Chapter Text
I cannot see the path.
Perhaps there is only abyss.
Trembling, I step forward,
In darkness enveloped.
Canticle of Trials 1:13
Myla’s hand was shot with pain, having just closed another rift, but she shook it off as a man approached them--she took note of his armor, how different it was from the other soldiers’.
Cassandra noticed him as well, nodding at him in acknowledgment.
He looked at Myla for just a second before turning to Cassandra. “Lady Cassandra, you’ve managed to close the rift. Well done.”
Cassandra sighed, turning slightly as she gestured her hand to the prisoner. “This was not my doing, Commander, it was the prisoner’s.”
The commander seemed slightly disappointed as he looked her over before meeting her meek gaze. “Is it? I hope they’re right about you; we’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”
Myla raised a brow at his suddenly unimpressed tone. “You’re not the only one hoping that.”
“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” He turned back to Cassandra, pointing behind him. “The way to the Temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”
Cassandra nodded, turning to look at Myla, Varric and Solas. “Then we best move quickly.” She looked back to the commander, “Give us time, Commander.”
Soldiers started jogging to the Temple, and the commander looked back at Myla, taking a step back, his voice low and gruff as he spoke again, “Maker watch over you—for all our sakes.”
He ran off then, going to help an injured soldier get back to the small camp that sat near where that last rift had opened.
She sighed, jumping off the ledge of the wall and walking to the entrance of the Temple.
“Shit,” she heard Varric say quietly. He spoke slightly louder, “That’s red lyrium, Seeker.”
“I can see that, Varric,” Cassandra said, her voice raising slightly in fear even though her expression remained stoic.
“But what’s it doing here?” His question went unanswered. He sighed. “Stay clear of it, guys, shit’s bad news.”
Myla hadn’t felt pain like this before.
But it was short lived, because she passed out seconds after the rift had closed.
She awoke in a misty forest, fog swirling gently around her as she sat up slowly.
“Hello?” Her voice echoed between the bare trees, falling softly to the orange and brown leaves that blanketed the ground. A figure approached her, one that was all too familiar, one that brought both comfort and anxiety. “Mother?”
The figure, her mother, quietly walked over to her, crouching down to help her stand. The two embraced, though Myla felt something was off. “My darling, I am so pleased you are alive. I knew having you go to the Conclave was a bad idea.”
“There was no way you would have known, mother.”
“Oh, but I did--there’s a reason we wanted you to stay in the Free Marches, in Ostwick. We were going to have you stay in Kirkwall, serve the Maker in the Chantry there but then, well, it…”
“Anders blew it up.”
“Yes, my love, he did,” her mother smiled softly, a tear falling down her cheek. “You were always the blunt one of the family.”
“So was Marc.” Myla stepped away from her mother, once again taking in her surroundings. “Mother, where are we?”
“Ah, a forested area about an hour north of the estate. Isn’t it nice?” The smile on Lady Trevelyan’s face was a sight that was both familiar and alien. Myla cringed slightly, fear seeping into her bones.
“Yes, it is, mother, but…”
“But what, my dear?”
“It’s… I wasn’t here, was I?”
“No, you weren’t.”
“You’re not actually my mother, either, are you?”
Her mother smiled, turning and taking a few steps away from Myla. “No, I’m not.”
“Then who—then what are you?”
The spirit, the thing pretending to be Lady Trevelyan turned again, the unnatural smile once again planted on her face. “You were always the perceptive one. Does it really matter? They think you are near death.”
Myla froze. “Am I?”
“Do you wish to be?”
“Well… No, I don’t.”
“Then tell them.” The spirit walked back to Myla and took a hold of her hand. “Wake up, and tell them.”
She woke up then, looking around the small cabin. She noticed an Elven servant holding a small wooden box, and caught her eye.
“Oh!” The young girl dropped the box in surprise, and Myla sat up. The elf took a few steps back, box forgotten, fear beginning to etch her features. “I swear, I didn’t know you were awake! I was only…”
Myla furrowed her brow. “Why are you frightened? What happened?”
“That was wrong, wasn’t? I said the wrong thing.”
“I don’t… think so…” She stifled a gasp, only more confused as the servant dropped to her knees, leaning forward so her stomach nearly touched her thighs.
“I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing—I am but a humble servant.” Myla slowly brought her legs over the edge of the bed as the elf spoke again, “You are back at Haven, my lady. They say you saved us! The Breach stopped growing… just like the mark on your hand!”
The Mark began to glow at its mention and Myla stared at it, unsure of what to say.
“It’s all anyone’s talked about the last three days,” the elf said, beginning to sit up.
Myla looked at the servant again, still confused. “Then… They’re pleased?”
“I believe so, my lady.”
“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” Cassandra’s voice held an animosity that Myla did not understand. She believed she was innocent, but the Chancellor was doing as he was expected.
“I did everything I could to close the Breach. It almost killed me,” Myla said softly, wishing she as back in her vestments instead of the mercenary outfit she wore.
The Chancellor looked to her. “Yet you still live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.”
Cassandra’s expression remained unchanged, though her tone dripped with anger. “Have a care , Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face.”
Leliana stepped to stand next to Cassandra then, eyes narrowed. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave.” She looked to Cassandra. “Someone the Most Holy did not expect.” She paused, turning back to the Chancellor once more. “Perhaps they died in the explosion, or have allies who yet live.”
He staggered back at that, shocked by the accusation. “Me? Now I’m a suspect in this?”
Leliana straightened her back. “You, and many others.”
“But not the prisoner?” He glared at Myla.
Cassandra raised a brow. “I heard the voices in the Temple. The Divine called to her for help.”
“So, what, the mark on her hand, the explosion, it’s all a coincidence?”
“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”
There was silence for a moment.
“‘ Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide ,’” Myla recited softly, looking at her feet, unaware of the three sets of eyes slowly turning back to her.
“We are not ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support,” Leliana said, glancing between the two other women.
“But I am a sister of the Chantry, as you are, and Seeker Pentaghast is of the Chantry.”
“I left the Order.” Cassandra paused for a moment, realizing what Myla had said. “My lady, did you just say you are a sister?”
“I--yes, I am, though I have recently broken my vows. I don’t think I could go back after this. I don’t think I can.”
“We understand, sister.” Leliana’s voice soothed Myla.
“Please, do not call me ‘sister’. There is yet a chance that I will ever be a sister as I once was.”
“Very well.”
“Come, my lady, you should eat and drink. You slept for three days after attempting to close the Breach, you must be famished,” Cassandra said, moving to open the door of the war room. Myla nodded, nodding at the Seeker.
“That sounds wonderful. Lead the way, Seeker Pentaghast.”
Cassandra scowled. “If we are to keep from calling you sister, please refrain from calling me Seeker.”
Myla nodded as she walked through the now open doorway. She stopped at the statue of Andraste, kneeling for a moment to say a prayer before heading to the tavern.
“Later today we will convene in the war room, before sundown. I would ask that you join us.”
“It would be my honor, Lady Cassandra.”