Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Meredith awoke in a complete daze. She had not a clue where in the world she was, whether or not her name was in fact actually Meredith Stannard, what she was doing wherever she was, or who the person standing above her could possibly be. Her head felt like it was full of fog, and very heavy, and stuffed with cotton, and a little bit like she had perhaps an ice pick through her eyes as well. She was hesitant to move. Afterall, if there were ice picks in her eyes, she should probably hold still - but how could she see the person above her, if she indeed had picks in her eyes? The man - woman? - man? - probably man, Meredith decided, spoke up before she had a chance to properly wonder about how she could see when her eyes had been impaled. 

“Merri-dith, how many fingers am I holding up?” The probably-man asked. Meredith felt like she was hearing his voice from a thousand fathoms under the sea. He was muffled, far away, quiet, barely comprehensible, and had he called her Merri-dith? Surely that couldn’t be her real name. 

“Who are you?” Meredith said, although what actually came out of her mouth was a string of incomprehensible sounds that amounted to roughly “-oo a- -oo?”. 

“That’s not a number, my friend. The correct answer was four. Perhaps you should consider blinking, Merri-dith. Your eyes are going to get dry.”

Meredith took his advice, and blinked. After she had spent what felt like an eternity laying on her back and blinking, her vision slowly, finally began to clear. As she looked around the room her head protested to the movement, and the pain made her grateful that the room was dark. 

A gust of wind that felt like it rattled her skull however, quickly showed Meredith that wherever she was, it was probably not a room. Her best approximation at the moment was outdoors somewhere. Unfortunately, outdoors was very big, and Meredith could not even begin to guess at which part of it she was in.

“Now, Merri-dith, we really ought to get going before anybody notices you’re flesh and bones again. They might take it personally.” 

“Wha- huh?” Meredith blinked again and then squinted at the man now kneeling above her. Why would somebody take her being made out of human things personally? Was that not what she was supposed to be made of? 

“I’ll explain later, let’s get you indoors. Can’t have you catching cold, now.”

“Who a- you?” Meredith felt herself being lifted up into a sitting position. Her body felt like it was made of jelly, and she was not confident she could stay sitting up if it weren’t for the man’s hand bracing her back. As she was brought up, she felt something warm begin to trickle down her cheek.

“I’ve got you, my friend. It’s Byron, you know, the apostate from the woods - well, one of the several apostates from the woods. But the one you befriended, not one of the ones you dragged back to a Circle. Remember? The whole sword at my throat thing, demanding what my business was being in the forest, as though you weren’t just as mysterious of a figure. Threatening to drag me back to the Circle, so on, so on, so on, but then you were wounded, and I fixed it for you. Really, Merri-dith, has the lyrium addled your mind so? I’ve known you since you were but a wee Knight Templar, back when you wore your hair in that lovely braid and before you put on the Andrastae crown. Before you got sent back here when the Knight Captain before you bit the dust, do you recall?”

“Byron?” Meredith croaked. It was actually helpful for once that Byron was a rambler, because it had at the very least assisted in jogging Meredith’s memory. His odd mix of an Orlesian and Kirkwall accent was just as soothing now as it had been back when they had first met, and she was laying on the forest floor bleeding from her side. He had knelt over her and asked how many fingers he was holding up, back then, too. Was she as close to death now as she had been then? And what had he said about the lyrium, what lyrium? It had never addled her mind in her youth, why would it-

The moonlight briefly glinted off a small shard of red crystal laying on the ground beside her. Bright, glistening red, calling to her, singing the sweetest song she had ever heard, begging her to just - 

She recoiled away from the shard. Meredith remembered. She remembered how she had spent months slowly watching herself grow more paranoid, less patient, she had jumped at shadows, had suspected the worst of everyone except for her Knight Captain - speaking of, where was he? Had he replaced her as Knight Commander, or had he left Kirkwall? Had he even survived that fateful night? Meredith remembered feeling herself slipping, slipping and not doing a damned thing about it. She had allowed herself to fall into madness, thinking all the way down that it for the best. She had told herself she was doing what had to be done, that the mages under her watch were dangers to the rest of Kirkwall, that her duty demanded she put them down like the rabid dogs she saw them as. She was blessed with just enough clarity to recognize that she could not allow herself to repeat her past mistakes. 

And the worst part of it was that she still wanted the red. She needed it, felt like she would lose her mind all over again without it, she felt like she would die without it - and maybe she would, but maybe that was for the best. Meredith wanted the red, more than she had ever wanted anything else, but she had the presence of mind to not try to grasp it. Not that she could if she had tried to, she was not capable of making a fist. She was barely capable of moving her body at all.

“What’s the matter, Merri-dith?” Byron followed her gaze over to the crystal and sighed. He reached over and batted the fragment away. Meredith watched his gloved hand connect with the shard, and she watched it clatter along the flagstones, only able to wrench her eyes off of it when Byron spoke to her again. “No more of that, my dear. Nothing good ever comes from the red stuff.” 

Blearily, Meredith nodded. Would she remember a second of this later, once she had slept and eaten and regained the ability to move her body on her own? She hoped so, because the brief but almost painful clarity she gained about the red stuff was valuable, and she wanted to hold onto it. Meredith felt it in her bones, the longing for the red, but she could feel the wrongness of it, too, the corruptness, the profound unholiness. 

“How are you feeling, my friend?” Byron was crouched in front of her now, his hands on her shoulders, keeping her upright. 

“Uuuuggh,” Meredith moaned. Her head was killing her, but her ability to think was slowly returning. “Like death.” Her voice was hoarse and her throat was raw, every word a struggle to get out. 

“Well, we’ll get you a bandage for that eye, a warm bed and some soup and a cup of tea, and perhaps a bath, and then you ought to start feeling like a person again, hm?” 

Meredith just groaned in response, but she did agree with the sentiment. She would very much like to feel like a person again, rather than a woman-shaped jelly that hurt everywhere. And a bath and a cup of tea sounded absolutely luxurious. But - what was that about the eye? What was wrong with it? She could see, could she not?

It did not occur to Meredith just that she might only be seeing out of one of her two eyes. 

“Alright, dear, alright. Come on, I’ll help you along. Maker, we’ve got to get that damned armor off of you, it’s so heavy. I don’t understand how you wandered around in it all day.” As he spoke, Byron looped one of his arms around Meredith’s waist, and one of Meredith’s arms went around his shoulders. He hefted her up, armour and all, and held her arm in place so she did not slip. 

“I’ve got a cloak for you, and I’m afraid you’ll have to take the crown off too. But we really cannot have anybody recognising you, it’ll be a fuck of a situation if I have to explain why I’m dragging around the supposedly dead Knight Commander.” 

“Byron,” Meredith rasped. “Would you tell me if you were possessed by a demon?” While she would be surprised if Byron was possessed, it was in her nature to be suspicious. The red lyrium had not been wholly responsible for her paranoia, and despite her clear ideas about certain things, Meredith’s head still felt like it was full of water.

“Of course I would, Merri-dith,” he said, strolling slowly along as he held her up. Meredith hung off of his shoulders in an almost comical manner, she was unable to hold her head up, and barely able to keep her feet underneath her. Byron may as well have literally been dragging her.

“Okay,” Meredith accepted it. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him, nor the inclination, really. She thought it was unlikely that a demon would know to call her by his silly nickname, or that there was any demon in existence capable of Byron’s particular brand of rambling.

*

Meredith did indeed begin to feel like a person again once she had slept, eaten, and bathed. Her slumber was an utterly dreamless one, and she had been dead to the world for nearly thirteen hours before Byron had gently roused her to eat and clean up. He had left while she bathed, saying he had to pop out and pick up a few things. Once she had dried off and put on the clothes he’d previously procured for her - the trousers of which were a little too loose and the shirt of which were a little too tight, but they were clean at least - she had stumbled over to the small table situated in their room at the Hanged Man and had taken the cup of tea Byron had set out. Her belt was fastened tighter than she would have preferred, and the shirt strained a little around her shoulders and biceps, but as she sat there sipping piping hot tea with a little drizzle of honey in it, Meredith felt extraordinarily comfortable . Feeling really comfortable had never been an easy task for her, she had been the restless sort ever since she was a young girl. Things in Kirkwall had done nothing to quell that, and indeed she had done nothing to pacify the situation, Meredith had only ever fanned the flames in her own mad pursuit of order. 

But, she was no longer Knight Commander. She might not even be a Templar anymore. Would they still have her in the Order, even after everything she had done? Everything that she had allowed to happen? Even after she had turned her back on the Maker’s will and used corrupted lyrium? She doubted it, but perhaps that was a good thing. She had become a person she knew she could not be again in service of the Order, she had allowed herself to become such a person. She had allowed herself to give in to her paranoia and prejudice. It was an allowance that Meredith knew she would not survive a second time. 

Absentmindedly, Meredith brought her free hand up to gently touch the bandage that now covered her left eye. The eye itself and the area around it were now numb, Byron’s work she assumed. Given the quantity of bandages, Meredith imagined that she must have taken a pretty hard hit to the face during that fight, the last fight. She had been so thoroughly addled by the red though, she probably hadn’t even felt it at the time. 

“Ah, Merri-dith, glad to see you up and about,” Byron said, entering the room with a small cloth bag in his hand and softly closing the door behind him. “How are you feeling now?” 

“Like a person,” Meredith said, her voice still a little hoarse and a little raspy, though the tea was helping to sooth her throat. “Mostly,” she added. 

“Very good, very good. That’s how you ought to be feeling.” He laid the small bag on the table and took a seat in the second chair, briefly glancing at the bandages on her face. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

Meredith raised an eyebrow. “What is the occasion?” 

“Well, you aren’t dead. I, personally, am quite excited about that.” He opened the cloth bag. There were a few things in it, mostly small vials and philtres, but he took out a small bundle of fabric and handed it to Meredith. “And because you are not dead, I thought you might want a few vials of this stuff.”

She accepted the bundle and set her cup down. Through the fabric she could feel the shape of a few small vials, and she shook her head. “Lyrium,” Meredith hummed, more to herself than to Byron. “I do not think I could take it now, I would be sick. But the urge will come back to me soon, so thank you.” 

Byron nodded gravely. “I shall procure more if you need it, I know a few guys. Now,” he laid his hands flat on the surface of the table and looked at her. “We have some matters that really must be discussed. Time sensitive, and all.” 

“If you do not mind, I have a question,” Meredith laid the bundle down next to her cup. “Why have you come to rescue me?” From a prison of my own making, Meredith did not add. Why would you save a wretch such as this from perils she herself created? 

Byron blinked at her, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re my friend, Merri-dith. I was not going to let you stay trapped in a brick of red lyrium if there was a chance you were still alive in there. I thought it decent to at least come check.” 

“Well… Thank you,” she inclined her head and once again took up her teacup. “I did not very much enjoy being a statue.” 

“I’m sure. Doesn’t seem like the most… interesting existence.”

Meredith nodded. “Indeed it was not.” Were he anyone else, Meredith would have questioned him further about his reasons. She had grown cynical, and she often found it difficult to believe that people outside of her own Order were willing to do things just out of the kindness of their hearts. In her experience, most people around her - men, especially - almost always had ulterior motives. Byron, however, she had known for decades, and if there was ever a man willing to do something stupid and dangerous just to give her a helping hand, it was him. He was one of the - well, now he was perhaps the only mage that Meredith felt she could really trust. There had been another, some time ago, but that one was long dead. 

“Well then, the good news is, things are going to be much more exciting for you now. The bad news is, the excitement is because there was a massive explosion at the Conclave, and now there’s a hole in the sky spitting out demons around Ferelden and Orlais.” Byron's tone was unsuitably casual. 

Meredith choked on her tea. Byron continued on while she coughed, aggravating her already aching throat. 

“Yes, well, the mages and the Templars are both blaming each other, as we do, you know. And things have… Really gone to shit, Merri-dith, I will not lie. Things are not looking awfully good. Between the demons and the political strife, you know, it’s really quite the opposite of good.”

“No shit,” Meredith sputtered. 

“So yes, we - well I, my, ehm, associates are not aware that I’m here nor that I’ve busted you out. I was hoping that you might be willing to lend a hand. I do not know who is responsible for the Conclave yet, nobody does, but the wild accusations going on are not helping anyone, and it’s all really getting in the way of dealing with the demons that are falling out of the giant hole in the sky. ” 

Meredith was silent for a spell, just looking at her friend, hesitant to take another sip of tea lest he say something else. This sounded like one fuck of a situation, nobody could deny it. She had absolutely no idea what she could do to help. What national catastrophes had she helped with in the past? Meredith had been through two large-scale incidents, and both of them she had been inclined to deal with by hitting them with her sword, and that had only worked well the first time. Putting down Qunari trying to take over the city was a much easier task for her than quelling a brewing mage rebellion had been. Look how that had turned out, anyway. Had Byron not just had to break her out of a statue made of corrupted lyrium that she was trapped in because of how poorly she had handled that? 

“I am unsure how I can assist,” Meredith said carefully. She didn’t want to say no, if there was something to be done than she wanted to do it, of course. It was just deciding what the thing was that she could do, that was the hardest part. Springing to action had always come easily to her, especially back when she had had her old Knight Commander, Valeria, laying out her actions for her. 

Byron sighed, glancing down at the scarred surface of the table. “There is… There’s more. I… Well, this is probably going to be the hardest part.”

“Carry on, do not leave me in suspense.” 

“It’s the Templars. The apostates have concentrated in Redcliffe, which, if they can find somewhere safe that’ll take them in, of course they’re going to go there. But the Templars, many of them have gone off to some fortress in Ferelden - Therinfal, I think it’s called. No one I’ve spoken to knows why. They just all picked up and left, and there’s not that many left who didn’t go.” 

All the blood left Meredith’s face. “Wh… What… How long ago?” What was the Order, her Order, doing?! At a time when the world seemed to need them most, why would they run away? Why would they go into hiding in some fortress Meredith had never been to? There was a mage rebellion evidently still running rampant across Thedas, there was a demon-spitting hole in the sky, an attack for which there was no one yet held responsible, and where was the Order? Hiding. 

“A couple of weeks. I came here as soon as I heard, and it took me a few days to figure out what to do with you.” 

“Maker…” 

“But there’s a new- Some people have formed- well, re formed I think, the Inquisition. They’re… They are aiming to close the damn hole in the sky, since nobody else seems to care all that much about it. I understand that the Divine being dead is quite the-”

“ The Divine is dead?!” Meredith exclaimed, though her voice came out quieter than she had expected. Her throat still raw and her voice hoarse from dissuse, she could not yet muster the same volume or tone that she could prior to being encased in red lyrium for Maker knows how long. 

“Ah… Yes. Yes she and… Many others were killed at the Conclave. They have not selected a new Divine yet, of course. Things are a bit slow going, there. But her Left and Right hands are both involved in the Inquisition - Maker help me, I cannot remember either of their names right now. But they are trying to set things to rights. I thought… Well, I am on my way to join up. I have a couple other friends who are going to join up, too. If you are willing to help, joining the Inquisition, I think, is the best way to do it.” 

“And do you expect this Inquisition is going to extend an olive branch to the Order as well?” Meredith had no proof yet that there was truly something amiss with the Order, perhaps there was method to what looked like madness. But she had the worst feeling, a horrible twist in her gut that told her there was more to it. There was something she could not yet see, something she was confident she would not like when it came to light. 

And Meredith, at heart, was a Templar. Her purpose was to serve the Maker, to make room for His Light to shine into even the darkest, remotest corners of Thedas. Perhaps the Order needed to be reminded that it was through the Maker’s grace that they were allowed to carry out their duties, that they were given life, that they were placed upon this earth to do his will. 

Meredith, then, would gladly remind them. 

“I don’t know. The… I know there is at least one Templar helping to run the thing, I don’t know who, though. I’ve just heard that it’s a man, and that they’re calling him their Commander. Then they have this woman, she allegedly saw Andrastae in the Fade during the whole mess at the Conclave but that is it’s own rather extraordinary story, and they’re calling her the Herald of Andrastae. As far as I know, the girl’s a mage. So I suspect, she may be hesitant to reach out to the Templars, especially given how temperamental the Order has been.” 

“Maker’s breath,” Meredith swore. “Alright then, I will come with you to join this Inquisition.” She paused for a moment, glancing down into her mostly empty teacup, and then back up at Byron. “I suspect word of what happened in Kirkwall has spread.”

“Yes.” 

“Perhaps it would be in our best interest if we did not tell people that I am the Knight Commander responsible for it.” 

“Yes!” 

“I will have to change my hair, dress differently of course. I suppose the eye will help make my face less recognizable.” 

“I expect most anyone who might recognise you would probably be dismissed as being out of their minds, anyway. Meredith Stannard is, as far as the world is aware, extremely dead.” He cleared his throat and gave a resolute nod. “But precautions should be taken. The eye’ll help, although I’m sorry to say, Merri-dith, but I don’t think you’re going to be able to see out of it again. It’s a nasty wound, looked like you took a sword to the face.” 

“I probably did. My memories of that night are… Hazy, still.” She could recall a good many people fighting against her, even her own Knight Captain. At the time the betrayal had enraged her, but with the red haze receding from her mind, she was glad that he had done it. Meredith expected that if Cullen had sided with her, he would have been killed too. Much as she had been furious back then, she was pleased at the thought that the boy might have made it out of Kirkwall alive. 

“Well then, at least it just took out an eye and not something more vital.” 

“Indeed.” 

“As for your hair,” Byron smiled. “Perhaps you might wear it in a braid again? That really did suit you, my friend.”

“Yes, perhaps I might.” A very small smile tugged at Meredith’s lips. “But first, I should like some clothing that fits me a little better. And what of my sword?”

“That big, red-lyrium infused beast? What did you call that thing, anyway? Vanished. I’ve not a clue where it’s gone, but really, Merri-dith, it probably is not the best plan to use the red lyrium sword that drove you to utter madness.” 

“...Yes, I suppose it is not.” Rationally, Meredith knew he was right. She should absolutely not be wielding Certainty again. But oh, how she missed it. The weight of the blade, the grip that was made specially for her hands to grasp, the beautiful hum hum humming as it sliced through the air… “It… I called it Certainty.” 

“Lovely name, just not quite such a lovely sword. We’ll get you one which was not created with the help of corrupted lyrium.” 

“That,” Meredith swallowed hard. “That is for the best.” It took all the willpower she had to agree, to not lash out at him for even suggesting she give up Certainty. But Certainty had been a mistake. She could see that now, and it was a mistake she could not afford to repeat. Not just for her sake, not just for Byron’s sake, but, evidently, for the sake of the Templar Order and all of Thedas. 

“Perhaps you might like some new armour, as well? Something a little less recognizable, something that maybe is not designed to make you look like Andrastae?” 

Meredith laughed, and the sound of it was bitter and humourless. Maker, she had been such a fool. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “That would help.” 

*

Meredith’s new sword took six days to get ahold of. Byron had gone to a blacksmith the day after she woke with her list of specifications - she was quite particular, if the is was to be her sword - and a sword fit to replace Certainty at that - about the length, the weight, shape of the blade and how long she wanted the serrated edge to be. The armour was a bit more of a trifle. Meredith was a tall woman, dwarfing even the majority of the men that stood near her. She was also a particularly broad and muscled woman. Her physique was almost that of a short Qunari, and there were not very many armorers in Kirkwall used to fitting people with the physique of a short Qunari. There were even fewer that had the skill to make something that both met Meredith’s own specifications, and Meredith’s standards for quality. 

What she had worn before, her breastplate, her gauntlets, her greaves, her boots, all had of course been crafted specially for her. The armorer they’d had in the Gallows had been one of singular skill, an older Tranquil who had little else to do except for turn out piece after piece of top quality equipment. Meredith had loved her old armour, but she was begrudgingly aware that it was no longer something she could wear without being immediately recognized. 

The issue, then, stemmed from the fact that any idiot could throw together some mess out of scrap metal that wouldn’t fall off of her, but Meredith needed something that would both keep her safe, and move with her if she was going to be joining an Inquisition, fighting demons, and saving the Templar Order. And unfortunately, most blacksmiths that Byron ran across in Kirkwall were idiots. At least, Meredith was convinced that they were. 

As much as she might have preferred it, though, Meredith could not justify taking the time to travel all the way to Starkhaven to get a new set of heavy armour. It was too out of the way, too far North, it would take too much time.

She eventually came to accept a lighter set, given she knew of no remaining blacksmiths in Kirkwall that had the ability to make a metal set that’d stand up to the incredible challenge of keeping former Knight Comander Meredith Stannard from dying. What she wound up with was a gambeson, breeches, gloves and a pair of boots made of dark, thick leather. It was simple stuff, and not what she would have preferred, but it would keep her safe enough for the time being. Once they got to Ferelden, she would keep an eye out for a blacksmith that knew how to swing a hammer and not hit their own thumb. Until such a time as that, Meredith hoped she would not encounter any demons. She would not feel secure again until she was back in a set of heavy mail. 

The sword was, at least, quite well made. Long enough that Meredith elected to carry it braced against her shoulder instead of trying to get any sort of sheath she could carry on her back. The hilt was long enough that she would be able to maneuver the blade well, with or without her gauntlets on. The weight of it left something to be desired. Meredith preferred heavier blades, things that could really get some momentum built up. Certainty had been perhaps the heaviest blade she had ever wielded, and it had been an absolute dream. The accursed thing had felt like an extension of her, it had responded to her even whim, had never once faltered. It had been as steadfast as it’s wielder, all the way to the bitter end. 

But Meredith knew that the only thing that blade was good for, as much as she hated to accept it, was to destroy. Certainty was not something meant to protect, to safeguard, it could not be used to rebuild. Certainty was something created to ruin, and nothing else. 

This new sword, much as Meredith wished it weighed a little more, much as she missed the way her old sword would sing to her so sweetly, would serve perfectly fine. She was not yet sure though what she was going to name it. Meredith had named every sword she’d ever used, even the practise sword she had favoured when she was just a girl, first learning to swing a one-hander and keep her shield where it was supposed to be. Cabarella, she had called it. 

When they reached Ferelden, she and Byron would obtain a pair of horses, and then Meredith would rig a sheath to the side of her saddle. Meredith supposed she had the rest of their journey across the sea to try to think of a name for the sword. Or perhaps she would have to use it first, before a name would come to her. See how it felt in her hands as she struck down an adversary, see how the blade glinted at her when it was covered in her enemy’s blood. 

Certainty’s name had come to her as soon as the had held the blade in her hands for the first time, but she had had to bloody a few of her comrades with Cabarella before she had bestowed a name upon it. A fitting title would come to her when the time was right, as it always had before. 

“Ready, Merri-dith?” Byron asked, hood covering his dark, curly hair, and pretending his staff was nothing more than a walking stick. Though Meredith was doubtful that he looked old enough to pass it off as such. And, at least to her, there was something about him, he had always had the demeanor of a mage. It was in the way he carried himself, the tone of his voice, the furtive look in his eyes that he got whenever he was thinking of using magic. Perhaps it was just because Meredith had spent her life sniffing out mages wherever she could, but she could see it in the way he walked. He did not have the bearing of someone used to carrying a sword around. His speech was guarded, he was skilled at dancing around the question and subtly changing the topic. He had the secretive quality that Meredith had observed in a lot of mages, though perhaps they had only acted that way because she was near. Even more than some mages were obviously mages, Meredith was obviously a Templar. She had lived and breathed the Order since she was just a girl, and she had been - was still - willing to continue until her dying breath. 

Her belief that this was her purpose in life was unwavering. The Maker had put her here to serve, and so serve she would. 

Meredith nodded. Her hair was in a loose braid, and hung down over her shoulder. Byron had also managed to procure an eyepatch for her, which she would wear at least until her eye stopped looking like she had taken a sword to the face yesterday. Between all of that, a hood obscuring her face, and the radical change of sword and armour, Meredith hoped it would be enough that she wouldn’t be immediately recognisable. Byron had assured her that people would probably just think she was a woman who bore an unfortunate resemblance to the late Knight Commander, but Meredith wasn’t so sure. Stranger things had happened, she’d told him. After all, were they not on their way to help close a glowing green hole in the sky that was spilling out demons?

Point taken, he’d said. 

She followed him down through the rest of the Lowtown to the docks, and nobody had hassled them as they found and boarded the ship that had graciously agreed to - or rather, had been generously bribed to - carry them over to Ferelden. Meredith was glad to see that, even if they were most often lacking in common sense, the people of Lowtown had enough of it that they didn’t want to get into an altercation with a - regrettably lightly - armoured titan of a woman carrying around a sword that was taller and heavier than some grown adults. 

They got on board the ship with little issue, although Meredith received an odd look from the woman she assumed was the Captain. No comment was made, so she let it pass. If the Captain thought she might look a little bit like the deceased Knight Commander, well then, the woman didn’t have the courage to say it to her face. The effect of carrying a massive sword, Meredith decided. They tended to strike fear into people’s hearts whether she was recognised for the fearsome Knight Commander of Kirkwall or not.

Meredith had never liked travelling on ships, it felt too confined. But, it was much faster than going around, so she would deal with it. For the sake of the Order, she told herself, she would deal with a lot of things. And at least the little cabin that she and Byron shared on the trip over was pleasant enough, it was cozy and warmer than she had expected, and there was luckily enough room for them both to lay down and not be kicking each other all through the night. In their room at the Hanged Man they’d had to share a bed, and they had woken each other up more than a few times. Restless sleepers, both of them. But in their little cabin, there was not even one bed to share. They laid on the floor, covered by their cloaks and using their packs as pillows, spaced out enough that their chances of hitting each other were slim. Part of her dislike of sea travel though was Meredith’s difficulty falling asleep on a ship. On her initial over-night journey to Kirkwall, she had not slept a wink. Had she been any less exhausted from her recent ordeal, she probably would have been in a similar situation. But being a statue, Meredith had discovered, was extremely taxing even though it was also extremely dull. As sleep slowly crept up on her, she watched the sky out the small porthole on the opposite wall. There were stars out, and there was not a demon-spewing hole to be seen. It was calming, in a way, but it began to stir up anxiety in her chest. 

The Maker had made the sky beautiful, had placed each of the stars as he saw fit. It was a pure plain, totally untouched by man. She could not help but wonder, how could the Maker allow such an unnatural thing to happen as a tear in the sky itself? Perhaps that was why he had sent Byron to free her, Meredith thought, perhaps the Maker had seen fit to give her a second chance so she could help mend the sky. Whether or not that was true, Meredith privately believed it. Her purpose now was to heal the sky, and to save her Order from what she felt was a horrible fate. She was so thoroughly convinced that it was indeed a horrible fate that she almost did not want to know what it was, but a strange sense of familiarity mingled with her nerves, and for a brief moment before sleep took her, Meredith feared that she already knew. 

Chapter Text

Ferelden was much as Meredith remembered it. She had never particularly cared for it, though she had been stationed there for a very short spell before becoming Knight Captain. Wentworth had still been alive then, so had Guylian, and that bastard Threnhold. Meredith had only really respected one of the three. Wentworth had looked after her when she was a girl, he had taught her, helped her along. He had given her his greatsword when his time was coming to an end. 

Meredith had thrown down her sword and taken up his, and then years later she had thrown his down and taken up Certainty. 

She would have liked to keep Wentworth’s sword, but she could not remember for the life of her where she had stowed it. Surely she hadn’t sold it? Meredith was… Pretty sure that even in her red lyrium addled state she would have had the presence of mind to not sell one of her most prized possessions. But she had not had time to look for it, and so she would just have to use her new - still unnamed - blade. 

Meredith would admit that, for all she disliked having to leave Kirkwall, she had something of a soft spot for certain parts of Ferelden, and even a small swath of Orlais. Orlais was where she had first met Byron, though admittedly that had not been a particularly good time for her. He was an apostate she was sent to hunt down, her Ferelden Knight Commander evidently not having faith in the Orlesian Templars to get the job done. She had hunted him through Emprise du Lion and into the Emerald Graves before she had caught up, and then she took an arrow to the side from a wayward bandit. Meredith had truly believed that it was the end for her, and she lamented that she would never see Kirkwall again, or return triumphant to Valeria, or achieve her privately held goal of trying to convince Valeria to transfer to Kirkwall - she had never particularly liked Guylian, and she thought that Valeria would do a much better job of governing the Gallows. Kirkwall could really use a woman like her, Kirkwall needed a woman like her.

But then, while her vision waned and her breathes grew shallow, the apostate she had been about to detain moments before she was shot leaned down over her, and she felt something cold blossom in her side. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He’d asked. 

“V-al-er-a-” Meredith had croaked. 

“Not a number, good Knight.” 

That felt like it had happened in another life, to a different Meredith. Perhaps it had. 

It was in Orlais, too, that Meredith had met the other mage. This one had set her more on edge than Byron had. He’d never struck her as much of a threat to anyone, and finding him was more a matter of duty than the sincere belief he would hurt someone if he was allowed to live outside a Circle. When they were younger, Byron had struck her as being a little too… Bumbling, to do much damage. She wasn’t sure there was a demon that’d make a deal with him back then even if he’d tried. The other mage had been the polar opposite. She’d set Meredith’s teeth on edge from the moment they’d met. There was something about her, her bearing, a certain look in her eye, that told Meredith she would have to be very wary. 

Meredith had been young, though, and the mage had reminded her of Valeria in a way. They had the same air about them, they were both something dangerous, and they were both something that intrigued Meredith, that drew her in. 

In what was not actually the worst decision of her life, Meredith allowed that mage to remain alive and free. Perhaps she had not been thinking wholly with her head when she made that choice. But then the mage died, a mistake of her own, and Meredith could go back to Valeria with the news that the apostate was dead. Meredith had also gone back to Valeria with a small piece of herself missing, something she had left in the Emerald Graves, something she expected she would never get back. That mage had taken a lot from Meredith, more than she had ever intended to.

It was shortly after that that Meredith returned to Kirkwall, alone. Valeria refused to leave her post, telling Meredith that Ferelden needed her. She would not abandon her homeland, and that was something that Meredith could understand. Just like Ferelden needed Valeria, Kirkwall needed Meredith. Wentworth was… Unwell, and Guylian was a fool. He was too lax, too willing to look the other way when mages bent the rules. He would not last, sooner or later something avoidable was going to put an end to him. Meredith had been right about that, and in the wake of Threnhold’s treachery, Meredith gladly accepted the role of Knight Commander. She and Dumar ascended around the same time, and she was sure to make it clear to him where things stood. 

His fate need not be yours. 

But Dumar, too, had been a fool in the end. He wasn’t good enough. He had been too slow in dealing with the Qunari, and all of Kirkwall had paid for it. He had paid for it. Meredith had lost Templars that night, had lost a few mages, too. That was a night that made Meredith almost glad that the mage had not come back to Kirkwall with her, because she was not sure she would have been able to keep the woman from running directly into danger. 

The mage had always had a strange sense of valour. She got it from her father, Meredith thought, who had been a Chevalier. The damnable woman had cause more than a few problems for herself and for Meredith in their short time together, never knowing when to keep out of things. At first, Meredith had thought her courage and sense of honour to be admirable, but it had not been long before the woman had proved herself to be little different from any other mage. She had, at the very least, made quite the impression. Meredith would not soon forget her. 

*

“We must go, now. Quickly. If they see you, they’ll-” 

“No, Merri, I cannot just stand by. We have to do something!” There was a fire in the woman's eyes, something that might have frightened Meredith. 

*

The journey South from the Storm Coast, a wretched place that Meredith had to admit she loved dearly - courtesy of the only assignment she ever accompanied Valeria for having been on the coast - was arduous. Meredith was still aching, still tired, still not even close to her full strength. Horses had at least been easy to obtain, which meant Meredith would not have the burden of carrying her sword all the way down to Haven. 

She and Byron made relatively good time, though none of the towns they passed through had a blacksmith that Meredith believed could craft suitable metal armor. Byron promised that the Inquisition would have a good smith, and Meredith sincerely hoped he was right. She felt like she might as well just walk around in trousers and a shirt, for all the good leather armor was going to do her. 

Byron had estimated it would be about a three or four day ride to Haven, though Meredith expected he was trying to be generous in case her condition slowed them down. In total it took about three days, with Haven coming into sight as the Ferelden sun set on them for the third time. The little place was nice enough, from a distance. It was not what Meredith had expected of Inquisition headquarters, but she supposed she ought to cut them some slack given how new the organisation was. Perhaps they were in the process of acquiring better holdings. She elected to reserve her judgement until they could see the place up close.

Meredith wondered if there were going to be any Templars present that she had known, or if all of them had gone to Therinfal. She fully intended to question this supposed “Herald of Andrastae” about what information they may have about the state of the order. Meredith had her own suspicions, but thus far they were totally baseless, and she was putting effort in to not jump to conclusions. If she had a sickening feeling in her gut, if she felt like she could occasionally hear the hum of the red stuff, well then, maybe she was just imaging it. Had she not just recently been released from her own red lyrium prison? Such a thing probably left a lasting mark on a person. 

She supposed the best thing she could do at the moment would be to trust Byron, to try to trust this Inquisiton - if she couldn’t trust the Herald, perhaps she could at least trust their Commander, and the hands of the late Divine. Although Meredith had to admit it, just to herself at least, that she was extremely skeptical about the whole “Herald of Andrastae” business. Why would Andrastae choose some random mage woman, when there were so many others utterly devoted to her? When the hands of the Divine had been right there, when plenty of intelligent and capable Chantry sisters were right there, when Meredith was right there? Could it not just have been a demon trying to trick the Herald? 

Meredith tried to quiet her thoughts. It would do absolutely no good to stew about why she was not the chosen one of the Maker when she had no evidence yet that this Herald even really was. Perhaps sending Byron to rescue her was the Maker’s way of giving her new purpose, anyway. Perhaps this was a holy purpose. That was what she had to tell herself, or else she would begin to feel dreadfully bleak. If she believed that the Maker had turned his back on her, that Andrastae had turned her back on her, then Meredith verily had no purpose.

Haven loomed, so much as such a tiny place can loom, in front of them as they approach the gates. Or perhaps Meredith just got the sensation that it was looming because she was nervous about what lay inside. A ways ahead she heard a familiar voice calling out to recruits. 

“You have a shield in your hand, block with it!” He shouted. Meredith had said something similar a thousand times, and so had Guylian and Valeria before her. She glanced over at her former Knight Captain, no longer clad in his templar armor, holding a shield and trying to make a boy who could not have been a day over 17 understand how to position it. It was bizarre to see him like that, to see him as such… As not a Templar. But he was there, he was alive, he was continuing to serve, and as far as Meredith was concerned, he was still serving a divine purpose. 

She briefly wondered if he still had the small dagger she had given him - another Tranquil crafted thing - when she had made him Knight Captain. It had been a short blade with a serrated edge, and she’d given it to him because Meredith sincerely believed he was going to be great, and with greatness comes an increased number of people who want to kill you. She thought it would be good for him to have a smaller, concealable weapon, and one that could do substantial damage in an instant, if need be. After everything that had happened in Kirkwall, she wouldn’t blame him if he’d gotten rid of it, but some part of her hoped that he’d keep it. When he had first arrived in Kirkwall, she’d seen something of herself in him, and she had tried to be for him what Valeria and Wentworth had been for her. 

She had failed, quite spectacularly. She had led him down a dark, paranoid, volatile path, and he was lucky to have left it when he did. Perhaps in placing them both here, the Maker was giving her a second chance to do right by Cullen as well. 

“Hold there,” one of the two guards stationed outside the gate called to them, and they eased their horses to a stop. “What’s your business?” 

“We’ve come to join up,” Byron said. “We’d like to lend a hand getting that closed.” He pointed over his shoulder at the now very visible massive green hole in the sky. “Thought you know, more hands make less work. Or rather, more hands make it a little bit easier to deal with demons all over the place. I’ve already got a couple of friends here, they should have arrived yesterday, or the day before. Rowen and Scilla, I believe.”

“Right then, we’ll be glad to have you. What’s your name, Serah?” Ah, the man was a Marcher then. Meredith allowed herself a small smile. Based on the accent, she would have guessed he was from Ostwick. 

“Byron, Serah. I hail from Orlais.” 

“A pleasure,” The guard gave a shallow bow. “And what’s your friend’s name?” The guardsman asked, glancing over at Meredith, then at Meredith’s sword where it was strapped to the side of her saddle, then back to Byron. 

Before Byron could choose one for her, Meredith cut in. “Valeria,” she said. “Of Ostwick.” 

The guard smiled up at her. “I hail from Ostwick as well. Welcome.” Another bow. “The stables are there, town’s too crowded already to let horses through the gates. The Quartermaster, Threnn, will tell you where you can lay down your things. You can probably find her up by the Chantry.” 

“Many thanks, Messere,” Meredith said with an incline of her head, and urged her horse - a massive, dark coloured beast - over towards the stables. 

*

Valeria had looked down at her, brushed a hand softly over Meredith’s cheek. “Kirkwall needs you.” Softly down her golden hair, gently down to the side of her neck. “Ferelden needs me.” 

Meredith couldn’t argue, she could never bring herself to argue with Valeria. She trusted always that the decisions the Knight Commander made were for the best. 

“I will see you again, Meredith. If not in this life, then in the next.”

It was then that Meredith decided if Kirkwall could not have Valeria, they would have a woman very much like her.

*

Meredith had a moment to regret the name she gave herself as she and Byron strode through the gates and into Haven. Was she really worthy to carry Valeria’s name? Had she even come close to earning such an honor? 

She did not look in Cullen’s direction, but rather kept her eye out for anybody else she might recognise. It did not take long before she was looking a certain dwarf square in the face as she came up the steps. Varric Tethras, a particularly vexing man, stood by a fire talking to somebody that Meredith did not recognise. Not Hawke, at least. Though Tethras’ presence may prove problematic. Between him and Cullen, the likelihood that someone would recognise here was much higher than she would have liked. She kept her hood up, and tried not to look like a Templar as she and Byron passed by Varric. The dwarf glanced briefly at her as the passed and did a double-take. He stared at her, but she had already gone by, so all he had to see was her back and the blade leaning against her shoulder. 

Meredith thought something impolite, and kept walking. She expected to get a visit from… Somebody, later, be it Tethras himself or somebody else sent to take a better look at her. Varric had been a thorn in her side for long enough that she felt she had a decent idea of who he was - tenacious, irritating, foolish, she could go on. 

It was relatively straightforward to find Threnn, as she was in the middle of a rather strict conversation with somebody about preparations for more snow when Meredith and Byron arrived by the Chantry. Byron gave Meredith a light pat on the shoulder and said he would do the talking. Meredith still sounded like a Knight Commander when she spoke. Byron insisted it was the tone and word choice, not to mention the distinct Marcher accent, that did it. She was too used to everybody she spoke to being either her subordinate or the Grand Cleric, she was too formal, too demanding, too firm to sound like a regular person. She had the bearing of the soldier, the demeanor of an officer, and the countenance of a Templar. 

She glanced around while Byron spoke with the Quartermaster, who seemed only slightly less irritated by him than she had by her subordinate. Haven’s Chantry was small, but it would serve well enough. A Chantry did not need to be extravagant, and indeed sometimes Meredith thought they could get a little too decadent. She preferred the more subdued, the more humble structures. This small building, about as subdued and humble as they came, very much appealed to her. 

“Pardon me,” came a meek voice from behind Meredith. She turned, looking the slight Elven girl over. “I was sent to ask after your name, Madame.” She girl looked up at Meredith with wide eyes. “A-and where you’ve come from.”

“Valeria, of Ostwick,” Meredith said with a small incline of her head. “And what is your name?” 

“My-?” Confusion clouded the girl’s expression for a moment before she gathered herself enough to squeak “Aeris.” 

“Where have you come from, Aeris?” If Meredith sounded like she was interrogating the girl a little, she didn’t mean to. She was, as she was so helpufully informed by Byron, just like that. 

“Near Denerim, Madame.” 

“Have you come all this way alone to join the Inquisition?” 

“No, Madame, my sister is here with me. We… It isn’t much but we do what we can.” 

“I am sure you do more than you think.” 

“That is very kind of you, Ma-”

“You are welcome to call me Valeria.” Meredith was not usually in the habit of letting anybody call her just by her name without a title attached, she’d worked damned hard for her titles. But ‘Valeria’ was a title more than it was a name, the woman so thoroughly mythologized in Meredith’s mind that she was barely remembered as a human being rather than a goddess of justice - no, of balance. 

*

“There is a give and take to everything, Meredith,” Valeria had told her, a hand resting on her shoulder as they had overseen the making of a new Tranquil. Rarely now did Valeria administer the rite herself, not now that she had more important things to focus on. “There must be, so the world can remain balanced. Magic, it is given. But magic freely given is unbalanced, so we are placed here to take it. We restore, where magic destroys.” 

*

“Valeria,” Aeris corrected herself. She bowed to Meredith, her hands clasped behind her back. When she straightened up Meredith noted how close the girl’s posture was to parade rest. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” Aeris turned and hurried away, back down the steps to report to whoever had sent her - Varric, Meredith assumed. She doubted Cullen would send a servant girl to ask after her, she would like to think she brought him up well enough that he’d have the courage to ask himself. 

She watched Aeris walk away, the girl’s posture rigid and he hands clasped at her back. Meredith could not help but see potential in the girl. She clearly already had a workable sense of discipline. The image of the girl in light armor, with a set of twin blades in her hands popped into Meredith’s mind, and she wondered for a moment. Was this girl, too, part of the Maker’s plan for her? Or would her path diverge from Aeris, before she had the chance to craft the girl into something great? Something more than a servant, sent to ask after people’s names by someone too cowardly to go themselves. 

If she was meant to bring the girl up into something better, then their paths could surely cross again. Meredith gave herself a small nod. If it was the Maker’s will, then it would happen. She would do what she had always done before, go where she was sent, and do as she was bid.

“Merri-dith,” Byron appeared beside her again. “Ready? We really should be hurrying along. There is an extra tent the kind Quartermaster said we can share. I am sorry in advance for however many times I wake you up, and also, curse you in advance, for however many times you wake me up.” 

Meredith barked a laugh. “The feeling is mutual. Come, show me to it.”

She followed Byron back down through Haven and once again out the gate. A quick glance revealed that Varric was no longer standing where he had been when they’d first arrived - for the best, Meredith decided. She did not want him questioning her, as she was confident that he and Cullen would recognise her in an instant. Perhaps she should cut her hair, although that would do little to disguise her face. Perhaps she could get a tattoo over her good eye, or on her cheek or something? She had met a Knight Captain from Starkhaven once who’d had tattoos on his face. Meredith had disliked the look of it, though, and decided that tattooing her face would be a last-resort thing. If Hawke showed up, only then she would get a tattoo. 

“Merri-dith, you’re a thousand miles away,” Byron said in a sing-song tone. Meredith blinked, looking over at her friend. They stood in front of an empty tent with the flaps drawn back. It was small, much smaller than their cabin on the ship had been. 

“I suppose I am.” 

“What did that Elf girl want from you, earlier by the Chantry?” Byron tilted his head to the side, and Meredith thought it made him look like a confused bird. 

“She asked after my name, and where I’ve come from. I suspect she was sent by someone I knew in Kirkwall, Varric Tethras.”

“You knew him? The- he wrote those books, the romance ones, have you ever-” 

“No, Byron, I have not read his romance novels.”

“You’re missing out, Merri-dith, they’re very entertaining.”

Meredith rolled her eyes and laid her sword down inside the tent. From the looks of how it, she was a little worried that Byron’s feet were going to stick out at night. But he had a tendency to work himself up into uncomfortable looking bundles as he slept, so he would probably be alright. Meredith resolved to get ahold of a second tent for herself, so that they both would be able to sleep with some relative peace. 

“I shall take your word for it. I doubt I would find it enjoyable.” If she were talking to anybody else, she’d have outright called the books drivel. But given Byron had sprung her from her lyrium prison just a couple weeks ago, she thought she would cut him a little slack when it came to his inferior taste in literature. 

“You’re no fun, my friend, absolutely none. Do they train the fun out of you in the Templars? Come to think of it, I have never met a single one of you that had a sense of whimsy.” 

“Whimsy is frowned upon by the Order, yes.” 

“I knew it. Plain inhumane. Even Templars need to kick back and relax once in a while.”

“No, we really don’t. At least, we are not supposed to.” Meredith frowned. “If Templars ever relaxed, mages less honest and capable than yourself would run amok.”

“Merri-dith, there are fewer mages like that than you think there are,” Byron said, as gently as he could. It was not the first time he’d said something like that to her, but Meredith did not believe it any more than she had before. Her experience had showed her what mages could be like, what they would be like if left unsupervised. It was not something she could abide by.

Meredith shook her head, glancing down at the still-nameless sword. Sorrowfully, as she had once spoken to Orsino about something similar, Meredith said “No, no I do not believe there are.” 

*

Valeria’s words echoed in her head as Meredith sat slumped in her desk chair, a glass of whiskey in her hand. She looked over at her armor, resting on the rack, waiting for her. 

“You must not falter,” Valeria had told her. “You must stand strong, even when all others would shrink away from the responsibility. You must be firm, you must not second guess yourself.”

Meredith sipped the whiskey and glanced down at her thigh, covered in bandages after taking a hit from a Qunari spear. She was lucky to still have her leg. 

“You must do what no one else has the courage, the resolve to do, Meredith,” Valeria had told her, back when she was still a newly minted Knight. “That is our purpose, that is why the Maker put us here. To do what must be done, no matter the cost. And sometimes that is unpleasant, but know that you are fighting for a righteous cause, a merciful cause, a just cause. Do not forget that.”

It was then that she decided she must do something more, and thus, Certainty was born. 

*

The night was dark, and full of sounds one never heard in Kirkwall. Chirps, growls, twigs snapping and leaves rustling in the pitch black outside the flaps, the howl and beat of wind against the side of the tent. Meredith laid in the tent, staring at the wall closest to her. She could feel Byron at her back, already sound asleep, snoring quietly and mercifully not wriggling around yet. 

Meredith had been laying that way for what felt like ages, unable to fall asleep despite feeling dead tired. It wasn’t the first time she’d been struck with a bout of insomnia, but it was certainly vexing. Laying there, however, she knew would do her no good. Carefully, as not to disturb her sleeping friend, Meredith crawled out of the tent, pausing to pull her boots on and to pick up her cloak once she reached the entrance. 

She emerged quietly into the chill night air, making sure the tent flaps were pulled to behind her. 

As Meredith strode down the road past the stables, the dirt crunching softly beneath her boots, she heard a door creak open and close as quietly as an old door could. She did not stop walking, assuming it was simply the smith - a man Meredith meant to have a word with come the morning. She had high expectations, and she sincerely hoped the man - Harritt, she believed his name was - was going to be as talented as Byron promised. 

Meredith noted a few hurried footsteps on the road behind her. “Valeria,” a familiar voice called out her newly adopted title. 

“Aeris,” Meredith hummed, finally coming to a stop. She turned around and looked down at the lanky girl before her. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as a sense of vindication settled on her. 

If our paths are meant to cross, then they will. And here they were.

“Might I walk with you,” Aeris asked. 

Meredith nodded. “Of course.” 

The girl took a few long strides to catch up to Meredith, and easily matched her leisurely pace. She was not as tall as Meredith, but she was slender, and it looked as though she had not yet grown into her limbs. The cloak she wore was a little too big, and dragged on the ground as she walked. Her long, dark hair was tied in a braid similar to Meredith’s, which hung down over her shoulder, and her face was covered with the beautiful lines of Vallaslin that looked like thorned vines. 

Meredith’s eyes lingered for a moment on the girl’s Vallaslin, smooth lines which seemed to writhe in the moonlight. 

“What do they mean,” Meredith asked after a few moments of silence had passed between them. “Your tattoos? If I may ask.” She was vaguely aware that Vallaslin had meaning, though she had not a clue what it was. Meredith had met very few elves in her time that both wore it and were willing to have a civil conversation with her, most of her interactions with the Dalish had been an altercation with a Dalish mage. A brief shudder ran up her back as the recalled the Dalish woman that had galavanted around with Hawke - blood magic, Meredith had suspected, though at the time she felt there was precious little she could do about it. She could only hope now that the girl had not harmed anyone, if indeed she was using forbidden magic. 

“They’re for Elgar’nan,” Aeris said. “He’s the god of vengeance, and the sun,” she continued, absently bringing a hand up to trace a line that ran across her skin. 

Retribution, the light of the Maker, Meredith thought. Like she had once seen part of herself in her former Knight Captain, Meredith wondered if there might be a part of her in this young Dalish girl, as well. 

“They are beautiful. If I may, how old were you when you got them?” 

“When I was fifteen. It’s when you ‘come of age’, that you’re supposed to get them.” Meredith thought she might have detected a note of bitterness in Aeris’ tone, similar again to the pain, the anger, the fear she had once heard in Cullen’s voice. It was part of the reason that she had chosen him as her Knight Captain. She’d stoked the flames of his resentment, his fear, and she had used it to make him into what she’d thought was the perfect Templar. 

Meredith would not repeat her past mistake with this one. If Aeris was indeed put here for her to teach, then Meredith would make sure she did it right this time. And perhaps, if she was very lucky, the Maker might grant her the chance to make up for her past failure and repay Cullen, as well. She was not quite so hopeful for that, but if the opportunity presented itself, she would not turn it away. 

“A little young to be considered ‘of age,’ is it not?” Meredith glanced at the girl out of the corner of her eye. 

Aeris shrugged, the tension in her shoulders was visible. “It depends on.. Things. My sister got hers when she was eighteen. I…” She trailed off, staring at the ground as she sauntered along for a few moments. Meredith hung on her every word. “Mine were earlier because I had to grow up a little faster than she did.”

Meredith did not pry. She trusted that the girl would keep talking of her own volition, but worried that if she tried to glean anything specific, she might scare her off.

“My… I had two brothers, too. They were both older than me. And there were my parents. One of my brothers… Disappeared one day, he was supposed to be out hunting, and he didn’t come back. My parents assumed the worst, but I was trying to.. To stay hopeful. We never found him, not really.” She paused a moment, gathering herself. Meredith waited as patiently as she could. “What we found was his bow, and some blood, and a finger.” 

When the girl quieted again, Meredith murmured a low, gentle “I’m sorry,” though it seemed to go unheard. 

“Nobody told me what had happened to him until my other brother and father had already gone out to do something about it. Blood magic, my mother told me. He’d been abducted and used in some… To summon some creature. My brother and father were going to try to find the bastard who did it. My family didn’t much trust the Templars in Denerim, and back then neither did I. We had mages in the tribe, and we didn’t want to risk them getting dragged away to a Circle. We’d never see them again.

“So we were going to handle it ourselves, exact revenge and all that. Get justice.” Aeris’s voice had grown shakey, though not with sorrow, Meredith noted, with rage. “Neither of them came back. I don’t know if it was the same damned mage who killed the two of them, too, but I don’t know who else it would have been.

“And so it was just me, my sister, and my mother. We had the rest of the tribe, we mourned, we packed up and moved to a different spot, trying to leave all of that pain behind us. I thought of going to the Templars myself, just because I didn’t want the bastard to get away with what he’d done, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to put the rest of the tribe in danger. I just… I couldn’t. Not after everything we’d gone through, not after everything, everyone we’d lost.”

It saddened Meredith deeply to see someone so horribly disillusioned with the Templars that she would let a blood mage escape instead of asking the Order for help.

“My mother started hunting too, to make up for my father and brother’s not being there to help with it anymore. She was always good with a bow, but she didn’t like killing animals. I guess I understood it, but I thought… You know, someone had to do it. I wasn’t allowed to, though, because I was still a child. Well, one day, bad weather hit, and.. It was an accident, my mother, she wasn’t like the other ones. But it hurt us, still, we… Everybody missed her. And losing four people in just a few months hurt us, too. We didn’t have enough hunters, and my sister couldn’t help. She’s never had much skill with a weapon. She stayed in the camp, usually, and sometimes if we needed something she couldn’t make, she’d venture into the city for us. So, I asked the Keeper, and I got my Vallaslin, and I learned how to shoot a bow and how to gut an animal. It was for them - my family, everything has been. I..” Her voice broke, frustration crept into her tone and her hands clenched into painfully tight fists. Meredith could practically feel the pain, the anger, the pure, unadulterated rage radiating off the girl. 

“My sister and I came here together. She wants to do something for the good of the world, and I… I don’t know. I want it to be about justice.”

“There is more to it than that, isn’t there?” Meredith glanced down at her again. The girl’s gaze was firmly locked on a point far ahead of her. Her meagre muscles tense and her expression stony, though there was a fire in her eyes that Meredith couldn’t help but admire. 

Aeris gestured to her Vallaslin. “Yes. I…” She trailed off for a moment again, her expression briefly softening, but then quickly returning to it’s hardened state. “I want him to pay, the one that killed my brothers and my father. I don’t know how, or where he is, or even what his name is, but if I ever find him…”

Meredith couldn’t help it, she grinned. She would not make any mistakes this time. She’d help this girl, she’d teach her, she’d craft Aeris into something to be feared, something to be respected. There were lessons the girl needed to learn, surely skills that needed to be honed, and Meredith could help with that. She would succeed with this girl where she had failed with Cullen. His skill left nothing to be desired, he was decisive, he was ruthless when he needed to be, but Meredith had made a fatal mistake. She’d encouraged him to let his hatred and fear consume him, to let that be his sole motivator. It had done him no good, indeed Meredith thought it had only hurt him more. She had seen him, broken down, in pain that he couldn’t handle when he’d first arrived in Kirkwall, and all she’d really seen was something that could be rebuilt into the perfect soldier. 

She would not make Aeris a soldier, no, she would make Aeris into a weapon. The girl could learn to harness her anger without letting it control her, and Meredith would be the one to help her along. 

“I am very sorry for all you’ve been through, Aeris. But I believe you will do incredible good here.” 

“Thank you.” The girl glanced up at Meredith. “Might I ask you something now? Just so we’re even.” 

“Of course.” 

“I don’t think your name is really Valeria, and I don’t think you’re really from Ostwick.” Perceptive, good. “So what’s your real name, and where are you really from?”

The wolfish grin Meredith had managed to subdue once again overtook her expression. “You will keep it a secret? So far as anyone else is concerned, I am Valeria from Ostwick, yes?”

Aeris nodded. “Yes.” 

“Good. In that case, I am from Kirkwall,” the former Knight Commander looked up at the sky, once again marvelling at the beauty of it. “And my name is Meredith.”

*

Cullen came looking for Varric that night, walking up to the gates the moment that Varric himself hurried out of them. Surely the woman he’d seen earlier could not have actually been Meredith, there was no way. Meredith was dead, he was there. She was bones encased in red lyrium.

But still… The tall, muscled woman carrying a sword that most of Cullen’s men couldn’t wield if their lives depended on it… She had looked so much like Meredith. And just as Cullen recalled very clearly taking a nasty hit to the face, leaving him with the small scar on his upper lip, he recalled Meredith taking an even nastier one to her eye. He could not, however, remember if it had been his sword or somebody else’s, or perhaps Hawke had hit her with his staff? Parts of that fight were something of a blur to him, but he was confident that had she survived the fight, Meredith would have walked away with just one eye. 

“Curly!” Varric exclaimed before Cullen could get a word in. “Did you see her?” 

Cullen nodded. “I think I did. It… It couldn’t be. Right?” 

“Right,” Varric said, nodding as well. “There’s no way it’s Meredith.”

“Right,” Cullen agreed. “Meredith is dead.” 

“Meredith is dead,” Varric echoed. “There’s absolutely no way it’s her.” 

“Right,” Cullen said. 

“Right,” Varric agreed. Both men were trying to convince themselves more than they were trying to reassure each other. Meredith was dead, they had been there for it. 

Although… Stranger things have happened, Cullen thought, glancing away from Varric and absently touching the scar on his lip. After all, are we not gathered here to try and close a demon-spitting hole in the sky? 

*

The mage had looked over at her, all dark eyes and languid movements. Meredith’s breath hitched. “You should leave, Templar, if you know what’s good for you.” The woman’s Orlesian accent softened her otherwise threatening tone. 

“I don’t,” Meredith had said, lowering her sword. “I don’t think I know what’s good for me.” 

The mage grinned - a sharp, almost predatory expression. Meredith felt like a Halla being circled by a hungry wolf, the only time in her life she’d ever felt that way. 

“I had hoped you would say that.” 

Chapter Text

After her first few days, Meredith settled in to relative peace. She had her little tent which she shared with perhaps her only friend left in the world, she had a new apprentice with incredible potential, and she had a purpose. Save the world, save the Templars, train the girl. As far as purposes went, Meredith was quite pleased with hers. It was no small mission, but she thought at least, it would last a good long while. There was time before she would again have to wonder why the Maker had sent her somewhere - that is, assuming she survived once the Maker’s plan for her here was realised. The possibility that she would not survive was present in the back of her mind, but it did not unsettle her. Clearly the Maker had further use for her, and she trusted that she would go when it was her time. 

Her peace did not last terribly long, though, because somebody - Varric, Meredith guessed - had informed the supposed Herald of Andrastae of her presence. The Herald had come to see her, and Meredith finally got a look at the girl. They stood outside of her small tent, and as the Herald approached, the wind whistled to an abrupt halt. 

She was younger than Meredith had expected, but she supposed that fate did not always wait for a person to finish growing before pushing them into their destiny. The girl was another elf, shorter and slighter than Aeris, she looked like a stiff breeze might blow her away. Her face was adorned with a different style of Vallaslin, and a scar over her nose that reminded Meredith of Hawke. The armor she wore looked heavy enough to crush her, all fur and leather and a few small metal plates covering her joints, it was something that Meredith would never have accepted for herself, and on the girl’s back there hung a mage’s staff. 

“I have a friend who thinks you might not be who you say you are, Messere,” the Herald said. Another Marcher, is she?

“And who does your friend think I am?” Meredith clasped her hands behind her back. She would have preferred to be holding her sword, but this seemed like it was already a precarious enough situation without adding her own weapon into the mix. Besides, the Herald was quite small compared to herself, and Meredith was confident that she would be the victor in a clash between them - with, or without her weapon. 

“A dead woman. But, perhaps, not quite so dead as we all had thought.” So much for not being recognised as the Dread Knight Commander. She knew it would happen, she had just hoped she might have a little bit more time before the word got out. “Perhaps you were only mostly dead, instead of all dead.” 

“Did your friend give you a name for me?” 

“Meredith Stannard,” the Herald said, pausing briefly to look Meredith over. “Of Kirkwall.”

“At your service,” Meredith said, though she did not bow. She expected this young woman had enough people tripping over themselves to fall at her feet already. 

“At my service, or at the Herald of Andrastae’s service, I wonder?” The girl hummed. “I’ve heard about you. Not everything, I’m sure, but enough. You were a very formidable warrior, everybody who has spoken to me about you has done so trembling in their boots.”

“Is that a compliment, Herald?” Meredith raised an eyebrow. 

“Ellana, if you please. I am not terribly fond of being a Herald for a deity that I do not believe in.” She never answered Meredith’s question. The statement hung in the air between them, almost oppressive. Meredith had not considered that the Herald may also share some of her ire over a seemingly random elven mage being chosen by Andrastae. But Meredith was not one to question the Maker’s will, and if this girl was chosen - whether she wanted to believe it or not - Meredith would follow her. 

“You did not ask for this.” 

“I did not.” And so this young woman was inducted into a tradition as old as time: being fucked over by fate. 

“Fate can be cruel, at times. One moment you are naught but a young girl, the next, greatness is thrust upon you.” 

“I have noticed that.” Ellana paused briefly and glanced over her shoulder at where Haven stood, turning her attention away from Meredith. “Everyone is so convinced that I am sent by your Maker. He seems to ask quite a bit from people.”

“He asks only what he knows we are capable of giving. I concede that sometimes it can feel like too much, but He would not give us a task that we were not able to complete.” It was something that Meredith had truly believed for almost her entire life. Directly after her sister’s downfall, Meredith had been distraught. She had cried and begged the Maker, she had demanded why, and it had been Wentworth who had told her that she would be alright, it had been him who had assured her that the Maker had a plan for her.

Turning back to Meredith with an appraising look, Ellana asked “And what do you think he is asking of you?”

“I am here to help close the Breach. I am here to help the Templars.” She purposely left off her new found responsibility to Aeris, though it lingered in the back of her mind. 

“Help the Templars?” Ellana matched Meredith’s stance and clasped her hands behind her back. “Do you have any idea what might be the matter with them? That has been something of an elusive problem ever since the Lord Seeker smacked a Chantry Sister and told us to piss off in Val Royeux.”

Meredith’s expression darkened. “Perhaps the Lord Seeker must be reminded of his place,” she growled. “Was it he who orchestrated the Templar’s retreat to Therinfal?” 

“As far as we can tell,” Ellana nodded. “Though it seems your Maker only knows why. You would not happen to have any insight, Knight Comander, would you?” 

After regrading the Herald briefly, her eyes drifted closed and for a moment Meredith just listened. She could hear it, wherever they were, she could hear it call to her, sing to her. It was quiet as of now, for Therinfal was some distance away, but Meredith could hear it crackling and calling and humming. It was so distinct that she felt she could see flashes of red behind her eyelids, and she wondered if this was something like the beginnings of a Warden’s Calling. The sound was ever present in some small recess of her mind, so that it had even begun to seep into her dreams. It was soft enough that she could tune it out with relative ease, but it was always there, enticing her to come seek it out. 

“Therinfal,” Meredith began, eyes still closed. “It is that way.” She pointed off in the direction from which she could hear the faint song. “I have never been, though I have heard of the place. Evidently it is quite formidable.” Upon opening her eyes she perceived the skeptical look on Ellana’s face. “In Kirkwall, I used an idol made of red lyrium in my sword - Certainty was it’s name.”

“And then you got turned into a statue, yes, Varric has told me of it.” 

“I believe I can still hear it - not Certainty, but the presence of red lyrium.” Although, Meredith could not rule out the sound being Certainty calling to her, and the thought sent a bizarre shiver down her spine. If it was indeed Certainty’s song, who was now wielding it? “It is a small, soft little thing in the back of my mind. Always there, never ceasing. I wonder-” She corrected herself. “I worry, that the Templars may have begun to use red lyrium. I would say to combat the mage rebellion, but they are doing fuck-all about it at the moment, so I cannot guess at their reasoning.” 

Ellana regarded her silently for a few moments and took a couple steps closer. “And you believe your best shot at helping them is by joining up with us?” Meredith had the distinct sense that she was being evaluated. It was not unreasonable, she thought, to believe that the Herald had come to speak with her in order to divine whether or not she was sane and useful enough to keep around. But Meredith had already resolved that if she was told to leave, or if she was forced to run, she was going to go to Therinfal and talk some sense into the Templars - alone if she really had to. The idea may have been daunting were she a lesser woman, but there was very little that frightened Meredith. She believed beyond any shadow of a doubt that the Maker would protect her until it was her time. 

“Quite so. But I believe I am supposed to help close the Breach, as well. There is more than just the Order at jeopardy here, but I cannot turn my back on them, even if they have turned their backs on the world.”

“And what if the Templars have already started using red lyrium? I suppose you would know better than anyone else here, is there a way to help them? And what effects would it have?”

“I am sorry to say that I do not know. If what happened to me is any indication, they will go mad, and then they will die. But with something so volatile as red lyrium, I expect there are many unnatural things it can do to a person.” Meredith shuddered, remembering the feeling of the crystal encasing her. At first, when she had still had her awareness, she had felt like she was being suffocated, like the Maker himself had a vise grip on her throat. And beyond that, she had felt like she was being crushed from all sides, her arms held fast and her legs unable to stand back up. The harsh crystal had felt like it was shredding her skin as it crept up her body, even though it had not left a single mark on her. 

“You did not die.” No, but in those first moments where she realised what was happening, she had prayed for death. The Maker had met her halfway and let her be unaware for the bulk of her imprisonment, and for that she would be eternally grateful. Meredith could not even begin to imagine what it would have been like, awake in there, the feeling of suffocation, of being crushed never lessening, it would have been unbearable, and she would not have been able to do a single thing about it.

“I think I might have, but the Maker decided it was not my time, and allowed me this second chance, that I might try to atone for my past wrongs. Or at the least, I came extremely close, and He saw fit to spare me still.”

“So we have both escaped near certain death to be tossed into this mess.” Ellana heaved a sigh. “Some destiny this is. Well, if you are going to be staying here, then I am going to assign somebody to keep an eye on you. Just for the time being, at least until I can be sure that you are not a danger to us. You are quite unnerving to some, and I think they would feel much more at ease if somebody were watching to make sure you don’t start huffing red lyrium and try to kill all our mages.” 

Meredith chuckled dryly. She was not thrilled, but she supposed it was better than being thrown out. “As you say. Who is my handler to be, then?” 

“I was going to make Cullen look after you, but given the circumstances I feel that would be cruel to him. So you will get Knight Captain Rylen.” 

“Of Starkhaven?” 

“Do you know him?” 

“Not well. I believe I only met him once, quite some time ago.” Despite her displeasure at being given a babysitter, Meredith was at least glad that it was another Templar. If she recalled correctly, this was the man she had met who had tattoos on his face. Though she may have been misremembering - red lyrium had not done her memory any favours. 

“He seems decent enough, and Cullen was willing to vouch for him, so he’ll do. Come. I shall introduce you, he will be your shadow for the foreseeable future.” 

“As you say,” Meredith nodded once. 

Ellana turned away without another word, and Meredith followed.

*

She stared into the mirror, a different woman stared back. Meredith reached up, dragging a fingernail down her cheek, pulling her lower eyelid down. The other woman mimicked her movements, but Meredith knew that woman was not her - her eyes were the wrong colour. The sclera a sickly black and the irises a bright, vibrant red. They glowed, they crackled viciously. Visible underneath the woman’s skin were her veins, a similar red, also glowing, running around her face away from her eyes. 

Meredith pulled her lip away from her teeth with a shaking hand. The other woman’s gums were bloody, and Maker, she could hear it. Small lines of blood staining white teeth called out to her, and Meredith ran her tongue across her teeth in an effort to silence it. The other woman did the same, but the song did not cease. Her nails came up to rake at her face, an entreaty for the other woman to give her some peace, some respite. She dug at a speck on her cheek, if it was blood responsible for the constant hum-humming, then perhaps getting rid of some of it would lessen the noise - or would it only make it louder? Would it become unbearable once it was above the skin? Meredith had to take that risk, she could not possibly go on like this, she would lose her mind. She had to keep her wits about her, for the sake of Kirkwall, for the sake of the Order, for the sake of- of- Blood ran down her cheek, dripping off her jaw onto the table. She shuddered at the sight of it, and the inclination overtook her to taste it. The song was louder now, sweeter, much more enticing. She touched the thin trail near her jaw then licked the deep, vibrant, holy liquid off the side of her hand and savoured the taste. 

It made her mouth tingle, but it also made the song exponentially louder. Her head throbbed, her eyes burned, and she had the feeling on her skin like she was about to be struck by lightning. 

*

Meredith could have sworn that she felt eyes on her as she followed Ellana through Haven and to the tavern, but whenever she glanced in any given direction nobody was looking at her. She wondered if word had spread of who she was, or even if anybody knew. Surely the events in Kirkwall had not earned her continent-wide infamy. Perhaps people were looking at her because she was a newcomer, or perhaps they were looking at her because she was following their Herald around. 

The tavern was nothing special, it was about the same as almost every other tavern Meredith had ever been in. There was an overpowering smell of bad ale and so much chatter that she could barely hear herself think - which in fairness did not take much, nowadays. It seemed the red lyrium had left her mind a little less sharp, a little less formidable than it once was. She could remember the first time she had ventured into the training yard after receiving Certainty, and how the noise of her Templars sparring with each other had been enough to give her such a splitting headache that she had to close her curtains and lay down, and she felt so thoroughly addled that she could barely focus on her paperwork later in the evening. Not only because of the headache, but because she felt like she could hear whispering, something entreating her to take up the sword, even though she felt like she might be sick if she were to move. 

It had distrubed her at first, the sword’s soft voice, but she had grown accustomed to it. 

Ellana lead her over to a table in a mostly unoccupied corner where a man sat alone - the Knight Captain with the tattoos, Meredith remembered him better once she caught sight of his face. He was quite distinct between the ink, the scars, and the accent. 

“Herald, Knight Commander,” Rylen greeted them with a brief incline of his head. 

“Knight Captain Rylen,” Ellana returned the gesture. “Your new charge. Thank you for agreeing to look after her. I trust she will be on her best behaviour.” The young Herald turned and gave Meredith a look like a stern parent disciplining a naughty child. Meredith was torn between amusement and irritation. 

“Of course. You have nothing to fear from me,” she said, opting to keep her expression neutral. 

“I sincerely hope that is true, Knight Commander,” Ellana said. “Play nice with each other. I have mages to placate and Templars to keep from imploding, apparently. Rylen, alert Cullen or myself immediately if you suspect anything is amiss, please.”

“Of course, Herald. Don’t you worry, I’ll watch her like a hawk.” Rylen sported a lopsided grin, Meredith suppressed a groan at the word-play. 

“I’m sure you will. Farewell, Messeres, behave yourselves.” Ellana gave Meredith a light pat on the shoulder, and Rylen a half-hearted wave before she left them.

“And then there were two. Knight Commander,” Rylen spoke up first, looking up at Meredith where she stood on the opposite side of the table. “Have a seat, won’t you? Care for a drink?

“Do they serve anything decent?” She pulled out the chair across from him and lowered herself into it. Her hip protested a little bit, but as she usually did when her joints bothered her, Meredith ignored it. It seemed the cold was frequently responsible for causing aches and pains, but in the frequently sweltering Kirkwall that was rarely an issue for her. Though even in it’s comparatively mild winters, she would occasionally have to take draughts made to quell the pain. 

“No,” Rylen shook his head. “But I think it could be worse. So everything I know about you was told to me by people who’re scared shitless of you. If I’m to be keeping an eye on you, I think I ought to know you a bit better than whatever I can glean from rumours.”

“Well, you can add ‘prefers good alcohol’ to the things you know about me,” Meredith said, her nose wrinkling slightly against the smell of the place. “Aside from that, I was born in Kirkwall, I joined the Order when I was quite young after events I do not care to discuss. For the bulk of my life I served in Kirkwall as well, though I was briefly stationed in Ferelden. A Knight Captian was killed in the line of duty, and I was to replace him until the Knight Commander could settle on a suitable, permanent replacement. I returned to Kirkwall under circumstances I also do not care to discuss, and was given the position of Knight Captain there until the former Knight Commander was killed, at which point the Grand Cleric selected me for a promotion.”

“I heard about the old Knight Commander being hanged, I believe. Something about the treacherous Viscount?” Rylen took a swig from his tankard. 

“Yes, that was Threnhold. He was dispatched shortly after Knight Commander Guylian’s death. Dumar was uninspiring, but he was a considerable improvement from Threnhold. He never tried to move against us, he never interfered with my business. I chose him specifically so the Viscount would not be someone who believed themselves important enough that they could order the Templars around.”

“Ah, your divine authority was more important than his, eh?” Rylen’s lopsided grin returned.

“Yes, because my divine authority was actually divine. I was selected by the Grand Cleric herself because she knew I would be a good Knight Commander, Dumar was chosen because I knew he would not get in my way. Not because it was his destiny, or because he would be a good Viscount.”

“Were you, though? A good Knight Commander, I mean,” Rylen asked, glancing at Meredith over the rim of the tankard. “What with the whole red lyrium, going batty, trying to annul all the mages and so on.” He was poking, seeing if she would snap so easily.

She was silent for a few moments as Rylen sipped his ale. It was yet to occur to her that she actually might not have been the Knight Commander she thought she was. Even after all she had done, she still thought herself a good Templar. And if she really was good by Chantry standards, then what did that say about the Chantry and the Order?

“I did only what I felt I had to do to protect the people of Kirkwall,” Meredith said. “My intentions were pure, regardless of whether I made the right choice or not.” 

“Looking back now, do you think you made the right choices?” So this was an interrogation then. She wasn’t exactly surprised, it was sensible that the Herald would want to have the clearest picture possible of her mental state, and that that picture came from somebody that the Inquisition could trust. Byron could vouch for her until his throat went raw, but that would mean almost nothing if the Herald and her advisors didn’t trust him. 

“No,” she softly shook her head. “I did not. The Right of Annulment was not necessary. And I should never have used red lyrium.”

“I’m very glad that you can acknowledge that. Good step towards proving you’re sane enough to keep around, that you know what you did was wrong.” Rylen downed the rest of the dark liquid in the tankard and set it on the table. “Come on, I’m guessing you haven’t seen much of the place yet? I’ll show you around so you don’t get yourself lost.”

Both of them rose from their seats. Meredith was only a hair shorter than Rylen, and her shoulders were almost as broad. She followed him out of the tavern and around the small plot of land that was Haven, listening as he chattered on about whatever struck his fancy. She thought he might get annoying after a while, but all things considered, she could be in a much worse position. So she resolved to play nice with Rylen, and with the Herald. She was grateful that she had thus far been allowed to stay, and she hoped that Ellana wouldn’t change her mind. As Rylen showed her around the little hamlet, Meredith thought she might be starting to like the place. 

*

“We all have our purposes,” Valeria had told her. “We are all here for a reason. It is up to the Maker to reveal that reason to us, when and if He sees fit. Your purpose will be revealed to you in time, young one, of that I am sure.” 

Not long after Valeria said that to her did the mage die, and shortly after that Meredith recieved word that she must return to Kirkwall as soon as possible. Wentworth was unwell, and Guylian wanted to name her Knight Captain. Meredith had jumped at the chance, though she had left some small part of herself in Ferelden. A piece with Valeria, and a piece in the charred remains of the village where her mage had perished. 

*

Later that night, once Rylen had departed to get some sleep, Meredith met Aeris by the stables. The girl wore a heavier tunic with a belt tightly sinched at her waist, and held her own two daggers, and a practise swords that she’d borrowed . They walked in silence out past the field where Cullen spent his days shouting at recruits in a way that made Meredith proud, up the small incline, past the abandoned cabin. Aeris had tasked herself with finding a secluded spot to train, given Meredith did not have the free reign of the area that she had wanted. She had settled on a small clearing near enough to the old cabin that she was confident they would not get lost in the night, but far enough that the sound of sparring would likely not reach anybody back in Haven. 

“Will this work?” Aeris asked, offering the practise sword to Meredith. It was a one-handed blade, but Meredith could make do. The hilt was comfortable enough, and the blade was made of chipped, dulled metal. It was far too light for her tastes, but for the time being it would be fine. 

“It will,” Meredith said. “Alright, girl, show me what you know.” She dropped into a fighting stance, gripping her sword with one hand, the other positioned with her palm against the pommel. This might be a much lighter and smaller sword than she was used to, but Meredith expected she could wield it similarly, if a lot faster. 

And she would need the speed, too, she soon discovered, because Aeris was fast. She danced around Meredith, jumping in and out of her range with ease. The girl was a whirlwind, and Meredith was somewhat out of practise - being encased in corrupted lyrium for Maker knows how long will do that to you - though she was still able to keep up well enough and repel the bulk of Aeris’s attacks. The daggers occasionally swiped at her, leaving light scratches on Meredith’s gambeson. Nothing that would have been fatal, she noted. At last Meredith was satisfied with what she had seen, and took the next opening that Aeris gave her. Meredith twisted out of the way of a dagger and turned back, bringing the sword around and striking Aeris’ side with the flat of the blade. 

“And you’re dead,” she said, taking a step back and withdrawing the sword. Aeris stumbled a little, breathing hard. She looked up at Meredith. “You have talent, and you have incredible potential. But you are too focused on your speed and not your accuracy. You need to find a balance.” Meredith planted the tip of the sword down into the snow and rested her hands on the pommel. “You are leaving yourself open too much, too. Fighting with daggers does mean you will have to take some risks that, say, I would not with a sword, but you need to guard yourself better. You will come up against people that are much faster than I am, who will take advantage of carelessness.” 

Aeris frowned, but did not argue. “So how shall I improve, then?”

“With practise, there is no other way. I can stand here and tell you all about swordplay for hours, it will mean absolutely nothing if you cannot put it into practise. First I think we will work on blocking. You will be tracking your enemy’s movements, and when you only have daggers to work with, it takes much more hand-eye coordination than a shield does. You can hide behind a shield, you cannot hide behind a little knife.” 

“Alright,” Aeris nodded, straightening up and stretching her arms. She did not yet drop back into a fighting stance. “Meredith, I was wondering..” 

“Hm?” Meredith took her sword back up as well, but did not level it against Aeris yet. 

“Well, you’re a Templar aren’t you?” 

“I was one, yes. Some time ago.” 

“And Templars have those powers that counteract magic, right?” 

Meredith raised an eyebrow. “Yes, but we are not born with them. We must take lyrium to use them.”

“Could you teach those to me too? I’ll take lyrium if I need to, I just- Well, if I ever find that bastard, you know, and he tries to use a spell on me… Knives won’t do much about magic, will they?”

Meredith was quiet for a long time, her gaze fell to her sword, and then to her free hand. She would not make this girl into a Templar, not when she herself was living proof of what can happen when you give a hurt and angry little girl a sword and some lyrium and tell her that her hatred is righteous. Not to mention the withdrawals.. Meredith had been fortunate enough in her life that she had never gone without enough lyrium, but there had been a few times when she’d felt that itch. Her skin had burned and her throat had gone dry, her joints had hurt, her head had throbbed, and she had felt like she would die if she didn’t get more. She was young, then, and she had still had Wentworth to keep her on her feet. 

That pain was not something that Meredith would willingly give unto this girl. Lyrium was a heavy burden, so heavy that Meredith had seen it crush several people. Samson came to mind for a moment, and she remembered the way he had begged her not to throw him out, or to at least give him a good supply of lyrium as a going away gift. He’d told her he couldn’t live without it, that he would die and it would be on her shoulders - that hadn’t bothered her at the time. She remembered the reports she’d heard from her patrols that Samson had been seen begging in the streets for just a little bit of dust, or coin enough to buy some. 

The mental image of Aeris, dirty and emaciated and desperate, imploring strangers on the streets of whatever city she found herself in for just a little bit of dust struck Meredith like a blow. 

“No,” Meredith finally replied, shaking her head. “You do not understand the burden we bear in exchange for those powers, and it is not something I can in good conscience put upon you.” 

“I can handle it, really! If I can’t fight magic how am I supposed to fight a mage?” The girl implored, desperation and frustration inching into her tone.

“There are other ways. It does not always take a Templar to put down a blood mage. There are times when regular people have taken them down without our help,” Meredith said, and for a brief, unpleasant moment Meredith thought she could again feel the heat of the fire on her face, she could hear the shouting of the townsfolk, the bellowing call of the mage as she threw spell after spell at her attackers. It was the one time when Meredith had stood frozen, unable to do her duty and unable to act against it as well. She closed her eyes for a moment, gave her head a slight shake, and the sound, the heat vanished. It was replaced with the ever present soft humming of red lyrium in the distance, which Meredith greatly preferred.

“But what if it doesn’t work? I don’t want to- I’ll not meet the same fate as my brothers.” The girl was resolute, and Meredith respected it. But she truly did not understand what lyrium could do to a person.

“You will not, because you will be prepared. There are other tools you can use, grenades, poison tipped arrows, plenty of things that would disorient or incapacitate a mage that you do not need to take lyrium to use.” The knowledge that if this girl had come into her life a few years ago, Meredith would have readily offered her lyrium so long as she would take the vows did not sit lightly on her shoulders. 

Aeris sighed, frowning and looking down at the snow by Meredith’s boots. “Fine, then.”

Meredith felt a pang of guilt, but she knew it would be far worse if she agreed to give the girl lyrium. “You will perform just fine without a Templar’s abilities, I have faith in you. Now, come on. Daggers up, you are learning how to block.” 

*

“You will not be able to rely on anything but yourself. Even a sword can break, so you must be unbreakable. You must trust in the gifts the Maker has given you, you must trust in what we have taught you.” Valeria had told her this right after smacking her in the head with the flat of a heavy sword. Meredith had barely heard her, her ears were ringing so loudly. “The only things you can count on are the Maker and yourself. Not your sword, not your armor, not any of your compatriots. All of those things can, and will, let you down. Magic will not wait for you to fix a broken blade or cracked armor, nor will it wait for you to pick up your fallen friends.”

*

Aeris departed after another hour or so of practise, sporting several new bruises and saying she had to rise early for her work. Meredith nodded, turned over the practise sword, and lingered in the clearing for a little while longer. It was peaceful, and she was grateful for a little bit of silence. Haven was always bustling now, and with so many people packed so tightly together, there was no such thing as privacy or solitude, not really. And of course, she had her dear tent-mate. She did not mind having Byron close by, but he and silence did not go together. Even in the night, when she laid awake, he had a tendency to mumble in his sleep. 

It usually didn’t disturb her that much; it gave her something to listen to while she laid awake at night. Her sleep had often been plagued by nightmares long before she got ahold of that idol, and long before Certainty was forged. The influence of the red lyrium had done her no favours, it had just made her nightmares much, much stranger, and much, much more vivid. After she got ahold of Certainty, Meredith had woken up most nights not knowing where she was, terrified that Kirkwall had been consumed by red lyrium and totally convinced that all her Knights were dead. After a night like that she would be particularly crabby the next morning, both from the exhaustion and the lingering discomfort instilled in her by the dreams. As her hard nights multiplied, Meredith’s temper had grown shorter, her paranoia had grown more intense, and her conviction that there was something horrible on the horizon had grown firmer.

Her changing temperament had not been something anyone in the Gallows was brave enough to speak to her about. 

Since she had gotten out of her lyrium prison, her dreams had slowly begun to return. She had woken both herself and Byron up a couple of times because she had gotten more restless, and according to him, she had apparently started to mutter in her sleep as well. Perhaps once the Herald was satisfied that she was not a danger to the Inquisiton, they might let her take up residence in the little abandoned cabin, so that her nights might be a little more peaceful and so she would not risk disturbing anyone were she to have a nightmare. She paused a moment to examine the cabin as she passed it, and decided it would do quite nicely, so long as it was actually vacant. 

She continued up along the path and back towards Haven. It was a pleasant stroll, if a little short. There was not very much area around Haven that she felt comfortable venturing into in the dark of night with no weapon about her. No telling what sorts of wildlife she might encounter. 

As she rounded the bend and began to come down the incline, she stopped in her tracks at the sound of footsteps coming up the road towards her. She’d been looking down to make sure that she didn’t trip. 

“...Knight Commander,” a familiar, startled voice greeted her, somewhat shakily. 

“Commander,” she looked up and inclined her head to him. “It is only Meredith, now.” 

“Meredith, then,” Cullen said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly uneasy, and Meredith thought she could probably cut the tension in the air with a sword. 

“I am pleased to see that you made it out of Kirkwall alive,” Meredith offered, and it really was true. She had no ill will towards him, if anything she was glad that he had come to his senses in time, so that Hawke did not turn his staff on Cullen, too. 

“Thank you. I… I must admit I am… Maker,” he muttered, a gloved hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I am surprised to see you. I- we all thought you were dead.” Cullen kept his distance from her, staying near the bottom of the little hill, closer to the tents where some of his soldiers were sleeping. They would hear him if he yelled, both of them knew that. 

“I think I might have been, but the Maker saw fit to give me another chance.” Meredith didn’t try to get any closer. His discomfort was obvious enough, but she supposed that they both knew this conversation would have to happen at some point. If the Herald was going to let her stay, then Meredith was going to be a soldier. As a soldier, she would likely have to deal with the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. 

“What do you mean to do with it?” Cullen asked, hands twitching idly at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. 

“Help close the Breach. And I aim to learn what the Templars are doing, hiding away when they are needed.” Save them from their own hubris, probably. 

“I have been wondering about that, as well.” He began to fidget with one of this sleeves, and glanced briefly back at the tents behind him. “The Herald told us that you have a suspicion.” 

“Yes, I do,” Meredith confirmed with a curt nod of her head. 

“Red lyrium, she said.” 

“That is my fear.” She paused a moment, glancing off into the distance, over Cullen’s shoulder in the direction where many miles away, the Templars had gathered in their secluded fortress. “I can… I believe I can hear it, still. It’s quiet, but it’s there.”

“Do you.. Is there anything that we can do, do you think? To save them?” Anxiety edged into his voice, and she suspected this was something that had been weighing on him as well. 

“I do not yet know, but I intend to try. Even if I have to go to Therinfal myself and talk some sense into them.” Which was the mildest way to say that Meredith intended to ride out to Therinfal and beat some sense into Lord Seeker Lucius with her bare hands if she had to. “Even if the Inquisition turns it’s back on the Order, I could not.” 

“Nor could I.” 

Silence hung between them for a moment or two, Cullen to nervous to say whatever was on his mind, and Meredith trying to string the words together in her head before saying any of them aloud. 

“If you would permit me,” Meredith began. Cullen turned his gaze from the gravel of the road up to her face again. “I know I did you no favours in Kirkwall. I would…” Maker, she was never awfully good with words. “I would like to apologize. You deserved better than that.” 

Cullen stared at her for another moment or two, wide eyes and dumbfounded expression. Meredith supposed she would be quite shocked too, were she in his shoes. 

“Well, I- that is- Maker. That is.. Kind of you, thank you, Knight Comman- Meredith.” He paused a moment to gather himself, deciding that trying to play nice would be the best course of action if Meredith was going to be around. Besides, if she really had her wits about her again, she might prove useful. “Provided you continue to be.. Sane and reasonable, and you stay with us, perhaps you would not mind helping to train some of the recruits? I could use someone help who knows how to hold a sword.” 

“Provided I remain sane and reasonable, I would be glad to assist. I do not care to stand around while everybody else does the work.” She was beginning to feel antsy already, and she intended to ask Rylen if there were any tasks around Haven she might be permitted to help with. Even if she wound up baking bread or repairing swords, she would be glad to have something. 

“I trust Rylen or the Herald will inform me when they deem you fit for duty. We shall discuss it further then.” Cullen glanced upwards at the night sky, illuminated by the stars and by the glowing green hole. 

“I shall leave you to enjoy your night, Commander,” Meredith said, taking a few steps to the side. She thought it courteous to give Cullen a wide berth. Especially if they were to be working together in the future, she didn’t want to set him on edge. Though she knew that was something that would take time, and probably a lot of it. 

“Of course. Goodnight, Kn- Meredith.” It would also take a lot of time for him to adjust to calling her Meredith to her face. 

“Goodnight Commander.” With an incline of her head, Meredith passed by him and carried on to her tent. She didn’t look back over her shoulder, but eventually she heard his footsteps begin to carry on up the little hill. 

Byron was already out cold when she reached their shared tent. She quietly removed her boots and gambeson before, carefully as she could, crawling into her space by the other wall. It was evident to her that she would not be able to sleep for some time yet, but she thought she might at least close her eyes and rest. It would do no good for her to be exhausted come the morning, when she would habitually rise before the sun. 

*

The man - no, the boy - stood in front of Meredith. His posture rigid, his expression set, his eyes distant. He had not even reached his twentieth year, but he already had the look of a man at least twice, maybe three times his age. He was the first one that Meredith had seen a small part of herself in. She recognized that pain, she felt that she understood it. Meredith decided as soon as she met the boy that she would keep him close by, because she expected that just like herself, this boy could take his pain and use it to become something great.