Chapter Text
News travels fast in a small village like Haven, and news about the Inquisition travels fastest of all.
Lysette walks quickly out of the gates and past her usual spot, briefly glancing in the direction of the soldiers at the training ground. The clinking of swords had stopped, Haven's best and bravest are huddled together, exchanging looks of worry instead. One of them, another former templar – Mattrin – catches her eye, inviting her to join in.
But Lysette walks on, past the camp, past the path along the defence wall and into the grove. The snow crackles under her foot as she continues past the herbalist's cabin, the iron deposits and everything else. She only stops when she reaches the top of the hill overlooking it all - the Frostbacks, the empty forests, the frozen lake - and Haven, nestled in a steep valley amidst all this stillness.
There's no shortage of dissent in the village of Haven. Ever since the Inquisition's formation, camps were divided. The mourning pilgrims and the curious faces brought about by news of the Conclave on one side, the handful of clerics rallied by Chancellor Roderick as the Chantry's last line of defence on another. The loyal, the misguided, the opportunistic alike.
And then there were the rest. The wood shavings at the sawmill, those not important enough to die. Myself, Lysette noted, with a touch of grief and a touch of relief.
Among all the disjointed loyalties, there's never a shortage of mutterings about whatever the Inquisition is up to - sending soldiers to get captured in the Fallow Mire, use troops to antagonize nobles in Ferelden. Everyone's a critic. But the news this morning has the special virtue of getting everyone, every single soul in Haven muttering under their breaths. The one piece of news as contentious as it was inevitable.
The Herald will soon ride out to Redcliffe, to meet with her fellow mages and discuss an alliance.
'Unthinkable heresy'. If Lysette listens closely, she thinks she can still hear Roderick's outraged cry.
And I should be right there with him. I should be waiting by the door of the chantry to get the ear of Seeker Cassandra, Commander Cullen, the Herald herself and demand the pursuit of the templars instead.
And yet.
The wind blows coldly from the mountainside this morning, and dark clouds are hunching over the peaks, promising heavy snowfall later today. She shivers in her armour, and watches the green clouds of the Breach spin and spin.
Nothing was ever simple, and faith never spoke clearly to Lysette.
She had once put her faith in the templar order. The protection of mages from themselves was the Templar Order's holy calling, and Lysette strived to be one of the voices that brought the warring sides together once again. But she was wrong, was she not? For the Maker let the templars die in the explosion at the Conclave, along with their former charges. And then, when given the chance to try again, both sides only made things worse. The mages entrenched themselves in Redcliffe and allied themselves with Tevinter. The templars entrenched themselves at Therinfal Redoubt and turned into the personal mage hunter army of one delirious, grandstanding man. Which one was worse, she truly, honestly couldn't say. So how could she possibly brandish her sword in defence of all this madness?
What does my faith say now?
She glances again towards Haven, now muted by the sound of the winds picking up speed.
Her hair rises on her back as she hears footsteps approach, but not with wariness and fear. The faint and somewhat familiar presence of magic seeps into the air like perfume.
"Herald of Andraste," Lysette turns and greets with a nod.
"The soldiers told me they saw you walk this way. I worried you might be on your way to Therinfal to knock some sense into their heads yourself," the Herald smiled.
Lysette looked away and returned the smile, "Were it so easy, I would have." They had only spoken less than a handful of times, and every time Lysette did not know what to expect from the Herald. Her easy-going nature was foreign to her when comparing her to all the recent mages she's encountered. It made Lysette feel a little lost, and very curious. Eventually her ears caught up with her train of thought, "You were looking for me? Whatever for?" A gust of wind swept the hill, and Lysette shivered again.
Lady Trevelyan took notice. "Follow me," she said, as she led them to the herbalist's cabin. With a flick of the wrist and a gentle wave, the hearth was set alight with magical fire.
They both brought their chairs close to the warmth as the wind howled through the wooden boards. When they settled, the Herald spoke.
"I'm looking for your help," she started, and again Lysette was taken aback by her earnestness. "I'm aware there's a lot of opposition to my meeting with the mages, let alone my intention to recruit them to our cause. I've been through it all in my head, all the possible repercussions, how many people might abandon the Inquisition, how we might face a true, armed retribution from the Chantry," she explained, as she watched the fire eat away at the damp pieces of firewood with a loud crack. "I've been through it all, and I believe this is the right thing to do. But that's not why I am here." The Herald of Andraste then shifts towards Lysette, her tone genuine and pleading, "I know some of your fellow former templars look up to you. Some of them are more inclined to listen to you than they are to listen to Commander Cullen, on occasion. Especially after Val Royeaux. And so, I need your help with making sure that no matter what happens in Redcliffe, the Inquisition can count on the remaining templars. No matter their loyalties, there will be plenty of demons to fight once we close the Breach, and we will need everyone's help. Your help," she adds at the end.
Lysette furrows her brows and struggles to find the words to speak. With the templar leadership decimated or running off into the mountains, she is technically one of the more senior ex-templars after Commander Cullen, however -
"I'm just a recruit," is what comes out in the end. Just a recruit, and the Herald of Andraste would entrust this to her?
The Herald puffs out a laugh, "And I'm just a mage-turned-prisoner-turned-head-of-a-heretical-movement," she gives an encouraging smile. "You have a good head on your shoulders Lysette, and the soldiers can see that. It doesn't have to make sense to you, but it makes sense to me. And so," she sits down next to Lysette, watches her with a sincerity she should ill afford given their differences. it's completely disarming. "Can I count on you to help keep things together until I return?"
What does my faith tell me?
Lysette looks at the crackling wood in the fireplace for a moment, before saying clearly, "You can count on me. You have my word."