44. Prepare to go to Val Royeaux

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A week ago, he might've dismissed it as simple stubbornness if someone told him he will reincarnate inside a game. Now, he wondered what weighed on her. What kept her awake at night when the camp fell silent. What Varric said was right, the world was different when you actually looked.

Daniel turned away from the chantry windows, the weight of Varric's words still settling in his chest. The cold night air bit at his exposed skin as he trudged through the snow toward his cabin, the sounds of Haven's nightlife fading behind him.

"I'm heading to bed," he said over his shoulder. "Tomorrow's going to be another long one."

Varric gave a lazy salute. "Don't let the Seeker's scowling keep you up."

Daniel snorted but didn't reply, his breath misting in the frigid air. The path to his cabin was familiar now—past the smithy, around the training yard, up the slight incline where the smaller huts were nestled against the mountainside. His boots left deep prints in the fresh snow, the only sound the crunch of his footsteps and the distant murmur of voices from the tavern.

The cabin was dark when he pushed the door open, the chill inside nearly as sharp as the winter outside. He fumbled for the tinderbox beside the door, striking a spark to light the waiting lantern. Warm, flickering light filled the small space—just enough to see the narrow bed, the worn desk piled with reports, the stand where his armor would rest for the night.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he began unbuckling the straps of his gear. The leather was stiff from cold, the metal clasps biting into his fingers. Piece by piece, he shed the weight of the day—the reinforced chestplate, the bracers, the greaves—until he was left in just his padded undershirt and trousers. The firelight caught on the scars along his arms, pale lines against his skin.

Not from a game. Real. All of it.

His staff leaned against the bedside, the wood smooth under his fingers as he set it down carefully. The faint hum of magic still lingered in its core, a quiet reminder of the power he still didn't fully understand.

The bed creaked as he sat, pulling off his boots with a grunt. His feet ached, his muscles sore from days in the saddle. He rubbed at his calves absently, staring at the rough-hewn wall across from him.

Tomorrow would be another war council. More arguments, more decisions that would ripple out in ways he couldn't predict. Cassandra would be there, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Cullen, tense and weary. Leliana, unreadable as ever. Josephine, trying to hold them all together.

And him—just a man who'd stumbled into a world that wasn't supposed to be real.

He lay back, the straw-stuffed mattress barely cushioning the hard planks beneath. The ceiling was low, the wood darkened by smoke and age. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the shutters.

Sleep didn't come easily.

---

Dawn came too soon.

A fist pounded on his door just as the first gray light filtered through the cracks in the shutters. Daniel groaned, dragging an arm over his face.

"Herald." The voice was familiar—one of Leliana's scouts. "The council is waiting."

Of course they are.

He sat up, rubbing the grit from his eyes. The cabin was freezing, his breath visible in the air. The fire had died in the night, leaving only ashes.

Splashing icy water on his face did little to shake the fatigue, but it sharpened the edges of his thoughts. He dressed quickly—lighter today, no full armor, just reinforced leather and a thick coat to ward off the chill. His staff found its usual place across his back, the weight a comfort.

When he stepped outside, Haven was already awake. Scouts hurried past, their breath fogging in the cold. The blacksmith's hammer rang out from the forge, steady as a heartbeat. And above it all, the Breach pulsed in the sky, a wound that never quite healed.

The Chantry loomed ahead, its heavy doors barely containing the rising tide of anger from within. Daniel's steps slowed as he took in the scene—a seething mass of templars and mages crowding the entrance, their voices clashing like steel. The air was thick with tension, the kind that came before a storm broke.

"Your kind killed the Most Holy!" A templar snarled, his hand twitching toward his sword.

"Lies—your kind let her die!" A mage shot back, his fingers curling as if ready to summon fire.

The templar's blade hissed free of its scabbard. "Shut your mouth, mage!"

Before the first strike could fall, Cullen was there—his armored form cutting between them like a shield. "Enough!" His voice carried over the crowd, sharp with command.

The templar froze. "Knight-Captain—"

"That is not my title." Cullen's glare could have melted steel. "We are not templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition!" His gauntleted finger jabbed toward both factions. "Act like it."

The crowd murmured, some shuffling back, others still bristling.

Then Chancellor Roderick's reedy voice cut through the tension. "And what does that mean, exactly?"

Cullen's jaw tightened as the chancellor pushed his way forward, his Chantry robes pristine amidst the armored and robed figures. "Back already, Chancellor? Haven't you done enough?"

Roderick ignored the barb, his gaze sweeping over the assembly before settling on Cullen with practiced disdain. "I'm curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its so-called 'Herald' will restore order as you've promised."

"Of course you are," Cullen muttered. Then, louder, to the crowd: "Back to your duties. All of you."

The gathered mages and templars hesitated, but under Cullen's hardened stare, they began to disperse—grudgingly, with lingering glares.

Daniel stepped forward as the crowd thinned, catching Cullen's eye. The commander exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Mages and templars were already at war. Now they're blaming each other for the Divine's death."

Roderick sniffed. "Which is why we require proper authority to guide them back to order."

Cullen's laugh was short and humorless. "Who, you? Random clerics who weren't important enough to be at the Conclave?"

"The rebel Inquisition and its so-called 'Herald of Andraste'?" Roderick's lip curled. "I think not."

Daniel crossed his arms. "So far, you're the only one who's insisted we can't work together."

Roderick's smile was thin. "We might, if your Inquisition would recognize the Chantry's authority."

"There is no authority until another Divine is chosen," Cullen snapped.

"In due time." Roderick's gaze slid to Daniel, dismissive. "Andraste will be our guide, not some dazed wanderer on a mountainside."

Daniel arched a brow at Cullen. "Remind me why you're allowing the Chancellor to stay?"

Roderick answered before Cullen could. "Clearly, your templar knows where to draw the line."

Cullen's grip on his sword hilt tightened, but his voice remained steady. "He's toothless. There's no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth." A pause. "The Chancellor's a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however."

Daniel frowned. "How widespread is the violence between mages and templars?"

"Impossible to say," Cullen admitted.

Roderick interjected, smug. "Your whole organization flouting the Chantry's authority will not help matters."

Cullen's patience frayed visibly. "With the Conclave destroyed, I imagine the war between mages and templars has renewed. With interest."

Daniel's stomach twisted. "So they're fighting even though we don't know what really happened at the Temple?"

"Exactly why this should all be left to a new Divine," Roderick said smoothly. "If you are innocent, the Chantry will establish it as so."

Cullen scoffed. "Or will be happy to use someone as a scapegoat."

Roderick's eyes flashed. "You think nobody cares about the truth? We all grieve Justinia's loss."

"But you won't grieve if the Herald is conveniently swept under a carpet," Cullen shot back.

Daniel exhaled, rubbing his brow. "Just don't let anyone riot while we're gone."

Cullen's mouth quirked, weary. "The walls will be standing when you return. I hope."

As Daniel turned toward the Chantry doors, Cullen added, lower, "I'll keep the peace while you and the others appeal to the Chantry in Val Royeaux."

Roderick's parting jab followed him inside: "Better ready yourself for the blame you will be rightly assigned."

The heavy Chantry doors closed behind Daniel, muting the angry voices outside. The dim interior smelled of incense and old parchment, a stark contrast to the tension still clinging to his shoulders. His eyes caught on Mother Giselle near the far wall, deep in conversation with a group of frightened-looking lay sisters. She glanced up, meeting his gaze briefly with a small, knowing nod before turning back to her charges.

Later, he decided, and pushed forward toward the war room.

The familiar hum of voices grew louder as he approached. Inside, Leliana leaned over the war table, her fingers tracing paths on the map while Josephine scribbled notes with her ever-present quill. Cassandra stood rigid near the fireplace, her arms crossed—though she uncrossed them the moment Daniel entered, as if caught in something too vulnerable.

Cullen followed him in, shutting the door with a firm click. The scrape of his armor was loud in the sudden quiet.

Josephine was the first to speak, her tone measured. "Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea."

Cullen scoffed. "You can't be serious."

"Mother Giselle isn't wrong," Josephine countered, tapping her quill against the parchment. "At the moment, the Chantry's only strength is that they are united in opinion."

Leliana's voice was ice. "And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?"

Josephine exhaled. "Let's ask."

All eyes turned to Daniel.

He shifted, the weight of their expectations pressing down. "I'm more concerned this won't actually solve any problems."

Cullen nodded sharply. "I agree. It just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says."

Cassandra stepped forward, her voice low but firm. "I will go with the Herald."

Josephine's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Mother Giselle said she could provide us names. Use them."

Leliana's gloved hand curled into a fist on the table. "But why? This is nothing but a—"

"What choice do we have, Leliana?" Cassandra cut in, frustration bleeding through. "Right now, we can't approach anyone for help with the Breach." She gestured sharply at the map. "Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through."

Silence settled over the room, thick and uneasy.

Daniel studied the map—the markers, the paths, the places where their influence frayed at the edges. "So we play their game."

Josephine's smile was thin. "For now."

Leliana's gaze flicked to him, unreadable. "And if they demand your surrender?"

"Then we'll know where we stand," Daniel said simply.

Cassandra's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue.

Cullen rubbed his temple. "I'll prepare a contingent of soldiers—"

"No." Leliana's interruption was sharp. "Too many eyes will see it as a threat."

"Then what?" Cullen's patience frayed. "We send them in unprotected?"

Cassandra's hand settled on her sword hilt. "I with Solas and Varric will be protection enough."

Josephine sighed. "We'll arrange for a small escort. Enough to show respect, not enough to provoke."

Daniel exhaled, rolling the tension from his shoulders. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," Josephine said. "The sooner, the better."

Leliana pushed off the table, her movements fluid. "I'll send word to my agents in Val Royeaux. They'll prepare the ground."

Cullen's frown deepened, but he didn't protest further.

As the others fell into discussion—routes, supplies, contingencies—Daniel's gaze drifted to the window. The Breach pulsed in the distance, a wound in the sky. No pressure.

Then after a while, the meeting was finish and they leave the war room. As the doors swung shut behind them, leaving the weight of their decisions hanging in the air. Daniel lingered in the dimly lit Chantry hallway, watching as Leliana melted into the shadows, Josephine hurried off with her ever-present clipboard, and Cullen strode back toward the training grounds, his armor clanking with each step. Cassandra paused just outside the door, her gaze distant before she shook herself and followed Cullen without a word.

That left Daniel alone—or nearly alone.

Mother Giselle still stood where he'd seen her earlier, though the frightened lay sisters had dispersed. She was examining a weathered tome when he approached, her fingers tracing the pages with the same care one might give a fragile relic.

Daniel cleared his throat. "Mother Giselle?"

She looked up, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. "Ah, Herald. I wondered if you might spare a moment."

"Of course." He shifted, suddenly aware of how little he knew what to say to her. "I meant to greet you earlier, but—"

"—but the world does not pause for pleasantries," she finished for him, gently closing the book. "I understand."

The Chantry's candles flickered around them, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Somewhere in the distance, a sister's quiet chant echoed off the walls.

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. "Josephine mentioned you had names for us. Clerics who might listen."

Mother Giselle nodded. "A few, yes. Men and women who remember that the Chantry's purpose is to guide, not to condemn." Her voice lowered. "Though I warn you—their voices are not the loudest in Val Royeaux."

"That's nothing new," Daniel muttered.

Her smile turned wry. "No, I suppose not." She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "You carry a great deal on your shoulders, child."

He almost laughed. Child. He hadn't been called that after he arrive in this world. "Just trying not to drop it all."

"And yet you stand." She tilted her head. "That is something."

Daniel exhaled, glancing toward the doors where Cassandra had disappeared. "I have help."

Mother Giselle followed his gaze, her lips quirking. "So I've noticed."

A beat of silence. Then—

"You should know," she said quietly, "there are whispers in the villages. Stories of the Herald of Andraste walking among the people, healing the sick, standing between templar and mage." Her fingers brushed the cover of her book. "Hope is a fragile thing. But it grows where you've tread."

Daniel's throat tightened. "I'm not—"

"A saint?" She chuckled. "No. But you are there. And that matters more than you know."

He didn't know how to answer that.

Mother Giselle seemed to understand. She reached out, patting his arm with the same gentle firmness one might use to steady a spooked horse. "Rest for today, Herald. Tomorrow's road will be long enough without borrowing its weight today."

Then, with a last knowing look, she turned and walked away, her robes whispering against the stone. Daniel watched her go, the words settling somewhere deep in his chest. Hope is a fragile thing. He wondered if it would be enough.

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Name : Daniel Carter

Race: Elf

Level 5 : 2183/2500 EXP

Professions: Mage

Gold Coins: 2289 coins

Weapon: Staff of the Dragon

Armor: Light Armor of the Dragon and Templar Scribe Scowl

Accessories: Token of the Packmaster and Belt of Health

Inventory: Acolyte Ice Staff, Morning Star, Stiletto, Hunting Longbow, Fire Resistance Cowl, Mercenary Coat, Acolyte Fire Staff, Disciple Lighting Staff, Apprentice Armor, Qunari Battleaxe, Raider Hatchet, 2 Disciple Fire Staff, Apprentice Mail, Qunari Buckler, Medium Adventure Armor, Mindleech Staff, Soldier's Nemesis, 2 Recruit's Dirk, Reinforced Dagger, Sledgehammer, Disciple Lighting Staff, Apprentice Armor, Exacting Longbow, Barbarian Lord Maul, Lifeward Amulet, and Grenade Belt

Crafting Materials: 37 Elfroot, 62 Iron, 2 Blue Vitriol, 1 Dawn Lotus, 11 Silk, 17 Lambswool, 3 Royal Elfroot, 10 Ram Leather, 23 Drakestone, 4 Fire Essence, 3 Blue Vitriol, 11 Canine Leather, 4 Plaidewaive, 2 Frost Essence, 1 Fade-Touched Iron, 4 Blood Lotus, 5 Embrium, 10 Spindleweed, 16 Onyx, 3 Ironbarks, 2 Crystal Grace, and 1 Serpenstone

Upgrades: Sigil of the Gamordan Stromrider and Sigil of Deathroot

Valuables: 2 Shadow Essence, 1 Ram Horn, 1 Dreamer Rag, 5 Weapon Fragment, 2 Bowstring, 8 Mysterious Shards, Nevarra Skull, 1 Wisp Essence, and 1 Wolf Fangs

Potions: Lesser Health Potions x8, Lesser Regeneration Potions x5, and x5 Lyrium Potion

Skills: Chain Lighting, Flashfire, Barrier, Winter's Grasp, and Energy Barrage

Armor Schematics: Shokra-taar Schematic, Antaam-saar Schematic, Avvar Armor Schematics Acquired, Stone-Bear Armor Schematics, Vanguard Coat Schematic, Sturdy Defender Coat Schematic, and Scout Mail Arms Schematic

Weapon Schematics: Curved Dagger Schematic and Hunting Bow Schematic

Potion Recipe: Lesser Regeneration Potion recipe and Lyrium Potion Recipe

Bottles of Thedas: Vint-9 Rowan's Rose and Carnal, 8:69 Blessed