Chapter Text
They fought. They aimed trebuchet after trebuchet, all of them nervously looking up at the sky. The templars were not right, with red, glowing rock groing out of them. Mahanon knew this wasn't going to fucking end well.
It got worse when one of the templars suddenly became a huge, red demon.
"What is that?!" Mahanon couldn't hold back his surprise as he dodged an incoming attack. A huge, hammer shaped hand hit the ground loudly where Mahanon had just been.
Mahanon skirted to the side, checking the area. There was no way someone like him could be much help in a fight against a huge, armored beast like that. Mahanon instead directed everyone else to the beast, as he took care of the small fry with quick stabs to the back. He knew it was cowardly but hey, at least they wold all live this way.
As the huge red abomination finally fell, Mahanon rushed to finish aiming the trebuchet. It took longer than he wanted, but surprisingly no one attacked him while he was doing it.
And then the dragon showed up.
"Move," Mahanon ordered quietly, his voice quivering. Then, louder, "Now!"
His companions began to run, Mahanon following close behind. Mahanon made sure to stay in the back, positive that everyone was going to make it out of there. Mahanon stumbled. His companions didn't notice, and kept running. He didn't call out. At least they would be safe.
A blast from the dragon's fire made him fall over completely, rolling on the ground roughly. He curled in on himself and coughed. His ears were so cold. He pushed himself up, his arms shaking with the effort. He really was scared out of his fucking mind. But, at least his friends were safe.
That huge, scary man was making his way toward him. Mahanon felt his stomach lurch and his entire body began to shake. He felt like he was going to throw up. And yet, he stood.
The dragon landed behind him, making Mahanon lose his footing and stumble again. Now he had no way to escape. He was absolutely fucked. The dragon took a step toward him. Mahanon hurried back, his heart feeling like it was going to explode. The beast roared into the sky, the sound deafening.
"Enough," the man, the Elder One, snarled, "Pretender. You toy with forced beyond your ken. No more."
Mahanon had a hand to his dagger, shaking so hard he knew the Elder One could see it.
"W-what are you?" Mahanon's voice shook, his lips trembling, "Why are you doing this?"
"Mortals beg for truth they cannot have," the man's voice was impossibly deep, "It is beyond what you are. What I was. Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus. You will kneel."
Mahanon didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to kneel. Maybe if he did, this man wouldn't hurt him. He wondered if his friends made it out. He hoped they did.
"What do you want?" Mahanon forced out, a hand still on his dagger.
"I am here for the anchor," Corypheus growled. He was holding an orb, one that began to glow. "The process of removing it begins now."
Corypheus thrust his hand out, glowing red. Mahanon's mark began to glow too. Mahanon was beginning to panic.
"You interrupted a ritual years in planning, and instead of dying, you stole it's purpose," Corypheus flicked his wrist and pain shot up Mahanon's arm, "I do not know how you survived. But, what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens."
Corypheus moved his hand again. This time, blinding pain flared in his hand, spiking up his arm. Mahanon collapsed, muffling his cries of pain. He could feel sweat rolling down his forehead.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this was where he would die, terrified and alone, by the hands of some evil mastermind.
"And you you used the anchor to undo my work," Corypheus glowered down at Mahanon.
"Just-" Mahanon forced the words out, twisted in pain, tears threatening to spill, "Just take the damn mark! I never wanted it anyways! Just fucking- just take it!"
Without saying anything, Corypheus stalked toward him, grabbing his wrist and lifting him up, his feet dangling. Mahanon felt his shoulder pop and grunted in pain. A few tears fell out of his eyes.
"I once breached the fade in the name of another, to serve the old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused, but no more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the throne of the Gods. And it was empty." With that, Corypheus threw Mahanon at the trebuchet.
He felt his stomach drop for a moment, then pain as he struck the hard wood. He hit the ground with a hard thud.
"The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling."
Mahanon struggled for breath. One of his daggers was on the ground next to him, gleaming in the light from the fire. Mahanon crawled over to it, grabbed it, and forced himself to stand, no matter how many parts of his body were screaming for him to just lie down and sleep.
"So be it," Corypheus said, the dragon wailing behind him, "We will begin again, find another way to make this world the nation and God it requires."
Mahanon looked past Corypheus, at the flare flying in the sky. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. They had made it.
"I will not suffer even an unknowing rival," Corypheus continued, "You must die."
Mahanon took a deep breath, seeking out something, anything that could help him live through this. Or at least so that Corypheus wouldn't. Then, he saw it.
"Fuck you," Mahanon said simply before kicking the trebuchet handle with all of his strength. He watched as the stone went flying, and struck true. Snow came crashing down, and with the last of his energy, Mahanon ran.
***
Mahanon woke slowly, every single part of his body aching and screaming. He forced himself to stand. He was alive, that was something. He was in a cave. A dark, cold cave. His thin armor wasn't doing much to keep him warm. He forced himself to walk forward, one step at a time. As he walked, he encountered some demons. In a daze, he thrust his hand up, opening a small rift and instantly killing the demons.
"Well that's new," he mumbled to himself, staring blankly at his hand. All feeling in his body was starting to leave him. He walked forward. Soon he had left the cave. It was even colder outside. He almost wanted to just lay down in the soft snow and sleep. But something stopped him. Something orange and glowing. A fire.
Hope began to bud in his chest as he made his way forward, forcing each and every step. He followed the trail left behind by the Inquisition, growing more and more tired with each step. He let out a shuttering breath. After what seemed like forever, he heard voices.
"There! It's him!"
"Thank the Maker!"
Mahanon fell to his knees, eyes closing. He was safe.
***
Mahanon was running. The hallways were an endless hue of red. He was alone, his breaths coming out in loud puffs, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls. Dead templars lie everywhere. Mahanon was careful not to trip on one.
He looked around desperately, searching for anybody that might be alive anyone he knew. A voice began to ring out in the halls.
"Andraste guide me, Andraste guide me..." The voice was eerie and echoing, making Mahanon even more nervous. There were endless halls of red lyrium and dead bodies, none of them faces Mahanon knew.
He reached a corridor. He kept searching the bodies, dreading the fact that one of them might be his friend, when- He froze. On the ground, in a pile, was the entire Inquisition. Dorian, his head bashed in, Iron Bull, a spear in his back, Varric, arrows jutting out of his body, Cassandra, Solas, Blackwall... Mahanon was about to throw up. There they all lay, dead. Who could do this? Who would-
"You know you can't stop me," a familiar voice rang out in the hall. Mahanon turned slowly, face to face with the man he had just fought with.
"You know you can't win," Corypheus continued.
"That's not true!" Mahanon shouted.
"You can't beat me," Corypheus leaned over, "I will kill everyone you love to get to you."
"Stop, stop-"
"Lavellan!" Mahanon startled awake. He was in a cot, his head pounding, all of his muscles aching. Mother Giselle was peering down at him, a concerned look on her face.
Mahanon sat up. Everyone was safe. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were arguing. Mahanon searched the camp until he was satisfied that everyone was there.
"You need rest," Mother Giselle insisted. Mahanon turned his eyes toward her. She looked tired, with dark bags under her eyes.
"They've been at it for hours," Mahanon said. His head was pounding. Couldn't they stop arguing so he could get some rest? He'd been through a lot.
"They have that luxury thanks to you," Mother Giselle smiled at him. Mahanon felt himself growing warm despite his internal protests.
"Fighting won't help," Mahanon said tiredly. He sat up completely.
"Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed," Giselle explained, "We saw our defender stand. And fall. And now we have seen him return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What we must endure? What we, perhaps, have come to believe?"
"I..." Mahanon hesitated, "I believe in elven Gods."
"And so you do."
Mahanon got up. He walked over to a nearby pole, leaning heavily on it. His muscles were still angry at him. His eyes grazed the camp, at his mentors, his companions, the people who believed him to be some fabled Herald of a God he didn't believe in.
Then, Mother Giselle began singing.
Mahanon's eyes focused on her, walking towards him and singing. He didn't like where this was going. Soon, people joined in, including his mentors. People were staring at him with awe, singing, moving towards him. He was filled with discomfort as more and more people joined in and moved in closer, and finally began kneeling. It wasn't a wholly uncomfortable experience, however. It filled his chest with something, something strong. Not just discomfort, but also determination.
"It's all one world, Herald," Giselle said, "All that changes is our place in it."
And boy did Mahanon's place change.
"A word," Solas said from behind him. Mahanon forced himself not to jump, and followed.
"The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. The faith is hard won, lethallan. Worthy of pride. Save one detail," Solas began by lighting a torch with magic. How mages did that, Mahanon would never know.
"The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It's ours," Solas said seriously, "Corypheus used the orb to open the breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave."
Mahanon wondered idly how Solas knew this, but knew better than to question him.
"We must find out how he survived, and we must prepare for their reaction, once they find out the orb is of our people.
"They would find a way to blame us eventually," Mahanon replied bitterly.
"That they would," Solas agreed, "You will need every advantage. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build... grow..."
"Skyhold."