Chapter Text
Haven — a sleepy town of frozen pathways and rundown cabins with eternally snow-covered roofs. Through the ages it existed in obscurity... the best-kept secret in the Frostback Mountains, unimportant and unknown to all but a select few. While recent years had seen it transform into a resting stop for pilgrims visiting the Temple of Sacred Ashes, never before had it been the hub of activity it was today. As the location for peace talks in the mage-templar war and home to the newly formed Inquisition, it had received more foot traffic in the past weeks than it had seen in the last decade combined. Yet even that surge of activity was nothing compared to recent events.
Cullen stared at his reflection. It was but a distorted blur, a warped phantom of a man between the scorch marks and dents in the surface of his shield. Darkness lined the misshapen eyes looking back at him, and the beginnings of a bruise decorated his collar bone. He traced his torso with his hands, checking his other injuries. Though he wore gloves at all times, his fingers were cracked and dry from the cold, rough against his skin as he touched the scar on his lip. It had been a nasty cut — a fitting parting gift from Kirkwall. Fortunately it seemed to have healed properly, despite a lack of proper medical attention. He brushed past his jaw, noticing the length of his stubble. It was longer than he usually kept it. How long had it been since he last shaved?
Three days… was that really all? It felt like an eternity. He closed his eyes and thought back through the flurry of memories that had crammed itself into his mind. It was little more than a week since their ship had landed in Ferelden. The Conclave had already started by the time they arrived in Haven — the doors to the temple had been shut, not to be opened again until a solution was found to the conflict. To their dismay, it had excluded both the Divine’s Left and Right Hand from the proceedings.
Cullen had thrown himself onto the work awaiting him — getting to know the officers under his command, establishing rotas, managing inventory and scheduling training sessions. He’d been fortunate to have Rylen as his second, one of the few templars to have joined him from Kirkwall. The man had proven himself more than capable in the aftermath of Kirkwall’s destruction, as well as a much needed ally. By now he was familiar with how Cullen preferred to have his ranks organised, saving them both time and effort in establishing a semblance of order to the band of volunteers that made up the fledgling Inquisition. Their work had started off relatively easy — in its current state, the army was no larger than the Kirkwall Order had been. That moment of relative peace, however, could only last for so long.
It was late in the evening. Cullen was on his way to check with Lady Cassandra in the Chantry, his mind focused on the report in his hand. A deafening blast shook the heavens without warning, causing him and anyone else about to be thrown to the ground. A hot flash followed, a searing gale littered with sparks that tore on the buildings, sent items hurtling through the air, and ignited fires in bales of hay and tufts of grass. People screamed, scrambling on hands and knees to find cover. Cullen pushed himself up and turned to look at the source, lifting an arm above his eyes to shield them from the blinding light. A ripple pulled through his spine as the Veil collapsed and a torrent of flames pelted up towards the sky, opening a flaming chasm in the night. Emerald bolts began to rain down upon the mountain, gleaming in the dark… the temple had been wiped from view.
He got to his feet and ran outside the walls. More people were beginning to gather there, their faces frozen in looks of horror and disbelief. Varric appeared next to him a moment later, crossbow in hand.
“Oh no… Not again.”
It was one of the rare occasions where Cullen was of one mind with the dwarf.
Time had lost all meaning since then. No one knew what had happened at first. The only thing that was clear were the shades and ghouls that started to find their way down the mountain. They appeared to emanate from the Breach — as the fracture in the sky would soon be named — or from newly sprouting cracks in the Veil. Cullen rallied what troops he had. His small band of templars, a loyal few who had followed Rylen’s example, formed the core of his resistance team. Little by little, they managed to take the mountain path, setting up barricades and roadblocks along the way to keep the monsters from swarming into the village. He spent most of his time at the front himself, fighting his hardest while keeping an eye on his men. The stress of the situation could easily overwhelm anyone, let alone the volunteers who had never seen a demon before. While he tried to provide anyone who seemed close to breaking with rest, such small moments of relief soon became difficult to supply.
Deep into the night, after several hours of gruelling combat, they finally managed to gain a foothold in the temple… or what was left of it. What he imagined was once an awe-inspiring structure had been reduced to nothing more than rubble and ash. The dead lay scattered across the ground, growing in numbers as they pushed their way in. Once they entered what used to be the vestibule, it only got worse. Bodies, locked in screams of terror, their skins even parts shining red and scorched black. As quick as the explosion had happened, their deaths did not seem painless in the least. Cullen stepped over something shrivelled and smoking, trying his best not to think about what it used to be, when a shout called his attention to further ahead.
“Commander!” One of the Nightingale’s scouts stood on top of a broken wall, pointing to something beyond. “We found a survivor!”
Alarm bells went off in his head. The scout had come from the grand hall, the very spot where the energy torrent connected to the Breach, the centre of the explosion. If anyone was alive in there, how could they not be involved in its ignition? He climbed up to where the scout was waiting for him, stepping carefully to avoid loose rocks as he made his way across the rubble.
“Who is it?”
He squinted into the distance. Below the Breach, a pulsing shape somewhere between crystal and crumpled paper hung suspended in the air. Several more scouts stood below it, surrounding a lone person lying on the floor with their weapons drawn at the lifeless figure.
“I don’t know, Commander. A woman. A rift opened and she stepped out or… fell is perhaps more accurate. She’s lost consciousness.”
The scout paused and Cullen tore his gaze from the mysterious survivor to look at her. She was staring hard in the distance, then glanced at him. “Is there something else?” he asked impatiently.
She fidgeted a moment longer, then made up her mind. “Some say they saw another woman behind her before the rift closed again. I can’t be sure… but I believe I did as well.”
Cullen signalled to Rylen, who began to set up a defensive perimeter below, then gestured to the scout to show him the way down. He followed her, turning her words over in his mind. Another woman? How many women could come out of the Fade in a single day? “What did this other woman look like?”
“It’s… hard to say, Commander. She was only there for a moment.” She nimbly slid down the remains of a large statue that now lay at an angle against the wall. Once on the ground, she paused and glanced over to where the survivor lay. “Some of the others say it was Andraste behind her, ser.”
Cullen did not bother to suppress a scoff. He landed heavily on his feet in a manner less agile than the scout had. “Wouldn’t that be great?”
The people standing around the lone woman eyed him nervously at his approach. Despite their pointed weapons, they kept their distance. Clearly, none of them wished to get any closer.
“Look, ser.” The scout’s voice was hushed, as if she were scared of waking the woman. “She’s got a glowing scar on her hand. It seems to respond to the Breach.”
Cullen pushed away his own nerves at the sight of the survivor and knelt beside her. She was lying face down, wearing unremarkable traveller’s clothes that were dusty and stained. Her hair was ashen coloured and although it had mostly come undone, it had been neatly braided at some point. He grabbed the woman’s shoulder and turned her over. She was fair-skinned, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Her right hand landed next to his boot and he took her wrist to lift it up. The fingers were soft and delicate with groomed nails — not someone from the working class. The only sign of calluses were on the middle and index finger, suggesting she was no stranger to handling a bow.
He was more reluctant to touch her left hand. It lay folded open on her other side, crackling with every surge from the Breach above them. It was no magic he had ever seen before. Whatever it was, there was no doubt in his mind that it was of the same source as the explosion.
Someone of high standing, perhaps nobility, with an interest in hunting. Not what you’d expect to fall out of the Fade, nor perhaps what would be the cause of such destruction… but what other explanation was there? Of all people in the temple, why would only she have survived? Though he had little doubt in his mind of her involvement, he was careful not to say so out loud. If he had learned anything from Kirkwall, it was that fear could lead to terrible consequences. No, people would draw their conclusions soon enough without him declaring her guilt. More important was getting her out of here so they could get answers, rather than anyone taking justice in their own hands in a fit of rage.
The scout had inched closer as he examined the woman. Now she was looking over his shoulder at the mysterious woman in front of them. “What should we do, ser?”
“Go down to inform the Hands,” he said sternly. “I will take her out. Assuming she lives, we need her to talk.”
The woman’s breath was laboured as he pushed one arm under her torso and another under her knees. He lifted her, staggering slightly under her weight. She was quite tall, and heavier than he’d anticipated based on the delicacy of her features. He carefully found a way through the debris and carried her out, watching her face contort with pain at every pulse that pulled through the Veil.
Don’t you dare die right now, he thought grimly. You will answer for what you’ve done, or I’ll hunt you down in the Fade myself.
Another rift cracked open behind him the moment he stepped out of the temple’s remains, where two soldiers met him with a stretcher. He placed her on it, casting her one last look before he turned back and rejoined the fighting.
It had been three days since then. Seventy-two hours of combat, screaming, demons… complete and utter madness up until this moment, where he found himself standing in his tent with the evidence of it all building up on his body and taking a toll on his mind. Over time, he’d seen more of his men fall to the monsters. The sense of dread in the air increased with each passing hour, as did his resentment towards the prisoner that had stumbled out of the rift. He rubbed his eyes. At most, he’d been able to catch an hour of rest. The woman, on the other hand, had apparently been fast asleep since they’d found her… it did nothing to improve his opinion of her.
He began to put his armour back on. While it was still in better shape than he was, it too carried plenty of marks from the battle. As he strapped one of the bracers to his forearm, he noticed a long gash in the metal. A claw mark, rage demon’s most likely, cutting across the templar insignia embossed along its length. He scowled at it, his mood further souring rapidly. The set was new, a purchase he’d made shortly after his decision to leave the Order — it had been the first time he’d ever spent such coin on something for himself. Though he tended to keep a practical mindset regarding his equipment, it didn’t lessen the sting of seeing it damaged so shortly after acquiring it.
Rylen stuck his head inside the tent as Cullen fastened his belt. “Word from the Left,” he said, speaking quickly. “Right Hand is bringing the prisoner up. Also, another rift has opened. It’s a big one.”
“Location?”
“Antechamber. We’re holding them back for now, but we won’t be able to should another one open.”
“Get everyone still able to hold a sword.” Cullen grabbed his own and sheathed it. “We need to hold our position until Lady Cassandra arrives, no matter what.”
“The team is requesting more lyrium. Permission to comply?”
Cullen paused a moment. “Limited doses, Rylen. It won’t be long now.”
“How about you?”
“… No. Save it for the men.”
Rylen nodded and disappeared from view.
The templars had dipped into the supply more regularly as time ticked by, opting for the artificial boost of the philter when rest was a luxury they could not afford. He hadn’t wanted them to, but standing on principle had not been an option. He had resisted the urge himself, his resolve only a few weeks old and fresh enough still. The hardest part had been to notice a weakening of his divine skills. He hadn’t anticipated this when he decided to quit… Could he really continue to refuse, if this was going to remain their situation?
Cullen took a deep breath and headed out, where he took inventory of the situation. The rift Rylen spoke of loomed ahead, spawning a slew of monsters. Any plans Cullen tried to form in the last days had hinged on them finding a way to close these tears. He didn’t know who to trust less — the woman with the mark, or the apostate who had shown up and theorised the mark might be able to do just that. As twisted luck would have it, these two were currently their only hope of saving them from complete destruction. If they should fail…
He joined the fray, flicking the familiar switch in his mind that kept such thoughts at bay. Gone was the doubt, replaced by a primal intuition that directed his moves. He found himself face to face with a ghoul and shifted into a defensive stance to assess its moves. The creature drifted to the right, preparing a lunge towards his left. Cullen waited until the last moment to bait it into attacking, then stepped round to dodge and strike it from behind. He quickly raised his shield to deflect the incoming fire, then finished it off with a quick sweep across. A rushing from behind signalled the incoming charge of a wraith. He ducked away, feeling the blast stir his hair, and spun around to engage it. He closed the distance within a few strides, dodging another hit, and vanquished the creature in an upwards slash.
There was no end in sight… The moment they cut them down, new ones clawed their way out of the rifts in an instant. Cullen pulled his sword from a rage demon’s chest, pushing with his foot to dislodge the blade from its broken body. His breath was heavy, his eyes stinging as he looked around and wiped his brow. Some distance away from him, one of his soldiers faltered and fell. Instinct took over and Cullen dashed across the field, planting himself between the boy and the advancing demon. The creature smashed into his shield, grabbing and scratching with its claws. It pushed and pushed, its flaming eyes inches away from his face, getting closer as his muscles burned from the effort of keeping it at bay.
A faint whistle, lost within the chaos, was all that signalled his salvation. The arrow flew past his face, close enough for the fletching to graze his cheek, and struck the demon between the eyes. Everything froze for a long moment, until an ear-splitting shriek forced his eyes shut. The pressure on his shield fell away when the demon threw itself backwards, clawing at the projectile lodged in its skull. Cullen stumbled to regain his footing, then made his move. Two quick steps forward and one strike later, the creature slumped to the ground like the others had done before it. He spun around the moment he was free of it, searching for the marksman.
She sat knelt down atop the broken wall, silver hair flowing over her shoulder and already aiming another arrow. It shot through the air and found its target, effectively dispatching another demon down the field. Cassandra appeared as well through the broken arch below, her apostate and Varric in tow. One more push, Maker willing… A quick prayer flashed through his mind and Cullen shifted his focus to the battle once more, willing himself to hold out just a bit longer.
Finally, for the first time in days, a rift disappeared instead of opened.
Lady Cassandra stood several paces away, staring at the spot where the rift had been. He saw her breathe a sigh of relief at the same time that he did. She’d been in and out of the front lines herself, rushing back down whenever there seemed to be a change in the prisoner. While she generally adopted a stern demeanour, she’d been considerably worse without sleep and under stress. He was relieved to see that even she looked slightly more hopeful now. “Lady Cassandra,” he greeted her, “You managed to close the rift. Well done.”
“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” she replied, rolling her shoulder. “This is the prisoner’s doing.” She gestured towards the woman standing further away with Varric. To his surprise, the look on her face was uncharacteristically soft when she did.
“The mark works then?”
“It works on the small rifts, at least. We will see if it works on the Breach.”
“Has she said anything?” he inquired, his own distrust rising at the sight of the stranger. “Is she behind this?”
“If she was, I doubt she would admit it, Commander,” the Seeker said drily. “But I doubt that she is. She has been quite willing to help and seems as confused by what has happened as the rest of us.”
“And you believe her?” he scoffed.
She arched one of her sharp brows. “I am allowing the possibility. She is helping us — it is all that matters for the moment.”
Cullen glanced at the prisoner. Much as he wanted to believe the Seeker’s judgement, her readiness to trust the stranger only made him more wary of her. A bruise was forming on the side of her face, her hair was completely undone, and her clothes were even dirtier than when they found her. Yet despite her dishevelled appearance, there was something about her stance, her features, and the way she carried herself that made her appear… the only word that came to mind was ‘regal’.
She looked away from Varric, raising her chin to lock eyes with him instead. Hers were almond shaped and grey, matching the ashen colour of her hair. They rapidly flit across his face and down his body as she sized him up, making him feel oddly exposed despite his layers of clothing and armour. She came closer, eyeing him with curiosity, but looked to Cassandra as she came to stand beside them. It took him a moment to realise she was waiting for the Seeker to facilitate an introduction.
“Commander,” Cassandra said after a moment, motioning towards her. “Meet Elsa.”
The woman graciously inclined her head, but didn’t yet speak. Instead she continued to observe him with a polite smile, seemingly oblivious to the destruction around them, and waited for him to speak first.
“… I hope they’re right about you,” he said, “We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”
He wanted to smack himself over the head, but resisted the urge. The Seeker’s words had caught him off guard, making his own come across harsher than he’d intended. Whatever reason she had for trusting her, the fact that she was on a first name basis with the prisoner unnerved him.
“I will do my best not to let their sacrifice be in vain, Commander…?”
Her voice was deeper than he had expected and cultured, without any discernible accent. It went up a note at the end of her sentence. She kept her eyebrows slightly raised, expecting him to introduce himself. Her eyes were no longer moving. Instead, they were completely focused on his, holding them in her gaze. He swallowed, then answered in spite of himself.
“… Cullen.”
She inclined her head a fraction, then turned back towards Cassandra. “We should continue, should we not?”
The Seeker nodded in response and looked towards their target. The Breach loomed overhead, continuously tugging on the Veil. Cullen felt the familiar rushing in his veins from whenever magic manifested itself… More rifts would appear soon if the disruption was not stabilised.
“The way to the temple should be clear,” he told the Seeker. “Leliana will try to meet you there.”
“Then we’d best move quickly. Give us time, Commander.”
“Maker watch over you.” He cast one more look at the ashen-haired woman. “For all our sakes.”
“And you, Commander,” she said softly. Then she was gone, following the Seeker deeper into the temple.
He watched them disappear before he turned back himself. The soldiers, battered and bruised, struggled to their feet around him and began to limp towards the camp. Cullen pulled one boy’s arm over his shoulder to steady him. As he walked away from the battlefield, he found that his mind remained with the prisoner… and the way the light had shimmered in those misty eyes. A familiar sensation stirred in his chest, a delicate flutter as unsettling as it was unwelcome. He masked the groan that escaped him by hoisting the young man higher up his shoulder.
Maker’s breath… this is so inconvenient.
It was another three days later when he saw her next. In that time, public opinion of her had rapidly changed. It disturbed him how quickly the prisoner, whose fate had seemed doomed as he carried her out of the rubble, had turned her situation around. Rather than being hated, she was now regarded with awe. Not only that, his colleagues seemed positively enamoured with the survivor from the rift.
“It is most fortunate that she is a Trevelyan.” Josephine was practically bouncing with joy as she checked something on her clipboard. Cullen saw her with it so often, it might as well have been permanently sewn to her hand. “They are a large family with many connections. If we can rally them behind us, it will give the Inquisition that much more standing.”
“Don’t get too excited yet, Josie. While she is a Trevelyan, I have found surprisingly little information on her. Let’s not count our ravens before they have hatched.”
“What did you find?” Cullen asked the Spymaster.
“Nothing that stands out particularly…” she murmured, “She is the fifth of six children and only daughter born to Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. There was another girl, but she died young. Many of her brothers are templars, while she is active in the local Chantry and community. There is talk of an engagement to an Antivan lord, but nothing official. By all accounts, she seems perfectly normal. I would just expect there to be more details about her, given her position. For many years, it is like she did not exist at all. Even now her public appearances seem to be rare.”
“That is something you should look into then.”
Leliana let out a soft sing-song laugh. “Do you think she uses her time off from tending to the poor to hang out with maleficar and plan explosions, Commander? I have talked with the girl, it seems most unlikely. But I will continue to look into it, to ease your mind.”
Her mouth twisted into a teasing smirk. He rolled his eyes in return, when the door opened. The prisoner entered behind Cassandra, no longer wearing the raggedy outfit from before. Instead she was equipped with a sensible light armour, sporting a blue leather hunting coat. Her hair was shining and pulled up into a casual bun, with several loose waves that framed her face.
The Seeker did not waste any time. “You’ve met Commander Cullen,” she told the woman. “Leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”
The eyes focused on him… and he swallowed. They had always been his weakness. First there had been the deep greens of Solona Amell. Later it had been no different with the steely blues of Marian Hawke. As different as they were in disposition, it had not been surprising to find out the two were related. When either had looked at him with those eyes, it had severely impacted his ability to speak or even to form a proper sentence in his head. Though age and experience had helped in lessening that effect, it didn’t make him less uncomfortable now that he was being probed by the ones before him.
“It was only for a moment on the field.” Thank the Maker… he didn’t stutter. “I am pleased you survived.”
“That makes two of us…” Her smile was gentle and inviting. Now that she was free from grime, he noticed she was younger than he’d initially thought. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, adding to the perfection of her features. She had to be in her mid-twenties, or perhaps even younger, yet she had the air of someone more mature than that. “Pardon me,” she continued, shaking him from his reveries, “but would you be the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall?”
He blinked. “Yes… I was. I left the Order to join the Inquisition.”
“I see. Please forgive my curiosity. Ostwick is not far from Kirkwall, so we have heard stories of course. It must have been a very challenging assignment, restoring order after that terrible tragedy.”
“It… was. Yes.”
He hoped his face did not show his surprise. There had been talk of him in other cities? He’d never given much thought to the possibility, though it seemed obvious now that he thought about it. He used to hear news of happenings in other Circles, none of which nearly as tragic as what went down in Kirkwall. What had she heard, exactly?
She gave a short nod in response. Then the eyes released him, following Cassandra’s gesture towards Josephine.
“I believe our families have some connection, Lady Montilyet. Through some of my cousins, if I am not mistaken?”
Her voice continued to be perfectly cultured. It was a warm sound, smooth like velvet. Yet there was something about the lack of accent that made it sound… impersonal? Did he just want to think that?
“Indeed, they do!” Josephine’s ruffles bounced with her excitement. “I was just saying before, My Lady, it would be so helpful if we could count on connections like these to give the Inquisition a proper start.”
“I could not agree more, Josephine. We should sit together soon to see what support we can gather. But please, call me Elsa.”
The ambassador beamed at the survivor, who gently smiled back. Cullen felt his guard assert itself once more. He had not gotten to a point of dropping titles with his colleagues, for good reason. It was not something he’d expected to feel awkward about, yet somehow the survivor had managed just that. What was she playing at?
The focus shifted to Leliana and eventually to the topic at hand. Cullen sighed as the spymaster once again brought her suggestion of approaching the rebel mages to the table — as if it was the only solution to their problem. He’d lost count of how often they had repeated the same discussion since the Breach had stabilised. They each went through their opinions again, though without much vigour. Neither option was ideal, nor easily in reach. As long as no-one changed their mind, it was unlikely they’d reach a decision this time around.
“If I might interject…”
All eyes turned to the silver-haired girl.
“I do not wish to push my opinion where it is not wanted,” she said calmly, “but since I will be trying to close the Breach, I would like to share my view. I would agree with Commander Cullen. A tear in the Veil is dangerous enough as it is. It would seem the safer route, for myself and those around, is to enlist the aid of the Order.”
A silence fell as they stared at her. Cullen felt his head angle to the side as he observed her, while she continued to quietly gaze at the people in the room, undaunted by their scrutiny.
“Unfortunately,” Josephine replied, glancing at the others, “neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and you specifically.”
“Do they still believe me guilty?” Her neatly trimmed eyebrows pulled down ever so slightly.
“That is not the entirety of it any longer. Some are calling you the ‘Herald of Andraste’. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harbouring you.”
“I see… That is quite a risk you are taking on my account.”
She quieted, frowning in earnest. Her expression did not change as they informed her of the developments since she tried to close the Breach and she nodded pensively when Cassandra explained her of the identity people had attributed to the woman seen behind her in the rift.
“It’s quite the title, isn’t it?” Cullen asked, carefully watching for her response. “How do you feel about that?”
She raised her head and thought a moment. “I am reluctant to embrace it, and indeed would be wary of anyone who would accept a name like that too readily,” she said slowly. “But I do prefer it over ‘mass murderer’.”
He huffed a laugh in spite of himself. It was becoming clear how this girl had managed to gain sympathy so quickly among his peers. Her manners were perfect, her words carefully chosen. She delivered them with the right mix of warmth, care, and humour. Yet when she smiled at him, he couldn’t help but think the gesture didn’t quite reach her eyes. Whether it was because of their colour or something else, he couldn’t tell, but there was something subdued about them. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t make them any less hypnotising.
The meeting came to a close and Cullen quickly made his way back to camp. There were still mountains of work ahead, evidenced by Rylen handing him a stack of reports the moment he reached the training grounds. He flipped through them — new volunteers, lists of donated supplies, another of soldiers who had succumbed to their injuries and whose families would need to be informed, and a selection of other matters. He was relieved to see one of the documents was a pledge of allegiance from a group of templars that had been stationed in the Hinterlands. Though the volunteers had been training non-stop since the Breach had stabilised, most were farmhands or the sons of bakers and blacksmiths. It would take weeks for them to resemble anything like proper warriors. It would make all the difference to bolster his ranks with some seasoned officers — the more templars he had with the Breach still in the sky, the sounder he would sleep at night.
He handed Rylen back the documents and turned his attention to the recruits training around him. One of the men dropped his guard and stared at something off to the side. A moment later he was holding his nose, trying to stop the bleeding after getting hit in the face by his sparring partner.
“You there!” Cullen called, “There’s a shield in your hand, block with it! If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead!”
His attention was drawn behind the man, to what had distracted him in the first place. The girl — the Herald, as people now called her — was standing some distance away. The loose strands of her hair drifted in the breeze, no longer ashen in the light of the sun but more akin to liquid silver. Her eyes swept the camp, surveying the training soldiers as if assessing the wares at a market. She looked up, met his gaze briefly, and greeted him with a slight inclination of her head. Then she turned and walked back towards the village.
Who are you, Elsa Trevelyan?