#god i hope this beast pays its due and doesn't feel bloated

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Trials 1:40-44 part 1

Well, here it finally fucking is.  Part 1 of the monster that is The Hinterlands ChapterTM .  I had to break it into two chapters to prevent both myself and you guys from losing our minds.  I’ll post the next part soon when I’m done editing.  Part 1 gives everyone some time to shine, but Lilith is a major player, so get hype for that.  Link to AO3 as always :) (x)

Having signed your life away to a group of religious fanatics (nice going, Ava, you dumbass), you are immediately put to work.  There are 1,001 problems that need to be solved, and most of them seem to be in the Hinterlands.  Dora explains in a succinct, tactical way that the area has become the central battleground of the Mage-Templar war.  This is because the region is huge, and neither side has the numbers to control it all.  The rebel mages have based themselves in Redcliffe with the permission of the Arl and King Alistair, while the Templars have holed up in a fortress called Therinfal Redoubt on the opposite end.  Both sides have camps and patrols spread throughout the area, harassing and even killing locals, burning down houses, and disrupting trade.

You are charged with somehow stopping all of it.  Or “remedying the situation” as Mother Superion puts it.  She bids you to seek out a Revered Mother named Giselle who is supposedly active in the area.  Gaining her support will supposedly lend the Inquisition credibility to play nice with the Chantry and get them to maybe not excommunicate you all (not that you care, but everyone else says it would be bad, so you���re outvoted).  Additionally, if you can get the rebels and Templars to back the fuck off for even a minute, it will supposedly win you massive public support.  That’s a lot of supposedly’s, fuck.

But, you go.  Everyone goes, actually.  Beatrice makes the excellent point that the Hinterlands are so massive that no one team can possibly handle it all.  So, after a day of preparations, you set out on the march with Beatrice, Mary, Lilith, Camila, and Solas in tow.  Mother Superion elects to stay behind with Dora to manage things while you’re gone, but she sends a number of scouts and soldiers ahead of you to assess the situation and do reconnaissance until you get there.

You have never marched anywhere before, so this trek is more than a little difficult for you.  Lilith scoffs when you get tired easily and Mary teases you when you trip over your own feet, but Beatrice helps you back up each time you stumble, and Camila does her best to boost morale as you go along.

You learn little things about each of them along the way.  Camila is a kickass archer babe, but she’s also a really good singer.  She makes the long walks go faster by singing an upbeat tune, and when you all camp out for the night, her voice lulls you to sleep after you collapse on your bedroll.  Mary performs routine checks on her crossbow, oiling and testing all of its mechanisms before bed each night.  She also enjoys wood-carving, taking any moment of sitting down to whip out a half-finished block of wood and work on it.  She won’t tell you what it’s going to be, though, insisting that you’ll have to wait and find out.  Lilith trains constantly.  She’s always swinging at something, hacking apart some foe only she can see.  It works for her, clearly, but sometimes after you slow the group down a little too long with how many breaks you need, you think the enemy she’s swinging at is you.  Solas is a quiet traveling companion.  He will talk, ask questions, and make observations occasionally, but overall he seems content in silence.  You can feel him looking at you though, still trying to figure you out, so you avoid him more often than not.

As for Beatrice… Beatrice writes.  A lot.  She takes notes.  On everything.  You look over her shoulder one night and find her writing in detail about some fish you saw jumping out of a stream, cataloging their characteristics to determine their edibility.  She writes about the weather, she inventories your provisions, and she takes extremely diligent, highly-detailed notes on any combat situations you come across.  

(And you have found a few.  It’s nothing crazy, but brigands hide along the roads to ambush travelers, and they don’t spare your group despite the obvious Don’t Fuck With Us energy you’re giving off.  Fighting people is not the same as fighting demons.  It’s harder, both because people are smarter than demons and because people are harder to kill.  For you, at least.  The others don’t seem to have any qualms about it.  In fact, Lilith is partial to mocking you when you hesitate to strike a killing blow.  The others just repeat that it will be worse when you actually get to the Hinterlands, like that settles the matter.)

Beatrice writes about all of it.  And when she’s not writing, she’s reviewing.  You’re starting to get a little worried about her neck with how much time she spends per day slouched over her notebook.

You think she may also be writing about you.  It’s just a hunch, but sometimes you catch her looking at you too, not like Solas does, or not exactly like he does.  She's also trying to figure you out, but for different reasons (you hope).  Mainly, she just seems to be concerned for you, but you’ve definitely seen her reaching for her notebook out of the corner of your eye.  Although you are desperate to ask, you keep quiet in present company.  Lilith still watches you like you might attack them at any moment.  Mary watches you too, with something like sadness in her gaze, or regret, or worry.  On a bitter note, you know from listening to her story why she seems so familiar to you, but getting into that is not something you have the energy for right now.

So no, you won’t ask here.  Instead, you’ll crack a joke (what do you call a pig that catches the Blight?), make up a pun, or just distract everyone by falling on your face again.  Whatever works to make them look at you rather than through you.

At least your Friend treats you the same.  You think She may be enjoying this time in the world.  You can feel it when She focuses on something, studying it, and you can almost visualize Her looking over your shoulder and taking in the mortal plain, which must be completely bizarre to Her.

And it’s not all bad, really.  It's beautiful and exciting, surprising and challenging.  You’re getting to do a lot of things you never dreamed of before, like camping (hard to adjust to, but fun), eating hot food (Mary smacks your hand away from messing things up every time she and Camila cook dinner), and using magic again.  To your delight, Beatrice agrees to teach you some spells, starting with basic stuff you kind of remember like barrier spells and elemental barrage spells.  You ask her to teach you an immolation spell, and she agrees, but only once you reach the Hinterlands where there will be enough space to practice with it.  Solas chimes in from time to time with tips and advice of his own, and he even teaches you how to dispel an enemy’s magic and protect your allies from hostile magical effects.

And as he predicted, you also learn more about the power your bond with Hope gives you.  You start to recognize the feeling that comes right before you phase through an attack, and you think if you ever get a moment’s peace that you can learn to do it on purpose.  You also levitate again, which is terrifying at first.  A hulking brute of a guy picks you up at one point and chucks you into the air like a child's ball.  You brace yourself for a painful landing only to never hit the ground.  Instead, you hover two feet above it, limbs flailing, until you lose focus or something and crash down on your ass.  Your bruised tailbone is healed by the time the fight ends.

At one point, you discover something entirely new.  While you’re stuck battling a large group, someone jumps out of the brush to ambush you from behind.  You don’t hear them sneak up, too distracted pushing another one away from Camila.  They almost bury a knife in your shoulder when they are suddenly thrown backward, buffeted by a propulsive wave of energy that makes the trees behind you shake.  You spin around to find them lying in a boneless heap on the ground, breathing but unmoving.

“Instinctual defense,” Solas comments, far too casually for how he’s currently grappling with a man twice his size.  “Later on, we can try to harness that deliberately.”  Let it never be said he isn’t an enthusiastic teacher.

Eventually, you do make it to the Hinterlands, and yes, it is worse.  So much worse.  You’re shocked by it, and you didn’t think you could be shocked by violence anymore.  It’s horrific.  The rebels and Templars tear each other apart in the smoke of burning farms while refugees starve and freeze to death in overcrowded camps, hemmed in by threats on all sides.  The summary report you receive from Scout Harding doesn’t even scratch the surface.

You find Mother Giselle after cutting a bloody path to the Crossroads refugee camp, and you don’t need her to tell you how dire things are when you arrive.  You listen, of course, as she explains the general situation and makes several suggestions for how you can help, even as you begin to fear that your best efforts will barely be a drop in the bucket.

You approach the task at hand via a series of delegations, per Beatrice’s suggestion.  The refugees need food and blankets, the camps need watchtowers to guard against approaching threats, and the Inquisition needs horses.  There are also Rifts everywhere, spewing out demons in alarming numbers.  So, divide and conquer.  You send Camila with a group of scouts to hunt for food and pick up supplies, and Lilith agrees to travel with some soldiers to capture several lumber yards for the watchtowers.  

You, Mary, Beatrice, and Solas set out to get the horses and close any Rifts you happen to find.  The horsemaster, Dennet, initially refuses to help you until you complete another series of tasks for him.  You want to tell him to take his horses and fuck off, but Beatrice gently, firmly, reminds you that the Inquisition desperately needs mounts and cannot afford to piss off the man who both provides and trains them.  So you go, stopping a pack of demon-controlled wolves and closing a Rift tucked inside a cave.  Every time you close a Rift, you feel a little stronger.  Not physically (Mary won’t stop calling you a wet noodle) but magically.  It’s as if the Mark lets you take some of the Rift’s energy back into yourself, a kind of victor’s prize.  It hasn’t had a noticeable impact yet, but you think if you keep closing Rifts, it might pan out somewhere down the line.

After completing all of his requests, Dennet finally agrees to give you horses, so you return to the Crossroads that night feeling pretty accomplished.  Camila returns with a similar tale of success, having swept a span of several miles to procure ram’s meat and blankets aplenty.  Even Lilith sits down at your cookfire with an air of satisfied smugness, talking proudly of how she reclaimed enough wood for an entire set of watchtowers.

Mother Giselle pulls you aside as your group begins to settle down.  “It is exceedingly honorable, what you have done today,” she says, and unlike Duretti, you find her Orlesian accent to be quite pretty.  “Where others have stood by, paralyzed by fear or apathy, you have stepped forward to be a light in darkness.”

You blush a little and rub your neck, unsure how to respond to such praise.  “I’m just glad we could help,” you settle on.

“You have done more than that,” she asserts.  “You have restored a spark of hope in the hearts of the people, a rare accomplishment in these dark times.”  As if beckoned, your Friend is at your shoulder, regarding Mother Giselle with a thoughtful hum.  “Allow me to speak plainly with you now.  I have heard the Chantry’s denouncement, and I am familiar with those behind it.  I won’t lie to you.  Some of them are merely grandstanding, vying for favor, trying to increase their chances of becoming the next Divine.  Others are simply terrified.”  Grief twists at her mouth, making her seem far older than she appears.  “So many good people, senselessly taken from us.  I understand their fear, as it is my own.”

“What happened was awful,” you agree, though it sounds paltry leaving your mouth.  “I’d be lying pretty hard if I said I wasn’t afraid too,” you admit quietly.

Giselle nods.  “Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason.  Go to them.  I will send my blessing on the swiftest hawk.  Go and convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared.”

You balk at that, shifting nervously from foot to foot.  “Yeah, I don’t know that that’s going to work, Mother.  They seem pretty convinced already.”

“They have heard only frightful tales of you.  Give them something else to believe,” Giselle instructs calmly.

“You really want me to try and appeal to them?  ‘Cause I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t really up for having a friendly chat with them before this all started, and I’m definitely not now.  No offense.”

“If I thought you were incapable, I would not have suggested it,” she says, almost smiling.  “You do not need to convince them all.  You just need some of them to doubt.  Their power lies in their unity.  Take that from them, and you will see that I am right.”

“That’s… actually pretty cunning, Mother.”

You think her eyes might twinkle, but maybe it’s just the firelight.  “It never hurts to approach life with prudence and shrewdness, so long as those traits do not give way to pride or cruelty.”

“Thank you,” you say genuinely.  And then, because it seems important, you add, “I honestly didn’t expect much when coming here.  I didn’t think anyone still in the Chantry would give a mage a fair shake, or a non-believer.”

Mother Giselle considers these words.  “I do not know if you have been touched by Fate or were sent to help us, but… I hope.  Hope is what we need now.  The people will listen to your rallying call.  You could build the Inquisition into a force to deliver us, or destroy us.  Do not fall prey to pride, my child, nor despair.  You may not believe in the Maker, but I hope you will believe in the rightness of your actions today, and make it the core of your cause.”  She tucks her hands behind her back, standing tall.  “I will send my blessing and then go to Haven to deliver Sister Suzanne the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering.”

You blink in surprise.  “Are you able to leave at a time like this?”

She nods certainly.  “Thanks to the Inquisition, the people here are in better hands than I alone could provide.  I will go now to where my two wrinkled ones can do the most good.”

She leaves you then to return to your campfire, and Beatrice looks up curiously at your return.  “What did the Revered Mother have to say?”

“She’s going to Haven,” you explain.  “She’s going to help us convince the Chantry to cool it on the denouncement.”

Beatrice also seems surprised by that, but uplifted.  “She’ll be a great help.  She’s very charismatic, and a persuasive writer.”

“How do you know that?”

Beatrice flushes, realizing her critical error and looking away from you quickly.  “She’s written some treatises,” she admits shyly.  “And I’ve been present for some of her services.”

“Wait…” You grin widely, seeing an opportunity you can’t pass up.  “Are you a fan of hers, Beatrice?”

“I am no such thing!”  She scoffs, trying to sound indignant.  “I simply hold a deep respect for her good works and her faith.”

“Riiight.  You know, I could go talk to her again,” you tease, sidling up next to her.  “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind giving me an autograph for you.  Unless you want to ask her yourself?”

She gasps adorably, smacking your arm.  “You are insufferable!”

“But yoouuu liiike it,” you sing, wiggling your eyebrows and beaming.

She rolls her eyes, declaring “I’m going to bed now,” before promptly turning her back on you and heading to her tent, still blushing.

You just laugh, feeling lighter than you have all day, and saunter off to your tent too.

On your second day in the Hinterlands, you are faced with two significantly more daunting tasks than fetching horses and blankets: 1) closing more Rifts and 2) dealing with the blood-drunk idiots currently setting the forests on fire.

Closing Rifts is fairly straightforward.  You find one, kick demon ass, and wave your hand around until they stop appearing.  Getting the mages and Templars to cool off and quit slaughtering civilians is not so simple.  It quickly becomes apparent that negotiating or reasoning with either side is out of the question.  They attack on sight and refuse to back down until dead.  No matter who you encounter, you get called some variation of "Templar bastards" or "rebel scum", among other creative curses and slurs, and that simply doesn't work as an opener to productive conversations.

You hoped that the rebels would at least be more hesitant to attack, seeing a trio of their fellow mages among you, but your hopes were dashed, quickly and thoroughly, when one tried to impale you and Beatrice reduced him to char.  The Templars are even worse (wow, shocking), and you can tell that Lilith feels just as discouraged as you when she sees them acting like lowlife bandits, robbing houses and stealing wedding rings.  She’s not a Templar (Beatrice had briefly explained the difference to you one night as you both watched Lilith obliterate a helpless bush), but it's evident that she had hopes and expectations coming into this that were shot down just as harshly as yours.

(You catch her staring hard at a scrap of paper you find in an abandoned hunter’s camp.  Her face is like stone, but she clutches the note so tightly that the fragile paper warps and crinkles irreparably.  You watch her throw it on the ground and stalk off without a word to anyone.  Only once she’s a safe distance away, you pick it up and find that it’s a shakily written diary entry, doubtless inked by the hunter staying here.  It is a stricken account of a skirmish between the Templars and mages where several refugees were caught in the crossfire.  The hunter’s horror is apparent in every word, but as you read, you think you identify the passage that drove Lilith away.  “A refugee was still burning. His arm went up to a templar. The templar used his sword. It went up and down. Up and down. There were pieces of black.”  The worst part, to you, comes right after that, when the hunter recounts the Templar preparing to rape a dying woman, and the very last line leaves you chilled.  “I want it to go out of my head please, Maker.  I been good, I want it to go out of my head.”)

You have to find the main camps for both sides and clear them out.  If nothing else, this will stop the attacks on the locals, but the secondary goal is to be an assertion of the Inquisition's power, a show of force to both sides that says "We're in charge now".  This is how Dora frames the situation at least, in a letter that arrives on the eve of the third day.  Strictly speaking, you'll be in charge of nothing but Haven and a few refugee camps, but it's the message that counts.

There’s an argument over the fire that night about which group you should focus on first.  Lilith argues (wrongly) for hunting down the mages first while you argue (correctly) for finding the Templars.  Beatrice, to your surprise, agrees with Lilith, calmly explaining that the combined magic of so many volatile mages running loose is the greater threat, but Camila sides with you, pointing out that from everything you’ve found so far, the Templars are the ones doing the most harm to the innocent.  Solas doesn’t comment on either position, seemingly neutral, but Mary shuts you all down while testing the tension in her crossbow string.

“We don’t know shit about where either side is camping out,” she says.  “We’ve got nothing to go on.  Until we do, focusing on one will just make us sloppy and give the other time to regroup.  We have to be smart about this.”  Since your group has an even six, she suggests splitting up, and claims authority to divide you into teams as follows: Lilith, Beatrice, and Camila on one, and you, her, and Solas on the other.  Her directive after that is simple: walk around and look for shit.  “But don’t even think about rushing in somewhere without getting the rest of us first.”  At first you think she’s saying this to you, but she actually looks at Lilith, who rolls her eyes hard but doesn’t argue further.

You follow through with Mary’s plan the next morning after a breakfast of scrambled eggs and nut bread with jam that had been gifted to you by a merchant at the Crossroads (side note: you love eggs).  You, Mary, and Solas decide to investigate north of camp, back through the Crossroads to where rocky crags and unassuming caves could hide a small force with ease.  Lilith, Beatrice, and Camila head westward, where the river runs and offers many tempting spots to camp.  You agree collectively to regroup at your camp on Lake Luthias at nightfall.

You have to walk carefully as you make your way through the crags.  The terrain is uneven and prone to sudden dips and inclines.  You nearly twist your ankle stepping on a rock concealed under moss, and you wonder idly if Solas goes barefoot in order to avoid such mishaps.

You find nothing in the crags themselves, save for the odd, tiny cave where the occasional spider or smuggler stash sits.  Druffalo lumber lazily past you, seemingly quite confident that you won’t attack them, but other than that your trek is uneventful.

About four hours into your search, during which time you cover a fairly impressive amount of ground, you stop for a snack before changing course toward the small cliffs and ponds further north of the crags.  Mary speculates that these might be more promising, as a consistent water supply would be important for any group settling in for an extended stay.  You keep hiking well into the afternoon, trying to be as thorough as possible.  The midday sun begins its descent in the west when you finally see it.  Something quite bizarre.  A giant pillar of ice sticks out the ground, standing some fifteen feet tall by your estimate, if not more.  More accurately, it sticks out a frozen pond a little bit larger than your camp, where it is joined by several others.

Mary stops you in your tracks when she notices this too, making you duck low and move to the side, toward a cluster of large rocks overlooking the water.  The three of you take cover there, peeking your heads up carefully to survey the scene.

The pond is thoroughly frozen.  The ice is apparently thick enough to walk on, as eight armed men are currently walking on it with careful steps.  They are armored, but they don’t bear any identifiable symbol or emblem.  They appear to guard the entrance to some kind of cave nestled into the rocky wall that towers over the pond.

“Those are sellswords,” Mary says confidently.

“How do you know?”

“They’re dressed like soldiers, but there’s no consistency in their gear.  Organized armies like to have all their guys wear the same stuff.  These guys don’t have that.  They’re mercs, mark my words.”

“Does that help or hurt our chances?”

She frowns.  “Too early to say.  But they don’t wear the colors of any of the well-known companies, so they’re probably just small-timers.”

The entrance to the cave is blocked by a magical barrier, warping the air and glowing bright green.  At first, it doesn’t seem particularly daunting, but Solas frowns when he sees it.

"We will not be able to penetrate that barrier," he explains when you ask.  "It is too powerful."

"How can that be?"

He scratches his chin thoughtfully.  "Likely, they are using a talisman or rune of some kind to keep it in place, something they can activate or deactivate as necessary."  He hums.  “It requires a certain level of training to create, so I would hazard a guess that one of the mages inside is experienced and likely Circle-trained, if not more.”

Mary curses softly.  "So how do we get inside then?"

Solas hums, looking hard at the swirling currents of the barrier, analyzing them.  "A difficult problem, which may require a creative solution.”

You all puzzle over this for a time, squinting at the barrier and biting your lip.

"Well, what if I try to go through it?” You ask.

Solas tilts his head.  “How so, Ava?”

"When we talked, you said that Hope could help me overcome otherwise impassable obstacles.”  He begins to smile, catching on quickly to your meaning.

‘"You want to phase through it?"

You shrug.  “I dunno.  It’s worth a try.”

“What are you two talking about?” Mary asks, sounding a little irritated.

You turn to her, starting to feel the tiniest bit excited.  “Mary, remember when we fought that huge demon at the Breach, and it almost hit me?”

Mary frowns.  “Yeah, that damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“But it didn’t hit me,” you explain.  “Because I phased through it.  My body changed so that its claw went right through me.  I can pass through things, or things can pass through me, if I phase.”

“It’s true, Mary,” Solas confirms when she looks skeptical.  “And when I think about it further, I have a good feeling that Ava would be able to phase through the barrier if she tried.”

She looks at you.  “And that’s one of your… things with your buddy, is it?”

You frown right back at her.  “Yes, I can do it thanks to my Friend.”  Mary just shakes her head.  “Why not?”

“It’s dangerous, kid,” Mary says, not ungently.  “You barely know anything about your whole deal with this spirit.  You don’t know how volatile it could be.”

“With all due respect, Mary, I believe this is a negative overreaction,” Solas says.  “Ava will not become an abomination simply by phasing through a barrier.”

“You don’t know that,” Mary insists, shutting you down before you can argue.  “No, we’re scrapping that plan.  No more discussions.”  She tugs the back of your shirt and starts moving out from the rocks.  “We’re heading back to camp to talk to the others about all this.  Then, as a group, we’ll decide what to do.  No back-talk,” she growls when you open your mouth.  “Let’s go, we’re losing daylight.”  Solas gives you a commiserating look before helping you stand and follow Mary’s footsteps.

You find the other half of your group already sitting at the fire by the time you return, talking seriously while Camila stirs together a stew.

"Any luck?" You ask Beatrice, who is the first to notice your approach.

"We found the Templar camp," Lilith says before Beatrice can utter a word.  "They've claimed a section of the river running across the West Road, guarding it like brigands."  There is unmasked disdain in her voice, something you have yet to hear her express when talking about the Templars.  She's rubbing a rag along the blade of her sword with quick, harsh strokes, the only other sign of her anger.

"They seem to maintain a force of 50 at any given time, with the rest spreading out as we've seen." Beatrice picks up the telling from here.  "A mix of knights and archers, with 1 knight-captain presiding over them."

"Nice job," you compliment as you sit down in the spot next to her.  "How did you guys find the camp?"  In answer, Beatrice produces a number of rolls of paper from her bag and hands it to you before accepting a bowl of stew from Camila.

You unroll the notes and read.  The first thing you notice is the neatness of the handwriting.  Words inked by practiced fingers talk of the "call of the Maker" and "the Just" and "righteousness".  They urge all Templars to join them on the West Road.  One line in particular stands out to you, twisting your stomach, making you unable to eat despite how good the stew smells. "By their rebellion, they have forfeited their right to live.  They are not people, and any order that asks us to end this just and righteous battle is a lie."  They are not people.  They are not people.

"So they just left these for anyone to find?" You ask, swallowing against a sudden, bitter taste in your mouth.  "That's kind of dumb, isn't it?"

"Arrogant," Lilith corrects, still polishing with violent strokes.  "That's what they are.  Arrogant and senseless.  To shamelessly disobey the Lord Seeker?  To dare encourage their comrades to do the same?  It's unacceptable!"

Your brow furrows.  Okay, what's all that about?

As if reading your question off your face, Beatrice quietly points to the second note again.  You reread, and on the second pass you notice the mention of a Lord Seeker and his supposed directive to withdraw from the Hinterlands and instead gather in Val Royeaux.  The reason for this order isn't stated, but the author clearly thinks it isn't worth following.

"So they're going rogue."

“In a word, yes.”

"This knight-captain," Lilith growls, finally discarding the rag and not-quite slamming the sword back into its sheath.  "He will not dictate his own agenda against the order of the Seekers.  I will not allow it."

"Did you guys have any luck with the mages?" Camila changes the subject while taking one of Lilith’s hands and placing a bowl in it with a smile.  Surprisingly, Lilith quiets, abandoning whatever diatribe she was about to start and accepting the stew with a stilted "thank you".

"We found them," Mary confirms.  "But not much else."

"What do you mean?"

"They're hiding out in a cave," you explain, moving your spoon around, hoping your appetite will return if you do it enough times.  "Next to this pond northwest of the Crossroads.  It doesn’t look big from the outside, but we couldn't see inside to confirm."

"Why not?" Beatrice asks.

You shrug.  "Big magic barrier in the way.  We think we can get around it when the time comes…” Mary glares harshly at you.  “But we'll be stuck walking in blind regardless."

"They've got mercs guarding the entrance for them, though," Mary adds after watching to make sure you won’t mention your idea.  "Which makes me think there aren't as many hiding out in there as it seems."

"How do you figure that?" Asks Camila, finally sitting to eat her own portion.

"If you were a group of mages, drunk on power and itching for war, would you hire sellswords to fight your battles for you if you had the numbers to do it yourself?" Mary responds, drawing head shakes from everyone.  "Exactly.  They're not as unified as they look, at least not this offshoot. That's not a guarantee, of course, and we still have to kill the mercs before we go anywhere, but I'd bet 5 royals that there's a lot fewer of them than they've made it seem."

You are still left with the question of who to eliminate first.  You have more information on the Templars, but they might have more numbers.  The mages might be less organized, but you’ll be walking into a situation with no sense for how it will play out.  There’s also the how and when to consider.  Mary proposes attacking at night, but if you attack the mages you’ll not only be metaphorically in the dark but literally as well.

To your surprise, Lilith completely changes her tune from your morning argument, declaring strongly that you must defeat the Templars first.  You can tell by the others’ expressions that they are similarly taken off guard by this turn, all except Mary, who gazes at the Seeker with a quiet understanding.

“Okay, so we attack the Templars at night,” you say.  “Wait ‘til they’re all asleep and jump them in their tents?”

Beatrice shakes her head.  “If even one of them gets the space to sound the alarm, we’ll be doomed.  It’s too risky.”

“That’s if we just go in, swords-swinging,” Mary contends ponderously.  “If we could keep them off guard and off their game, then it won’t matter as much if they realize we’re doing it.”

“Allow me to make a suggestion,” Solas cuts in for the first time since you arrived back at camp.  He stands relaxed against a large rock, stroking his chin, his empty bowl long abandoned next to him.  “In my dreams, I once witnessed a battle in the Exalted Plains.  A small force was able to defeat a much larger one by spreading panic and chaos among their ranks.  They invaded the camp in the dead of night, dressed in dark clothing to hide from sentry torches, and carried with them small jars or oil and alcohol.  These they hid throughout the camp in unassuming places near wooden crates and tents, anything flammable.  They waited until the next night, and when the time came to strike, archers in their ranks struck the jars with flaming arrows.”

“Fire spreads, and suddenly it’s a free-for-all,” Mary concludes with a growing smirk.  “We strike in the middle of it and pick ‘em off like sheep.”

Solas grins and inclines his head.  “Indeed, Mary.”

It’s a good plan, provided you can pull it off.  You’ll need supplies, time, and luck on your side.  The first you should be able to acquire from the merchants at the Crossroads.  The second you’ll have so long as the Templars aren’t alerted to your movements in advance.  As for the third… Lilith insists that luck doesn’t determine the outcome of battles, diligent soldiers do, and just this once, you hope she’s right.

So it’s decided.  The Templars go down first.  You all sleep that night and head back to the Crossroads at dawn’s break.  It’s even easier than you expect to convince the merchants there to give you what you need.  They hand over two dozen jars of tarry black oil with barely a promise of compensation from the Inquisition.  One of them, a purveyor of hard liquors chased out of his distillery by the Templars, supplies you with a score of bottles of a Ferelden favorite called Dragon Piss.  Your ribs ache something fierce with the force of not laughing during the purchasing discussion, and Mary slaps you upside the head when you can’t stop making both dragon and piss jokes on the way back to camp.

The in-depth planning stage is next.  Beatrice, Lilith, and Camila collaborate to map out the camp from everything they remember.  Beatrice, predictably (adorably), pulls out her notebook and dictates to the other two as they attempt to draw on a roll of canvas also gifted by the merchants.  They plot out the clusters of tents and the position of each campfire, making tiny X’s wherever they identify a good place for a jar.  You, Mary, and Solas take charge of planning the attack itself.  The soldiers in Solas’s story only had flaming arrows to rely on, but you have that and three mages too.

“Your affinity for fire will be most helpful, Ava,” Solas says.  “You need no oil to set tents aflame, but you should perhaps focus on the cookfires throughout the camp.  They are all centrally located, and upending them will ensure the flames spread quickly and thoroughly.”

You think back to Beatrice’s promise to teach you an immolation spell, and see her look up from her notes to nod at you.  “Beatrice’s magic will help too,” you point out.  “There’s not much scarier than out-of-control fire and lightning bolts raining down from the sky.”

So it’s decided.  Camila, Mary, and Beatrice, deemed collectively to be the stealthiest of the group, are charged with placing the pots at midnight.  It’s a risky operation, one that will require them to leave most of their armor and tools behind, but Beatrice’s observations about the Templar patrol patterns provide windows for silent infiltration.  

That afternoon, Lilith and Mary travel with a band of scouts to transport the makeshift munitions.  There are unoccupied stone ruins close to the camp but not within its direct line of sight.  You can’t ask for a better hiding spot than that.  While they’re gone, Beatrice takes you to the lakeside to teach you the spell.

“You want to picture it in your mind,” she explains, steady and calm, standing next to you as you grip your staff and call fire to your fingertips.  “An eruption of flame.  See it surging up from the ground.  A gout.  A geyser.  Then, contain it.  Like a lid on a boiling pot, contain the surge.”  She reaches out to carefully adjust the height of your hand, her skin nearly as warm as the inferno waiting for your command.  “You have to hold it tight in order to position it properly.  Let it go too soon and it will ignite right under your feet.”

“Not interested in being a roast chicken,” you joke.

“You’d be the sorriest roast chicken I’ve ever seen.”

You drop your hand in shock, mana dissipating with your loss of focus, and your head whips around to stare at her.  Did she really just say that?  Sure enough, she’s looking at you with a tiny smirk, her eyes sparkling.  You put your hands on your hips with exaggerated indignance.  “Beatrice, are you implying that some snooty Orlesian chef wouldn’t want to serve this,” you wave pointedly at your figure, “up as a main course in some weird wine sauce?”

“Of course not, Ava,” she denies, but her smirk is growing.  “I was implying you wouldn’t even be an appetizer.”

You gasp, clutching at imaginary pearls.  “Rude!  Just for that, you don’t get to eat me no matter how good the wine sauce is!”

Your choice of words registers in your brain a second too late, threatening to stop your heart as you see them register with Beatrice too.  Her jaw drops, her smirk transforming into a surprised O, and heat that has nothing to do with fire magic paints her cheekbones pink.

Your own face feels like it’s being roasted.  You’re sure it’s bright red as you quickly look away from her, stuttering, “Uh!  I, um… Th-that came out wrong!  I wasn’t implying… anything!”

You see her suck in a soft inhale out of the corner of your eye, visibly composing herself.  “It’s fine,” she says, still sounding a little breathless.  “Let’s… get back to the spell.”

“Great!” You squeak, hastily turning back to the lake whose water continues to swirl serenely, unaware or indifferent to how you’ve just made an ass of yourself.  “So, containing it, right?  Until it’s in position?  Where should I aim it?”

She clears her throat loudly.  “Ahem, aim for the center of the water.  Then the flames won’t spread through the grass.”

“Right, got it.”  You force all of your attention onto the task at hand, thinking about lids on pots harder than you’ve thought of anything before.

You raise your hand toward the lake and call your magic again.  The flames come, dancing around your fingers, waiting for you to direct them.  You picture them moving out from you, gliding unseen across the surface of the water until they sit just above the center.  You can almost feel them tickle and spark against your palm as you hold them still in that spot, waiting, counting down from 5.  At zero, you let them go, and sure enough, an enormous blaze of fire bursts from thin air as if pulled from the lake itself.  It extinguishes immediately upon contact with the water, but you beam at your success, bouncing up and down on your feet.  “Did you see that, Beatrice?!”

“I did,” she confirms, her familiar, gentle smile back in place.  Some pink lingers in her cheeks, as you’re sure it does in your own, but the awkwardness of the previous moment has passed.  “Well done, Ava.  Let’s keep going.”

That’s how you spend the day until it’s time to execute the first part of the plan.  The rest of you travel with the chosen infiltrators as backup should anything go wrong.  Moving through the pitch darkness is fucking difficult as shit, to put it mildly, but Solas shows you how to conjure Veilfire in your palm as a makeshift torch, which makes avoiding uneven rocks and tree roots a little easier.  He doesn’t have an ounce of trouble moving through the dark, you notice.  Indeed, none of the others seem to either.  It’s a little infuriating.  You know you’re still getting used to walking again, but seriously, what’s the fucking secret?

The ruins on the West Road are about 200 yards from the camp, give or take 10 due to the various rocks and little hills that apparently break up the camp (you can’t see them, so you take Beatrice’s word for it).  Camila takes the lead when you arrive.  Small and quick, she sheds her extraneous items, keeping only a pair of daggers strapped to her thighs, and slinks into night.  Her first responsibility is to watch the sentries patrol and signal to Mary and Beatrice when to move.  You learn something else about Camila here, she’s apparently excellent at mimicking bird calls.

You wait in the ruins with Lilith and Solas, the former crouched on a worn chunk of debris, her eyes trained in the direction of the camp, unwavering, ready to charge at the first sign of something amiss.  The latter pays no attention to any of this, standing serenely in the center of the ruin, where the distant, twinkling stars can be seen through shattered stone.  His face is tilted toward the sky and his eyes are closed, almost like he’s listening to something.  You stand next to him, looking up at the stars.

“What do you know of the constellations, Ava?” He asks softly, without opening his eyes.

You shrug.  “Nothing, really.  That people think they exist, I guess.”

“You do not see them, I take it?”

“Nah.  You can’t make me believe that someone took those little dots and deliberately arranged them into dragons and boats for us to gawk at from down here.  If they did, they were kinda shit at their job.”

“Hmm, perhaps.  Still, deliberate or not, we may find valuable insights in those little dots, as you call them.  Peoples both ancient and modern have gazed at the sky and found meaning in its patterns, using them for navigation as well as religion and culture.  For instance, it was common practice in ancient Tevinter to create astrariums, magical tools designed to analyze each constellation in search of secrets.”

“Why?” You scoff.  “Did they have their fill of secrets here on the ground?  Were they so bored with their lives that they had to make up shapes out of lights they would never touch?”

Unexpectedly, this makes him smile.  “You remind me of myself as a young man.  You treasure the here and now, life lived from moment to moment, never wasting energy on things out of your reach.”

“Are you insulting me?”

He shakes his head.  “No, merely pointing out the similarity.  It is not wrong to live in the present, where our actions often have their greatest effect.  These are simply the musings of an old man who spends much of his time reliving memories through dreams.  Old men tend to wallow in the unchanging past while grasping feverishly for the intangible future.”

“Solas, you’re like, 40 at most.”

He laughs, a quiet, unassuming noise that blends into the sounds of the night.  “You flatter me, Ava.”

The hoot of an owl interrupts the conversation.  Camila’s signal.  Damn, she really is good at that.

“They’re moving in,” Lilith informs the two of you.  You leave Solas to his musings and join Lilith at her perch, keeping a safe distance between you as you do.

You can just barely make out Mary and Beatrice moving silently over the grass, each of them transporting a tray of tightly tied pots and bottles.  You wait with baited breath, switching your grip on your staff every few minutes to wipe the sweat off your palms.  Lilith and Solas may as well be statues.

It’s a long time to wait.  You can’t see what’s happening, but you know it’s going to take multiple trips through the sentry lines to place all the pots without being seen.  You eventually get tired of standing, sitting down with your knees tucked into your chest.

When the retreat signal sounds, it startles you.  It’s not a bad signal, it actually means they succeeded and are heading back, but the pregnant silence was so heavy that its removal makes you feel unexpectedly weightless.  Another minute, and you see Lilith relax ever so slightly as three shapes move toward the ruins.  When they arrive, you scan their faces, looking for indication of worry or injury, but find none.  Mary smirks, Camila winks at you, and Beatrice squeezes your shoulder as she passes, gracing you with a reassuring smile.  They don their armor and weapons again with practiced movements, and as a group, you retreat from the ruins and head back to your camp.

There is brief discussion of how the plan went and any adjustments that had to be made, but overall the infiltration was a resounding success.  You retire to your tents with Solas and Mary taking the first watch.  As you shrug out of your armor and take your boots off, you see Beatrice and Lilith talking quietly by the Seeker’s tent.  You can’t tell what they’re discussing, but Beatrice reaches out to touch Lilith’s elbow, her deceptively strong fingers holding the other woman steadily.  Lilith’s expression twists, then opens, a flash of vulnerability elicited by whatever Beatrice just said.  Whatever is happening, it’s an intensely private moment.  You look away out of courtesy.

The morning arrives gray and dim.  Clouds obscure the sun and put a wrinkle of tension in Beatrice’s brow at breakfast.  “We should be mindful of rain.”

“Those jars are sealed,” Mary says with a shrug.  “And with sparky here on our side, getting the flames going won’t be an issue.”

“But it will create mud,” Beatrice points out, setting her bowl of mushy oats and dried fruit (“Beatrice, that’s gross as fuck.”  “I’m not accepting critique from girls who eat plain hardtack in water.”) aside and reaching for her notebook.  “If it does, the fire may not spread effectively along the uneven slopes.  And they will have an easier time putting the flames out if they can roll in mud.”

“But then they’ll be on the ground,” Camila says, shrugging.  “And it will be twice as easy to shoot them.”  You can all only concede to her excellent point.

It doesn’t rain, ultimately, but the mood in camp is solemn regardless.  The day is spent conducting preparations.  Camila and Mary inventory their arrows and bolts while Lilith checks every buckle and strap on her armor, including some you didn’t know it was possible to have.  She’s silent today, not even wasting breath to make snippy remarks to you.  That’s how you know the specter of the upcoming fight is really getting to her.  That, and the fact that Beatrice keeps glancing in her direction with that furrow of worry ever present.

You practice your spell over the course of the morning, training until you can hit a series of increasingly distant targets almost instantly.  You stop at midday to avoid exhausting your mana, turning instead to watch Mary talk strategy with the handful of Inquisition soldiers who will be fighting with you.

Dinner is a nearly silent affair.  Lilith advises you all to eat light, which is fine because you still feel good from your breakfast, no matter what Beatrice says about it, and your rations at lunch included some absolutely awesome jerky.  You’re settled in to eat some more when Mary suddenly frowns at you before prying one of your hands free and shoving an apple into it.  “Um, thanks?”  You say, bewildered.  She rolls her eyes and doesn’t respond, instead sitting with her own meal while repeatedly glancing at you until you toss away the barren core.

When the time comes to move, the night air takes on a new feeling.  It didn’t rain, but a chilly mist has settled over the lake, just thick enough to obscure the path ahead.  Something about that feels distressingly appropriate.

Together, you are a band of 20 soon to face 50.  You could have summoned more soldiers from the Crossroads, or waited for more to arrive from Haven, but the former would leave the refugees unprotected, and the latter would take too much time.  Whatever happens, it has to be now, and the numbers you have, your skills, and your planning, will all have to be enough.

You reach the stone ruins where you waited the night before, and the plan commences like this.  Camila and three soldiers will go first, armed with bows and daggers, to pick off what sentries they can without raising the alarm.  Once they clear enough space, the archers will advance in two groups, taking positions around the camp to wait for the signal to strike.  You will go with one while Beatrice goes with the other.  Your team is responsible for setting the fires.  Your job is to light the arrows and then target the cooking pits.  Meanwhile, Beatrice and her team will wait to bring lightning and steel-tipped fury down on the Templars when they scatter.  And once their ranks are broken and panicked, Lilith, Mary, and Solas will lead the final charge.

That’s how it’s supposed to work, at least.

Camila is dressed for war: bow over one shoulder, quiver full, and three pairs of knives strapped across her torso and legs.  Without her usual mischievous grin in place, she looks downright fearsome, ready to hunt and kill whoever gets in her way.  The three soldiers chosen to go with her are two humans, a man and woman, and a female elf, all similarly armed.

Camila approaches the five of you before joining them.  She graces you with a smile as small and quick as she before saying, “Here goes nothing, I guess.”

“You’re ready, Camila,” Beatrice says, reaching out to squeeze her elbow as she did to Lilith the night before.  “Maker be with you.”

“Knock ‘em dead, Cami,” Mary tells her with a smirk.

“Do stay safe,” Solas adds.  “I would like to continue our discussion from earlier.”  Camila’s expression brightens, making you wonder what they might have talked about.

“Eyes up,” Lilith commands, short but sincere, allowing the tension in Camila’s frame to ease minutely.

Then, she turns to you, and you struggle for the right thing to say.  You’ve gotten to know Camila a fair bit over these past days, but the friendship you’re slowly building pales in comparison to the bond already well-established between her and the others.  There’s a distance there, a line drawn between you and them that yet remains uncrossed.

So, in the absence of anything heartfelt or clever to say, you do what you do best.  “Have a knife time, Cam.  Don’t bow out before we get there.”  This draws exasperated groans from everyone within earshot, but you hear Camila’s soft snort, and it makes the weight pressing on your chest a little lighter.

Two minutes later, she is gone, her trio of assassins following close behind.  As with the night before, you wait anxiously for an owl’s hoot, the signal to move forward.  It comes five minutes later, right when it feels like your grip on your staff can’t tighten any further.

“That’s our cue,” Beatrice tells you.  “Are you ready?”

You exhale slowly.  “As I’ll ever be.”  Your shoulders abruptly feel warm under your pauldrons, like Your Friend is resting Her hands on them, not to hold you back, but to embolden and reassure you.

“Trust your team, Ava,” Beatrice advises, gifting you with another of her gentle grins.  “We’re at your side.”

Her smile coaxes out one of your own.  “Right back at ya, Bea.  Let’s kick Templar ass.”

Lilith catches your arm as you’re about to leave with your team of archers.  Her expression is hard but, for once, not actively hostile.  “If you see the knight-captain,” she says.  “Leave him.  He is mine.”  You are caught, momentarily, by her eyes.  They are dark, lovely, and filled with a sharp-toothed determination that evokes a second of pity for the man in question.  He’s fucked.

You give a nod of understanding, and she releases you.  Hesitantly, she adds, “Don’t set yourself on fire.”

“...Thanks, Lilith.”  It’s as good a send-off as any, you suppose.

Your squad moves on silent feet toward the camp.  You can see the entrance ahead of you some 100 yards away, and you give it a wide berth, already spotting two Templars guarding it.  Instead, you sneak around the side, up the small, steep hills and through the trees, passing over the bodies of sentries killed to prepare your arrival.  At the top of a steep ridge standing some thirty feet above the camp, you see one of Camila’s assassins, the human woman, waving you over.  She greets you with a tricky grin before turning your attention to the camp below.  She points, guiding your eyes to different spots among the tents and boxes, and in each one, you can just glimpse a pot or bottle sticking out, perfectly positioned for an arrow’s strike.  Once you nod your understanding, she takes her leave, disappearing into the darkness like a ghost to rejoin Camila.

You wait, scanning the rocky hill opposite yours, and sure enough, you see four figures creep into view, one of them being Beatrice.  Her squad stays low but ready, waiting for the signal.

When it comes, it sounds for you.  Your archers nock their arrows and hold them up for you to light.  You take a breath and summon a tiny flame between your thumb and index finger.  It’s big enough to get the job done without creating enough light to draw unwanted attention.  They each hold their tips to the flame before stepping back and taking position on the ridge’s edge.  Their arrows glow like fireflies in the distance, looking almost harmless.  But then they draw their bows back and fire.

The first volley strikes quite anticlimactically.  There’s the thrum of the bowstrings, the keening whish as they cut through the air, and a distinctly mundane shattering sound as they connect with the jars, like the crashing of the box Marabel dropped when you first awoke in Haven.  What happens next, however, cannot be described as mundane or anticlimactic.  The first flames catch, tiny at first, but then they grow and spread, adhering to wooden crates and licking at the billowing tarp of tents.

Several more arrows fly from your perch, hitting their targets with merciless precision.  You can see the sparks catching in all areas of the camp, from the lowest point at the muddy banks to the highest slope where you imagine the knight-captain sleeps, unaware of Fate’s enclosing jaws.

Once all the small fires are lit, the archer next to you, a slim elven man with dark hair and bright green eyes, gives you an encouraging nudge.  It’s your turn now.  At this moment, you are not a girl.  Instead, you are a match, an accelerant, the falling lamp that burns down the barn.  Fire seeking oil.  You target the cooking pit closest to your position, where two Templars sit, not yet aware of the inferno steadily building around them.  The magic comes to your call like a dog, heeding the weight of your hand, and letting it go is as easy as closing your eyes.

There are shouts, shrieks, curses.  Not just from the two men now writhing on the ground but from everywhere, up and down the slopes, inside the tents…

They come stumbling out in singles and pairs, these terrors that haunt your dreams.  They crawl through the dirt like rats, coughing, screaming as some part of their clothing ignites and heat eats away at their flesh.  You light more fires, watching them explode into existence one by one.  Sparks and chips of glowing hot wood pelt any Templars who get too close, and one explosion propels an iron pot directly into a man’s face as he tries to run by.

“We’re under attack!” One of them yells from somewhere you can’t see, but no sooner do you hear the words than a bolt of lightning descends from the sky, silencing them.  Beatrice has joined the fight.

It’s almost quick from there.  Some of the Templars realize where this assault is coming from and attempt to move on your position, only to be pushed back by your fireballs and cut down by metallic rain.  On the other side, they try to do the same with Beatrice, meeting an even swifter end.  Camila signals for the charge, and the screams of the burning are overpowered by the battle cry of the Inquisition.

You see Beatrice’s team abandon their position as Lilith and the others rush the knights below.  The stench of smoke, burning hair, and cooking meat floods your nose as you follow them, descending into the fray.  Camila’s squad maintains the high ground while your team and Beatrice’s trade their bows for axes, cleaving savagely into the nearest Templar they can find.

You focus your energy on casting barriers and controlling the flames so they don’t hinder your side.  To your left, Beatrice is battering an archer with her staff, knocking his bow aside and using the opening to push lightning into his chest with her hand.  He collapses dead on the grass, and she advances to the next without missing a beat.  To your right, Solas ducks deftly around a knight’s swing, using his staff to trip the man directly into a wall of flame.

In front of you, another knight prepares to stab Mary from behind.  You rush him, slipping between the two just in time to catch the blow with your own body.  It never lands.  Instead, a pulse of golden light explodes out from you, just like before, and sends the knight crashing into a burning crate some ten yards away.

“Thanks, kid!” Mary says.  “Now duck!” She shoves you down to one knee before launching a trio of crossbow bolts into a Templar charging your flank.  Then, she pulls you up and turns you so you’re back-to-back, a bulwark, a fiery stockade, never to be overtaken.

It’s not a fight without losses.  Although your plan was a success, you’re still facing Templars, and their superior numbers and training cannot be discounted.  On all sides of you, you see Inquisition soldiers dying.  Sometimes they take a Templar with them, dealing a fatal blow with their last gasp, and sometimes they never get the chance, torn apart before they can even lift their blade.  Camila’s squad is eventually pushed back and forced to scatter, but not before taking down a handful more knights while retreating.  They join you on the ground, trading arrows for daggers, and you cast a barrier over them to keep them safe, but the battle is reaching its most dangerous point.

You and Mary are forced to separate to avoid being hacked apart by a man with a longaxe as tall as you.  Mary tries to spin and counter, but his gauntleted fist collides with her face, knocking her to the ground.  You swing at his back with all your might, aiming the sickle end of your staff at his neck, but he knocks it away with a flick of his arm and grabs you by the throat.

You lose your grip on your staff, abandoning it to scrabble frantically at his icy-cold fingers.  You gasp soundlessly as you are lifted off the ground and held aloft, forced to stare through the man’s helmet into his cold, cruel eyes.  

“So,” he growls.  His voice is gravelly from the smoke, but his tone is mocking.  “A little pack of mages and their lackeys think they can defeat me and my boys?”  This is the knight-captain, you realize, as your windpipe is slowly crushed.  “Well, I’ll give you this, girl.  The fire was a nice touch, but playtime is over now.”  Phase, you need to phase out of his hold.  But he’s using all of his Templar power on you, suppressing your magic until you can’t even feel it.  If you can just reach your Friend, you know you can escape, but you’re starting to panic with every second your lungs beg for air.  “I’ll send your unnatural soul straight to the Void.  The Maker guides my hand!”  Unnatural soul.  Sir Francis had said the same thing while beaming with delight as she killed you.

The image of her ugly, smiling face is all it takes.  Your panic turns to anger, and your desperation becomes determination.  No matter what happens, you refuse to die to another Templar blade.

You draw your feet up to your chest and kick them into his breastplate, all while you visualize your neck slipping through his clenched fingers.  It works.  He stumbles back a step as you fall to the ground in a heap.  You immediately scramble to grab your staff and stand up, but he is already lifting his axe to liberate your head from your neck.  

He tenses his body to bring it down on you, but the trajectory of his swing abruptly changes, burying the axe head in the dirt several inches in front of you.  You realize why a second after it happens.  A chunky stone, just big enough to fit in your hand, lies on the ground, and the knight-captain is rubbing the side of his helmet.  Someone hit him square in the face with a rock, saving your life in the process.

“Enough!”  You know that voice.  While the knight-captain is distracted, you get to your feet and put distance between you, all while your gaze searches wildly for the exclamation’s source.  You find it, find her, standing tall amidst the inferno some yards away, her armor covered in ash, her sword dripping red, her black hair shining in the firelight.  Lilith.

The knight-captain recovers himself, turning to face his new challenger, and he snarls upon seeing the crest of the Seekers on her chest.  “So the betrayal is complete,” he spits.  “For all his talk of justice and glory, the Lord Seeker is truly just a drooling Chantry dog!”

“Spare me your petty insults,” Lilith snaps.  “You are the traitors here.  And now you’ll pay the price.”

“You should be on our side, Seeker!” He shouts, pointing the ax-head at her.  “We are the champions of the Just!  Why will you not stand with us?”

“I stand where I have always stood, in the Maker’s guidance.”  Your mind is cast back to the war table in Haven, where Mother Superion said those same words to Duretti.  “I stand with the Seekers, and with the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition?” He sneers.  “Then you are doubly a traitor, and will be dealt with accordingly!”  He grabs his longaxe with both hands, lets out a thunderous roar, and charges at Lilith, who simply takes her stance and readies her shield.

It’s breathtaking, in a way, the scene that plays out before you.  You compared Lilith to a bull when she fought demons at the Breach, and that’s still true, but now you witness her true ferocity unleashed.  Not a bull, but a wildcat.  Not a woman, but a weapon.  She moves around the knight-captain’s first strike, letting it glance harmlessly off her shield, and retaliates by slamming her pommel into his side, forcing him off balance.  He knocks her blade aside when she tries to stab him through the gap in his chainmail, but she only rolls with the force, using the momentum to drive the edge of her shield into his jaw.  He stumbles back, clutching at his mouth, barely able to avoid a second hit by ducking, dragging his axe along the ground and spitting out blood and teeth.  Lilith is relentless.  She chases him, stomping down on the axe’s shaft before he can lift it again and smacking him across the head with the flat of her sword, knocking his helmet loose.  He is forced to abandon the weapon to catch her next swing with his hands, and she slams her shield into his chest to push him away, hitting him over and over until the pristine emblem of the Templars warps and dents under the merciless blows.

The battle continues to rage around you, but you can’t pay attention to it.  Nothing seems capable of disturbing this moment.  The knight-captain cannot withstand Lilith’s onslaught, the hurricane that she’s become.  He falls backward, coughing and spluttering.  She must have broken his ribs.  He holds up his hands, gasping and pleading.  “Please, Seeker,” he begs.  “Do not do this!  We fight in the Maker’s name!  He would not want this!”

Lilith is unappeased.  “When you greet Him, feel free to make your case.  I don’t need to argue for mine.”  She plants one booted foot on his chest, smearing blood, mud, and soot across the battered insignia, and buries her sword in his neck.

From there the battle ends in an unceremonious fashion.  The remaining Templars are wiped out by your friends as Lilith withdraws her bloodied sword and kicks the knight-captain’s body to the side.  She spares you a single glance before walking away, dropping her weapons to help one of your injured archers to their feet.  You are left to stare at the man’s body, at the fatal puncture that still spurts with the last of his lifeblood, until Beatrice calls your name, and you turn away.

You don’t return to camp until after sunrise.  There are wounds to bandage, bodies to count, and lingering fires to put out.  Mary is bruised but alright.  Solas uses his magic to freeze a wet rag for her to hold against her eye.  His robes are dirty and torn, but he is unharmed.  Camila took a shallow slash across her stomach and forearm.  She winces as Beatrice cleans them with elfroot salve and a bottle of Dragon Piss that somehow survived the fight.  Like Solas, Beatrice is uninjured, although you can’t help but scan her body repeatedly for any sign of harm or discomfort.  You frequently catch her glancing over at you with the same concern, but the bruising on your neck has already faded away, and you feel fine, if exhausted.

Of the 14 soldiers who fought with you, 9 are dead, and there is no practical way you can carry them all back to the Crossroads for proper burial.  They will have to stay here, carefully separated from the dead Templars, until a larger force is able to pick them up.  Lilith has already ordered one of the surviving archers to place an Inquisition banner outside the entrance as a landmark.  Scout Harding can bring a team with shovels and a wagon once you send word of your success.  It will have to do.

You hike back to your lakeside camp at a limping pace, and it takes all of your willpower not to immediately collapse inside your tent and sleep until noon the next day.  Only when Beatrice gently undoes the buckles on your armor (after watching you fail at it for nearly three minutes) and pushes you toward your bed do you finally give in, falling unconscious before your head even hits the mat.