Chapter Text
“At once, she said!”
Evelyn watched as the elf ran out of the house to warn Cassandra that she had awakened, leaving the crate she’d been carrying leaking in the middle of the rug.
She was not facing imminent execution. That was good.
But what had the girl called her? Herald of Andraste? Evelyn snorted. If there was ever a more ridiculous notion, she was not aware of it. She was not a herald, of Andraste or anyone else. The thought was preposterous, if not heretical.
Evelyn fell back on the bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She might be awake, but she was not ready to face the world. Not yet.
She had not slept well. Nightmares of pride demons, shades, and whips made of crackling lightning kept her thrashing. Demons! She had fought demons. It had been worse than anything she had ever imagined. She’d merely run around, desperate for escape, but there was none to be had. She shot arrow after arrow, because there was nothing else she could do. She had faded and dodged and shot at anything that tried to kill her. She tried to listen to Cassandra’s screamed orders while attempting to avoid the elven apostate’s spells. She had never fought with a mage before. It was terrifying. She remembered waving her mark at the breach several times. Her chest burned, her heart pounded in her ears and she felt blood drip down her body. She gasped at the memory.
Evelyn threw back the covers and tore at her clothing to look down at herself. Nothing. Not a mark. She had been hurt. Shades had sliced their talons through her armour. The first time it happened she screamed. She fell over as the unimaginable cold coursed through her skin. She dropped her bow and it clattered away on the stone. The shade let out its shrill shriek and dove at her, ready to make the kill. She knew as it bore down at her that this was the end. She froze. She simply froze and watched death descend.
Then Varric was there and the shriek fell as a bolt hit it square in its maw. It hit her legs as it crumpled, and she scrambled backward. Varric winked at her and promptly went back into the fray. She thanked the Maker quietly and faded to retrieve her bow before having another try at sealing the breach.
Evelyn shuddered. That had been close. If Varric had not been there. . . She swallowed hard and sat up in bed. She swung her legs over the edge and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.
This was not her first brush with death - the time she got her scar. She traced the gash across her cheekbone with a finger. A boar hunt. Her horse had reared and she had fallen; the boar charged her. She rolled, but not before a tusk scraped across her face. The wound became infected, and it took days of a high fever to fight it off. Mother had been a mess. It had taken months to persuade her to let her hunt again.
But this, this was worse. A hunt was familiar. Enjoyable. Sure, there was risk, but that was half the fun. The baying of the dogs, the trumpets and pageantry, and the brandy around the campfire. This was not familiar. Maker’s Balls, this should be familiar to no one! Demons. Flaming, snarling, and shrieking demons. In real life. In her life. This was madness.
She would have to write home. They would want to know she was alive. She would have to tell them about Emmerson. That poor sod. She clenched her jaw and swallowed hard. While she would never have chosen Emmerson as her future husband, and indeed, he would never have chosen her, she would have been happy with him. They would have made it work. There were not a lot of men clambering for her attention. Not after her short lived stint in the cloisters of the Chantry. Her father made it clear he would not keep her into her dotage. He did everything he could to help her, but he held her accountable for her actions.
Emmerson did not deserve that death. She had seen the charred remains of the conclave at the temple. Some of them still burned, on their knees beseeching the sky. The smell had clung and stung her nostrils, hindering every breath. She closed her eyes. She missed him. She needed his quick wit and ability to keep her centered. Pressure built behind her eyes. With a start, she pushed him out of her mind. She did not have the luxury to grieve. Not yet.
Evelyn slapped her knees. Cassandra was waiting. The chantry, then.
She dressed in armor she found in a chest by the fire. It fit well enough. Some adjustments could be made, particularly in the shoulders, but it would suit her well enough for the time being. There was a turquoise and red strappy thing, but she could not figure out how it was supposed to work, so she left it. It was a shame, really. She liked the colours. She ran her fingers through the blonde mess on her head and turned toward the door.
Right then. Time to go.
She did not move. She dreaded what was on the other side of that door. Her last shameful walk through Haven had been enough for her. She never wanted to have to experience that again. She stared at the door.
One foot in front of the other. That’s all it takes.
She inhaled slowly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. It took three steps to cross the room and have the door handle in her hand. She pushed.
Two rows of soldiers greeted her, lining the road from her hut to the chantry. She took a step back. It took her a moment to realize they were saluting her, hand over heart.
This was unexpected.
They had been calling for her head not too long ago. Evelyn licked her lips, stepped out of whoever’s small house she had stolen and closed the door behind her. She thought about nodding to the soldiers, but decided to ignore them. Maybe they’d forget about her if she did. If only. The corner of her mouth quirked upward.
“That’s her! She stopped the breach from getting bigger!” people whispered as she went by.
“I thought she was supposed to close the breach.”
“The Herald of Andraste.”
Evelyn swallowed. She marvelled at how they could be talking about her. This really could not go on. She had to speak to Cassandra about this herald thing. This had to stop. Her? The would-be cleric who could not keep her robes down? This was a joke.
Clerics huddled around the chantry doors, all watching her.
“The Chancellor said that the Chantry didn’t want anything to do with us.”
Her breath caught in her throat when she heard that from one of the younger sisters to her left. Maker. This was nonsense. People could not, should not, would not become cast out of the Chantry because of some misguided – whatever this was.
“Go in peace, Herald of Andraste,” a sister next to her whispered. Evelyn looked up at that and met the woman’s gaze. The sister smiled and squeezed Evelyn’s arm. Evelyn smiled back.
Reassured, she entered the chantry.
She knew exactly where Cassandra was. She could hear the woman arguing with the ever so delightful Chancellor Roderick. His voice grated at her. It had taken every bit of self-control she had not to deck him up at the forward camp.
“So none of you are actually in charge here?” she’d said instead of punching the toad.
“You killed everyone in charge!” he cried in return.
“Killed everyone?” she wanted to shout back. “Why would I want to kill everyone? My betrothed – my friend was there!” She had not. She choked it back.
She pushed open the door and stood in the threshold as Roderick yelled for her to be put in chains. She listened in distaste as he and Cassandra kept at it. Roderick began spouting about duty.
“My duty,” Cassandra spat out the word, “is to serve the principles the Chantry was founded on. So is yours.”
Evelyn bit back a cheer. Good for Cassandra. Of course, the chancellor hated that. Evelyn leaned against the door frame as the two went on. Leliana made a face.
“Providence.”
Evelyn jumped when Cassandra slammed that word down. No. No. No.
“The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”
“Five minutes ago you wanted to kill me, and now I’m your saviour?” Evelyn snorted. She raised her hands and shook her head.
And then Cassandra dropped a large book on the table with a loud thunk.
“Do you know what this is, Chancellor?”
Evelyn stared down at it. Whatever it was, it did not look good. She swallowed. What had she stumbled into? How had she ended up in the middle of nowhere with the right and left hands of the Divine, a glowing thing on her hand, and people calling her the Herald of Andraste?
“A writ from the Divine Justinia granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”
Evelyn barely noticed the fuming Roderick leave, her eyes were intent on the book on the table. When the door slammed behind the cleric Evelyn ripped her gaze from the tome and looked at Cassandra. Had the woman gone mad?
“You’re trying to start a holy war,” she said. She stared at the book.
“We’re already at war,” was the Right Hand’s terse reply.
Evelyn shook her head and laughed in disbelief. This was ridiculous. “When I woke up, I certainly didn’t expect this outcome.”