#dwnstone

The moment Morrigan and Cathal step through the portal into the Crossroads the ambush is sprung. Taash is right there, picking up Cathal by the upper arms, pressing them against his body so he can't fight back too much. Davrin is close by, ready to assist should Taash lose their grip; both of them already familiar with wrangling a hissing and spitting elven thanks to Rook.

He seems barely concerned by the bolt wedged into the wall less than a foot from Cathal's head, which is its own kind of concerning, but it means he's at least fine enough to boss Faust around. Only one shot was made before the assassin lay dead, one of Faust's knives sitting nice and snug in their eye socket.

"Huh?" What he says doesn't register for a few moments as Faust looks him up and down for injuries. Satisfied enough to let out a breath, she plucks a wooden shard from his shirt before responding, "Oh. Yeah, no way."

the herald is young. much younger than she expected. when she had arrived in redcliffe and heard tales about the elvhen inquisitor from the mages and from alexius, she was expecting someone much older. but now, as she looks at him, she realises he can’t be much older than her. perhaps seeing twenty years, give or take. he is much more personable, as well. well liked. even dorian has taken somewhat to him. and if he feels that the herald is trustworthy, perhaps she should trust his judgement. it appears a lot of her assumptions are wrong and any kind of ignorance is hard for her to handle. 

she waits for him to approach her, however. noticing how he makes his rounds when he is in haven. she already hears rumors about the two tevinters - the magister (even though dorian is an altus, of course) and the abomination. because the southerners, with their irrational fear of magic, cannot fathom the idea of magic that is not contained by force. she wonders how he truly feels about magic. seemingly sympathetic to the rebel mages plight - as was she, though unaware of alexius’ plan and too powerless to stop him. 

@dwnstone  //  LET’S  MAKE  A  GENETICS  SMOOTHIE  🧉

She was wiping away dried blood when Cathal finally stirred. After finally reaching camp and collapsing, the leaders of the Inquisition had brought the Herald to her and Adan to treat. He got his own little corner of the tent to himself, to give him some privacy.

"Welcome back," she murmured. Jalon withdrew her hand and the damp cloth, not wanting to freeze him in the chilly air more than necessary, but needing to finish cleaning him off so she could see the extent of the damage. The spirits could only tell her so much.

She'd bundled him up in blankets already to warm him up—the poor man was close to hypothermia by the time he'd reached them—and motioned to someone to fetch him something warm to eat or drink.