my black stallion's neck, "I've never been sure-footed."
"I can tell."
Mounting my horse, I wave to the three advisers.
"Excuse me?" comes a voice.
Walking towards us is a young man, dressed in heavy steel armour, brown hair combed to the side. He nods at me, "I have a message for the Inquisition."
"Who are you?" I ask, dismounting.
Cassandra stands beside me.
"Cremisuis Aclassi, with the Bull's Chargers mercenary company. We've got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander Iron Bull offers the information free of charge. If you'd like to see what the Bull's chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work. I'll leave you to decide."
And with that, he leaves us, running back to his mount and galloping away.
I look at Cassandra, "Another possible recruit?"
"It would be best to see what the company can do."
I nod, "Storm Coast it is then."
Leliana steps forward, "My agents have already set up a camp near the coast line. Scout Harding will meet there."
+++
"Your Worship," says Scout Harding after we dismount. "For what it's worth, welcome to the Storm Coast."
I glance around, taking note of my surroundings. Green shrubs and trees surround us. Pebbles shift underneath my feet, wet from the rain. And the rain, not heavy, but it never seems to end. The sky is shrouded in grey clouds, blocking the much needed sun. The whole place just seems miserable.
Scout Harding smiles, "I hear the sea air is good for your soul."
Varric laughs, "I hope so."
"Iron Bull and his company are just down the path—the mercenaries are already fighting them."
I nod, "Thanks Harding." Turning, I slide my swords from the sheath. "Let's go help them."
"Your Worship?" says Harding, her voice small. "Would it be alright if I joined your group—just for this fight? I want to keep my combat skills fresh."
"Of course," I say. "Let's go."
We walk down the pebbled path, Harding stringing her bow. I glance at Varric and wink at him, but he just rolls his eyes.
Something slips from under my boot and my foot slides out from under me. I land on my butt and skid down the wet path just to make it even more graceful.
Varric bursts out laughing, while Scout Harding looks as though it was her fault and Solas' slender eyebrows rise.
Cassandra sighs and holds out a hand, which I take. In one easy haul, she pulls me to my feet, "Varric do not laugh at the Herald. She just lost her footing."
"Stumbles is always losing her footing."
I manage a smile, even though my butt hurts, "At least it was a graceful fall."
"I wouldn't count on it."
"Well, I'm sorry, us taller people fall at a bigger height than you dwarves."
That gets me a smile, "Oh that hurts."
"Ugh, can we please keep moving, I can see the group," says Cassandra.
I reach behind and slide my daggers from the leather sheath, with a glance at my team. They nod back and we run down the hill—careful not to trip. I can hear the slashing and bashing of weapons, a large group fighting near the coastline. Waves crash up against the pebbled shore, the sea spray hitting my face.
So we rush into battle, the Tevinter mercenaries struggling against the added team. I slash at a mercenary, but his helmet stops any heavy damage and he leaps backwards. The mercenary brings his sword up, swinging it towards my head. I block it with the flat of one of my daggers, my shoulder jolting from impact. My fingers flip my other dagger around, reversing my grip on the weapon and I slash it across the mercenary's stomach. He yells in pain before falling face first into the sand.
Pain shoots through my arm and I jerk back, eyes flicking to the cut on my arm then to the mercenary who inflicted it.
"Bastard," I spit. But before I can fight back, a massive war axe smashes into his head. I leap back, a scream escaping my lips.
"But worry, Bull's got ya." The war axe wielder straightens, a grin plastered on his face. He seems happy to have killed the last enemy. The Qunari is at least seven feet tall, his horns almost as big us my arms. And his arms almost as big as my legs. An eye patch is slung across his face, hiding one eye. His grey skin is crisscrossed with various scars.
"Alright Chargers, stand down," the Qunari yells.
Varric, Cassandra and Solas stand beside me, while Scout Harding begins refilling her quiver.
"Krem, how'd we do?"
A lad, the same one who came to us at Haven, stands with his hands clasped behind his back, "Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead."
"That's what I like to hear. We can break out the casks," bellows the Qunari.
Krem nods and heads towards the barrels.
The Qunari turns to me, "So you're with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a sit. Drinks are coming."
I smile, "Iron Bull, I assume."
"The horns give it away," grunts the big man. "I assume you remember Cremisus Aclassi, my Lieutenant."
Krem stands beside me and nods. But I see his eyes drift. Scout Harding stands, fixing her armour with a smile, oblivious to his stare. Krem watches her then quickly turns back to me.
He clears his throat, "Ah. Good to see you again."
I nod, "And you."
"I'll get them drinks ready," he says, leaving, but not without a look to Harding.
"So…" says Iron Bull. "You've seen us fight. We're expensive. But we're worth it… and I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us. Your ambassador… what's her name—Josephine—we'd go through her and get payments set up."
I look at Cassandra, but she inclines her head. It's my decision.
"Well, the Chargers seem like an excellent company."
"You're not just getting the boys. You're getting me. You need a frontline body guard. I'm your man. Whatever it is—demons, dragons. The bigger the better." He pauses. "And there's one other thing. Something that might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?"
"Can't say I have."
"It's a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies, basically. We're spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I've been ordered to join the Inquisition…"
"Go on," I urge.
"I need to get close to the people in charge and send reports back. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. I'll share the reports I get if you hire me."
"So… you're a spy?"
"The Breach is bad. It needs to be stopped. I'm on your side."
A smile spreads across my lips, "Consider yourself and your company hired."
"Excellent," he says, grinning back. "Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired."
"What about the casks, Chief? We just opened them up. With axes."
"Well, find a way to seal them, you're Tevinter right. Try blood magic. We'll meet you back at Haven, I understand you have another job to attend to."
+++
Next stop: Hinterlands. Leliana's agents have tracked Blackwall to a small cabin near Lake Luthias. A group of man, skinny and lanky hold weapons and shields in their hands. Standing in front of them is a stocky man, a thick black beard covering his chin and black hair falling down to the nape of his neck.
"Remember how to carry your shields. You're not hiding, you're holding. Otherwise it's useless."
"Blackwall?" I ask. "Warden Blackwall?"
He turns and storms towards me, "You're not—how do you know my name? Who sent—" In a flourish, his shield comes up and an arrow tip pierces through the wood. He keeps his arm up, eyes blazing, "Help or get out. We're dealing with these idiots first."
I snap out of my shock and swing into action. The skinny men Blackwall was training charge into battle, raising their shields and swords. I leap forward and tuck myself arms and legs in, somersaulting as another arrow whizzes past my head. Cassandra yells and strikes at an enemy—bandits by the look of their armor. Varric twirls around her, a well-aimed bolt hitting its mark: the bandit's chest.
Blackwall turns and I move with him, both our swords cutting through a poor bandit.
The trainees take down the last one.
I step away from Blackwall, but he doesn't say anything. Instead he thrusts his sword tip into the ground and kneels beside one of the bodies.
"Sorry bastards." He stands and nods at his recruits, "Good work, conscripts. Even if this shouldn't have happened. They could've… well thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You've saved yourselves."
The recruits leave, chatting happily amongst themselves about who made the last blow.
I turn to Blackwall, his dark eyes watching me.
"You're no farmer. Why do you know my name? Who are you?"
Clearing my throat, I find my voice, "I know your name because I'm an agent of the Inquisition. I'm investigating whether the disappearance of the Wardens has anything to do with the murder of the Divine."
"Maker's balls. The Wardens and the Divine? That can't—no, you're asking, so you don't really know. First off, I didn't know they disappeared. But we do that, right? No more blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten."
I look at the ground, "I… I'm not sure. I was only 12 when the last Blight ended."
"One thing I'll tell you: no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose is not political."
"Hey, I'm not accusing anyone. Not yet… we're just simply looking for answers—information. So far though, I've only found you. The others… well, where are the rest?"
"I haven't seen any Wardens for months. I travel, alone, recruiting. Though… there haven't been many recruits. Those farmers… I had conscripted them when those bandits forced a fight. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won't need me. Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are." His eyes darken, frown lines hidden beneath his beard.
Grey Wardens meant everything to me when I was a child—I wanted to be one. The Queen of Fereldan, Breinne, and her King Alistair were people I looked up to—they had stopped the Blight after all. No one forgot about those two when the Blight ended.
I sign, "Well, thank you for your time… but this didn't help at all. Sorry for disturbing you, Warden Blackwall." Turning, I nod at the others to get going.
Cassandra sheaths her sword and walks beside me.
"Inquisition… agent, did you say?" comes his deep voice. I turn to Blackwall. "Hold a moment." He runs towards us, "The Divine is dead. And the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved. If you're trying to put thing right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me."
I smile, "Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer."
The Warden nods in thanks, "Good to hear. We both need to know what's going on. And perhaps I've been keeping to myself too long."
"There's always company at Haven. I'm sure Varric's up for a drink in the tavern anytime."
"The serving maids always have my drinks ready for when I arrive," grins Varric.
That gets us a smile, "Very well. Perhaps a drink later. I will travel to Haven right away."
+++
"You're only 22?" comes a voice from beside me. We ride towards Val Royeaux, much to Cassandra's dislike. The woman is staring at me now, gently swaying with the rock of her horse.
My eyebrows shoot up, "Yes… why? Is that a surprise to you?"
"Well, I thought you would be older… perhaps late 20's at the most."
"I don't look that old, do I?'
"The Seeker always has trouble picking someone's age. She thought I was 50," says Varric, his voice floating from behind us.
I turn to him, "You're not 50?"
"I know, hard to believe," mutters Cassandra.
Varric's lips press together, "Oh come on. No, I'm only 34."
"Still older than me," I say with a smile. Turning back to Cassandra, I examine her. The woman's jaw line is very distracting, though her cheek bones aren't far behind. They could cut me in half. The short black hair has that braided crown through it—the only thing that really shows her girlish side. Other than that, she seems to wear her armour all day, maybe even to bed. Her dark eyes move to stare at my own green ones, "What?"
"You're 30."
A bark of laughter escapes her lips, "No. Not even close."
"Really?" I say. "No way."
She just purses her lips.
"Older or younger?"
She seems to hesitate for a second. But she give me a sigh, "Older."
"34—same age as Varric?"
"Older… but only by a few years," Cassandra says, with a small smile.
"37?"
She doesn't answer.
"You're 37? Wow… and you're… you're the Hero of Orlais right? My grandmother told me stories about you."
"Ugh, that was what… 18, no 20 years ago."
"Wow, Seeker, I didn't know you were that old," says Varric.
Cassandra's eyes flash, "I'm not old."
"Sorry… not old then. Just, mature."
"Yes. That's a better word."
"Mature…" I say. "So you have gotten around then. I mean in your 37 years, there had to be someone right?"
"And in your 22 years, has there been someone for you?"
I blink, "I… um… no."
Cassandra keeps her eyes in front, "We are nearing the Capital. And the salon will be beginning soon."
The giant iron gates of the Capital peek out of the horizon, statues of bronze lions glinting in the lowering sun.
"Now, act casual, Cassandra. We don't want nobles impaled with your sword."
A snort escapes my throat, "We don't want any nobles impaled by your sword, Varric."
"Geez, what do you see me as, Stumbles?"
"The chest hair?"
"Oh, yeah. That get all the ladies. Dwarf, human and Qunari."
"Ugh."
Solas just rides his horse, watching the landscape around us.
The Chateau is gloriously large, blue curtains draped along the floor to ceiling windows, blocking out the view of the salon. But music can be heard floating from the house, soft, and certainly beautiful.
Various nobles enter through the huge blue doors, glancing our way, their eyes peering at us from behind their masks.
The tiles are polished, the marble pillars shining in the candlelight.
"Let's just get this over with," mutters Cassandra. Her hands are clenched at her sides, knuckles white. Her eyes flick to the people around us, nervously. Balls were a common thing for a Trevelyan—there would be one as least every month. But Cassandra, Seeker of Truth, warrior and Hero of Orlais looks as though she would bolt at any second. The nobles scare her—even though she's Nevarran royalty.
I place a hand on her shoulder, "We'll see who this First Enchanter is and then leave."
She nods.
Being the centre of attention certainly isn't her strong point. She's practically hiding behind her shield and sword.
Varric stays close to her though, which I'm glad for. Cassandra would be least likely to bolt that way.
A man reads a scroll—the invitation list, "Lady Trevelyan of the Inquisition. And her… followers."
"Companions, if you would," I say to the man.
He inclines his head and backs away.
We walk to the centre of the Chateau, where a water fountain is bathed in a blue light. A banquet stands pushed up against the wall, filled with all sorts of foods and beverages.
"A pleasure, Lady Trevelyan and your companions. We so barely have a chance to meet anyone new." The man's face is covered by a mask, so I can't read his expression. He may be mocking us. So you must be a guest of Madame De Fer. Or are you here for Duke Bastien?"
"Are you here on business?" asks his partner. "I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true."
"Oh, I'm sure they've all been exaggerated," I say modestly. The first rule my father taught me about the game is to be modest. People like you a lot more when you act nice.
"The Inquisition? What a load of pig shit," comes a voice. Walking down the stairs is a man, masked like everyone else. Washed up Sisters and crazed Seekers…?" his eyes flick to Cassandra and a ripple of anger flows through me. What right does he have to call her crazed? "No one can take them seriously."
I watch as the man waltzes over to banquet table, plucks an apple from a golden plate and takes a bite from it, "Everyone knows it's just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power, Trevelyan."
My eyes narrow, "I'm searching for Divine Justinia's killer."
"Of course you are. I'm sure your army is out scouting the hills for her murderer as we speak."
"Well, it is supper time, so they may be on their break right now."
The man scoffs, "We know what your 'Inquisition' truly is. If you were a true Lady of honour—a Trevelyan, a Herald—you'd step outside and face the charges."
A flash blinds me for a second and when I blink, the man is covered in frost. His arms are frozen in clenched fists, like he's ready to fight me. His eyes still move around, burning with hate as he watches me.
"My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my home… to my guests," says a woman, waltzing down the stairs in graceful steps. Her brown skin glows in the candlelight, robes swirling around her as she walks, hugging her slender frame. Though her face is hidden beneath a mask, with metal horns curling from it, I can tell she doesn't look impressed. Her posture and fashion suggest a high player in the game.
Her voice is velvety smooth, "You know such rudeness is… intolerable."
"Madame Vivenne," he chokes. "I humbly beg your pardon."
She walks past the paralyzed man, "And so you should. Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?"
He doesn't answer.
The First Enchanter turns to me, "My Lady, you are the wounded part in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man."
I stare at her. She's asking for my opinion? What options do I have? "Ah… I… I think the Marquis has seen the error in his ways."
"By the grace of Andraste, you have your life, my dear. Do be more careful with it," she clicks her fingers and the Marquis snaps from his frozen prison. He nods in thanks then stalks off. And can almost see him bristling in anger.
The First Enchanter turns to me, "I'm delighted you could attend this little gathering. I've so wanted to meet you." She begins walking and I follow her, Cassandra, Varric and Solas close behind. She leads us to a hallway, just a door away from the main party. A window sits open, a light breezing tugging at the open curtains.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne. Fist Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchanter to the Imperial Court."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Vivienne. Lydia Trevelyan. Ah, Herald of Andraste."
"I didn't invite you to the Chateau for pleasantries. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people."
Her voice is calm, her dark eyes set on mine.
"As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause."
I swallow, not breaking eye contact with her. We could do with a loyal mage in our Inquisition. After all, we need all the help we can get. Clearing my throat, I nod, "The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne."
"Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that."