Dragon Age Inquisition: Faith

Heroes

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"You recognize it, do you not?" Meredith asked. "Pure lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads." She gave the sword an almost loving look.

"It does look familiar," said Hawke. "It also drives people mad. Which explains quite a lot, now that I think about it."

Meredith's gaze returned to Hawke. I'd suspected that the Knight-Commander hated the Champion, but even I wasn't expecting to see that much loathing in her eyes. "Enough insolence, Champion. I tolerated your apostasy. But you chose your side and now you will share this Circle's fate." She turned her head to her Templars. "Kill the Champion!"  

“Knight-Commander, you said we were going to arrest the Champion!”

A single Templar stepped from the ranks. His face was hidden beneath his helmet, but his uniform identified him as an officer—a high-ranking one at that.

The Knight-Commander went pale with rage. “You will do as I command!”

The officer stood his ground. “No. You have gone too far. This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, stand down. I relieve you of your command.”

Meredith pointed her blade directly at the officer. “My own Templars have fallen prey to blood magic. You’re all weak, letting the mages control your minds! I will protect this city myself. Starting with the Champion’s death!”

The Templar officer drew his sword and stepped between his Commander and the Champion. “You’ll have to go through me.”

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The Elder One had a name. Corypheus.

And Varric, apparently, had a friend who had encountered the creature before. “She’s going to meet us on the battlements. Bringing her down here might cause a bit of a stir.”

Cecily respected Varric’s wish for secrecy until they were climbing the half-crumbled stairs, out of earshot of anyone except the birds overhead.

“It’s Hawke, isn’t it?” She hoped she didn’t sound too awestruck.

Varric nodded. “Since you’re the Inquisitor now, do you think you can keep Cassandra from killing me?”

Cecily grimaced. That task might be beyond Andraste herself.

Two figures were waiting for them on the battlements. One was the most striking elf Cecily had ever seen. For a moment she thought he was Dalish, but as she grew closer she could see that the tattoos on his face and arms were not clan markings—they shone pure silver, as did his pale hair. 

The woman next to him seemed almost ordinary by comparison, at least at first glance. She was wrapped in a long, dark blue woolen coat worn over leggings and boots; her staff was as plain as a military quarterstaff, and she carried a small knife at her belt. Her dark brown hair fell in untidy waves around her shoulders and half concealed one eye from view.

Juliet Hawke wasn’t quite as Cecily had pictured her, but there was something in the way she carried herself that spoke of confidence, of power. Cecily had no trouble imagining this woman facing down a qunari Arishok.

The Champion spotted them first. A wide smile spread across her face. “Varric!”

Varric returned the smile in kind. “Hawke! Good of you to come.” He stretched his hand towards her.

“I’ve been crying myself to sleep without my trusty dwarf. How could I stay away?” Hawke reached out and clasped Varric’s forearm. The easy familiarity of the gesture spoke volumes. “Maker, but it’s good to hear your voice again, Varric.”