Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He had many foxholes throughout Thedas, reaching many places in the continent that he called home. In the cities of Kirkwall, Denerim, Redcliffe. You name it, he probably had one.

As one of the greatest assassins in the business, self proclaimed to be called Viper, he needed places to hide. Places where he felt safe enough to rest a while before he was back on his feet. Places where he could fix up his longer black hair and clean himself up.

But not this time.

He moved the small wood covering and slipped into the hole in the concrete. He placed the wood back, before he stopped and listened. A habit he had developed while on the run.

There was a small rustle, and he quickly turned. His dagger was out of it's sheath within a moment. The blade met the neck of his visitor, a blonde woman with a staff. She gave a smirk, her features calm, collected, and even contained hints of amusement. He snarled.

"Who are you?” He growled, ready to cut her down the moment she tried something. He was well too accustomed to being followed, and as soon as he got his answers, he would kill her. “How’d you find this place?”

“My name is Calpernia. And how I found this place is irrelevant.” Her words were almost rehearsed, yet there was no hint of nervousness in her tone. Her Tevinter accent was thick as she spoke and he grimaced.

Of course she was from Tevinter, he spoke internally, paired with a heavy mental slap. He did not have a good history with the magisters from Tevinter. And with the way she held herself, and the staff, told him she was in fact one of the spellbinders from the country he hated.

“What do you want?” He narrowed his eyes at her and her sinister smile only grew. She reached to her side, and sirens went off in his mind as he pressed the knife closer to her neck. She paused and observed him.

“I have a job, one only for the bearer of a king assassin’s mark.” She started calmly, and he gave her a skeptical look. The ink on the back of his neck tingled.

“A job? Did the magister make a mess at the imperium?” He scowled, and she gave a dark chuckle.

“You’ve seen the Breach, have you not?” She asked, and he paused for a moment. This wasn’t about Tevinter. He felt cold fingers wrap around his wrist and she pushed his hand away, the knife leaving her skin. She leaned in close, like she was telling a secret. Her fingers grabbed a strand of his hair and twirled it. He shrugged her off him. “I have a way to save you from it.”

He hesitated a moment. “How so?”

She grinned with pure malice. “My Elder One created the breach. And if you help us, then he will grant you permission to keep living once the world is his.”

His eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but to scoff in disbelief. Creating such a thing of darkness just to take over the world? That was what was happening? She must be crazier than all the other magisters, he decided.

“Elder One? Grant me permission?” He spoke sharply and pushed against her grip. He could see the enjoyment on her face when he fought back. “I don’t think so, based on what you’re implying.”

“Oh, but what if protection against dying was an offer?” She hummed, and he stopped once more. He raised an eyebrow, and she took it as an invitation to continue. “The Venatori can give you safety from the Elder One’s plans and make sure no one touches you.”

He stopped and looked at her with curiosity. But maybe it was rage.

Of course, the Venatori were involved. Damn cult.

“I command them." She suddenly spoke, and he immediately narrowed his eyes at her. This wasn't some agent. This was their leader.

He knew about the Venatori from personal experience. His brother was lost because of them, polluted by their ideals.

"They follow my orders like it's a holy command. I can make sure they avoid you." She paused and gave a devilish grin. "Unless you decide you want to be our spymaster.”

He thought for a moment. He was no martyr and planned to survive for as long as possible. But he knew better. Being a spymaster for such a corrupt organization was nothing he wanted to be a part of.

“What's the target?” He carefully asked and her twisted smile widened. Damn Tevinter magisters and their damn evil smiles. She released his wrist and he took a step back. She delicately pulled out a scroll from seemingly nowhere and passed it to him.

“The Commander of the Inquisition.” She added a dramatic look as she strolled over to a table. She set the parchment onto it with a light thud.

He had also heard about the Inquisition. Kind of hard not to, he supposed, but he didn’t like this. Joining a holy war was something that he didn’t particularly fancy.

“Can’t you do that yourself instead of involving me in this godforsaken war?” He questioned and she shook her head, her smile never faltering. It creeped him out.

“You know you’re the best assassin in Thedas.” She beamed at him, her voice threatening. He couldn’t help but to wish he chose a different profession to follow. “You are the one who must do this. Fail, and you’ll know the consequences.”

Her tone almost made him growl. He wanted to say she was wrong. But he knew that he’d be lying. He never failed a mission, especially when it granted him another day in his little miserable life. He gripped his dagger tightly, his knuckles white.

"Fine. I’ll do it." He nearly spat out, and he watched as her mouth opens to reply. He cut her off swiftly. "But I don’t want to be a spymaster for this damn Elder One or the damn Venatori.”

“You say that now, but things will change." She smirked and approached him, her head held high. He wanted to punch her stupid smile off her face. "We’ll meet again at some point. For now, make your way to the Hinterlands, for that is where their recruiting efforts shall extend to next.”

He stared as she made her way to the cover of the foxhole and opened it, stepping outside. She turned to meet his gaze and smiled when he met her eyes with a glare. “Your efforts will be rewarded, Zalerius.”

And with that, he was left alone, wondering how she knew his name.

Chapter Text

The Hinterlands were beautiful. Aside from the fighting between the apostates and rebel templars, it was a lovely country area, something he found that Fereldan was full of. The land was charming and peaceful. For Zalerius, anyway. Though it was a big jump from his past. He had to admit that the cold was not pleasant, especially when he crossed the Frostback Mountains.

Yet, it was easy for him to admit that this was better than being back in Tevinter. It was more organic here, more alive and not full of people who only cared about social status instead of the people around them. Each interaction he had with a local, no matter the area, he relished in the friendliness that he found.

The Crossroads were the only area, it seemed, that wasn’t polluted with fighting anymore. The Inquisition was already making progress in the area, and he only had so much time before they moved on to Redcliffe Village.

The newly found Inquisition’s Herald, a Lady Ryllae Lavellen, and her entourage, were taking care of the lingering templars and mages. But it felt like soldiers and spies from this Inquisition were everywhere. Even as Zalerius stood at a stand to buy some apples, he could feel their eyes on his back. But then again, he found it easy to understand how his appearance could spell trouble.

A cloak hid most of his figure and with the hood up, he had an ominous air about him. Even the poor merchant hesitated to sell him produce, but eased up when Zalerius assured him he was just a traveler who needed food for his horse. It was more believable when he admitted that he didn’t like the nip in the autumn air. He always preferred warmer weather, so it wasn't a lie.

He finished paying for his items and stored them into the satchel under his cloak. Once set, he began to make his way toward the Kings Road. Eyes lingered on his form, even after he had left the small semblance of a town. He knew that spies stayed within the shadows, following him carefully. They may have been good at their job, but he was better.

Once he arrived at a burned down house, he found his horse trying to graze on the burned crops of the farmland. The fighting had decimated the place, the area around this particular farm burned and charred. It was a sight he didn’t like to see. It made him upset, in his own way.

Sometimes, Zalerius wondered if this was ever considered by the mages and templars. The sacrifices of the innocent. The costs of war.

He cleared his mind, and pulled the apples from his satchel. Those thoughts were dangerous, and he decided avoiding them would be the best option. He began to feed his horse.

Well, the horse he had been borrowing. The horse wasn’t exactly his.

A job had permitted him to keep the horse. Although, it wasn’t exactly legal. But Kirkwall always had a tendency to let things slip by and not keep track of their missing things. Or creatures. A benefit for him.

As he fed the colt, he could feel someone approaching. He relaxed his arms, and made sure that the presence didn’t disturb him. He had to pretend like no one was there. Had to hide who he was. He reminded himself this as he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He made sure to exaggerate whipping around with a look of surprise. He had to sell it, after all. The person made a look of surprise himself, clearly not intending to cause a fright. It was a man not much older than him. Poor sod had no idea of how well Zalerius could act.

“Ah, my apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The man spoke gently, his hands raised to show he meant no harm. It was a member of the Inquisition, no doubt. The uniform resembled the ones he had seen at the Crossroads, but this set was lighter. He was likely a scout.

Zalerius didn’t know a whole lot about the Inquisition, and he had little time to do research. However, he had heard about their spymaster. A formidable woman, she was. The Nightingale. The left hand of the previous Divine. A lethal spy.

“No, you’re quite alright.” He replied, letting himself sound partially startled. He relaxed his face a bit. The scout smiled briefly, and reached to a pouch on his back, pulling out a scroll. He opened it, and read the words on the paper.

“On order of the Inquisition, we require each individual to join or offer their name in a draft should the need arise for a great force." He declared, before looking up at Zalerius and explaining further, but in a softer, less demanding, voice. "We still don’t know what we’re dealing with, which is why we require this.”

So they really are preparing for an all out war, Zalerius thought. Although, he didn’t blame their actions.

It was a scary moment in time. The sky was torn open, and the person who did it is still unknown to the world. Even he could agree that having an army in your hands in such uncertain times is likely for the better. Especially since they had no idea how bad the reality of it all actually is.

“You still haven’t figured out what caused the Breach?” Zalerius questioned and the scout shook his head, glancing up at the sky. Zalerius knew it was closed, but it still lingered. He heard the the Inquisition intented to seal it completely. The green hues and the occasional pulsing of it was enough to cause him to shiver.

“No. We have no answers to anything.” He spoke with a softness, and Zalerius returned his gaze to the scout. “But we promise this is for a good cause. We will close the Breach, and find those responsible and take care of them accordingly.”

“Alright,” He whispered, and pretended to think for a moment. He nodded, and looked the scout in the eyes. “Count me in.”

The scout beamed and reached into his pocket, leading the way to a fence post sturdy enough to write on.

“Then I’ll need your name, age, where you herald from, and your specialization.” The scout spoke, grabbing a quill and a small jar of ink, which he opened and gently dipped the quill into.

Zalerius remembered every part of the lie he came up with. His identity was important, and he already knew which name to be called this time.

“My name is River Burgest,” Zalerius started out, going over every little detail in his mind. He was 28. An orphan from Ostwick who had been moving most of his life.

“How did you get the last name Burgest?” The scout questioned, and Zalerius carefully thought back to his past, searching for how he got the name.

“I took the last name of an old farmer who helped me truly get on my own feet." He spoke softly. "He died not long ago, and when I got a letter about it, he said I could take on his last name.”

The first truth in his words.

“My apologies. I assume you’ve been traveling since then.” The scout replied with sorrow. He hummed in a response instead, signaling his correct assumption. “Alright, what’s your specialization? It’ll be needed in case we need to change where you are ranked.”

“I’m a rogue.” He answered, and the scout nodded in return, writing that in a flowing calligraphy. A skilled writer. He wound the scroll back up, and passed it to Zalerius.

“Welcome to the Inquisition, River.” He beamed, and Zalerius almost chuckled at the enthusiasm and determination the scout expressed. Although, his mind was thinking of other things. The sooner I finish this job, the quicker I can hide from this damn war, he thought. “Meet us at Haven in 4 days. There will be others, and whenever you arrive, someone will help you find your way around.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, and suddenly, he is met with an unusual curiosity. “What’s your name?”

“Mal.” The scout replied, and he nodded at the name, making sure to remember it. It was short and simple, so he shouldn’t forget it. “I hope to see you at Haven.”

“As do I, Mal. Good day.” Mal smiled a bit, and nodded once more, before walking away and eventually breaking into a light jog. It wasn’t long before he faded Zalerius’ line of sight.

Once gone, Zalerius got up and made his way back to his horse. He huffed out a sigh and closed his eyes, going over the facts. He needed to do this to stay alive. The idea filled him with a new sense of determination, enough to board his horse and begin the journey to Haven.

Chapter Text

When Haven came into view, he thanked whichever god could hear him.

The cold from the Frostback Mountains were unbearable. He shivered more than he would ever admit, and he wanted to stand by a fire as soon as he could. It was his one weakness, and he cursed it.

But as he rode into the settlement, he could truly see how it looked. He almost scoffed in disbelief of the sight of Haven. It was no fortress, let alone a military headquarters. It was a refuge, filled to the brim with people who were ill, training, and praying alike.

With every second, he saw how their growing numbers needed something more than this place has to offer.

He sighed and looked up, finding the green glow of the Breach and the rocks he never knew were there rotate slowly.

The Breach stood ever so eerily, tinting the sky. He never imagined he would be able to see it so close. From the Hinterlands, it looked like a hole in the clouds when there’s a bad storm. But here, anyone could see it was so much more. It flashed and spun slowly, but constantly.

It was a continuous reminder of what’s at stake for the people of Haven.

He guided his horse to the stables, which were located right next to the blacksmiths. The sound of their hammers was all he needed to tell that the people inside the smith were working hard to produce armor and weapons.

When he looked over, he could see the main gates. They rose high, spikes on the outside of them, which must have been a new addition when the Inquisition took over. This was a holy site before, he recalled.

He urged his horse to a stop and dismounted, making sure to grab the reins to prevent the horse from running. Although he doubted it would do such a thing. A stable boy approached and silently held his hand out. Zalerius gave him the reins, and the boy led his horse away.

He watched as his horse was put into a small pen before he turned and met the gaze of someone approaching. He quickly examined their features before they got too close.

It was a human woman, adorned with short black hair and heavy armor dressing her body. A sword hung at her side, yet she wore no shield on her back like warriors usually do. The way she held herself immediately made him aware she was someone not to anger.

“Who are you?” She spoke, a thick Nevarran accent evident in her voice. She was straightforward and demanding, and he figured that if she was to trust him, he would need to earn it. He pretended as if her tone catches him off guard.

“I was sent here as a recruit? River Burgest?” He offered as a response and she gave him a once over before she gave a curt nod. She then looked away from him and easily caught the arm of a passerby. He saw her lips move, but couldn't make out anything intelligible. The passerby left them within moments and she returned her gaze to him.

“Welcome to the Inquisition. I am Cassandra Pentaghast.” She introduced sharply, not bothering to offer a handshake as she spun on her heel. She motioned for him to follow her. “I am one of the people helping with your training while I am present here in Haven.”

Zalerius was quick to follow, and quickly took note of the area she was leading him to. Some dummies, a training ring, a series of tents, and most importantly, soldiers of different kinds all training together.

Looking closer, Zalerius could see that they all held and wore the same things. Their uniforms were the same ones that the people in the Hinterlands wore. Likely standard issue armor for the soldiers.

He made a note to find a way to alter the standard issue armor he would likely be getting. Maybe just avoid wearing it all together. They looked to be practical, but they lacked the things he needed when he was in a battle. He would fix that.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when the woman he would begin to call Lady Pentaghast spoke once more. He swore he knew that last name.

“You will be training under Commander Cullen Rutherford under most circumstances, as he will be the one to lead you into any battle.” She explained, and stopped as another soldier ran up to her. He took a quick look at her armor while he had the chance.

It was dirtied and dented; there was a small crest that resided in the middle. The Inquisitions' symbol, perhaps. She asked a quick question that he couldn’t catch, and then began walking once more. He followed swiftly.

“How many people are training us, exactly?” He questioned, being sure to fit the role of a curious new recruit. It seemed to work, as she let out a sigh. Whether it was of annoyance or exhaustion, he could not tell.

“Ideally, it would be only the Commander. However, we gain multitudes of new recruits everyday," She waved another soldier over, which quickly made his way to them. The soldier didn’t want to waste her time, that was for sure. She began talking with him, and Zalerius took the time to scan the area once mmore

The terrain that this little establishment was set on wasn’t great. Zalerius wondered how they got the tents to stay nailed into the ground, along with the dummies and even the posts for the training ring.

He turned his attention to the people. They were all training, some practicing their techniques with each other, some using the dummies to train. As he scanned the area, he noticed a man that held himself differently than the rest.

The man's uniform stood out compared to the other ones he saw. Just by looking at it, Zalerius could see how thick the metal was. He wondered how many layers the man wore underneath all that silver or steel plates. He looked bulky. He figured it must be heavy.

Some of the armor was covered by other pieces of fabric. The most noticeable part was a brown and red fur mantle that hugged his shoulders and wrapped around the back of his neck. It was fitting for the snowy mountain region that Haven resided in, and likely kept this man warm.

His armor hugged his body well, and certainly displayed his status. He had blonde hair, and these soft brown eyes. He couldn’t help but to watch him as he yelled to the other recruits and helped them figure out how to hold a sword.

It's when he saw that that he realized that this was the one he needed to kill. This was his target.

It was almost a shame. He found himself admitting that the Commander was very pleasant to look at.

He quickly snapped out of his small stupor as the blonde man turned towards him, almost making eye contact. He fixed his gaze back at Cassandra, readjusting himself. He had gotten distracted. He convinced himself that it was part of the act.

But an unusual sense of doubt seeped into his mind. He was thinking too much, he determined. It would not happen again.

Refocusing on the two in front of him, they finished their conversation and she led him to a large tent and pointed to it. “You will sleep here. There are 3 other people in this tent. It’s not desirable, but it is all we can spare.”

“This is fine, thank you Lady Pentaghast.” He replied and she rolled her eyes. He figured it was the title that made her do so. Not one for formalities, he concluded.

“If you have any problems, don’t come to me. Unless it’s related to combat.” She added swiftly and gave a small, yet cheeky smirk. “Your training starts tomorrow morning, so get settled.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He straightened his back a bit, and she turned on her heel, leaving him in front of his tent. He quickly emtered the aforementioned tent and took a glance around. There were 4 cots set up, although there was only one without things on it. He got the last pick, it would seem. He removed his satchel and other items and set them on the cot. He took a seat on the remaining empty space and let himself take a deep breath.

His trip to this mountainscape was tiring, to say the least. He was lucky enough to make it the day before training began. He had no idea the Hinterlands were that far, but he guessed it made sense. Yet he was exhausted from the travel.

The tent flap suddenly opened, and he found himself looking at a young elven man. He had long brown hair tied back into a ponytail and curious blue eyes.

“You’re our new tentmate, yeah? I’m Gallas.” He spoke and walked more into the tent, heading for his own cot, where he sat down. It was the one across from him. Zalerius nodded a bit, and he smiled. “You just got here, I’m assuming. I arrived yesterday.”

Zalerius nodded once more and Gallus continued his one sided conversation. Definitely a talkative one, he thought. But he seemed to mean no harm, just wanted to be able to socialize. Zalerius didn’t mind. He actually found himself listening to his story.

He’s from Val Royeaux, grew up as a noble but wanted to go and see the world for ages. Something about feeling contained in such a small place. His story was familiar in a sense. Hearing it made him almost start reminiscing. Almost.

They both eventually made their way to the tavern as night quickly fell over the small village. The conversation still remained one sided, yet he felt that he could relate to Gallas, despite not talking much.

While eating, he met the other members of his tent. He listened to them talk while eating the tolerable food and drinking the slightly more tolerable booze. He slowly sipped on the contents in the mug while Gallas and the others- who he missed the names of- talked about their lives before the Inquisition.

The meal made him feel lighter, even if only for a moment. Hearing all the happy recruits and soldiers talk amongst themselves almost gave him a sense of peace. It had been a long time since he could relax. He found himself nearly feeling happy.

---

It was well past midnight when his tentmates settled and fell asleep in their cots. Zalerius remained awake, and carefully gathered his things in the dark. He figured he would take a walk, get rid of the after effects of the shitty yet potent ale.

He also figured that he would use the walk as an excuse to scout out the place. Hence why he grabbed one of his daggers and hid it under his cloak. He was only still wearing the cloak because of the forsaken cold the mountains brought.

He ran through the main plan of the night while he pulled on his boots and fumbled with the laces. He wanted to, at the very least, figure out where the commander retired. He wasn’t certain if he slept in the big tent close to the gates or in Haven’s chantry. This would be a good night to figure that out.

Whether or not he would kill, however, was still on the table.

He exited the tent with exercised caution and took a mental note of how silent it was. He figured that most must've turned in for the night. The closest guards were only silhouettes. He flexed his hands and focused. There was no life around him. He was alone in the shadows.

He silently made his way around the grounds, searching for the Commanders' tent or cabin. The easiest time to strike would be when he’s least expecting it, he knew that much. If that meant stabbing him while he slept, then that would be fine for him. Even getting a fast acting poison into the Commanders’ system would be just as lethal. Maybe more silent than stabbing.

The first place he went to was the big tent. He stood a distance from it, seeing as there was a soft candle glow coming from the tent itself. Was the Commander still awake?

After listening, he decided to approach. He would come up with an excuse as to why he was intruding on the Commander if he was in there. And with that, he entered.

The tent was empty. The candle that was lit was on its last hour, and he quickly went to the table that was in the back of the tent. Scattered on it was a map, notices, and a folded paper, which he picked up gingerly. He unfolded the parchment, and skimmed it.

The paper started strongly. ‘Dear Mia, I’m not dead. Really Cullen?’ The paper read, and he put it together that Mia was the Commander’s older sister. She wasn’t happy with him, Zalerius could tell. He scoffed with amusement before placing the letter back on the table.

He exited the tent after a little bit more snooping around. Zalerius figured that the Commander had to be inside the walls, likely in Haven’s Chantry. After quick consideration about whether he should continue scouting or not, he decided to hell with it. He made his way to the open gates, slipping behind houses and using trees to avoid the guards stationed about.

When he got to the large Chantry, he snuck around the sides, frowning when there were no obvious windows. He would have to go in through the main entrance, where guards were stationed. Luckily, he brought a special type of powder, and throwing it at the guards made them fall asleep within an instant. He quickly entered the Chantry after that.

When he entered, he quickly made off to the more hidden side of the chantry at the sight of more guards at the opposite end of the hall. He would have to do the rest of his scouting with more precautions than he wanted to.

Knowing he was hidden, he slipped further into the shadows and snuck around without the guards noticing. He was invisible, but he knew it wouldn’t stay like that for long.

He saw a door that was cracked, and he carefully peaked into the room, seeing the person he was looking for with his head on the desk and eyes closed. He was asleep.

He snuck in and scouted the room. The roof was high, and there were beams that he could easily reach if he needed high ground. There was also a window and he cursed for not noticing it while he was outside.

He then took the time to examine the sleeping Commander. His hair was a golden blonde, loose and ruffled as if he kept running his hand through it. He had scruff on his cheeks and chin, the faint hint at a beard. There was a scar along his lips, yet Zalerius couldn’t help but to think how perfect the man looked.

He was still wearing the armor, which he figured must be uncomfortable. He carefully moved and ran his hands across the mantle, noticing how it was soft and silky.

When he looked back at the Commander’s face, he noticed a sheen of sweat across the man's forehead. He watched as his face morphed from one of peace to one of pain.

He easily recognized the nightmare. He would wake up soon. He carefully went over to the window and attempted to push it open, only to be met with a soft rattle sounding. It was locked.

He quickly unlocked it, but he heard the Commander rustle and begin to store awake. He cursed and instead scaled the wall and sat on support beam, making sure to hide himself in the darkest shadow he could find. He held his breath as the man shot up, fear painting his features. Zalerius frowned.

He watched as the Commander frantically looked everywhere but up, and when the Commander realized that he was safe, he slowed down his panting. He ran a hand through the messy blonde hair and wiped his sweat.

He watched as the Commander looked at the desk and shook his head, grumbling to himself. Zalerius let out a soft breath, unable to hold it any longer. The noise went unnoticed as the Commander gathered his things and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Zalerius took it as a cue to climb down while he had the chance.

He quickly unlocked the window and climbed out onto a ledge, closing the window and climbing down to the surface, snow crunching slightly as he landed. He quickly followed the walls of the Chantry until he found the now awake guards, who were likely awoken by the Commander, who he saw a ways away, walking back to the training grounds. He went a different way, passing by the area he knew an elven mage resided.

He swiftly made it back to the grounds and quietly entered his tent.

Everyone was still sound asleep when he got back. Gallas was on his side, facing away from Zalerius’ own cot, another on his back, and the other sprawled out, somehow not falling off.

He sat on his own cot and silently shed his dagger and other tools and shoving them under the cot. He would organize later.

After that, he changed out of his armor as silently as he could, shivering at the cold. He found his heaviest sleeping garments and slipped them on before he wiggled under his wool blanket. He took one more deep breath once he was lying down.

He found sleep to come a lot easier than usual, although it was filled with a familiar restlessness.

Chapter Text

When the sun peaked above the mountain peaks, Zalerius was already awake and in the scout armor that the Inquisition supplied.

While he was with Gallus and his tentmates in the tavern the previous night, the quartermaster and her workers came around and supplied each new recruit with their proper armor.

Although, as Zalerius had predicted, the armor was not to his liking. Although, that was something that would be worked on at another time. But it wasn't costume designs that woke him.

He had ended up waking up multiple times due to the cold, and eventually he decided to stay awake. He didn’t let the lack of proper sleep bother him, being used to improper sleep since he started his career as an assassin.

When the sun rose a little higher, he decided to wake the others, who all grumbled and groaned. Not long after they had awoken and changed into their own armors that another soldier popped their head in and told them it was time to meet at the training grounds, specifically the ring. They all obeyed and exited the tent.

They weren't the first to arrive at the ring. The crowd that had already began to gather spoke amongst themselves, but Zalerius found that the breach stole his attention.

He knew more than anyone here about it. More than the soldiers, the advisors, even more than the Herald of Andraste.

It wasn't a desirable position to be in. But he knew better than to even share a thing. If he did, it would surely end in his death. He wasn’t going to risk that.

"It's a lot bigger than I thought it was," he heard, and it drew him away from his thoughts.

"That's what she said," another voice chuckled and he bit back his own laugh. He listened around for other conversations as he focused back onto the crowd around him.

The cold was a popular topic to discuss among the recruits that were gathered. He wasn’t the only one who despised the freezing morning.

He heard the voices die down and he decided to make his way towards the front of the crowd.

As he pushed past the last remaining recruits at the front, he saw the Commander. He saw exhaustion on the man's features and he wondered how much sleep he had gotten after the nightmare.

He also noticed how he didn't even look cold. It almost pissed him off.

“Welcome new recruits.” His voice rung out, pure Fereldan dripping off him. It was a gruff, yet smooth voice that, despite its firmness, was oddly charming and welcoming. He couldn’t help but to look at the blonde with curiosity. “I am Commander Cullen.”

The way he held himself matched his voice. His hand rested on the handle of his sword while the other hung by his side. Everything about him radiated power. Command. Zalerius could quickly compare him to a Templar, which he figured he was at one point in his past. But only his training methods would show whether or not he was a part of the destroyed Templar Order.

“Let’s get right into business, shall we? Everyone here will need to demonstrate their abilities as a warrior, but first, we need to determine if you should be trained as one.” He started and Zalerius watched as the blonde narrowed his eyes. Out of curiosity, he followed his gaze and saw a recruit who was mid yawn. He glanced back at the Commander, who clearly wasn’t pleased. “Too early, recruit?”

The recruit finished his yawn and looked over at the Commander. Zalerius examined the recruit. He had to hold back a scoff when he saw no fear in the recruits eyes. “Yes, ser.”

“Well, why don’t you go lay back down, yes?" Zalerius couldn't help but to almost gape at Commander Cullen. His face was hardened, but he seemed calm.

He knew better than to trust his relaxed demeanor. He quickly saw through the mask that the Commander had put up. The crowd of rook soldiers murmured softly. Some saw through the Commanders’ mask, much like Zalerius. Most didn’t.

“Really, ser?” The recruit asked, a wistful tone evident as he spoke. He was one of the ones who didn’t see through the mask of the Commander. Zalerius could only hope that the recruit's mistake would be handled gently. He had no idea how the blonde militant leader acted with his recruits.

The Commander sighed and looked to the side as if debating. Until his gaze landed on Zalerius, it narrowed briefly.

Even in his gaze, Zalerius could read the command easily. Especially as it traveled and landed on the daggers on Zalerius’ back. It was like he was reading the Commander’s mind. Zalerius moved quickly, invisibility taking over him without the need of any help and weaving through the crowd.

“Yes, go.” He heard the Commander speak, and the others began talking louder, wanting to go as well. But their want ended when Zalerius moved and tripped the recruit who was jogging lightly back to his tent. As if taking off a cloak, Zalerius’ form was revealed and the recruit gave a look of fear. He eyed the poor sod down as the Commander approached the two, ignoring the soft talking across the group behind them.

“Recruit, no one cares one bit if you got only a little bit of sleep.” He lectured and Zalerius quickly moved to the side. The way he lectured the poor man sent a chill down his spine that he mentally chased away. “You won’t have time to be tired when you’re getting attacked and killed by the enemy.”

That made a frown briefly grace Zalerius’ features. If only they knew why he was here. What was at stake. What he intended to do. If only they knew he was on the enemy's side.

“I… yes ser.” The recruit bowed his head, defeated. The Commander helped him up and told him to gather back up with the rest of the recruits. He followed suit.

When everything calmed, he barked out what to expect for the first couple days of training.

There would be a demonstration of abilities to figure out where everyone stands in their skills. What exactly they were proficient in. It would allow each skill level to change to somewhere else if they were too good in a specific skill, the Commander explained. Once he finished talking, he dismissed the group to the training ring.

“You, hold a moment.” Zalerius heard the Commander call out, and he paused, glancing back at him. The blonde man made eye contact with him, and he instantly knew that he was talking to him. He nodded, and approached him, leaving the group behind. They stood in front of one another when the Commander began talking once more. “I’m surprised you understood my command without even a word.”

“I used to be a part of a mercenary group.” Zalerius spoke, and the Commander nodded. Not exactly a lie. "I learned how to listen to orders, no matter how subtle.”

While standing next to the man, he decided to take the time to analyze him.

He was definitely a Templar, even if the armor wasn’t standard issue for the rogue group. He saw it in the way the Commander held himself. And the more he focused, the more he could sense the magic of lyrium. Although it was faint, he figured that the Commander was no longer taking it.

How nonmages could ingest lyrium was bizarre to him. He understood that it enhanced the templar's abilities, but it was dangerous to be ingesting it directly without any sort of actual magic. But he held his tongue, figuring it was better to keep it to himself.

“What’s your name, recruit?” The Commander asked, a lot more gentle to him instead of the recruit that got into trouble. He didn’t let the question hang for long.

“River Burgest, ser.” Zalerius answered and the Commander nodded at the response. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted before he could even begin by a runner. The runner passed a clipboard to the blonde and immediately ran off after. He groaned and Zalerius smiled a bit at his response to the paperwork. “I’ll join the others. I don’t want to keep you from your duties, Commander.”

"I look forward to seeing your abilities.” He replied, returning eye contact. Zalerius saw him think before speaking once more. “And thank you for your help.”

Zalerius paused for a moment, but nodded. He then turned on his heel and jogged over to the ring. Someone who he didn’t recognize stood in the center of the fenced area, but it didn’t take long to figure out that he was high up in the chain in command.

He focused on the instructions the man was giving, although his mind kept trailing off.

How could he kill the Commander if he was so much more gentle than he thought?

---

As the time went on, Commander Cullen and his second, who he learned to be Rylen, switched out so that his energy wasn’t completely expelled.

Not long after they switched, Zalerius was called to the ring. He found himself dreading the idea of fighting, but regardless, he made his way inside the fenced area, tying his long black hair back and making sure the collar of his armor shielded the sight of his tattoo.

Although small, it was the emblem he used to claim a kill. It was one that was well known, and keeping it hidden was within his best interest.

He planted himself a few feet in front of Cullen, who had shed some of his armor. He held his sword in his right hand and a shield with the Templar emblem carved into the metal on his left.

It reminded Zalerius that he could very well be killed if he wasn’t careful. The Commander already knew he had skill. But how much should he reveal?

“Remember, show me all your abilities.” Cullen told him, to which he nodded gently. But he wouldn’t show him everything. He had to hold back, or else he would kill him in front of people who won’t hesitate to kill him back.

Rylen stood between the two, relaying the rules. He made it clear that himself or Cassandra, who had decided to join not very long ago, would step in should they take it too far. Eventually, he left the ring. Once out, he looked at the two and yelled out, “Begin!”

Zalerius drew his daggers and crouched down, charging towards the Commander, ready to attack. Quick. Light. Aware.

Cullen also charged, his shield forward, ready to bash Zalerius if he didn’t move. He hopped to the side quickly, and the Commander spun to catch him. Zalerius grabbed his caltrops as instinct began to take over and threw them in the ground.

The Commander easily jumped over them and Zalerius moved, catching the Commander's sword between his own daggers. He twisted his body and found his way behind the commander. He quickly jumped away while he had the chance, reaching to his belt and throwing a smoke bomb.

It shattered under the pressure, and the area was overtaken by smoke. He swept his leg across the floor of the ring, kicking up dirt and adding to his momentary cover. Once the area cleared of smoke and dust, he was invisible.

He moved with silence, lifting his feet to not leave footprints. He stalked the Commander, who was silent as he turned and glared around the ring for him. He knew that the Commander couldn’t see him, and he enjoyed the way that the Commander stood on edge, although he hid it.

He approached as the Commander turned his back, ready to strike and cut him down right in the moment. His instinct filled his being, ready to kill. He raised his daggers, but paused when he realized that he couldn’t do it now.

Instead, he carefully pressed the flat side of his dagger on the back of the Commander's neck. His momentary cover disappeared at his actions, and the soldiers around began to murmur. “I think I won, Commander Cullen.”

He pulled the dagger away from the ex templar’s neck and backed away. The Commander quickly turned, his face painted with slight surprise. “I didn’t expect that.”

“My greatest weapon is the element of surprise, Commander.” He replied softly, and sheathed his weapons. He spun on his heel and exited the ring without another word, another name called as he made his way back to his tent.

As he walked, he took note of his heart pounding. He took a deep breath, and the pounding in his ear subsided slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, over the spot where his tattooed mark laid in his skin. His instincts had taken over. He was ready to kill, and his eagerness would have cost him everything.

When he got to his tent, he quickly entered, ignoring the sound of the flap behind him. None of the others in his tent had been called, so he was alone.

He sat on his cot and shed his weapons and supplies off his person, placing them in their spot under his uncomfortable bed. He would have to organize his little space soon, just in case someone decided to kill him.

He reached for his satchel and pulled it out, placing it in his lap. He dug through it, before finding a scroll and gently removing it from his bag. He unwound it, and read its contents carefully.

“Dear Zalerius,” The document started. It was a letter addressed to him from a mister Leven Burgest, a farmer close by the forests of the Emerald Graves.

He was an older man, one of the few that Zalerius had trusted in his time running from home. One of the few who knew his identity before becoming an assassin.

Leven lived alone on a lovely farm, where he kept to his 3 druffalo, and some other smaller livestock. Where he fixed up his own house and cooked dinner, which he admitted to Zalerius was hard after his wife had passed. Where Zalerius found himself helping as much as he could and calling the older man a father to him.

He read over the letter. It illustrated the activities Leven was doing while he was working the farm. He read over it as the letter retold how the druffalo kept trying to escape their pastures and the trouble with wolves trying to get to his smaller livestock. He explained the gossip from the town close by, and shared how he was doing himself.

The letter always made him feel a little better, but also evoked a strange feeling of sadness.

Leven was the only person he had become close with after he ran away from his home. The man had died a year after Zalerius left the humble farm. He had only heard about the death when he was given a letter of inheritance while visiting Denerim.

It was how he gained permission to call himself a member of the Burgest family.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He cleared his mind, and instead made it focus on the sounds around him. He listened for any sound. The movement of the wind, the crunching of footsteps. He heard nothing. He opened his eyes and carefully ran his hand over the parchment.

“Reveal.” He whispered, and within moments, the letter changed. He held the disguised missive from Calpernia, which had been enchanted with magic. He read through it slowly, going over every detail in his head.

He read it over and over again, expecting to find something that told him he didn’t need to do this. But he found no evidence of it. It only stated his orders, and the consequences of not obeying. But how he wanted to just tear the paper and ignore the words on it.

But he knew better. Knew that he would surely die if he didn’t complete his assignment. But his struggle was new to him. He never had trouble, so why was he having it now?

He reminded himself that murder can be a waiting game. That, maybe, the cold had something to do with the way he had acted the night before.

He heard footsteps approaching, and murmured to himself, rolling up the parchment quickly. By the time he began to tie the scroll to prevent it from unraveling, the tent flap opened.

The Commander entered the tent and allowed the flap to close behind him. He glanced at the wound scroll Zalerius held, to which Zalerius tucked back into his satchel.

“Can I help you, ser?” Zalerius questioned, dragging the Commanders attention to him. He glanced up at the blonde, and saw nothing but admiration in his amber eyes.

“I’m impressed by your abilities,” He remarked as a reply, and Zalerius contained a scoff. He wasn’t in the mood to be praised. He wanted nothing else than to be left alone. “It’s not often that we find someone as trained as you are.”

“Such skill is needed to survive. I was a mercenary, you know.” He responded, and the Commander let out a small chuckle.

“You mentioned that. Either way, I find it difficult to imagine someone able to follow orders as well as you.” He spoke gently, and Zalerius quirked an eyebrow. The Commander wasn’t being his usual self, and Zalerius could see that it was all just to distract from something.

“While I find the small talk and compliments flattering,” Zalerius started, and took note of how the Commander’s cheeks seemed to flush. “Is there a reason why you’ve decided to visit my tent?”

“Ah, yes, my apologies for not cutting to the point.” He almost rushed out, embarrassment almost clear in his tone. Zalerius almost laughed. “Perhaps you would like to spar again? If not, I find myself to be quite proficient in chess.”

Zalerius felt his face soften at the Commander’s request. Felt his body long to accept his offer to such a mundane thing. He had to stop the frown that made his way up to his face.

He went over all the details in his mind. It would make it harder to stay detached. But he knew that saying no would make it equally as difficult to find the perfect time and place to kill him. He watched the Commander shuffle his position, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden quiet.

“That would be nice.” He eventually answered and the Commander’s shoulders visibly relaxed at his reply. A kind and gentle smile appeared on his features, and Zalerius returned it as best as he could.

“I’ll make a note to clear my schedule soon.” The Commander acknowledged, and Zalerius let himself give a small smile in return.

“You know where to find me, ser.” Zalerius nodded, and the Commander excused himself, leaving the tent within an instant. Once Zalerius knew he was gone, he sighed and cursed under his breath.

Something told him that he just made his job a lot more difficult.

Chapter Text

Almost 3 weeks passed swiftly, leaving Zalerius struggling to catch up. Sorting the soldiers into their own categories based on skill didn’t take much time, and training had since started up. It was day after day of hours of honing skills and improving their abilities.

Being a well trained rogue, Zalerius found himself sorted accordingly, honing his skills and also learning how to fight like a warrior should the need arise.

He had even opened up to Gallus some, after Zalerius noticed that the man was much more suited to be a rogue than a warrior. Zalerius decided he would mentor Gallus, and was almost smug when Gallus performed better with a bow than a sword.

“How did you know that I would be a better shot than swinging a sword?” Gallus had asked after getting a near bullseye.

“Your body is nimble, and you don’t have the strength of a warrior.” Zalerius mused, and Gallus only huffed at the response, and fired another arrow.

But as time went on, after each day of training, Zalerius found his situation ever more increasingly difficult. He had had the opportunity numerous times to complete his assignment, but was unable to bring himself to do so. He would hesitate, and then give up.

Being unable to do a task he once considered easy made him restless. Each night he would lie awake in his tent as his mind chased every reason why he couldn’t do his job. He even struggled to eat, finding that he would rather think while he attacked the training dummies.

“You don’t go to the tavern as much anymore,” The Commander had stated one evening while the two played a round of chess. Although Zalerius soon found out that he would much rather be called Cullen when it was just them. “And you seem to be struggling to keep up."

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” Zalerius had almost snapped back. He made his move to win the game and he left soon after to avoid the chance of getting in trouble.

But he knew how bad it was getting. He knew that he couldn’t focus, almost obsessing over plans and erasing them within an instant. His usually organized mind was left a mess.

Nothing could help his frantic mind. He just wanted a break from it all.

---

It was the evening, training officially over and everyone was making their way to the tavern. He had decided to stay behind, not particularly interested in getting a meal at the moment. Instead, he wanted to explore the area outside Haven, having yet to do so since arriving.

He had heard whispers of a cabin along the outskirts of Haven, and he wanted to be a snoop and dig around for anything of note. Although he knew it was the old apothecary’s home, so his hopes weren’t high in finding something valuable.

He made his way to the path leading to the cabin, but fell short. He noticed a presence, and when he turned, he was met with a woman.

She stood calmly, hood up but her face was not covered. She had red hair and green eyes. The Spymaster. The Lady Nightingale. She had a reputation, so it was easy to figure out who she was. He was shocked he didn’t notice her sooner.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” He gave no hints of amusement in her tone. He really wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He wanted to be left alone and explore. He noticed a faint smile.

“You’re the Commander's rogue, aren’t you?” She questioned, her accent thick. She was Orleasian, although he couldn’t quite figure out where in Orlais she came from.

“The ‘Commander’s’ rogue?” He replied, to which she gave a small but curt chuckle, dismissing it with the wave of her hand.

“I have an assignment for you.” She hummed, holding out a scroll. He took it and read its contents. “It’s not an official order, yet I believe you would be best suited.”

When he read the scroll, he saw that it was notes on Redcliffe Village in the Hinterlands. He was to scout it out before the Inquisition officially made their way there. He glanced up at her.

“If it’s not an official order, why give it to me?” He questioned and he watched as she tilted her head at him.

“I’ve seen the way you itch to get away from here.” She mused, and he couldn’t help the frown that crept his way up his face. “You don’t have to go, but if you decide to, I suggest you leave at first light.”

With that, she walked away without another word. He was confused. He wondered how long she had been keeping her eyes on him. Clearly, she didn’t see his weak attempts at assassinating Cullen. But it begged the question of how much she knew.

He sighed and quickly thought of the most recent Inquisition expedition. The Herald and her entourage had gone to Val Royeaux. From what the Commander told him, it didn’t exactly go as planned. However, the trip meant that they now had an opening to visit the mages or chase the templars.

He also remembered his mission. He only had so much time. After the Inquisition got the mages or templars, the Venatori would likely increase their efforts to take down the organization. It could mean that they attack Haven, if they were bold enough to.

And he needed to weaken the Inquisition sooner than later. Stop their efforts. But he knew he couldn’t do it if his mind was fogged up because of the Commanders’... charm.

He huffed, and rolled up the scroll. Maybe getting away from Heaven meant that he could clear his mind. He had time. Might as well use it to reset.

---

Redcliffe Village was a quaint place, but the overflow of rebel mages made it seem too crowded.

It was just like Haven. A refuge from the war. Except it was filled with way too much magic that it almost made his skin crawl.

He had showed up in the afternoon and presented himself as a mage looking for a place to get a few good meals before he was back on the road. He had hidden his daggers to be under his clothes, but the lack of staff made the guards question him.

Although it took some time to convince them, he gave an icy glare and showed how he could light a torch without needing match. He was let in shortly after that.

He knew for a fact that it would only add more tension to the already strung-out group if he mentioned he was an Inquisition scout. But they seemed hospitable enough, even letting him stay in their tavern, the Gull and Lantern.

His priority was to look like he was a part of the hustle and bustle that Redcliffe Village was full of. So once he settled into his rented room, he left to go visit the small market to buy supplies.

As he shopped, he felt like he was being watched. Having presented himself as a mage, yet having no staff, made the people of the village want to watch him.

"Mage with no staff, huh?" An elven mage had asked, eyeing him wearily. Zalerius only peered up at him as he sought through the wares in front of him. A harmless question, but it struck a chord with him.

"Templars managed to take it and break the focusing crystal. I haven't been able to get a new staff since," He had replied, and he heard the mage mumble something in the old elven language. Their conversation had ended before it could even start.

---

As soon as the starry night took over the previous blue skies, and the refugees made their way to sleep, Zalerius decided that it would be best to do what he did best. Stalk around the village in a search for any clues.

The more time he had spent while the sun was still high in the sky, the more he saw that something was amiss. He saw the presence of fear and hope, along with the occasional writings posted up on posts. When he had decided to investigate, he scrunched his nose at the curfew notice.

Were the villagers not allowed to stay out? The paper had no further symbols or anything. Just the scribbles.

Instead of dwelling on it, he later recorded it onto his own piece of parchment, and decided Leliana could figure it out later.

Once he finally decided to escape his room at the tavern, he stalked out the window and onto the barren paths of the village. There was a small breeze and few clouds in the sky.

He took his time investigating the village. Making sure to cover every nook and cranny available to him. Find any letters and copy them onto his own scrolls.

The information he gathered, however, made his skin crawl. Most notes that he had copied were telling of a magister. He didn’t like the mention of a magister. Although most of the notes were vague, he had a feeling that his homeland was somehow involved in this. The way the mages were hesitant and stared at him only left him to assume that Tevinter was trying to make moves on the South.

Once midnight had struck, he was done searching all the houses that he could. He decided that he would visit the chantry up the hill. It stood and almost glistened in the moonlight. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he hadn't prayed in a long time.

The path up to the building was ethereal. The tall almost ivory-looking pillars were broken at the tops, but some connected to their counterparts. Yet they all had ivy trailing up their cracked features, some even had flowers sprouting from them. The cool and starry night only helped how beautiful the trail up to the chantry looked.

The chantry itself seemed much more well-kept than the path up to it. Its stone walls rose tall, but in comparison, it was smaller than the one in Haven. When he got to the doors, he slipped inside the building. He allowed the door to close on its own, a soft thud echoing inside the building.

He had always made claims to not follow religion. But if others really knew him, he was Andrastian at heart. Although his home had different ideas, his family followed the same general idea most did when it came to the Maker. Although, he liked the way the south had interpreted it better than in Tevinter.

He slowly wandered forward, towards the altar. When he arrived at the steps leading up to it, he lowered into a kneel. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind.

As his mind cleared, his attunement to the world around him allowed him to feel how thin the Veil was. It was threatening to tear open and bleed into the world. Threatening to end him. The more he thought about it, the more it shuddered. He decided it would be better to focus on something different.

Instead, he went over the chants he had memorized. What he had memorized from the studies he did previously. Prayer courses through his mind. He found himself asking for something better than what he had. Asking for forgiveness from all the things he had done.

He asked for a chance to prove to himself that he was more than a killer. Asked for a sign that maybe, just maybe, he could let that life go.

But his prayers get cut off. There was a shuffle, and he knew within an instant that he wasn’t alone. He figured that he was being watched, and that his guest had been observing him for a while now. He hated how he didn't notice before.

He opened his eyes as he heard soft steps coming towards him. Too close for comfort, he whipped around, his hair flying into his face. He crouched into an attack position, pulling out the daggers that were previously concealed. He met his guest with a look of malice. But he faced a tanned man standing a few feet away from him, features painted with a look of surprise. He narrowed his gaze at him, taking note of the staff on his back. His expression softened when the mage held his hands out, as if to show he meant no harm.

“My apologies for startling you.” He spoke carefully, his voice velvet and very clearly Tevinter. His tan skin was illuminated by the candlelight. He frowned, and stood to meet him properly. He wouldn’t start a fight unless provoked by the other, although he couldn’t help but to grip his weapons a little tighter. “I mean no ill will.”

“You’re alright, Sir,” He murmured after he figured it was safe to store his weapons, which went back into their concealed sheathes. He could feel the way the Veil seemed to shudder at the tension rising and then falling. He noticed how the other man reacted as well, the faintest note of goosebumps along his glistening skin.

Zalerius gave the mysterious Tevinter man a once over. He was just a little taller than him, and clearly well-kept with his hair and mustache perfectly positioned. He could easily tell that he was a lord. But the question of why he was here was immediately brought to his attention. And also, the wonder of why he kept staring at the man with such intensity.

“Let me introduce myself.” The corner of the man's mouth twitched up into a small grin. Zalerius gave a look of suspicion, to which the man gave an overdramatic bow. “I’m Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. And you are...?”

He quickly went over the family names in his mind. Yes, he recognized them. He was clearly from a wealthy family, maybe even had a seat in the senate. He could’ve sworn he had seen some sort of propaganda promoting House Pavus at one point. But it also meant another magister was outside of their homeland. And that spelt trouble.

“You’re from Tevinter,” He shot out, not caring to answer the question that was directed at him. The man who called himself Dorian gave him a curious look, but seemed to play along with the change in topic. “You have a distinct accent.”

“Quite observant, aren’t you?” Dorian mused but waved his hand flippantly. “But yes, I am of Tevinter origin, but I do not associate myself with my homeland much.”

Just like Zalerius.

“Is that why you’re so far from home, magister?” He questioned, and Dorian almost gave a glare at the usage of the term.

“I am an Altus, not a magister. You southerners use the term so freely.” Dorian said, and sauntered over to Zalerius, who stood still. When Dorian stood in front of Zalerius, he smiled and looked him up and down. It made his stomach flip unexpectedly. He almost wanted to stab Dorian, or maybe that was him wanting to throw up. He felt exposed. “But enough about me, for you still haven’t answered my question.”

“If you must know,” Zalerius whispered, his mouth dry and his eyes kept on Dorian. "I’m an agent of the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition? Truly?” Dorian looked at him, a hopeful glint in his eyes. Zalerius could only nod, feeling as if he was stuck in the position he stood in. He was enchanted, but not in ways he wanted to be. It was like the effects that Cullen seemed to have on him. “Then you must hurry back to your advisors and tell them to come quickly. Something is amiss here. That’s why I’ve come.”

“I plan to leave at first light. I’ve gathered what I need.” He murmured and watched how Dorian seemed to relax a little. After a moment, he watched as Dorian slowly circled around him. He felt on display, and despite his better judgment, he craved for it to continue.

“You’re very peculiar, Agent of the Inquisition.” He hummed and Zalerius remained silent. The tan man moved back in front of him, his gaze unwavering. “You must feel it.”

“I’m sorry?” He questioned in return, and the man grabbed his shoulder, gesturing to nothing. The touch lit his being on fire, and he had to refrain from moving away.

“You must feel the way the Veil shudders here. Even non-mages should be able to feel it.” Dorian whispered, looking into Zalerius’ eyes with an unknown expression. It left his brain hazy, and it took him time to formulate a response.

“I feel like the atmosphere is off,” Zalerius slowly started, almost breathless at the look the perfectly groomed man gave. “But nothing more.”

“Interesting, but no matter.” Dorian answered, and removed his hand from Zalerius’ shoulder, instead resting it against his chin in consideration. He soon snapped his fingers and further invaded Zalerius’ space, their faces closer than he would like. He began talking once more, his voice lower and much sultrier than it had been previously. “You should go rest, dear Agent. I hope to see you again.”

Zalerius swallowed harshly and nodded before getting shooed out by the mage. He left the Chantry quickly after that, his mind racing with thought. It was a peculiar interaction, and not what he was expecting. It puzzled him, and he frowned.

He swiftly made his descent back to the Gull and Lantern, climbing back through the window and into his small, cramped room. He made his way to his bed but realized that his mind was running far too much to be able to sleep so soon.

Instead, he grabbed an empty scroll and a quill, jotting down a report for the Spymaster of his findings in Redcliffe. He mentioned everything. The morale of the people, their allegiance to the Tevinter, and the strange man that he had encountered.

With each word, he found himself relaxing more until he fell asleep at his small desk.

When he woke only a few hours later, he left before the sun was over the roofs of the buildings in Redcliffe.

Chapter Text

When he returned to Haven, he made an effort to avoid the Commander. Instead, he went straight to Lelianna to report his findings, giving her the scroll with all his notes. She took it without a word, gave a small thanks, and then disappeared into the war room after sending an attendant to get the other advisors. He managed to just miss the ex-Templar.

After a day of rest, he found himself back into the same habits from before he left. He trained, barely ate, and most of all, made sure to avoid Cullen.

He decided that he wasn’t ready to meet him face to face, especially since he knew that he would be angry with him leaving to do another person's bidding.

Gallus was quite pleased that Zalerius had returned. He refrained from asking questions, but instead told him about the Commander being quite upset. It only strengthened his resolve to avoid the blonde.

Only a few days after he arrived back from Redcliffe Village, the Herald left to investigate Redcliffe herself. He didn’t know until he heard it from his fellow recruits, most of whom were complaining about the potential of having mages overflow the village. But they returned later that evening, only to make plans to go get the Templars.

When he heard news of the group leaving for Therinfal Redoubt, he almost caught himself worrying about the mage he had met just a few days prior.

While in passing with the Herald, she mentioned the mage. He told her what she already seemed to know, and she had made a small remark on how handsome he was. He excused himself once his mind began to wander.

But she had also been told the true reason why Dorian was in Redcliffe. It was because a Tevinter Magister had decided to take over.

But not only that, the magister brought the Venatori with him.

He spent much time after that thinking about the situation he was truly in. He was definitely running out of time felt. It was a wake up call. As soon as the Inquisition got the remaining Templar Order members, Calpernia was sure to visit.

He realized that he only had so much time remaining until he was guaranteed a close up interaction with the leader of the cult. Everytime it crossed his mind during training, he would hit a little harder. He hated the idea, but he knew that he had to kill soon, or else.

---

The Herald had been gone for 3 days.

The trip to Therinfal Redoubt wasn’t exactly far. About a two day ride away, if they were taking their time to get there, which he doubted. The Herald was likely on her way back to Haven by this point, the templars trailing behind her.

But it only meant that Zalerius had to kill Cullen before it was too late. And he decided that it was time to complete his task.

Night had fallen, and like many times before, he snuck out of his tent with an ease he knew well. He had memorized the Commander’s schedule, and knew that by this time, he was in his tent in an uneasy sleep.

With silent steps, he found himself inside the Commander's tent. He was sleeping on a cot, his armor resting on a makeshift stand. A loose blanket covered him. Zalerius took a moment to observe him before silently and slowly pulling out his dagger.

There would be no room for failure.

He carefully made his way next to the Commander and stood beside the sleeping lion. He lifted the dagger, and he felt his breathing speed up. He willed himself to shove the dagger down, into his chest. But he couldn’t move.

His breathing only picked up more, and his hands quaked and clammed up. He gripped his dagger tightly, his knuckles white. He wrapped his other hand around the hilt of his dagger and tried to force his hands to move.

But he couldn’t.

It was like the link between his body and his mind was severed. Broken and unwilling to listen. Like his mind was singing a different tune than the usual one of the assassins.

His heart was pounding in his chest. He was surprised that the Commander hadn’t woken due to how loud it was. He felt dizzy.

He lowered his dagger and shook his head, before silently slipping out of the tent.

The night was cold, and it only made him feel empty and alone. He had felt both, but not in a long time.

He decided to go back to his tent. He quietly entered, and noticed that his tent mates were all still soundly asleep.

He sat on his cot and held his head in his hands. He was frustrated at himself for not being able to do a task that had been so easy to him before.

He couldn’t kill Cullen. Physically couldn’t.

His mind ran with theories as to why. Why he couldn't just shove the dagger down. Why his heart picked up whenever he talked with the Commander. Why he found himself showing genuine smiles every time he was able to talk with the Commander.

After thinking, it was like a spark appeared in his mind. Like everything linked together. Like he just figured out the catchy tune that had been playing on repeat in his mind.

He’d grown fond of Cullen. But not only him, he had grown fond of the Inquisition as a whole.

The realization scraped at the back of his mind, making his head hurt and spin. Just when his breathing had finally slowed, it quickened within an instant. He suddenly felt like he was trapped in a small hole, and he stood, exiting the tent. He was met with the chill of the night once more, but he didn’t care. He just started running.

He had no idea why, didn’t even have a destination. He just ran, ignoring the way his head churned. How his face was being nipped at.

His mind was screaming at him. He knew now that he couldn’t betray the Inquisition. Not after he gained their trust. But he knew it wasn’t just that.

He believed in their cause.

He hated the Venatori, so why side with him when they took all he had? It was a simple answer, but he hadn’t seen it before. He had gotten so used to just doing what he was ordered so that he could get enough gold to live a little longer.

Everything came rushing back at him. Every reason why he hated the Venatori, why he hated how they ruined his life and made him turn to killing people just so that he could eat another meal. The emotions he had learned to turn off was the thing that hit him the most.

He slowed to a stop and collapsed, gasping for air despite how it stung and burned his throat more than the cheap ale at the tavern.

He choked, coughed, and let out a sob that sent shockwaves through his body.

The night felt frigid and lonely as he let out broken sobs. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried.

He cried for what felt like hours until he finally made up his mind.

He doesn’t want to kill Cullen. He doesn’t want the Inquisition to fall. He would rather risk his life fighting the Venatori.

They took his brother away. They took his life away. And he knew that he can’t let them do it to all these innocent people.

No.

He wiped his tears. Instead of letting the Venatori have a victory, he was going to make sure that the Commander stayed alive. Not only that, but he was going to do his damnedest to prevent any more innocents from losing their lives.

His new resolve allowed him to stand and calm down enough to tread back to his tent. Arriving back, he saw Gallus awake, although sleep ridden.

“I thought I heard you leave.” Gallus whispered. Zalerius thanked the darkness of the night for hiding his likely red face. “Are you alright?”

“Just needed air. Let's head to sleep.” Zalerius replied, making his way to his cot and slipping off his boots. Gallus only grunted in answer, falling back into his cot and soon dozing off. Zalerius heard him snore and resisted a slight chuckle.

Zalerius decided to follow suit, laying down and drifting off into nothing.