Threat Assessment
In the morning Brenna enjoyed a good full-body mabari stretch before shifting back to her natural form. She and Ser Aveline Sharptooth had guarded the new family, sleeping between the door and their charges. The lovebirds were awake, sharing a bit of breakfast in bed while their baby boy slept—the poor servant who delivered the food had nearly fainted with fright when she opened the door and encountered two grumpy mabari war hounds.
Brenna looked over mother and child before pronouncing them well. “I’m going to get the lay of the land. We’ll need to get you up and walking when I get back. The sooner you regain your strength, the sooner we can leave.”
“Are we truly safe here?” Neran asked.
“Yes, but it’s best we get you settled in your new home as soon as possible.” She squeezed his shoulder and then turned to Ser Aveline. “Up for some scouting?”
The mabari’s stubby tail wagged in approval, and the hound trailed her as they entered the chantry proper. The door to the room across from them was open and the woman seated behind the desk inside looked up as though she had been waiting for Brenna to emerge. She approached Brenna with a polite smile.
“Lady Amell, I am Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador for the Inquisition.”
Brenna’s eyes slid shut for a moment as she basked in the warmth of the ambassador’s accent. “Mmm, I do have a weakness for beautiful Antivans.” She bowed over Josephine’s offered hand and brushed a chaste kiss across her knuckles. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Montilyet.”
“And you, as well.” The ambassador blushed, a slight flush upon her bronze skin. “When you have time, I would welcome your insight into communicating with King Alistair and Queen Anora. Our correspondence thus far has been...strained.”
“Ah. That’s because Leliana has authored the Inquisitions’ letters.” Among other reasons, but Leliana had been a specific point of contention. “I understand the desire to invoke an old friendship, but there’s a bit of history between Leliana and Alistair that the queen does not appreciate. Matters will greatly improve if you author the correspondence instead.”
“I see.” Josephine blushed again. “Thank you, Lady Amell.”
“Please, call me Brenna.”
“Then you must call me Josephine.” She adjusted her tablet—it was a curious device that Brenna thought could be useful at the Fereldan court but worried that its candle would set the drapery aflame, or inquisitive mabari whiskers. “Would you like a tour of Haven?”
“Thank you, but I don’t wish to take up more of your time. I have been here before, though the village has been much transformed. The lack of dragon cultists is a definite improvement.”
Josephine smiled. “Of course. Please let me know if you require anything.”
“I require little, but any aid you can give the new parents is greatly appreciated. They’ve traveled a hard road.”
“Of course.”
Brenna stepped outside and was immediately reminded of how much she hated the Frostbacks as a gust of icy wind blasted her. Ser Aveline shivered and grumbled canine disapproval.
“Cole?” Brenna asked.
“Many people here know of you,” Cole said. Brenna turned and spotted him seated atop a barrel with his legs folded. “They say you helped, until you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t help as the Hero of Ferelden after Kirkwall, so I helped in other ways, with other faces.” She approached him and tried to gauge his expression beneath his wide-brimmed hat and behind his fringe of straw-colored bangs. “Are you faring well?”
“Yes. There are many here who hurt.”
“And that’s...good?”
“I help the hurt.”
Brenna nodded. She was still learning Cole’s quirks—he was very different from Justice. “How are our templars?”
“Disordered. Their roles are ruined, rings of rusted keys and none fit the lock.”
“Well I suppose we should go check on them.” She walked away and Cole vanished from sight, but she was fairly certain that he remained nearby.
Snow crunched beneath her boots as she walked Haven’s paths. She remembered more trees—the village had been surrounded by a dense forest that had been the cultists’ first line of defense in hiding from the outside world. The Chantry had probably cleared the trees for firewood when they occupied the village.
She surveyed her surroundings and gauged the Inquisition’s strength—she would fly over the area later to get a better idea of their numbers, but for now she noted patrols, buildings, defenses, and so on. She was grudgingly impressed by how quickly the Inquisition was growing despite their humble home—Haven was a village, not a fortress.
The outer gates were open and she stood in the archway and studied the troops, calculating their numbers and gauging the overall skill of the soldiers as they trained. The shouts of combat and the ring of clashing steel were familiar—almost like the sounds of home, but without the addition of spells zinging through the air.
Brenna closed her eyes for a moment and listened to conversations carried on the wind.
Mother Giselle needs more bandages for the wounded… You, there! You have a shield, use it… Where’s my hammer? No, not that one… Mmm, I forgot she’s a redhead... Don’t even think about it, Chief... Already am, Krem.
Past the encampment the frozen lake stretched toward the horizon, and Brenna thought of the strange boy they had met there when they first arrived in Haven. His singsong rhyme had haunted her dreams for days when they hurried back to Redcliffe to cure Arl Eamon.
Come, come, bonny Lynne; tell us, tell us where you've been.
Were you up, were you down,
Chasing rabbits ’round the town?
It felt like a lifetime ago—the mad dash to build an army as they rushed from one crisis to the next. Now it seemed like a dream, or a nightmare, depending on the particular memory. A tale starring a different Brenna.
She shivered and squared her shoulders. “Which way, Cole?”
“Here.”
She followed him around the edge of the training grounds and to an area where the tents looked recently raised.
“Ser Barris,” she greeted. “How are the men faring?”
“As well as can be expected.” He grimaced—his face was lined with exhaustion. No one had slept well during the march from Therinfal. “They’re worried about the fate of the rest of the Order. We hoped to find some of them here, but there are only a few.”
She turned and glanced at Cullen—he studiously avoided looking in her direction. “You’re in good hands. I trust Commander Cullen.”
Barris nodded. “I had hoped to join the Inquisition in sealing the Breach, but not like this.”
“I know.” They both frowned at the eerie glowing wound in the sky. It looked worrisome from the safety of the other side of Ferelden, but it was much more terrifying this close.
“How are Ellisia and Neran?” he asked.
“Exhausted, but well. They have a healthy baby boy.”
“I suppose they won’t be naming him after you, then.” Ser Barris smiled, and she laughed.
“Perhaps not. Delrin is a nice name.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I appreciate the thought.”
“I’ll leave you to your duties. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Of course, Lady Amell.”
She greeted a few more of her pups and then turned back toward the village. The small stable only held a few horses—she had heard that Horsemaster Dennet agreed to provide the Inquisition with mounts. Perhaps he was waiting for them to build proper facilities before sending his horses.
Brenna was watching the activity in the forge when a man hesitantly approached her.
“Warden Commander?”
She turned to the speaker—he had a soldier’s build and wore the padding for heavy armor but not the plate. Sensible. An attack on Haven wasn’t imminent, and she wouldn’t want to clank around in full plate armor if it wasn’t necessary. The man’s thick beard and mustache rivaled even Ser Thrask’s well-manicured facial hair.
“I’m Warden-Constable Blackwall.”
Her brow rose and then she grinned. “Blackwall? Maker’s breath! It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. You were one of my best recruiters.” Constable Blackwall had sent her several excellent recruits, and thankfully most of them survived the Joining. She tried to coax Blackwall into visiting Vigil’s Keep so she could meet him in person, but the timing never worked out.
Brenna extended her hand to shake his. “Are you recruiting for the Inquisition now?”
“In a manner of speaking. Do you know anything about wardens disappearing?”
“Disappearing?” Maker’s breath. Warden matters might not be her concern anymore, but she tried to check in with Stroud from time to time. She hadn’t heard from him in months. “No, though I’m not in contact with Weisshaupt. They stripped me of my command when they declared me a deserter.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I didn’t want the wardens to be blamed for my actions at the Gallows. That responsibility was all mine. Plus, my blood no longer carries the blight, so I’m no longer a grey warden.”
His eyes widened. “How is that possible?”
“Magic. Not mine. It’s a long story.”
Blackwall nodded slowly. “That explains why…”
“Why you couldn’t sense me?” she explained, and he nodded again. “Alistair hates it because now I can sneak up on him. The king’s guard has nearly shot me on more than one occasion.”
“King Alistair?” His eyes widened and he chuckled. “Are you joining the Inquisition?”
“I need to discuss that with their majesties first since I’m oath-bound to them. If you’ll excuse me, I want to check in on the wounded from Therinfal.”
“Of course, Comm—” Blackwall frowned, unsure of her proper title.
“You may call me Brenna. I feel as though we already know each other. I’d like to talk more later, if you have time.”
He nodded, and she thought he might have even blushed, though it was hard to tell with his beard concealing his face. Must be a Marcher—Orlesians were obsessed with their masks and Marchers were vain about their hair. Fereldans were concerned with more practical matters like hounds and horses.
Cole led her to the infirmary, and Brenna promptly found herself aiding not only her templar pups but the Inquisition’s wounded as well. Several chantry sisters tended the wounded, and though Brenna was impressed by their skill, bandages couldn’t compare to healing spells. She fell into a rhythm with Cole—he would point out a patient in need of help, and she would puzzle out the spirit’s diagnosis to deliver the cure.
It was past noon by the time she emerged from the infirmary, and her growling stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since...yesterday?
“You should meet Solas,” Cole announced.
“Is Solas a cook? Because I’m starving.”
“Solas is a mage. He likes spirits.”
Brenna paused—she had seen a few mages here and there, still dressed in their Circle robes as though it never occurred to them to attempt to blend in. It probably hadn’t—the Circle was designed to keep mages dependent on the chantry.
“He spoke to you?” she asked Cole.
“Yes. Most people forget that they saw me, or they don’t notice me. I spoke to Solas. He’s nice.”
“All right, lead on.”
The fact that this Solas had spoken to Cole and hadn’t tried to bind him was a point in the mage’s favor. Brenna worried for the spirit’s safety, but her brow furrowed at her first sight of Solas—the last bald elven mage she had met was Zathrian, the Dalish keeper who had cursed the werewolves in the Brecilian forest due to his bitter, unending need for vengeance. The memory did not invoke warm feelings. But Solas lacked vallaslin, so perhaps he was a city elf.
“This is Brenna, except when she isn’t,” Cole said. “She likes spirits, too.”
“You must be Solas.”
“I am, and you are the Hero of Ferelden.” His accent sounded Dalish, though not as thick as Merrill’s. Brenna often had to tell Merrill to speak slowly, especially if the mage was excited.
“Except when I’m not,” she replied dryly. “You’re with the Inquisition?”
“I am.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “I’ve never heard of a circle mage who knew anything of spirits. Most would call Cole a demon, yet as I understand it you stood with Cole against Envy.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “I’ve led an interesting life.”
“Once you understand the field and the players, the right strategy can solve any problem.” Cole recited her father’s words, and she nodded as she finished the advice.
“All you have to do is find it.” Brenna smiled at Cole, but then she cocked an eyebrow at Solas. “Will Cole be safe here? I worry that some idiot enchanter will try to bind him.”
“Not that the templars will attack him?” Solas asked.
“I like the templars.” Cole scuffed the toe of his boot in the frozen dirt. “The ones who have purpose, not the ones who draw pleasure from causing mages pain.”
“I know, dear.” Brenna resisted the urge to reach out and pat his shoulder—aside from combat, she had yet to see Cole touch anyone, and she suspected that he might not find comfort in the gesture. “He’s been traveling with them for some time without problem. I’m more concerned about Fiona’s mages. They can be...problematic.”
“Hmm. Agreed.” Solas folded his hands. “I will look out for Cole. Perhaps we could discuss the matter more before you leave.”
“I'd like that, thank you.”
“You should bring her lunch,” Cole said. “She’s hungry, too.”
Her brow furrowed at the non sequitur—ah, Leliana. “Good plan. Thank you, Cole. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me.”
She located the kitchens and procured a meaty soup bone for her mabari, two bowls of stew and a small boule of bread.
Brenna entered Leliana’s tent and handed her a bowl. “Hello, beautiful. I thought you might be hungry.”
“Thank you. It’s not Fereldan turnip stew, is it?” Leliana teased. Alistair had nearly poisoned the entire party by insisting on preparing the Fereldan dish.
“I would never do that to you.”
Leliana nodded toward a long, low wooden crate and they sat side by side. Brenna tore the bread in two and offered her half, and they ate in companionable quiet as Ser Aveline Sharptooth gnawed on her bone. For a moment it felt as though they were back at camp during the Blight—all it needed was for Alistair and Morrigan to bicker while Sten looked on in bewilderment and Wynne tutted her disapproval.
“I’m sorry about Justinia,” Brenna said gently. “I know she meant a lot to you, and you haven’t had time to properly mourn her.”
Leliana nodded, her expression pained. “Thank you. Have you heard anything about who might have killed her?”
“No. Nothing solid, just the standard rumors. The templars blame the mages, and the mages blame the templars. I don’t think either side has anywhere near the power to rip a whole in the world. This is something new. It could be this Elder One the Envy demon spoke of.”
“Perhaps. My agents will investigate it. You’ve been working with the crown all this time?”
“You know I can’t answer that. I currently serve at the privilege of their majesties, and they sent me to Therinfal Redoubt.”
“Can you give us a full report on what happened there?”
“Yes. I hope you’ll be able to learn more about what happened to the rest of the Order.” Her voice lowered as she pictured the red lyrium corrupted creatures—no sense in their eyes, only a mad, viscous hunger. “It’s bad. I haven’t seen violence like that since the Blight, and I’ve never seen anything like these red templars. If the bulk of the Order has been corrupted…”
“Let’s hope that isn’t the case. Will you join the Inquisition?” Leliana asked. “We could use your aid.”
“Why? You have the Herald of Andraste.”
“And we are grateful for that,” she said. “But the Herald has no political or combat experience. He’s...shy. Sweet. And this is a situation that does not call for sweetness.”
“Are you saying I’m sour? I’m offended.” Brenna sniffed in mock indignation.
Leliana cocked one ginger eyebrow. “Do you want me to comment on your taste?”
“Maybe later,” Brenna teased. “The Herald will learn. I did. When Duncan recruited me I’d forgotten almost everything I knew about living outside of the circle.”
“Trevelyan has a better grasp of that. His circle was far more sedate than Kinloch Hold. Less restrictive. But he could use a mentor.”
Brenna nodded—that was in line with what they knew about the Ostwick circle. It had been low on their list of circles to liberate because there had been few complaints attached to it. By the time they had gotten around to planning their attack the circle had already peacefully dissolved.
“You may not want my help, it comes with terms.”
“Terms?” Leliana quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, nothing inspires confidence in an institution like having it put a price on your head. How much am I worth now?” Brenna asked. “Last I checked it was ten thousand gold. Though I did appreciate that the Chantry preferred me alive.” She tapped her chin with a thoughtful expression. “Since I came here on my own does that mean I get the money?”
“Are you surrendering?” Leliana asked.
“That depends. Are you going to tie me up and manhandle me?” Brenna countered.
Leliana laughed. “How is Zevran?”
“Quite well.” Brenna grinned. “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”
“I suspected he was with you. He disappeared the same time you did.”
“I didn’t want to lose anyone else after what happened at the Gallows. Zevran was at Vigil’s Keep when I returned, and I asked him to stay with me. He did.”
It seemed like a miracle at the time. Brenna rushed to the Vigil to begin the mages’ exodus to Sanctuary, and there was Zevran, waiting to provide news of his search for her father and brother. She vowed then and there to stop pushing away the people she loved, and she asked him to come with her.
“Of course, querida. You are the one thing in Thedas I love more than my homeland. I was merely waiting for you to ask.”
Zevran was her rock—the one certain thing in her life in those hectic times. He still was.
Leliana looked away and was silent for several moments. “What are your terms?”
“Let’s not put the cart before the horse. In a few days I’ll see my lovebirds to safety, and I’ll discuss the matter with the king and queen. They might agree to lend me to the Inquisition as an advisor, something along those lines.”
“Ambassador, perhaps.”
Brenna wrinkled her nose. “Too much politicking. You’ll need someone who can teach combat skills to your new mages. Fiona’s people are mostly scholars.”
“If we agree to your mysterious terms.”
“Just be glad Zevran isn’t here. He’d argue for a few salacious conditions from you and Cullen.” Brenna waggled her eyebrows and Leliana laughed. She rose and held out her hand for Leliana’s empty bowl. “I’ll return these, and then I need to check in with the new parents. When would you like my report?”
“In an hour, I think. I’ll let Cullen and Josephine know.”
“All right.”
***
Brenna leaned over the map in the war room and memorized as much as she could—the breadth of their operations was alarming, spread throughout the entire kingdom. “Someone’s been busy.”
“We have been fortunate in our endeavors,” Josephine said.
“I am curious about the purpose behind some of those endeavors. I was very unamused by being stopped on the king’s road by Inquisition soldiers.”
Josephine smiled politely. “We sought to protect the people by quelling the violence caused by the mages and templars, and to close the rifts in the fade.”
“And I appreciate your desire to help, but the Inquisition’s success has created new problems for Ferelden. You are undermining our authority by raising an army on our land and occupying our villages.”
“Our land?” Cullen’s brow rose.
“Yes.” Brenna straightened—she might have been born a Marcher, but the last few years had confirmed that her heart belonged to Ferelden. “I didn’t save Ferelden from the Blight just to let Orlais reclaim it.”
“Is that what you see here?” Leliana asked.
“You don’t?” She scowled. “Ferelden is still recovering from the effects of the Blight, and this has left us vulnerable.” Brenna turned her displeasure on Leliana. “Grand Duke Gaspard is fueling his rebellion with the promise that when he is Emperor he will retake Ferelden, and the Inquisition’s occupation only strengthens his claims.”
“We are not allied with either side of Orlais’ civil war,” Leliana said.
“Yet. The chantry was wounded when the divine was murdered, but it will recover, and when it does it will look to claim Justinia’s Inquisition. That will put two armies at Orlais’ command. It wouldn’t take much for Gaspard to convince the new divine of the necessity of an exalted march against Ferelden.”
“That’s rather a pessimistic view,” Cullen said.
Brenna shrugged. “Someone taught me how to think like a bard. Funny, she looked a lot like you.” She glanced at Leliana, who smiled dryly in response.
“I understand your point,” Leliana said. “It would be useful to have an advisor from Ferelden to point out possibilities like those as we move forward.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?” It was inevitable—Ferelden needed to ally with the Inquisition to regain the confidence of its people and defend against the possibility of an Orlesian invasion. Brenna would be the most likely candidate to maintain that alliance, and it would give her insight into the Inquisition’s stance on mage’s rights.
Brenna straightened and folded her hands. “Now, about Therinfal Redoubt.”
She launched into her tale, starting with her arrival at the fortress and continuing to her encounter with Knight-Captain Denam, which had revealed her true identity and his red lyrium infection.
“You can really change your form into that of another person?” Cullen asked.
“Yes. Not a specific person—I can’t become Anora or Leliana. I can only change my features to create someone new. The pups kept dispelling me during our journey to ensure that I was truly myself. It was really quite annoying.”
“That’s remarkable,” Josephine said.
“It explains how you were able to disappear so completely, if you were not yourself,” Leliana said.
“It would, wouldn’t it? Moving on…” Brenna described her battle with the Envy demon as it tried to become her, and the information it had revealed as it stretched beyond its limits. She left out Cole’s involvement for now, because she wasn’t certain if he wanted his presence to be revealed to the Inquisition yet. That was something she could discuss with Cole and Solas.
The battle against the red templars, the final fight against Envy—it all felt somewhat surreal, like a blurry nightmare that had spurred their flight across the kingdom.
“Demons, red lyrium, corruption in the Order.” Cullen shook his head, his lips pressed into a disapproving line.
“I saved as many as I could,” Brenna said softly.
“I know. Thank you.”
Josephine frowned. “It does seem odd for a rebel mage to rescue templars.”
“I prefer the term ‘dangerous apostate,’ if you please.” Brenna smirked. “But just as the Inquisition seeks to protect the people, so do I. Now, if you have no other questions, I was thinking of indulging in a drink and a game of chess.”
Cullen coughed and blushed, but before he could comment Leliana smiled. “Absolutely,” she said.
Brenna tsked. “Too slow, Commander. No Orlesian wine, though.” She pointed a scolding finger at Leliana. “Orlesian wine always tastes depressing.”
“Are you commenting on my taste?”
Brenna smirked, and Cullen made a choking noise as though he swallowed a bug. Brenna linked her arm through Leliana’s. “Maybe later.”