"No one is doing anything. The Chantry is useless, and the templars... Andraste bless us, I never thought they would abandon us."
Elentari ran toward the voice. NO! She had not abandoned them. The Inquisition was going to mend the hole in the sky... it only needed time.
Helplessness burned inside her. Every muscle seared with the effort she poured into the sprint, but someone was crying out for certainty and she was the only one who could give it, because she carried the green palm, the only real power that existed to close rifts.
Thunderous, uncontrollable screams tore through the Void. The sound cut through her like a blade and made her shudder. A chill of terror tried to buckle her will. She thought of the fragility of the Veil and the idea was overwhelming. To understand that, at any moment, that structure could be torn to shreds and allow demons and horrors to flood the world... drove her mad.
Would that be her legacy? Would they remember her for having failed?
Elentari had never been what others expected of her. She had never met expectations. Always, always, she failed.
- Where are you? - she shouted into the darkness. - Tell me where you are and I will come! I am the Herald of Andraste! I have come to close the Breach and put an end to this madness. I have come to help... I will not give up.
But then a fear strong enough to split swords broke her heart. Elentari stopped short, as if someone had torn the breath from her chest. The darkness turned suddenly into storm clouds, violent tatters that danced with fury, pierced by gusts of wind strong enough to lift her up to the very skies.
And the downpour began.
A curtain of water fell over her with unleashed fury. Where, an instant before, she had been running, now there was only the storm—deafening, crushing. Thunder was the only thing she could hear.
She raised her palms to the sky and conjured a shield to protect herself, but when she tried to look around, she was caught by a sea of greenish currents that wrapped around her... and swallowed her. Submerged in that ocean of emerald waters, she felt shame. Somewhere in a remote corner of her mind she understood that divinity must not be profaned by any worldly gaze and, by instinct, she closed her eyes.
She was going to profane the gods.
The sea then vanished, hazy in her memory, and through her skin and into the valley of dreams, Elentari had a vision of all worlds, waking and sleeping, spirit and mortals appearing to her.
"Behold My work," said the Voice of Creation. "See what My children in arrogance have wrought." There she saw the Black City, with all its towers stained, doors once golden now closed forever. The sky full of silence...
Elentari gave a scream and opened her eyes inside her room.
Choking and covered in cold sweat, she forced herself upright and brought a hand to her chest. She looked around. Nothing. Just a dream. Another of those strange dreams that had assaulted her since the Mark had decided to reside in her palm.
The lingering sensation that ran through her body after those nights of prophetic knowing left her with an uneasy knot in her stomach. She already knew there was nothing she could do when that emerald sea swallowed her; only survive the omen.
She got up and walked to the small window. She opened it with hands still trembling, trying to pretend her legs were not threatening to give out under the weight of terror: the fear of ruining everything, of not being able to help anyone, of failing spectacularly. But she had already learned to pretend she could do it. She had already repeated to herself a thousand times that, if she said it out loud, maybe... maybe in the end she would be able to do it.
The landscape that greeted her was an expanse of white snow. Another freezing morning in the village of Haven.
There was no point in going around in circles. They were only dreams... no matter how much Deshanna had taught her to distrust that word.
Inside the Chantry she found Mother Giselle waiting for her with serenity. She could not avoid her presence, so she greeted her and they held a cordial conversation that seemed to serve as balm for the holy woman, upon confirming that the Herald did not feel insulted by the debate of the previous day.
The morning passed within what Elentari was beginning to understand as her new normal.
She made a mental note that she had to get more healing salves; she even told herself that perhaps she could prepare them herself, given her broad knowledge of herbalism. She also remembered that she had to speak to Threnn about supplies; the quartermaster had asked her to seek resources to increase them. And then there was Harritt, the blacksmith. She had to ask him to hasten the making of armor for the recruits who kept arriving.
What Elentari truly wanted was not to think.
To feel the slight anesthesia that responsibilities gave her.
She kept walking. She went to look for the apothecary.
The night before she had sought Solas's guidance, and he had been clear and forceful: he warned her that she was immersed in something enormous and that her own figure was becoming the living narrative the shemlen wished to tell. She was the envoy from the skies... but, in her dreams, the Maker seemed intent on drowning her.
Absorbed in those thoughts, she did not see where she was walking. Without realizing it, she ran into someone; she collided full-on with a metal bar, lost her balance, and the few centimeters of snow did not help when she staggered back, startled by the metallic wall she had just struck.
When she lifted her gaze, she saw the commander of the Inquisition extending his hands to steady her. She felt like a clumsy child being caught by him and, perhaps because of the bad start to the morning, she grew annoyed with herself for not paying attention to the path.
- Herald. - she heard him murmur, as he waited for her to steady herself in his arms before letting her go.
Elentari felt heat flood her cheeks and lowered her eyes. The last thing she needed was to blush in front of the commander.
- Oh, Cullen. I'm sorry... - she smiled apologetically and avoided his eyes.
- Don't worry, it's nothing. - he replied.
The commander of the Inquisition and she had spent very little time together. Elentari did not quite know how to feel in front of a templar. Well... former templar.
In her clan, her mother had always warned her about them. They were said to be brutal and, above all, to hate mages—especially those who had not learned to control their gift inside a Circle. Perhaps that was why he intimidated her so much. She did not know whether Cullen wanted to see her locked away in a tower or whether he mistrusted her intentions.
She was sure of her intentions, not of her capabilities. But she was good at pretending otherwise.
- Herald, I would like to tell you a couple of things, if you have time to talk.
Oh, no. She did not want to talk to him.
- Of course.
- Will you come with me to the outskirts of the village, to the training grounds for our recruits?
Oh, no. He wanted to murder her.
Elentari clenched her teeth. She told herself Cullen would not harm her; he needed her. Besides, he had already shown warmth on more than one occasion, and whenever he spoke to her he did so in a friendly tone, looking her straight in the eyes—and in that reflection, she did not see malice.
But that did not mean he had stopped being a templar deep in his heart, or that he did not still want to keep killing mages.
- Of course. - she whispered.
The commander turned and began to lead the way toward the outskirts of the village.
In the movements of shemlen there was resolve, authority, and confidence. Elentari watched him as he walked ahead of her. His movements were firm, but in that determination there was serenity. Cullen was strange, that much was certain.
- Earlier today... - he began, from ahead - Josephine mentioned something about a bann who is "inviting" the villagers to take refuge with the Inquisition.
- Don't we want more recruits? - she asked, and just as she finished saying it, she realized the commander had said "refugees," not recruits. They were not people with military potential, but people the Inquisition had to protect. - Oh... - Elentari let out, and he turned to look at her. - That is dangerous... I mean, if they're only refugees. - she paused. - I feel like we're not in a position to protect so many people, are we, Commander?
Cullen nodded.
- Exactly that, Herald. I'm trying to assemble a military faction, not a pilgrimage of the faithful.
Well then, the former templar complaining about believers. She hadn't expected that.
- Well, but we already have them here, don't we? - he nodded. - Right... so, what will we do to give them proper protection?
- I'm working on it... - he replied. - I've asked our blacksmith to speed up the pace in making weapons and armor. But Harritt is... difficult to flatter.
- You? Flattering? - she laughed. In her mind, Elentari had formed the image of a commander who drew his sword and threatened to take heads to make people follow his orders. Only now did she realize that, if he did that, he would be a tyrant. He did not seem like that kind of person.
- Yes, I know, I'm terrible at it. - Cullen joked lightly.
And then an idea occurred to her, and she turned it into words before considering whether it would be total nonsense.
- Hey, Cullen—do you think it would be absurd to ask the kings of Ferelden to request participation from their bannorns with the Inquisition to facilitate the protection of the refugees? Since that bann sends us refugees, we might well ask the monarchs for troops to ensure a protection they should be providing for their own people, in any case.
- It's more complicated than that, Herald. The bannorns' troops are to defend the arlings... and ultimately the kings.
- Yes, but then let them provide supplies... - she complained as she kept pace with the blond shemlen's long strides, given the commander's height. - Let them cooperate with us!
- I will speak with Josephine about this matter to see if there's anything we can achieve. Surely the kings will understand that we're right in the claim.
- And tell Leliana to take care of that woman... the bann you mentioned. Have her make it clear she can't keep "inviting" everyone here. I'm worried I won't be able to protect them. The Inquisition isn't that big an organization... what if some disaster happens... We need soldiers, not refugees.
- I don't think we can control that, Herald.
- You can call me Elentari... - she corrected, tired of hearing him say "Herald."
- All right, Elentari... - the commander yielded.
At last, Cullen stopped, and she took her attention off him. Then she immediately witnessed the hard work the commander had been carrying out all this time.
In front of her, she glimpsed all the recruits. There was a select group of soldiers who seemed to have specific orders regarding training, because they had the newly enlisted divided into groups and sectors, coming and going.
The recruits had boots full of dust and gripped their weapons tightly, as if it were the only thing that could console them.
Quickly, she understood that in these people there was far more than just a conviction to do what was right. Probably each and every one of them was there because they had lost everything and because they wanted to change things. They did not train out of obligation; they did it with determination. And that made the hairs on her arms rise. What if some of them were the parents of the child she had left with Corporal Vale? What if some of these were peasants who had fled the chaos of the conflict between mages and templars? What if they no longer had a home to claim or fields to till? What if fire and swords had taken everything from them except their lives and their will to fight for tomorrow?
Elentari turned to the commander and noticed how the blond shem watched his soldiers with arms crossed. There was pride in his gaze, and respect. That forced her to make a face. Could she truly feel safe in Cullen's experience?
- Their armor is terrible... - she whispered. He smiled and looked at her, amused by the unexpected comment. But realistic.
- That's why I was hurrying the blacksmith. - now it was Elentari's turn to smile. She sighed and looked back at the soldiers. The armor was terrible... very similar to what she had once seen among small-time mercenaries... and these days, among deserters. Desperation was everywhere. She wanted to give them something better...
- The Inquisition must have better armor, Cullen. We must protect them...
They are giving us their lives at our disposal... that is more than we should be able to ask...
- The quartermaster is handling it. It's a priority, Elentari. Just give me time. You'll have what you're asking for.
- If I see any place rich in minerals during my patrols, I'll let you know.
- Not me—the quartermaster. - she nodded and also crossed her arms, contemplating the soldiers.
He fell silent for a moment, but then she heard him add:
- You know? I joined the Inquisition at Cassandra's request in Kirkwall, during the mage uprising... - she gave him an attentive look. The commander continued. - Leliana and I saw firsthand the devastation it caused, and Her Most Holy, Divine Justinia, had a contingency plan if everything went wrong...
- Restore the Inquisition... - she whispered beside him.
- That's right. - Cullen said. - I truly believe the Inquisition could act where the Chantry proves incapable. Our followers would be part of it, Elentari. There is so much we can do... - his voice sounded charged with a hopeful feeling.
The commander truly believed in the cause.
- I didn't know that since the events of Kirkwall the possibility of restoring the Inquisition was already implied.
The events of the mage uprising in the coastal city had happened a few years earlier—if she was not mistaken, she thought four or five... Had Divine Justinia already been drawing up plans for an Inquisition back then? Why?
- In truth, I understand the Inquisition was always a contingency plan, Herald. - he corrected himself quickly. - Elentari. - he made an apologetic gesture; she smiled at him. Cullen resumed the dialogue. - Her Holiness wanted to reach fair agreements between the opposing factions of mages and templars, rather than restore it.
- Yet she can't have been too sure of that possibility if she was already drawing up that plan... a contingency... with Cassandra and Leliana, can she? And with so much time in advance.
- Indeed.
- Besides... I understand the Chantry's history seems to show quite the opposite. - she pressed; Cullen looked uncomfortable at her side. He fell silent for a time, but then asked a question with an obvious answer.
- You... you don't believe yourself to be Andraste's messenger, do you?
No.
Elentari remained silent for a few seconds.
She thought about what answer was appropriate. Cullen was a man of faith; she could tell, and she did not want to disrespect him.
- Well... you know I believe in my elven gods... - the commander nodded beside her. - However, my beliefs don't rule out the existence of other gods. I can accept the idea that the Maker exists and that won't change anything I believe. But as for me being Andraste's messenger... well, I don't know. - then Elentari faced him. - Cullen, if I were, what message have I received? Andraste has never come to tell me what to do or what not to do.
And in her dreams the Maker wanted to kill her.
- Perhaps... when you survived the explosion, it was under Her protection.
- Perhaps... I suppose we won't know that. But we do know she doesn't speak to me... To be a "herald" I should receive messages, shouldn't I? - the blond man gave a weary little laugh beside her. It was completely logical, what she was saying. - However... Yes, I can understand the need others have to believe that I am the Herald of Andraste. To believe in the narrative the Inquisition is formulating...
... and just as she was saying that, the commander of the Inquisition lifted his gaze and faced her with force.
- The Inquisition does not impose false ideas upon its believers.
- No, but you do nothing to silence them.
- How would we? We can't be everywhere you're being proclaimed.
- You could simply say that I am not the Herald of the prophet.
- You yourself just stated that we are not able to know whether the fact that you survived the explosion at the Conclave with that mark on your palm was not, indeed, an act of divine protection. As long as we cannot know... I believe we are not in a position to deny it, either...
Touché. The commander had found a point of view difficult to defeat... and a fissure that made it easier to manipulate the masses through an intersubjective reality...
Elentari smiled at him as she understood he was a man who needed to believe, and from what she was seeing... he believed in her. And in the Inquisition.
Now, it only continued to be necessary to spread everywhere the idea that she was Andraste's herald and, in that way, build the narrative required to obtain the benefits of faith...
Elentari's stomach churned when, at last, everything she had debated the day before settled into her understanding.