Chapter Text
Nazari, very firmly, hates the Hinterlands. Especially after being turned away at the gates of Redcliffe by a suspicious sounding guard, even after working his hardest to ensure that every task handed to him is done to completion with maximum effort. They had secured blankets and food, they had gained Master Dennett’s horses by helping the farmers to the west, they had stomped out the Templar and Rogue Mage battles destroying the landscape, he had even become the focus of some strange fade-worshipping cult, and yet at every turn to actually make some form of progress in the civil war, they were shut out and turned away. He is sure that it shows on his face after they make camp that day, as Varric silently passes him a flask of mead.
“Rough day?” The dwarf asks, sitting on the log next to him.
“You were there for it.” Nazari says. “Just… thought that maybe being a Herald would make this easier.” He runs a hand over his horns and through his hair.
Varric laughs, loud and barking, but friendly nonetheless. “You thought getting put on a stage would make things easier, Points? Take it from me, it just makes things messier.”
Nazari sighs. Varric is right, and he would know better than anyone else here. There’s an urge to continue his previous lines of questions about Hawke and her other companions but he bites it back. It’s clear enough that it’s hard for Varric to talk about.
“It makes some things easier.” Cassandra counters. She sits on the ground next to the fire, leaning against her knee. “Certainly you couldn’t reach the closed doors from where you were.”
“This is true.” He says, contemplating. He looks for Solas in the small entourage of Inquisition forces. The elf is sitting off, meditating in his own strange way on the edge of the camp. If routine is to be followed, he’ll come sit with them in ten minutes, and add his own opinion to the fray even if it’s unwanted by others. Nazari stays silent, contemplating his new yet familiar situation.
All in all, it’s not a bad lot, sitting here with the Inquisition. They function much like a large scale mercenary crew, only with a lot more red tape wrapping around their actions. They were well fed, well taken care of, and housing was provided. Though, the last time he was there, they were still waiting on more tents to be delivered by a Fereldan sympathizer, so many of the tents were overfilled with soldiers who had no supplies of their own.
With their work in the Hinterlands, more help should be arriving soon as well. The local nobles in the fade-cult pledged much of their help towards the Inquisition despite his urging to aid the refugees, so, at the very least, more funding will come soon.
Though he’ll have to include in his letter to Lady Josephine and Lady Nightingale to keep them away from Jane. All four of them had heard whispers of Andraste reborn after he closed the rift in their fortress, and all of those whispers sent chills down his spine. She’s just a girl.
As his thoughts drift to Jane, he takes a bowl of stew silently, letting Varric, Cassandra, and now Solas talk amongst themselves. He hopes she’s adjusting alright. Their time in the Hinterlands comes to a close tomorrow morning, and soon enough, he’ll have been gone from Haven for a month. Will she be well adjusted by then? Maybe she’s grown used to the cold, and she’s stopped shaking every time she steps outside.
It feels odd being so worried about a girl he’s known, technically, for less than a week. She shouldn’t be his to care for anyways. Lady Josephine has that covered, with the tutors she’s bound to hire and her own apparent skill for caring for the younger crowd. Nazari loves kids, sure, but he’s not the type to care for them, not anymore. He’s a mercenary, an apostate mage who’s lived his whole life on the run from fears and prejudice.
But his mind travels back to a month ago, when he was still the top suspect in the Breach debacle. Waiting in that cold cell, shivering even in his warm clothes, drifting in and out of slumber and hearing a young girl sobbing, begging to be let out in a feverish delirium. She thought she was in hell. It was, is, gutwrenching to hear and think about.
He glances at Cassandra. Did she know how scared Jane was? Was it all some tactic to pressure him to admit to the explosion or was Cassandra really that cruel? There’s a part of him that’s still wary of her, as trusting as he wants to be. A templar is still a templar, until proven otherwise.
Either way, something set him on this path, and did the same for Cassandra and every other member of the Inquisition. It’s prudent to work together with everyone as amicably as possible. He won’t forget that she was quick to defend them to Roderick after mere hours going to the forward camp.
“Are you alright, Nazari?” Solas interrupts his thoughts with his careful voice.
Nazari blinks. How long has he been lost in his thoughts? He flushes and clears his throat. “I’m fine. Just thinking about things.”
“Nothing distressing, I hope.” Cassandra adds.
“Just about the Inquisition and Jane.” He says lightly. “I hope she’s adjusting alright.”
“According to Ruffles’ latest report, she’s been doing fine right? Etiquette lessons, history, and basic self defense are all she has to worry about.” Varric pauses. “Eh, I would still take this over stuffy tutors and boring lessons.”
“Of course you would.” He chuckles. He looks down at his bowl and is surprised to see it empty. He must have eaten all of it mindlessly while he was lost in his thoughts. A shame, he was excited to taste Solas’s cooking. “I think I’m going to head off to sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
“Ah, all misty eyed over mentioning Ruffles.” Varric chuckles. “Go on then.”
Nazari lightly shoves his shoulder, rolling his eyes and standing with a grin. He heads into one of the tents and all but collapses onto a bedroll, feeling his muscles finally relax. No matter what his opinions may be on his companions, they’re still here helping him, Jane, and the entirety of Thedas when they could turn their backs and leave it to someone else. He won’t forget that, ever. He closes his eyes and slowly lets his dreams direct him into the Fade.
His body feels weightless at first, and then the Fade filters in as though being sifted through a colander, like flour being prepped for baking. The sweet smell of honey bread drifts through the initial green hues of the dream and then, finally, he finds his ‘body’, feet firmly planted on the grass and wind rustling his hair. He opens his eyes and finds himself in the familiar scene of Clan Lavellan settling down for the evening, the aravels sturdily packed away and halla grazing under the watchful eye of their shepherd. His shoulders relax reflexively.
It’s been years since he’s seen his Clan. He gets letters, sometimes, and he sends plenty to the outposts they frequent near, but still. Seeing home was a welcome relief, even if it is a dream. He scans the group of Dalish for his adoptive mother and sister, and finds her pulling the bread he smelt upon entering out of the portable oven he spent so much money on getting her.
Before he can approach her, however, he sees movement out of the corner of his eye towards the edge of the clearing. Nazari stops in his tracks and is surprised to see a wolf sitting peacefully. What would be a normal sight in the woods, however, is not welcome in his dreams. He may not be truly elvhen, but the fear of its presence strikes at him.
The creature cocks its head at him, like he was the one acting strangely. It does not move, even as Nazari moves forward. It’s only when he makes it to the edge of the camp that the black wolf hops up and bolts away a few yards. It stares at him curiously, and finally walks away from the camp. This time, Nazari does not follow. His chest tightens. No demons here, just strange wolves. Perhaps it simply was the memory of the wolf pack they freed a week ago, fresh in his mind due to the camp’s location near the farms.
Certainly it wasn’t a sign of the Dread Wolf, he reasons, The Dread Wolf would not have looked so friendly.
Instead of mulling on it further, Nazari turns and goes back into the safety of his memory. He greets his mother and adoptive clan with open arms, as though he’s actually visiting them, instead of yearning for their company.
All the while, the wolf sits and watches under the cover of the Fade, six eyes focused in on the man who bore the Mark.
Solas spends the morning of their return to Haven reading on the back of his horse, his eyes occasionally darting up to watch the Qunari’s back as he rode ahead. The book holds little meaning for him, just nonsense theory on the Fade and the connection to realms of divinity. He had specifically chosen the text based on the age of the copy and its contents. Anything to make him look like a simple apostate. Still, having a book in his hands, even if it was written like a child, was nice after all those years asleep. His fingers caress the cover slightly. Well bound, at the very least. Humans, as he has discovered, were good at handiwork, even if they weren’t as grandiose as the olden days.
Nazari shifts, cracking his neck. It pulls his attention, though he tries to keep his eyes trained somewhere other than the Herald. He looks different outside of the Fade, Solas notes. Tense and restrained. Much like himself, if he is to be honest.
When he had first awoken, Solas was sure that the world was lost, that it was filled with blind children leading other blind children who hated each other, who hated the remnants of his people. He still feels this way, but now, a little over a month after his plan was readjusted, he’s found that certain people were more awake than others. The potential was there for them. Some elves had it, some humans, but Nazari was by far the most ‘awake’ that he had seen. Could it be that he’s Qunari? Could it be his strange connection to the Dalish? Both? Solas flips the page in his book, blankly scanning over the words. He will have to investigate further when they get back to Haven and he has access to Nazari’s full attention.
Next to him, Varric clears his throat. The urge to roll his eyes overtakes him, but he begrudgingly turns his head to the dwarven man. Varric, despite his annoyances, somehow becomes a fast friend to nearly everyone he interacts with, and it baffles him slightly. It also brings him a level of guilt. The memories of the dagger, of the Titans and the war, the body he bound himself to for the sake of Mythal all swirl in his mind.
If the Stone Children could produce a man so bright and friendly as Varric, how can he live with himself knowing that the man could be awake right now, if not for his actions? What books would he write with the knowledge of the Fade? What adventures would he go on?
What would he dream of?
Solas pulls the emotions away from him, separating himself from the guilt and the pain. It was thousands of years ago. Even if they had never split the dreams and created the Blight, it’s incredibly likely that Varric would be asleep all the same. He will fix the problem of walking sleepers, and in time, fix the Children of Stone as well.
“We’ll be getting there within the hour,” Varric starts. “Never thought I would see so much snow and be relieved.”
“Neither did I.” Nazari notes. He sounds wistful, almost sad in a way, and Solas wonders if he dreams of that Dalish Clan every night.
“One could call it scenic,” Varric retorts. “With all the snow on the mountains, dusting the trees, the giant green hole in the sky threatening to burst, who wouldn’t love it here?”
From behind, Cassandra lets out a noise that he has since learned means ‘frustrated with Varric’. He glances back at her, sees the matching expression, and turns back to his book. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have been worried about an anti-mage warrior with impossible abilities to subdue weaker magic. Firstly, because they didn’t exist before his awakening, and secondly, because he would have been far stronger than any mage the Seeker had dealt with before. However, he is not as powerful as he would have liked. The years have drained him of his power, and without his orb, he would have little hope if Cassandra turns her attention to him. At least right now. If all goes to plan, he’ll regain his strength.
The conversation flows around him, and he sits in it comfortably. People talking around him is far from new, but the argument here has much less bite when they aren’t gods trying to maim each other. Nazari keeps an easy peace between Cassandra and Varric, and even when the Qunari is unusually silent, the dwarf and human bicker without malice with each other about his comment on the Breach. It’s surprisingly relieving, though that in and of itself puts him on edge.
He’ll have to play this safe. Keep people at a distance if he wants to execute this correctly. Nazari will likely die from the next attempt to close the Breach and Corypheus will easily be squashed once he finds Mythal’s host to take her power, all the while he’ll study Jane’s sleeping Mark and cut the connection off from Ghilan’nain to prevent her from whatever stupidly egotistical plan she’s working on.
The sleeping Mark stays on his mind as they reach Haven’s border, marked by large stone gates that survived the initial formation of the Breach. The din of the soldiers grows louder as they make their way closer to Haven proper, and he wonders lightly how Ghilan’nain had managed to place her own mark on such a strange girl. She must have been able to use the force of the explosion to push her own magic through. Though until they discover where Jane was in relation to the Conclave’s destruction, he will have to wait to figure out the ‘how’ and ‘why’.
Once, waiting for all his plans to take action would drive him mad. He used to be impulsive and headstrong, only bound by Mythal’s ever present patience. Then started his rebellion and he pushed himself to follow her actions and words, a way to bring her closer to him as the war pulled them apart. Now, even after all these years, he can wait. Wait for his power to return, for a source to steal it from if not, for the Mark to kill Nazari, for Jane to give them answers, like a wolf stalking prey.
He shifts in his saddle as they ride past the now expanded field of soldiers. Many turn and gawk at the large Qunari mage. Whispers and rumors were no doubt circling through the ever-growing Inquisition about the man as more recruits joined. That pressure… Solas does not miss it, not at all. The lives lost, the friends let down and disappointed.
Felassan. Your slow arrow strikes even me, doesn’t it, old friend?
He is sure that Nazari can handle it. He sees much of himself in the Qunari, though perhaps much of that is projection. Either way, Nazari is close to waking, and thus, far more interesting than any Solas has encountered so far. Perhaps a little projection can’t hurt, especially as he molds him into a power that he needs to retrieve his orb.
“Nazari!” A young voice calls out, breaking Solas out of his thoughts. The sleeping Mark is covered by a glove, though its power sings out to his magic as she waves her hand in the air. Jane stands in front of the blacksmith, and points to her left towards a large pen for the horses that wasn’t there when they left.
They dismount, and allow two soldiers to take their steeds into the pen. He makes sure to grab his bag off of his saddle, the canvas full of the strange shards that Nazari had found in the Hinterlands. He turns to watch Jane dash to Nazari, basically bouncing at the heels as she rambles on about how excited she is to see him again.
She’s better dressed than when the Inquisition found her, wearing far more appropriate clothes designed to both keep the heat in and look like a proper Fereldan lady doing her day to day business. Her shadow, Ella’sandre, tails close behind, bowing her head towards Nazari and the Seeker respectively. Solas looks away. Her black hair and sharp features are too hard of a reminder of the woman he gave everything for.
“Oh! Mister Solas, that reminds me.” Jane starts on him. Her blonde hair is pulled into a braided bun, and is pinned with wooden stars. He lingers on them, wondering where she got them. “Healer Adan wanted to see you when you got back! Something about working out a way to balance the trouble I have breathing.”
“Ah, yes. I remember, I was working with him to find a solution to your issue. I’m assuming you’ve talked to him since we’ve left?”
“Yes,” She nods. “He has some ideas. I had an issue earlier this week with my breathing.”
“An issue?” Nazari intercedes. He’s concerned, obviously, and Solas notes he’s not the only one projecting onto someone else as the Qunari puffs up. “What happened?”
“Nothing bad!” Jane says, waving her hands in front of her. Behind her, her bodyguard frowns.
“We were out on a walk, and she collapsed after delivering Adan some notes his old mentor lost.” Ella’sandre corrects. Immediately, the other three descend upon her like worried hens, and Solas takes the chaos of the moment to leave, heading to Adan’s at a leisurely pace. He feels eyes on his back as he does so, though he does not give his awareness away to the bodyguard.
It’s like child's play, especially when so many of Leliana’s people were already slowly filling with his own spies. Let the Nightingale and her people be suspicious of him, they won’t find anything that he hasn’t left for them to discover.
He makes his way past the cabin he shares with Varric and towards Adan’s makeshift apothecary. The door is open, ready for customers or orders. He enters, a polite smile forming on his face to allow easy access to the healer’s notes on Jane. Anything to make his duty easier.
Cullen watches Nazari approach him out of the corner of his eye, Jane and her shadow hot on his heels. He hadn’t had much chance to talk to the Qunari man outside of war table meetings, though in all honesty, the man wasn’t sure if he was comfortable getting close to the Herald. It felt almost like blasphemy to say such things. There was once a time where he endeavored to get along with as many of his colleagues that he could. It was a boon in the Templars, to get along with the people you work with. They could be your last line of defense between you and a blood mage’s spells.
Nazari was not a Templar. The opposite, in fact, with his staff strapped securely to his back. The gem on the top, over his right shoulder, looked as though it was glowing a sickly green in the light of the Breach. As the Qunari came to a stop before him, Cullen had to stop himself from stiffening. He wasn’t sure it entirely worked. He saw that familiar flash in Nazari’s eyes, the one that meant he noticed Cullen’s entire body shift into defense.
“Ah, Herald, Jane. What can I do for you?” He crosses his arms, and it’s enough of a barrier that his body begins to relax. He nods his head towards Ella’sandre as acknowledgement of her presence, which also puts him more at ease.
“Nothing much.” Nazari says. His smile is still bright. It makes Cullen burn with shame at being afraid. “I was just wondering if the supplies for the soldiers arrived yet, and how things are moving along.”
Jane says nothing, observing Cullen cautiously with her marked hand wrapped tight around Nazari’s. They had yet to have many conversations beyond polite greetings. The girl was Josephine’s charge, and as far as the Commander was concerned, his duty to Jane is the same to every noncombatant that was employed by the Inquisition. Cullen, however, kept an eye on her when she ran around the outside of Haven. More than once, he and Cassandra had discussions about having more than just Ella’sandre tail her, if just to make sure that the poor girl wouldn’t have to carry Jane back if she collapsed from her troubled breathing.
“Ah… yes, the tents and supplies have arrived. We now have an appropriate number of living quarters for our soldiers, including extra in case our numbers swell again. I don’t think that will happen until after your visit to Val Rouyeax, however. We have time to prepare.” The tenseness leaves his body completely as he speaks. Giving reports, talking soldiers, war and training, it was easy. Easier, at least.
“Good. I was worried while we were out.” The Qunari looks over the field of tents, of men and women milling about, heading to their next training regimen. “You got my reports?”
“I did. Very detailed, thank you. We’ll be moving our forces in to secure the region soon, and we’ll keep an eye out for that cult.”
“Thanks.”
“What cult? Is everything alright?” Jane leans forward to catch Nazari’s gaze. Cullen hadn’t noticed how strong her accent was, though the specific location was lost on him. The swing of her voice was different, not as smooth and more punchy. It felt like an odd thing to pick up.
“Just some people worshipping the Breach.” Nazari explains. “I expected it to happen, we just weren’t prepared for so many nobles to partake.” Understandably, he leaves out the part where they were interested in Jane. No need to scare the girl senseless.
“I expected it to take a bit longer.” Cullen adds. Nazari’s eyes turn towards him, and he punches himself internally for saying anything beyond the matters of their forces. This is conversation. Normal conversation where the topic of where and what Cullen used to be can come up. He turns his head away from the three, looking over the soldiers running drills. “But yes, I’m not surprised. We’ll keep an eye on them.” He repeats.
Nazari doesn’t push, thankfully, and departs with only a goodbye. In his place remains Ella’sandre, who does not follow Jane nor Nazari. He hears her say something placating to the both of them.
“Sticking around?”
“Yes, sir. As Lady Jane’s shadow, Nightingale has tasked me with providing the upper ranks of the Inquisition with information on her.” The elven girl straightens her back. A hard look comes into her gaze, and Cullen straightens with her. Not Ella’sandre, Curator.
“And that information is?”
“Lady Jane has mentioned more than once that she’d like to add ‘self protection’ onto her tutelage. I’ve discussed it with both Ambassador Josephine and Nightingale, and they think it a good idea.”
“Well, you certainly don’t need my permission. You’ve enough skill to teach the girl without supervision.”
“That’s the issue. I’m to look like help. If any outside of the immediate circle of the advisors and the Herald’s entourage see me as someone capable of combat, it removes the element of surprise any would be attackers face. I become an obstacle, not a bystander.”
“... I see.” He turns towards her, brow furrowing. Leliana would be too busy to teach her directly, as would any of her spies. Lady Josephine has long since put down her sword. Cassandra, Solas, and Varric leave with the Herald, alongside Cassandra’s other duties. He had to admit, he’s the best one for the job. “I’ll arrange something with Lady Josephine. There are plenty of skilled fighters I trust amongst our forces that I can assign under my watch.”
Curator nods her head slowly. She relaxes her form, then gives him a polite smile.
“Jane has also mentioned getting to know everyone a bit better. I’m sure this will be a good chance to do so.”
Before Cullen can comment, Ella’sandre bows and rushes off to find her charge and the Herald. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He was not good around children, not anymore at the least. Teaching her will surely be an experience he won’t forget. He focuses in on the drills happening in front of him, and curses himself for laxing on them while he was distracted.
“You there, there’s a shield in your hand! Block with it!”