Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

T: So, where should I start?
V: It’s your story. Start wherever you want.
T: I don’t know how to do this. You’re the writer.
V: Don’t worry about making it sound good; that’s my job. Just… start talking and we’ll see where it takes us.
T: … That’s not really the title you’re going with, is it?
V: Oh, that’s uhh… just ignore those notes. Titles are the hardest part.
T: Harder than the beginning?
V: Actually beginnings are easy.
T: So you say. I'm still not sure this is a good idea.
V: Come on, stop being so modest. I'm telling you, people will want to hear the story straight from the source.
T: It's not modesty. I just get the feeling the Chantry would prefer I stop contradicting their image of me.
V: Since when do you give a shit what the Chantry wants?
T: Heh, fair point. But people always think they want the truth until they hear it.
V: Don't worry about what the readers will think. Believe me, you'll never make them all happy. You wanted to tell your story.
T: I did. I do.
V: So... go right ahead.

It started for everyone else the moment I tumbled out of the Fade to collapse onto a smoking ruin before amazed and terrified witnesses. For me, it started with falling. That is my first and only memory of the beginning.

Witnesses have said that I stepped out of the Fade, wreathed in light and flames, with Holy Andraste guiding me from behind. There have come to be many versions of this moment over the years; poems, epics, songs, theatrical reenactments, novels and so-called historical recountings. Eventually, even a new addition to the Chant was proposed by some of the most devout, though I myself have always denounced the idea. Nevermind the gall of trying to canonize me while I still live - the last thing the Chant needs is to be longer.

In truth, all I remember is falling. Things I would learn later would give me more context, but I haven’t been able to remember any of it on my own. Well, except for the fear. Years later, and the fear of that place stays with me. I had no idea what I was even afraid of, only that I had to escape. That was my last thought when I collapsed onto the rough ground and lost consciousness.

Escape.

Thus, my first perceptions upon waking were of deathly fear and a vague remnant of vertigo. It was difficult to see, so initially I was only aware of feeling… enclosed. I was disoriented and close to panicking, so I concentrated on steadying my breathing and heartbeat until I could make sense of things.

Soon, I was calm enough to realize that it was hard to see because the room I was in was small and dark. I could hear the gutter of torch flame, but the light seemed to be blocked by something. There was the sound of shifting metal and leather and steady breathing. I wasn’t alone. As I listened, I could hear several bodies around me, and as my eyes adjusted to the low light, I saw several pairs of armored boots forming an arc around me. Not only was I not alone; I was surrounded, a prisoner.

Whose prisoner?

I frowned and lifted my gaze. I was kneeling on a cold stone floor. That explained the aching in my knees and tingling in my legs. Maker knows how long I must have been sitting in that position. I tried to stand, but met with resistance and the sound of chains rattling. I looked down to see my hands bound in heavy shackles, which were in turn chained to the floor of the cell, directly in front of where I knelt. Someone clearly thought I was a threat. Still, this seemed excessive for a captured apostate.

A twinge in my left hand made me wince, and I twisted it around to see my palm. Initially, it looked normal, but then I felt… not quite pain, but something more akin to the tingling in my legs, only sharper, fiercer, angrier. All concentrated into a small point in the center of my palm. As I stared, a bright light suddenly flashed, and I gasped, blinking at the intensity. What was that? I checked my palm again, but the light was gone, though the tingling remained, steadily pulsing. I heard some of the soldiers curse and step back, and took no comfort in their fear. Frightened soldiers too often lead to dead mages.

Before I could begin to make sense of the situation, however, I would be introduced to two of the most important people in my life.

Much has been made of the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia V, and rightly so. Both are fierce, valiant, and determined women, unwavering in their faith even as their understanding of it changed. That much I can confirm as truth. The rest is… rather more complicated.

V: Pffeh! “Complicated” isn’t the word I’d use.
T: Hey, don’t interrupt my train of thought!
V: Right, sorry, ignore me.

What do I mean by that…

Well, for starters, if Cassandra had had her way, I’d likely have been killed before even waking. That is something the stories often forget. My first impression of her as she came marching into the room was that she wanted blood, and I was the most likely target.

You have to understand - I am a mage. Too many people have tried to ignore or downplay this, but it is part of who I am, and it is important to me that it is not forgotten. I had spent most of my life until that point inside the Circle. For as long as I could remember, I had been looked upon with a mixture of resentment and fear, and all actions of mine had been treated with suspicion. I listened to them sing of my evil nature practically every day for years during compulsory Chant attendance. At any given moment a Templar could decide my life wasn’t worth the risk and snuff it out and would likely never have to give a reason beyond “What if...”

All of this meant that I was keenly aware of my precarious situation, that anything I did could be twisted and used as justification for my execution. I felt, as I so often had before, helpless. So I held still, made sure my securely bound hands were visible, and kept my gaze lowered. And I tried very hard not to wince as the two women approached me and stopped.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t just kill you now,” the angry woman demanded as she paced around me like a predator sizing up its prey. I kept my face still, but my heart dropped at her words. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

I frowned, trying to process what she was saying. The Conclave… Mages and Templars gathered together for the first time since the mages had risen up in rebellion to talk peace. Destroyed? Did she mean literally? All chance of peace certainly gone. Everyone dead… Except for me. That was when I began to understand the severity of my situation. I wasn’t just an apostate to them, I was a mass murderer. And likely nothing I could say would have changed their minds.

The woman was now standing next to me, and as she reached down I tensed, but she only grabbed my hand; my left hand, the one with the unnatural glow.

“Explain this!” She was practically fuming as she held my hand aloft, straining the shackles that held it locked to the stone beneath us.

“I… can’t,” was all I managed to say.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Her grip on my hand tightened painfully. My heart began to race and I had to stop myself from hyperventilating as her demands crashed down on me and I realized I had no answers for her. I tried to come up with something, anything to tell her, but there was… nothing.

My last memories were disjointed, broken, missing. I had no recollection of even being at the Conclave, let alone an explosion. I began to tremble, losing control of my composure. I had nothing to tell them, because I couldn’t remember anything they might want to know. I was sure in that moment I was going to die.

Desperately, I insisted, “I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!”

“You’re lying!” The woman moved to strike me and I shut my eyes instinctively against the killing blow.

No blow landed; instead there was a shuffling of movement, and then I heard another voice say, “We need her, Cassandra.” I opened my eyes to see the second woman had moved to intercept the first. Her demeanor was much calmer than her counterpart’s, and I hoped against all likelihood that she at least might listen to me.

“Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent!” I shouted, wanting to say it just so it would be heard, not expecting it to be believed.

The second woman turned to face me. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?” she asked. I noticed both their voices were accented, and wondered if we were still anywhere near the Conclave, or indeed even within the borders of Ferelden.

I reached into my memories, trying to make sense of what must have been my last waking moments. An image came to mind of landscape passing by me quickly. “I remember running,” I started tentatively. Why had I been running? That sense of urgency, it was from… “Things were chasing me. And then...” Had I been running from them, or toward something? There had been a steep incline, and at the top… “A woman?”

That got both women’s attention. Their looks were hungry as they waited for me to continue.

“She reached out to me, but then…” Then everything had shifted, and I was falling, but why and from where I couldn’t be sure.

The women stared at me a moment longer, seeming to hope that I would have more detail, but there was nothing after that, and so I said nothing. The angry one - Cassandra, the second woman had called her - seemed to have calmed somewhat. She broke her gaze with me and directed her companion - Leliana, as she was apparently named - to leave, something about a forward camp, and…

“I will take her to the rift.”

As the calmer of the two walked out of the room and Cassandra started toward me again I flinched, but her anger had subsided, and she only knelt to undo my shackles. My hope at possibly being given my freedom was short-lived, however, as she firmly bound my hands before me with rope instead. At least I was able to walk under my own power now.

“What did happen?” I ventured as she lifted me to my feet. I stumbled briefly, my legs still tingling painfully from the position I’d been left in. I lurched forward, but Cassandra caught and held me until I regained my balance. It seemed to take her little effort to hold me upright, and I felt her solid strength as she waited patiently. She seemed an entirely different woman from the cloud of wrath that had stormed in demanding answers from me only a moment ago.

When I had composed myself, she released me. “It will be easier to show you,” she said, and began to walk out of the room, clearly expecting me to follow. Having no other recourse and no reason to stay, I started after her.

I was concentrating on not falling over again for the first few steps, so I didn’t pay much attention to my surroundings as I was led down a dark corridor and up a flight of stairs. The floor above was far more open, and I assumed from the high ceiling it must have been a chantry. Cassandra checked that I was still close, then turned and headed toward the large doors at the end of the great hall. Compared to the prison cell below, the hall felt expansive. My breathing came easier without the oppressive stone so close around me.

Still, it was a modest size for a chantry, and I was suddenly confronted with large wooden doors being opened by silent guards who nodded in deference to Cassandra. Blinding light poured in from outside, and my eyes needed time to adjust. It was another moment before I realized the light wasn’t coming entirely from the sun. There was a hue to it that was wrong, somehow; wrong in the same way as the light coming from my hand. I blinked to adjust my sight, and quickly my gaze was drawn upward.

I saw it then for the first time, and my world tilted.

Chapter Text

V: You okay?
T: Sorry. I… still see it sometimes, when I dream. I’ve never really forgotten that feeling.
V: We can take a break, if you need it.
T: No, I’m fine. I can keep going.
V: Okay, if you’re sure.
T: I will take a swig of that flask though.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra was saying, but I was barely listening. I could only gape in terror beneath its sickly light. Breach was a kind name; to me it looked like a gaping wound, tearing through the sky and spreading infection. As I watched, dark shapes fell from its depths to the earth below, and a sound like lightning nearly deafened me. Everything about it seemed corrupted, twisted, and evil.

“...It’s not the only such rift, only the largest,” Cassandra continued. “All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?” I asked incredulously, still staring at the horror above, unable to look away.

“This one did,” Cassandra said plainly. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

As if it heard her, the Breach rumbled a great, deep threat, its light flashed and blinded me again, and then---

I cried out as the sensation in my hand sharpened; it felt as if it was burning my very flesh away, and I could feel it spreading across my palm, eating away at my hand. Never before had I known pain like that. After a moment that felt like an age, the burning lessened. I opened my eyes, half expecting my hand to be nothing but bone and seared tendon, but it was whole. The ground dug into my aching knees; I must have collapsed in the throes of my agony. I was breathing heavily, and could feel a bead of sweat trailing down my temple.

Cassandra stood over me, a silhouette against the cursed light. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads. And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

That was a lot of information to process at once. And it is killing you… The words echoed in my mind, getting louder with each repetition and setting my head to pounding. I clung to the words that had followed, trying not to let panic take over.

“You say it may be the key,” I began to ask. I had to stop and clear my throat, surprised at how hoarse my voice had become. “To doing what?”

“Closing the Breach,” Cassandra answered, still standing over me. “Whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours.” She was eyeing me carefully, and the way she spoke of my fate as merely an afterthought made it clear she cared for me only inasmuch as I seemed to be tied directly to the Breach.

“You still think I did this? To myself?” I asked, gesturing at my hand incredulously.

“Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong,” Cassandra answered, lifting one brow. She sounded so sure of her suspicion.

“And if I’m not responsible?”

“Someone is, and you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

She made no mention of whether I would survive the proving, or what it could possibly entail, or whether what she was asking - demanding - of me was even possible.

“So I don’t really have a choice about this.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my tone, and was not sorry when I saw her answering scowl.

“None of us has a choice.” Cassandra reached down and pulled me to my feet in an instant, leading me away from the building before I could regain my balance. I stumbled, but she managed to keep me on my feet with only her hand wrapped firmly around my upper arm. She kept her pace slow but purposeful. Between her strength and my weak legs still slowly recovering, I had no illusions of escape while she was close.

As we continued on, I saw small buildings of log and thatch sparsely assorted, with a simple dirt pathway cutting through and leading down toward a modest but sturdy wooden gate. The chantry towered above it all, clearly meant to be the focus of this development, meager as it was. Lining the pathway was a throng of people, many of whom were staring upward with expressions of horror. Some made protective gestures, others openly wept. Those that weren’t focused on the sky, however, were glaring at me.

The hatred in their eyes was palpable as they followed our slow progress toward the gate. I had long ago grown used to the sneering suspicion of Templars, but this was different; these people wanted my head.

Cassandra’s kept pace for both of us, steady and resolute. She seemed less agitated with the situation than I, but then again she wasn’t on the receiving end of those looks. For the first time, I was glad for her sturdy presence.

“The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia,” she was saying. “The Conclave was hers.” There was a slight tremble to her voice. “A chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.”

I frowned, remembering her earlier explanation of how the Breach came to be. Caused by an explosion… Oh, Maker. I looked back at the crowd, now seeing the pain behind the hatred in their glares. Their Divine dead, along with any hope for peace. And, naturally, they blamed the sole survivor of the disaster - me.

It’s a wonder I’ve lasted this long, I thought in amazement. The skin between my shoulder blades prickled with the collective resentment of dozens - hundreds? - of souls who thought they had every reason to hate me. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if they might be right, and I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

We reached the gate, and two soldiers dutifully opened it, nodding in deference to Cassandra. Clearly, she held authority here. I remembered none of the guards had objected when she unshackled me. Not to mention none of the mob behind us had dared make a move on me with her as my escort. Was she the one in charge? I noticed belatedly she wore the symbol of Andraste prominently across her chestplate. Not a templar; she lacked the uniform. What then?

“We lash out, like the sky,” Cassandra continued. “But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.” She glanced upward then, but though her gaze was pointed toward the Breach - indeed it was impossible not to look in its direction when looking up - she seemed to be looking past it. Her expression was sorrowful, pensive. I got the feeling her words were as much for her own benefit as mine. She stood in silence for a moment; then, as if coming to a decision, she reached to the dagger at her side.

I tensed, and began looking around for a likely path of escape, fearing this had all been a ruse to lead me willingly to my own execution. I discovered to my dismay we were on a bridge, with the gate shut behind me and a second gate still shut ahead as the only visible means of entry or exit.

Cassandra turned to me, her expression resolute, but the sorrow was gone. “There will be a trial,” she said as she took a step toward me. “I can promise no more.”

What? I froze temporarily in confusion, and in that swift instant she had closed the gap between us and in one smooth flick of her wrist, the rope that bound my hands was cut. My hands were free.

“Come, it is not far.” She sheathed her dagger, and without another glance to me, she turned and marched down the bridge toward the next gate.

I stood there in amazement for a moment. A trial? Mages didn’t get trials. I stared at her receding back; she was clearly not waiting for me, confident that I would follow, having no other recourse. Could it be possible that she was unaware I was a mage?

I contemplated this as I rubbed my sore wrists, and started down the path at a swift pace.

“Where are you taking me?” I called after her.

Cassandra slowed enough to allow me to catch up to her, but did not turn around. “Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach,” she said over her shoulder.

I tried not to think too hard about what that meant, still puzzling out the last few moments since I woke. In all that time, no one had addressed me as an apostate or mage, no one threatened imposing the Rite of Tranquility, and as far as I could tell I was not found with any kind of staff or spellbook. There was the mark, yes, but they didn’t seem to equate that with magic; or at least, not the same kind taught and regulated by the Chantry and the Circles. Indeed, this was certainly like no magic I had ever heard of in all my years of study and training.

It was not only possible that they were unaware of my status, but entirely likely, given the circumstances. Which meant that if I could gain enough distance, escape was within my grasp after all.

I looked out over the snow-covered landscape, trying to judge my chances at surviving in the wild. Unfortunately, the sickly green light covering the hills was an unpleasant reminder that things were not quite so simple. My eyes lifted of their own volition up to the sky once more, at the massive doom looming ever present above us all. First, I would have to take care of that. Then, I would plan my escape.

Assuming I survived the first part.

Chapter Text

V: Wait, is that true?
T: I promised you the truth, didn’t I? I wasn’t naive enough to believe I would actually get a fair trial.
V: It’s just so weird to think of you actually just… up and leaving.
T: We both know I’m not the selfless hero of legend the Chantry keeps trying to make me out to be.
V: Well, who ever is? Shit, I doubt even Andraste herself lived up to her own legend.
T: Ugh, please spare me the comparisons to Andraste.
V: Right, right, sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s just pick up where you left off.

I had thought the Breach was the worst thing I would see that day, but I was unprepared for the devastation caused by the explosion that created it.

In all the many histories of battles I had read, attention was rarely paid to what comes after victory or defeat. Still, I imagined it must have looked something like the scene laid out before me on that bridge. Wounded soldiers rested here and there, clutching wounds, staring into the distance with glazed eyes, openly weeping or crying out in pain. Many looked lost, questions left unspoken because they had no one to ask. None here had expected to confront death any more than I had today. There had been no enemy to defeat, no glory to be won. Only that gaping void above, and the horror left in its shadow below.

Chantry sisters and revered mothers tended to some, offering comfort or reciting the Chant to gathered listeners. One young looking man clutched his knees into a fetal position, rocking back and forth. His mouth moved, but no sound came out, or else he was whispering too softly to be heard. As we came near, a sister came to check on him. She crouched to lay a hand on his shoulder, but he did not respond. She spoke to him in gentle tones, but he seemed not to hear her. After a moment, she sadly stood and moved on. He continued rocking as we passed him.

There were bodies as well; lifeless, mangled, bloodied, and gruesome, with glassy-eyed, expressions of surprise or pain telling the story of their final moments. They lay in rows, waiting to be covered with blankets or canvas by the living, to be wrapped and tied and prepared for the pyre. Heavy, limp bundles were being loaded onto wagons, ready to be carried off. More mothers and sisters were mumbling the appropriate words over them to send them on their journey into the Void.

Since that day, I’ve seen many battles and witnessed more death and destruction than I care to remember. Each one weighs heavily on me, but none so much as that first day on the bridge.

V: Here.
T: No, I’m fine.
V: Take it. You need a drink. Bad.
T: ...Thanks.
V: Go ahead and finish it if you want.
T: Are you kidding? We haven’t even gotten to the really hard part yet.
V: Do you mean the Breach, or… ?
T: No, I don’t mean the Breach.

The bridge was a relatively short distance across, but it felt far longer. Neither Cassandra nor I spoke as we took in the terrible scene around us. The soldiers at the far end let us through the second gate without comment, and indeed barely seemed to notice us at all except for a nearly automatic nod in deference to Cassandra as one of them handed her a shield.

The path turned left past the gate and up a hill where it ran up against the edge of a forest. The air was cold out beyond the shelter of the village’s meager walls, but the wind was still and quiet. It would have felt isolated but for the barricades and frightened soldiers that lined the path in silence, watching the hill ahead with weapons drawn.

I glanced curiously at them as we approached, but just then the silence was broken by several men appearing over the crest and running toward us, crying out in fear about the end of the world as they came. They did not stop for us, nor did the soldiers attempt to bar their way, and they banged on the gate behind us until they were let through. The gate shut firmly once more a moment later.

I frowned, my dread growing. Something is very wrong. An explosion would certainly mean casualties, but why the armed soldiers? Why the barred gates? Why barricades and drawn weapons? They were deathly afraid of something, and it couldn’t be just the Breach above if they were expecting it to come hurtling over that hill at any moment. And whatever it was, we were going toward it.

Cassandra, of course, paid no attention to any of this as she continued her grim march forward, one hand resting on the pommel of her sword, the shield hoisted onto her shoulders. She seemed to know what to expect, at least. I eyed the treeline once more, wondering how far I would get if I started running right now. As I was surveying the density of the trees for sufficient cover, however, I was blinded by a green flash of light followed closely by another wave of searing pain, much like the one that struck me back in the village.

I felt my knees hit the hard, frozen ground as I collapsed once again. My voice sounded hoarse and strangled as I cried out, and I struggled to regain my composure as I gripped my left wrist and stared at my palm as the light pulsed, flickered, then faded. It took some time before I was able to steady my ragged breathing.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” Cassandra noted as she stood over me in patient vigil. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear.” She had been looking upward, but now turned her gaze down to me. “The more demons we face.”

Demons…

My thoughts were scattered, but I tried to focus through the pounding headache that had started. Demons would explain what everyone was so terrified of, what they were fortifying against and guarding the village from. But they also meant something far more disturbing. Demons coming from the Breach could mean only one thing.

No.

One thing at a time. I shook my head against the thought, focusing instead on standing, refusing Cassandra’s offered hand, but noting her nod of approval when I was on my own two feet and ready to proceed. So she respects strength? Or stubbornness? Or perhaps she just doesn’t distinguish between the two.

We continued on down the road. By now, we were over the hill and out of sight of the gate and its guards. It was eerily quiet without the scurrying and barked orders of other soldiers nearby. I took the brief calm as a chance to think through my situation more carefully.

Examining my hand, I saw that the light had nearly disappeared, but a narrow slit remained, an ember of sickly green. I could still feel it in me, barely concealed beneath my flesh. Its cool pallor contrasted with my normally warm brown tone. A thunderous warning emanated from the Breach above, a grim reminder that I was anchored to this disaster whether I liked it or not. I watched it churn and rumble above us, discolouring the landscape below just as the ember in my hand discoloured the skin around it.

“How did I survive the blast?” I asked. It seemed unfathomable.

“They said you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious,” Cassandra answered, not turning her head as she continued to march just ahead of me. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

The woman at the top of the hill, I remembered. Had she been helping me, or chasing me? Why did I remember falling if I was seen stepping out of a rift? Every answer I got only led to more questions. Nothing about this made any sense. Cassandra paused at last, and nodded in the direction of the valley spread below and before us.

“Everything farther in the valley was laid to waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.”

I looked where she had beckoned and saw snow-laden hillsides, bordered by the mountains behind me and at the far horizon. The Breach had so discoloured the sky that I could scarcely tell whether it was day or night. Every so often, a meteor trailing dark clouds would issue forth from the Breach, falling to the ground below. Flames dotted the landscape, growing more concentrated in a certain spot some distance from us in the heart of the valley. Where the Temple used to stand, I realized.

From here, I could see where the path we were taking was leading us. We were descending into the valley onto a small bridge, passing over the river where it curved back and forth through the uneven terrain.

Before we were halfway over the bridge, however, a wall of green light blocked our path, and I felt the impact of what must have been one of those meteors as it struck the stone. I had no time to collect myself; the ground dropped out from underneath me and I tumbled end over end, coming to land hard on my side. I felt a sharp pain in my ribs and hoped they weren’t broken as I tried to regain my bearings.

I had fallen to the river below, which thankfully had frozen over in the harsh mountain cold. A grunt and movement from behind me told me Cassandra had landed nearby. As I looked back to check, another meteor surged down and struck the river only yards from us with a deafening crash. I quickly tried to stand, thinking to get to the river shore in case the impact had cracked the ice. Cassandra stood her ground, sword at the ready and facing the spot where the meteor had struck.

I followed her gaze and saw no impact crater, but instead a dark shadow. I watched in growing horror as the shadow formed into black crystals that jutted upward from the ice. The crystals swiftly twisted themselves into a figure that could only be described as the ghastly shadow in the vague shape of a person.

Oh, sweet Maker! I hadn’t wanted to face the implication before when Cassandra had mentioned demons coming from the rifts, but here was unavoidable proof of a truly disturbing realization. If demons were coming from the Breach, that could only mean it linked directly to the Fade. And a hole that large that led to the Fade could only mean worldwide catastrophe.

I stood, frozen in horror with the knowledge that there was nowhere I could run that would allow me to escape this doom. The Breach would continue to grow, causing untold damage to the Veil, nevermind how much it was already strained. The Veil was the only barrier separating the waking world from the Fade. And if that collapsed? There was no telling how much suffering would be unleashed upon the world then.

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra did not spare a single glance for me; in an instant, her shield was hoisted in her off hand and she was toe to toe with the shadow, and I was alone.

Run, my mind whispered. With Cassandra distracted this was likely the best chance I would get. A second shadow began to take shape barely three paces from me. Run.

Cassandra was still locked in her own battle and could not stop me, and this second demon was between her and me. I could run, and she would be trapped, unable to pursue. But that would mean leaving her outnumbered and flanked.

Stay behind me! Her last words lingered in my thoughts. She hadn’t hesitated to protect me, even though I was her prisoner. Even though she believed me to be a murderer and the one responsible for all the death and destruction she had seen these last few hours. As the shadow rose from the ground and began to solidify, I spared one last glance at the shoreline… and there, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a staff laying haphazardly across an abandoned crate.

Looking back now, I can appreciate the significance of this moment. I was at a crossroads, but didn’t realize it then. At the time, I only saw the clear choice presented to me - run, and leave this woman to her fate, taking my chances that I could gain enough distance from the Breach that it would no longer hurt me. Or stay and fight, and do what I could to stop this mess from getting worse.

V: Not much of a choice, when you put it like that.
T: You’re right, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
V: There’s the Inquisitor I know.

I picked up the staff.

Cursing my foolishness and the Maker for His sense of timing, I turned to face the demon. It was a Shade, the studious part of my mind recalled. I had studied all the various spirit types, had been trained in the most effective battle strategies for each, practiced and drilled regularly ever since I passed my Harrowing, like the good little tool I was intended to be. Still, it is altogether a different matter to face one in the flesh, with no senior enchanters standing ready to jump in if I got in over my head. I had no idea if I was ready for this, but my decision was made. No turning back now.

The Shade was already advancing on me, and there was no more time to think. With a steadying breath, I reached down into myself, to the power that sat ever ready at my core. I felt the familiar spark in response to my summon, and channeled it into the staff, where it readily flowed and sizzled with potential, mingling with the energy infused there; winter energy, I could tell from the feel of it. How fitting, given the climate. I focused on that energy, getting a feel for its limits and potential, projecting it toward my intended target. All of this happened within a single moment.

I let my training take over as I pointed the staff and unleashed a flurry of icy blasts against the advancing Shade. The third strike hit home and froze it in place, exactly as I’d hoped. Before it could break free I spun the staff overhead and brought it down with a solid crack, summoning a lighting bolt down on top of us both. I felt the power of the storm spell surround me for just an instant, let it energize me as I lifted the staff to unleash another series of freezing blasts. I began a steady march backward, continuing my assault as it followed, keeping myself always just out of its reach while it frantically lashed out at me, ignoring the damage I dealt it though I knew it was hurting.

Before I knew it, the thing let out a pitiful shriek and dissolved before me. Urgently, I looked across the ice to Cassandra, but she had just finished dispatching her own foe and was turning back toward me. I scanned our surroundings, not wanting to be caught off guard again, and was relieved to see no more shadows moving nearby.

“It’s ov---” I started, but my breath caught as I was suddenly nose-to-tip with a blade, and Cassandra’s fierce glare.

“Drop your weapon! Now.”

You’ve got to be kidding me! I stared back at her, incredulous at her command. I wanted to shout at her, to vent all my frustration at this madness onto her. I wanted to swing that stupid staff around and knock sense into her thick skull. For the briefest instant, I regretted not taking my chance to run.

“Do you really think I need a staff to be dangerous?” I challenged her.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“I haven’t used my magic on you yet.”

I stood my ground, meeting Cassandra’s glare with my own, bolstered by my righteous fury at a lifetime of imprisonment and suspicious glares, of always being treated like a sleeping demon no matter how hard I worked to prove myself otherwise. I had given up my one advantage, my one hope of getting a fair trial without the taint of my abilities poisoning my chances. I may as well own this moment, with head held high.

The river had grown quiet in the aftermath of our small battle, with only my own panting and the occasional cracking of the ice to be heard. Finally, Cassandra sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“You’re right,” she admitted grudgingly as she sheathed her sword. “You don’t need a staff, but you should have one. I cannot protect you.”

I could scarcely believe my eyes as she turned and started walking away. Had I just won that standoff? I started across the frozen surface after her, but after a few paces, she paused and turned back to look at me. Her expression had softened, and she looked almost… Remorseful? I waited, wary, in case she changed her mind.

“I should remember that you did not attempt to run,” she said with a contemplative frown, almost as if to herself. Then, she turned back to the path ahead of her and continued on.

I stood there, amazed at the direction things had just gone. I got the feeling we had both just entered uncharted territory. A mage and a representative of the Chantry, choosing to trust each other. Cassandra had chosen to move forward, once more without looking back. How could I do any less?

Before she could get too far ahead of me, I moved to follow after her.

Chapter Text

More fighting followed, and Cassandra and I fell into a pattern; she took point, making herself the bigger target, while I stayed at a distance and hurled ice spells using my newly acquired staff to slow the demons’ progress. If too many got near, I would summon storms with my own power reserves to strike at them with lightning. It sounds simple, but even with the staff to supplement my abilities, it was draining.

Until that day, I had never endured any kind of sustained fighting. The most I had ever done was quick ambushes, meant only to defend against any Templars on our trail, then turn and flee with the few of us who remained from Ostwick’s Circle. All Circle mages are trained in battle magic, of course. Unfortunately, there is no way to prepare us for the stamina required in extended combat.

So much of what I experienced that first day after the Breach opened was entirely new, but all novelty was wasted on me while I fought battle after battle. Each one left me more drained, and it wasn’t long before my feet began to drag. I don’t know how long we were out there; Maker, I wasn’t even sure when I’d last eaten. Cassandra seemed to know where we were going, and I didn’t question her. We traveled for a while in unspoken understanding in this way; her in the lead, me trailing behind, setting my course by those squared shoulders of hers, panting and heaving and wondering where her endless energy came from.

After some time - I couldn’t say how long exactly - I heard what had become the familiar sounds of fighting, seemingly coming from just over a rise not far ahead. It took another moment before I picked out the distinct sounds of spellcraft. Cassandra heard it too, and picked up her pace to reach the top of the hill. I sighed and wearily followed.

Once I caught up with her, still trying to catch my breath, I was greeted with yet another spectacle I would not come to appreciate the oddity of until much later. Two combatants - an elf and a dwarf - faced off against a handful of demons. I knew the elf for an apostate almost immediately from the feel of his spells and the make of his staff. The dwarf had what may have been a crossbow, though its design was unusual, and he was loading and shooting bolts at incredible speed into the enemies before him.

The true oddity, however, came not from the two fighters but from what they fought beneath: what could only be described as a tear in the air, hovering several yards off the ground, out of reach. The tear itself wasn’t from anything solid that I could see; it was an opening in the air itself, with nothing below or behind it that it touched. The ground below it was pulsing, and shadows took shape and clawed at the unlikely pair still holding strong against them. Shades again, some part of me noted. Its sickly green aura matched the glow coming from my hand, and as we drew nearer I felt the tingling in my left palm intensify, as if drawn toward it.

For some reason, it filled me with dread. I didn’t understand why, except that it was obviously connected to the Breach. And to me. My palm, this new horror and the demons it seemed to spawn, the great gaping wound in the sky above… I was part of all this, somehow, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

Cassandra said lunged forward without waiting for me, her sword already drawn. Not taking the time to wonder why we were helping two strangers, I pushed my thoughts aside, hoisted my staff once more and set about helping dispatch this latest foul throng.

It went far quicker with more to help, and soon the last of the Shades were dispatched. Before I had a chance to take a breath, however, I felt a hand wrap tightly around my left wrist. I turned in momentary panic, thinking I had missed an enemy, and met the urgent gaze of the apostate elf.

“Quickly, before more come through!” he shouted, thrusting my hand up to the gash in the air.

Energy flowed through my hand, both like and unlike the sensation I felt before when the Breach expanded. My nerves were on fire, but it wasn’t painful; or at least, pain wasn’t the right word for it. It poured into me through the mark from the rift, filling me with that fire, making everything burn and leaving char and ashes in its wake. Instinctively, I recoiled, but whether because of the elf’s grip or some other force, I was helpless, frozen with my arm outstretched. All I could do was wait, terror-stricken, for it to fill me until I burst open like the sky above.

Then, suddenly, it was over. The tear before us was gone, and though my hand trembled in the aftermath, I was whole. The searing had subsided, leaving only the memory behind.

V: Was it like that every time?
T: Yes.
V: Shit… It never looked like you enjoyed it, but I can’t believe I never noticed how… intense it was for you.
T: I was unprepared that first time, but believe it or not I got used to it after a while. I just wish I knew a better way to describe it. Like… being set on fire and dipped in a frozen pond at the same time.
V: That certainly sounds painful.
T: I know, but it’s more complicated than that.
V: … How about a stronger drink?

The apostate released my hand. My ears rang, my vision was spotty, and my skin prickled. I felt all eyes on me, as I looked to the apostate in bewilderment.

“What did you do?” I demanded.

“I did nothing,” he responded in an even tone. “The credit is yours.” Credit? I was incredulous. He could have killed me with that little stunt, and he was implying that I was thanking him?

Cassandra was beside us now, looking between me and the now empty spot in the air just above us. I flexed my palm, still sensitive, and stared up at the same spot. Only a moment ago it held what must have been a tear in the Veil, a direct hole into the Fade.

“I closed that thing…” I said aloud as the connection at last hit me.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand.” The elf glanced up at the sky where it was still green and torn and angry. Then, he returned his gaze to me. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.”

He sounded undaunted by all this, and unsurprised in his assertion. I got the impression that he was used to being correct, or at least being believed. How strange for an apostate to be so confident in his own authority.

Cassandra stepped forward, and I tensed, wondering what she would make of him and his theory. Instead of accusations or scrutiny, however, she asked with barely concealed hope sparking in her eyes, “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself?”

How interesting. Was she desperate for any possibility of victory, or did she actually trust him?

“Possibly,” he nodded, then turned his dark eyes back to me. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” His tone hadn’t changed as he spoke, sounding for all the world as though this was a perfectly normal thing to tell someone.

Imagine having the fate of the world suddenly depend on you; the staggering weight of that responsibility, stated as plainly as a comment about the weather. I couldn’t begin to fathom the scale, the enormity of all it implied… Just beginning to think about it was making me dizzy.

A casual voice broke through the haze just then.

“Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” The dwarf stepped forward, adjusting his coat and bearing a ready smirk. “Varric Tethras,” he said as he looked up at me. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” With that last comment, he transferred his gaze to Cassandra and offered her a wink, which she met with a roll of her eyes and disgusted grunt.

Well, at least I’m not the only one she isn’t pleased with today, I thought. Still, I couldn’t make any sense of who these two were or how Cassandra seemed to know them. Varric’s name sounded familiar, somehow, but I couldn’t place it. “Are you with the Chantry, or… ?”

The elf chuckled in response, and I immediately felt foolish for even asking. “Was that a serious question?”

Varric, at least, was more tactful. “Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

No, not just like me, I thought grimly, clenching my fist; it still tingled, though the sensation was beginning to subside. So it closes rifts. That was… something, at least. More than I had ten minutes ago.

Cassandra and Varric were now bickering over his reasons for remaining. It seemed he was meant to speak to the Divine about something, but recent events being what they were, he was left stranded here and had taken it upon himself to offer assistance. The elf, who I realized had yet to tell me his name, was setting about gathering his pack and reorganizing its contents. None of them seemed very concerned with me at the moment.

My mind was already going to work trying to make sense of all that had happened, but each time my thoughts returned to the Breach, reason was overwhelmed by dread. How much will it hurt when I try to close that? I had to wonder. Panic quickened my pulse, and my hands trembled. No! I couldn’t afford to lose it now. With slow, deep breaths, I managed to regain my focus. Keep it small, I told myself. Keep it simple.

“So I closed the rift,” I said, getting everyone’s attention. “What now?” Step by step. Simple tasks. Don’t think about the big picture. That was how I was going to get through this.

“Now we go to meet Leliana,” Cassandra answered. I recognized the name - the second woman who had interrogated me back at the village. I wondered how she could have gotten so far ahead of us before remembering that we had been waylaid at every turn by demons. Likely she had the good sense or luck to stay out of sight along her way.

“What a great idea!” Varric exclaimed, hoisting the strange crossbow over his shoulder. It looked unbearably heavy, but he seemed to have no trouble with it at all.

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra turned back to Varric. There was a story there, but I doubted either of them were willing to share just then. Seeming to realize her outburst was disproportionate, she pulled back slightly, and when she spoke again her tone was more even. “Your help is appreciated Varric, but---”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric interrupted. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore.” There was an unsettling thought. Could that mean the fighting would be worse the further we descended? I remembered with despair how exhausted I was. “You need me.” That last point was delivered almost gleefully, and elicited another disgusted grunt from Cassandra. I was now determined to know the story between these two. I was also sure to get a less violent response from Varric, so I resolved to ask him about it later.

If there is a later… The thought formed before I could quash it. Between the pain in my hand, the rifts that spat out demons, and the Breach itself, death was becoming less abstract with each passing moment.

Ultimately, Cassandra must have decided that arguing against more allies was foolish. With a resigned sigh, she oriented herself in the direction we were heading and called to us to follow. I was grateful; the aches and fatigue set off by continuing our relentless march was enough for now at least to distract me from the looming terror of what we were marching toward.

The apostate moved beside me as we walked and offered a polite smile, still behaving as though this were an average day for him.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he said. I smiled weakly in response, glad for more distraction from my own thoughts. “I’m pleased to see you still live.”

Still?

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’,” Varric clarified, quickening his steps to keep up.

Another delightful thought to repress. It took great effort not to stare in horror down at the mark embedded into my palm. I breathed in, slowly, trying to calm the rising panic - and bile - before it overwhelmed me. Solas was looking at me, sympathy apparent in that steady gaze of his. He probably knew better than anyone else what this thing was doing to me. Probably more than me.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all,” I remarked to him. It sounded more bitter than I had intended.

“Like you, Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra explained unnecessarily over her shoulder. She was already several paces ahead.

“Technically, all mages are now apostates,” Solas corrected. He was right, I knew. Since the Circles voted for rebellion, none of us could call ourselves citizens of the Chantry any longer. Still, I could tell Solas’s techniques were not Circle-trained. He was an apostate long before the Circles were abolished. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage,” he continued. I tried not to bristle at the subtle jibe. “I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

Everyone seemed in agreement on that point, at least. The Breach, insistent that it not be forgotten, rumbled more threats of destruction from its vantage.

“And what will you do once this is all over?” I asked, curious what life would look like, if---No! One step at a time, remember?

“One hopes that those in power will remember who helped, and who did not,” Solas replied. He, at least, sounded sure that there would be something after… After. “Seeker Pentaghast,” he said, addressing Cassandra. “You should know, the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

T: …
V: … You okay?
T: Mmm? Oh, sorry, I suppose I trailed off there. Where was I?

At the time, I was grateful that Solas seemed to be defending my innocence, even while I resented him speaking about me as if I were not walking right there next to him. I was getting rather tired of people referring to me as some sort of anomaly or mystery that must be solved. Still, Cassandra at least seemed to accept this information with a nod.

“Understood.” Then, to the rest of us she added, “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

“Well,” Varric said, walking past me. “Bianca’s excited!”

Bianca? Who else do I need to meet now… I wondered with annoyance, before realizing he was apparently referring to his crossbow. With Cassandra already several paces ahead, Varric not far behind, and Solas starting off after a brief nod to me, there was nothing for it but to continue on. I inhaled deeply, hoping the bracing cold of the mountains would rejuvenate me, and continued off down the path to join our newly grown company.

Chapter Text

With Cassandra leading the way, we continued on toward the forward camp, our progress intermittently halted by more shades and wraiths as we went. Both Solas and Varric were more than capable holding their own against attackers, but their styles and personalities were as different from each other as I was from Cassandra. It was a terribly strange sight to behold, all of us fighting side by side against a common enemy.

V: Why would that seem strange?
T: Remember, I’d been locked in the Circle most of my life until that point. I’d only ever fought in heavily guarded training sessions, and then only with and against other mages.
V: Mmm, good point. I keep forgetting how sheltered you were back then.
T: Most people do. Or they politely refrain from reminding me.

Neither Cassandra nor Solas seemed particularly verbose, and I spent most of that time too exhausted to say much of anything, but Varric seemed to delight in conversation. From what I could tell, he was deliberately trying to get a rise out of Cassandra in particular. It was working with surprising ease. Admittedly, I hadn’t known her long, but Cassandra seemed the unflappable type. I hazarded a guess to Solas - making sure both were out of earshot first - that the two were old lovers, but that earned only a wry laugh and shake of his head in response.

When he tired of provoking Cassandra, Varric turned his attention to me, peppering me with questions in between skirmishes.

“So I take it you’re from the Free Marches?”

“Oh?” I panted, struggling. The others had to pause frequently to allow me to catch up. I began to resent the looks of pity in their eyes, ashamed of my weakness and angry that my years confined indoors had left me at a significant disadvantage. Not their fault, I knew, but still immensely frustrating. It made me irritable and curt.

“Accent,” Varric explained. “I’m from Kirkwall, but you’re from… further east, maybe?”

“Is this another kind of interrogation?” I asked. It came out harsher than I’d intended, but Varric took it in stride.

“Oh, I’m sure Cassandra has done plenty of that,” he snarked, directing his comment ahead of us, where Cassandra led the party forward. Her shoulders stiffened and her fists clenched at her sides. I couldn’t help but snicker a little, despite myself, but quickly covered it with a sigh of exhaustion when she glared over her shoulder in my direction.

Wait… Kirkwall? I wondered briefly if that meant he had been witness to the uprising at the Circle there. The story of how the rebellion began had been passed back and forth so many times it had already reached legendary status to most mages. I wanted to ask about it, but I had enough air in my lungs for breathing or talking, not both.

As we began ascending yet another hill - to my everlasting dismay - the mark on my hand flared up again. I had to pause to collect myself, but was privately proud that I managed not to cry out. Cassandra turned and waited quietly, her brows drawn close in a concerned scowl. Solas looked equally troubled, and equally unsurprised. Varric cursed and jumped back.

“Shit, are you alright?” he asked. I could only shake my head sharply, knowing if I opened my mouth nothing would come out but a scream. It was spreading; I could feel it taking over my palm, climbing into my wrist, trying to worm its way up my arm. It felt like a sickness, like corruption. Part of my mind wondered horror-struck if this is what the taint felt like.

“We must hurry, before the mark consumes her,” I heard Solas saying to Cassandra.

“Hold on, we haven’t much further,” she called out to me, gesturing further up the hill.

I nodded, and after a moment the pain subsided enough for me to continue. There was awkward silence as I took several unsteady steps in the direction of the hillcrest. Every step grew easier than the one before, however, and soon I gained a second wind, determined to get this thing out of me as soon as possible. I was grateful for the distraction when Varric decided to resume his line of questioning, unperturbed by my earlier bluntness or what had just transpired.

“So… are you innocent?”

“I don’t remember what happened.”

Varric clicked his tongue in dismay. “That’ll get you every time. Should have spun a story.”

“That’s what you would have done,” Cassandra called back over her shoulder, still firmly in the lead. Maker, where did she get all that energy? She wasn’t even remotely out of breath!

Varric shrugged, unapologetic. “It’s more believable, and less prone to result in premature execution.”

I began to assemble pieces to the puzzle of his story by then, at least. Clearly he’d also been imprisoned by Cassandra, though for what I wasn’t sure. Most likely it was something to do with the uprising in Kirkwall; that being his home couldn’t be a coincidence. And I had the feeling that I’d heard his name before…

Shortly after that, though, we reached another hill and I was forced to transfer my concentration on steadying my breathing and counting my footsteps; I found that helped keep my mind from wandering to dark places when the conversation lulled, and distracted me from the growing ache in my lungs and limbs. Or the ever-present tingling in my left palm.

I must have been concentrating more than I realized, for I didn’t notice the distant shouting or the unholy roar of another rift until we were nearly upon it. Several soldiers were battling beneath it, crying out for help, eyes wide in terror behind their helmets.

“We must seal it, quickly!” I heard Solas shout from beside me. Blinking myself back to the moment, I somehow managed to summon the will for a chain of lightning to hit on the small cluster of demons, drawing their attention away from the soldiers as Cassandra moved in with a downward slash across the torso of the nearest shade, while Varric launched bolt after bolt into the creatures from the opposite side he’d somehow managed to sneak to without anyone noticing.

I fell into a battle rhythm that was quickly growing familiar, and before I knew it all were dispatched. I was just breathing a sigh of relief when I realized the rift was still there, and I could see movement from the other side. More were coming through.

“Hurry! Use the mark!” Solas shouted, and I cursed my slow wit. Of course, I had no idea how to use the mark, exactly. I recalled our first meeting; he had grabbed my hand and thrust it upward, aiming it at the rift. I mimicked that motion, and almost immediately the awful feeling of a flame that burns but does not consume became all I knew for a brief moment, before it faded just as suddenly and I was left standing there, the same as I was before. Except there was a difference now. The pain that had lingered in my palm had receded this time, and I felt… filled.

Looking down at my hand, I was dismayed to see the mark still there. At least the pain was gone for now. Solas approached me and laid a hand on my shoulder, though whether it was in gratitude or concern, I couldn’t tell. Cassandra was calling to the soldiers to open the gate, and then his hand was gone.

“We are clear for the moment,” Solas said before moving on. “Well done.”

“Whatever that thing is, it’s useful,” Varric said as he passed me.

The scene on the other side of the gate was ghastly, much like the first one I had crossed just outside the village where we’d started. Though, where that one had looked like the aftermath of a great battle, with soldiers being tended to physically and spiritually, this bridge was clearly still in the midst of the chaos wrought by the Breach. Not quite the front lines, but very close to them. People ran back and forth in urgency, and I dodged this way and that to stay out of their paths. The Breach was louder here, too; more insistent. It raged overhead while soldiers and priests and medics ran to and fro in vain beneath it.

Once, when I was still an apprentice back at the Circle, one of the younger students had been practicing a fire spell in the library when it got out of his control. Too afraid to say anything, he had merely fled the room, hoping to avoid trouble. Before anyone knew it, the flames had taken over an entire wing, devouring the dry paper and wood as would a starving child at a buffet. It quickly grew beyond any of our apprentice abilities to quell by magic, so we resorted to batting at it desperately with damp cloths. Eventually, several senior enchanters arrived and were able to get it under control, but not before it had gorged itself on dozens of tomes of great value, costing an untold amount of damage to the furniture and scorching the very stone.

These people running around the bridge had the same look in their eyes as they hurried about - as if they were battling a raging inferno armed with nothing but damp cloth. It was a look of desperation, of knowing the battle was already lost, but too afraid to give up and face the flames.

If Cassandra was right, and that I somehow caused all this… I shuddered, remembering that poor, frightened little boy. I had seen him flee the room but hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Others had seen him too, for it hadn’t taken long before he was identified as the source of the disaster. Hugging myself to stop the trembling, I remembered the tears that had streaked twin paths down his plump cheeks, his mouth open in a screaming plea as he was dragged off, his feet kicking in vain at the ground, held by his arms by two silent Templars, impassive behind their featureless helmets. They were taking him to the room on the top floor, the one reserved but for a single purpose.

I tried not to think of what these terrified people would do to me if they found me guilty.

Ahead of me Cassandra was heading toward someone -- no, two people -- leaning over a desk erected hastily to the side, toward the far end of the bridge. Varric and Solas were off to the other side, staying out of the way and watching the two with interest. As I approached, it was apparent that they were having a heated argument. The one facing me, a man, dressed as a Chantry official of some rank or other, was trying to shout down the woman opposite him.

The woman - whom I now recognized as Leliana, the second woman from the cell where I first regained consciousness - was giving as good as she got. “The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes!” she insisted. “It is our only chance!” They were arguing about me? I cautiously crept closer.

“You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility… ” The official continued wildly gesticulating, while Leliana continued attempting to talk over him. I was almost beginning to enjoy the show, when unfortunately the official noticed my presence. His displeasure was apparent.

Leliana turned and spotted us. “You made it,” she said flatly. For an instant, her face relaxed with what might have been relief, but it was gone so quickly I couldn’t be sure. In its place her expression became a neutral mask, impossible to discern. She turned back to the loud one behind her. “Chancellor Roderick, this is---”

“I know who she is,” he growled in her direction, though now his eyes were locked on me. He glared with a hatred that reminded me uncomfortably of the villagers back at the Chantry. It took effort not to fidget under that glare. After sufficiently sizing me up, he turned his attention to Cassandra, who had taken up a position next to Leliana at the desk. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

Wait, execution? My eyes widened, and suddenly the crying child was forefront in my mind again as I waited for Cassandra’s response, not daring to turn and meet her gaze.

“Order me?” Cassandra merely scoffed, unimpressed with the authoritative tone in his voice. “You are a glorified clerk, a bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug!” the chancellor argued. “But a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.” Leliana stepped in.

“Justinia is dead!” Roderick dismissed her comment and I heard Cassandra’s gasp at his cold impertinence. “We must elect her replacement, and obey her orders on the matter!”

The three of them converged on each other, debating amongst themselves as to my ultimate fate, as if I was not a living, breathing person standing right there before them. Rage and indignation began to rise within me. I had spent my entire life being discussed and debated over, listened to others weigh in on the risks and benefits of allowing my continued existence. In all that time, I had been forced to push down my anger and fear, knowing the consequences of allowing it to take over would only serve as an excuse to them that I was too great a risk. The hubris, the hypocrisy of it all was infuriating, and for the first time in my life, I had the leverage needed to ensure that I was no longer ignored. I was done pushing down my feelings.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” I demanded, my voice carrying above the argument, giving the others pause. All three turned to look at me, and at least Cassandra had the grace to look embarrassed. Leliana’s face remained inscrutable. Chancellor Roderick was only more infuriated at the gall that I should dare to speak up for myself.

“You shouldn’t even be here!” he spat at me, his face turning red. He looked as though he was ready to vault the table and throttle me, and I was more than ready for him to try it, but Cassandra stepped between us, and whatever was writ on her face made Roderick calm himself enough to resume their argument in a more even tone. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

Just like that, I was an afterthought again. All my rage was worth no more than a momentary annoyance to them. I could hardly believe it. I was there, and it was my life being drained from me while they stood there debating troop movements. I could feel the tingling creeping back into me, each beat of the pulse in my palm growing more insistent, and fear swept in to replace the anger. I could feel my chest expand and contract as I gasped for breath, feeling like everything was collapsing around me. My heartbeat filled my ears. I heard only disparate words here and there, and I struggled to make sense of them.

“... to the temple, it’s the quickest… “

“... charge as a distraction… through the mountains… “

“... too risky… “

“Listen to me… “

Suddenly, everything stopped. The world flashed green, and I clenched my teeth on another cry as I felt that same pain, pulling me up, trying to draw me into the sky and swallow me. What would happen if I went through that Breach, I wondered? Would my very soul disappear as if I never was? Would anyone remember me, remember that I hadn’t wanted this, that I tried to fix it?

Then the pain was gone. I was still standing there on the bridge, surrounded by people all looking at me in a multitude of expressions. Solas and Varric looked worried, many others were terrified, Leliana was intrigued, Roderick was making warding symbols with his hands and backing away, and Cassandra…

Cassandra stood before me, meeting my gaze unflinching. Her eyes were clear with purpose, her jaw set. She did not pity me, nor did she fear me.

“How do you think we should proceed?” she asked. The question was so ludicrous I almost laughed.

“Now you’re asking me what I think?”

“You have the mark,” Solas pointedly reminded everyone, though his comment was to me.

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra added. “Since we cannot agree on our own…”

For the first time, I was given authority over my own fate. I was allowed to make a choice. As absurd as it may sound, I was profoundly grateful to her for that. I was sure at that point that whatever this mark was, it was killing me. She had given me the opportunity to choose how I go. I will always be grateful to Cassandra for that moment.

I tried to recall what they had been debating while I was blindly panicking. Something about a mountain pass; Leliana insisted that was the safer path. But no, Cassandra had said they’d lost a scout troop there, hadn’t she? The other choice, what was it? Direct charge. Swiftest path between any two points was a straight line. I clenched my left fist, feeling the lingering sensation of the otherworldly poison trying to climb its way up my arm. My decision was made.

“I say we charge,” I said with a nod. “I won’t survive long enough for your trial…” I hesitated, knowing in my soul that I spoke the truth, but not wanting to admit it out loud. Still, nothing for it, so I continued. “Whatever happens, happens now.”

Cassandra nodded, accepting the choice instantly. She turned to Leliana and gave a few short commands, then Leliana turned to carry them out. Roderick had a parting rebuke, but I was no longer paying attention. A choice had been made, and we had the path laid out before us. This time, I took the lead. From here, it was easy to determine our route, setting my compass by the great ashen cloud ahead.

Chapter Text

T: No, you are not calling it that.
V: Aw, come on, everyone loves the romance angle!
T: Absolutely not.
V: Fine… You’re about as much fun as Curly about this you know.
T: I’ll take that as a compliment.
V: You would.

Chapter Text

Looking back now, I don’t think I acknowledged at the time how readily Solas and Varric agreed to join us for the push to the site where the Temple of Sacred Ashes once stood. I didn’t know their reasons for staying with me at the time, nor did I realize the risk they were taking upon themselves in different ways. All I knew was we were walking toward possibly the greatest disaster in living memory after the Fifth Blight, and without a word being said, both men stood by my side. None of us knew what we would be facing, but at least I knew who I would be facing it with. That was not something I was used to; relying on others. Another novelty I would not come to fully appreciate until much later.

The giant smoking crater where the Temple used to stand was before and below us, spread out across the valley in ruins. Together with the soldiers under Cassandra’s command, we started forward, our faces and shoulders set with the grim purpose given to us. I tried to focus only on placing one foot in front of the other and not wonder about what horrors might await us when we reached the spot directly below that Breach.

This close to the center, I began to spot mages and Templars among the injured. Mages are easy enough to recognize if one is paying attention, though the exact reason is hard to describe to anyone not attuned to the Fade. Suffice to say, the air is more energized around mages, filled with potential, as if the invisible currents of magical aura are waiting expectantly to be turned to corporeal purpose.

Templars are also easily recognized, but for different reasons. Their armor makes them easy enough for anyone to spot, but a mage would know them regardless from the way they felt. It’s nearly the exact opposite feel a mage gives off; the air around a Templar feels more… firm, more solid, for lack of a better word. I once heard a colleague describe the sensation as a kind of obstinacy, a refusal of the very will of the world around you to bend or respond to your summons. I hadn’t noticed the difference until I was forced to flee Faxhold and Ostwick with the rest of my Circle - the ones who survived the purge, anyway - and found myself free of the presence of Templars for the first time since I was a child.

It’s a misconception, though, that Templars always negate magic without having to try. In actual fact, they must deliberately invoke their abilities in order to cancel our own. In a Circle, most Templars are trained to constantly nullify magic anywhere that isn’t an approved training area. However, this is hardly practical outside a Circle, and so Templars are harder to identify when on the run. Those few of us left had to learn to attune ourselves to that particular sensation, that flatness of the air, that stubbornness of will. Once it had been discerned, we knew to flee as far and as fast as we could.

After spending the last year or so on the run, I’d gotten quite astute at sensing them at a distance. It took a great deal of willpower not to run in the opposite direction the instant I noticed their presence. I expected one of them to challenge me, or to feel the uncomfortable scrutiny I had grown up with, but none of them paid me any mind, keeping their attentions on their own injuries or other fallen brethren. After spending my life under the suspicious gaze of Templars, to be ignored by them entirely was an odd experience.

Continuing forward, we began to see more of the soldiers combatting the army of demons that seemed to cluster more densely as we grew closer to the epicenter. The sounds of battle were all around us now, but the fighting was carefully kept at a distance by smaller squads posted further ahead. It was their job to clear a path so we - so I - could get to the Breach. We saw the cost of that whenever we came upon the aftermath of one of their encounters with the terrors of the Fade. I heard Cassandra recite prayers for their souls to find peace with the Maker whenever we passed another series of bodies. I could only make apologies and promise that their sacrifice would not be wasted. I tried not to think about whether their lives would have been spared if I had chosen the path through the mountains instead; the choice was made, and there was no turning back.

It wasn’t long before we came upon another rift. We were well past the bridge at that point, and nearly to the Temple itself. Solas called out the warning first, but I was beginning to sense them on my own. A familiar crackle in the air always preceded them. It was daunting to think of coming so close to the Fade here in the waking world, and I noted how no one was willing to state it out loud, though everyone must have understood the rifts for what they were as well as I. Perhaps some things are easier to accept with a bit of plausible deniability.

The few remaining soldiers were already locked in combat with the demons and appeared to be having a more difficult time of it. Cassandra tore through three Shades that had one poor fighter surrounded, and I hit a pair of Wraiths that had been attempting to flank another with a bolt of lightning, causing a chain effect. Magic came much easier closer to the rifts, for which I was grateful, as my own stamina was waning fast. Before long, the enemies were dispatched, and it was on me to close the tear they came through. Reluctantly, I thrust my hand toward it and endured the fire that does not burn, and was disturbed to find that I was actually growing used to the sensation.

“Sealed, as before,” Solas said, coming to stand next to me. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.” I sensed a hint of approval in his tone, and wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or unsettled that he was right.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric added. I nodded my wholehearted agreement.

One of the soldiers that had just been giving orders to the others approached and addressed Cassandra, greeting her with familiarity. Others on the field deferred to him as well, I noticed; likely he had some rank over them. He must have asked her about the rift, for after a moment she stepped back and gestured to me to step forward.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” she said as I came closer. “This is the prisoner’s doing.”

“Is it?” The soldier - commander, I noted - transferred his gaze to me, and I felt cold scrutiny behind his amber eyes as he addressed me. “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.” I felt another pang of guilt, wondering once more if I should have taken the other path. Hoping that I wasn’t the cause of all this chaos and pain and terror. Fearing that I was.

For the moment, all I could do was helplessly shrug in response. “You’re not the only one hoping that.”

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” he said. He paused for a moment, as if there was more he wanted to say. Instead, he turned to Cassandra, and gestured further afield. “The way to the Temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

Cassandra nodded. “Then we must move quickly. Give us time, Commander.” I flinched, knowing this request would undoubtedly mean more casualties, more lives sacrificed so I could have my one desperate attempt at fixing this disaster, and we didn’t even know for sure whether it would work.

I found myself under the stern gaze of the Commander again. Surely he knew the cost better than I. How long had he been out here trying in vain to contain all this damage? He tried to keep his expression neutral, but the bags under his eyes and the slouch in his shoulders betrayed his exhaustion. Maker, I was exhausted and I’d only been at this for, what? A few hours? He had the look of a man who hadn’t seen a bed in days. I wondered not for the first time how long all this had been going on before I had woken up chained to the floor of that dungeon.

As he turned to leave, he addressed me once more. “Maker watch over you… for all our sakes.” Strangely, it sounded as if he actually meant it.

I watched him jog off to join the rest of his company, taking the arm of an injured soldier struggling to keep up with the others. After a brief pause, I turned back to face the direction of the Temple. Belatedly, I realized I hadn’t even gotten his name.

C: Pardon the interruption, I just need to--
V: --Oh, good. Curly! Give me a sec, will you?
C: Oooh no. I was told to stay clear of this room while you two worked. I just needed a candle from the desk there…
V: I just wanted to get your first impressions of the Lady Herald.
C: Hah! I’m not fool enough to answer that. I’ve read your books.
V: I have no clue what you could possibly be inferring.
T: What’s wrong, afraid you’ll offend me?
C: That’s not what I--
V: --Come on, it’s for posterity. No exaggerated prose, I promise.
C: I have no interest in helping you turn a retelling of Tess’s accomplishments into some silly star-crossed lovers romance.
V: It can be both!
T: I told you he would hate that title.
C: The answer is no.
V: Alright, alright. But there’s nothing wrong with a little romantic subplot. People eat that shit up.
C: Clearly…
T: Your Book of the Champion was one of your most popular works, and it was a biography.
V: A heavily exaggerated biography. And if you’ll recall, there was a fair bit of romance in that too.
T: Fair point.
V: At least give me your first thoughts of each other. It is relevant to this chapter, right?
C: Andraste preserve me… Fine, but to be honest there’s not much to tell.
V: You expect me to believe she didn’t leave an impression on you?
C: Quite the opposite, just not what you’re expecting.
V: Oh?
C: All I can really remember of that moment was how afraid she looked. I’d heard the rumor that they’d caught the person who destroyed the Temple, but when I saw her, I refused to believe she was the one responsible. She looked… terrified.
T: I was.
V: Perfectly rational reaction to the situation at hand, if you ask me. Theresa, your turn now.
T: Well, I’ve already told you. He just looked so exhausted. And very much like he didn’t want to be there.
C: Heh, well I’ll admit I did tend to have a permanent scowl on my face in those days.
V: And for a long while after.
C and T: …
V: Sorry, did I kill the mood?
C: Maker’s breath…
T: I did warn you to stay away.
V: Wait, don’t leave yet! I have follow-ups!

Chapter Text

Nothing could have prepared me for the Temple of Sacred Ashes. My worst nightmares had never been that cruelly vivid. The ground still blew out smoke that smelled acrid and electric. It reminded me of the scent that came from the rifts, only now undercut by char and cooked meat. I wasn’t sure at first where the scent of meat came from, but then I saw the first of many burned corpses scattered across the valley and the realization hit me with an awful clarity as I fought back a wave of nausea.

I still dream of those poor souls, the grim statues left in tribute to the grave that was once a holy place, their faces contorted in fear and pain. Many were kneeling or throwing their arms up in futile attempts to fend off the coming doom, forever frozen in their last moments. It must have been agonizing. Flames still danced at their feet, melting them into the ground and turning them into horrifying permanent fixtures. Not all were intact; here and there we would find limbs, a skull, a torso.

It was hot here, and everywhere around us the land was blackened and laid bare. The force of the explosion had torn through everything in a wide radius surrounding the Temple. Wherever I looked, I saw the aftermath of death and destruction. And above it all, the open maw of the Breach growled hungrily. From here, it seemed to block out the whole sky, casting perpetual night over the landscape below.

I survived this? I couldn’t fathom it, gazing out over the ravaged landscape.

“That is where our soldiers found you.” I started; I hadn’t noticed Cassandra come to stand next to me. She nodded to a spot several yards ahead, not meeting my gaze. I looked to where she indicated, but could see no difference, nothing to distinguish that specific area from anywhere else. “They said you stepped out of the Fade. They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

I frowned, trying to remember. There was a steep hill, and at the top… I could almost see her, the outline, a silhouette of light. Barely an outline, but clearly a woman, with one arm outstretched. Warning? Or beckoning?

A hand on my shoulder forced me back into the present once more, and I looked beside me where Cassandra still stood. Ahead of us, Solas and Varric had stopped to look back, likely wondering what was keeping us. I glanced back to the spot where I was found, hoping to recapture some glimmer of that image again, to glean anything from that emptiness where memory should be, but there was nothing.

Nothing but a crater.

My past had nothing for me, and the present held only questions. As for my future… I flexed my hand, the left one, feeling the poison within it, still spreading with a will that was terrible and unceasing. I looked ahead to the pair of strangers inexplicably loyal despite the inherent danger we were all about to walk into. I looked to my side to lock eyes with Cassandra; my captor and my defender. They were waiting for me to continue forward. However short my future may be, at least it was mine to shape. That was something I’d never had before.

Clenching my fist, I inhaled deeply of the pungent air, and stepped forward to do what I could to fix this mess, and hopefully, save my own skin in the process.

We came out the other side of the archway together. Almost immediately, a flash of sickly green blinded us for a moment before drawing our gaze out and up… up… up.

Up.

It was the biggest rift we’d seen yet, and it hovered high in the air, well below the Breach but still far above our heads. I could see the trail of energy connecting the two, almost like a leash. It was hard to tell if the rift was being fed or was drawing power on its own, but I could see the flow so clearly it almost seemed solid, tangible. I was reminded uncomfortably of the feeling of being filled after closing a rift. It gave the illusion that the Breach was much closer than it was; or perhaps it made the rift seem so high up as to be unreachable.

“That is a long way up,” Varric voiced my own sentiment rather succinctly. Solas and Cassandra were silent, his gaze solemn and her mouth agape.

I hadn’t realized how intently I was staring at the massive gaping wound in the air above us until I was startled by armored boots coming to a halt behind us, and Cassandra called out to someone she knew. I turned to see Leliana, having arrived just after us. I spared a nod for her before turning back to contemplate how exactly I was going to even reach the blighted thing in front of me.

She and Cassandra shared words or orders, I wasn’t sure which. I was busy wondering whether the mark in my hand would be enough to close a rift of this size, and what effect it could possibly have on the Breach itself. Would it take all I had? What if I made things worse? After a moment, Cassandra stepped into my field of vision, all the same questions write on her face. Neither of us gave voice to them. There would have been little point in stating the obvious.

Instead, Cassandra said plainly, “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

My chance. I would only get one. And it was too late to turn back now. I nodded.

“I’m assuming you have a plan to get me up there?”

“No,” Solas shook his head. “This rift was the first, and is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

He sounded so certain. At least that made one of us. Well, and it was as good a plan as any other. Cassandra nodded.

“Then let’s find a way down. And be careful.”

Down seemed counterintuitive, but she was right. There was no way to get any higher, and it was impossible to reach the rift from the landing we’d come out on. Throughout the day - Maker, had it only been a day? - I had noticed there was a certain radius wherein the mark in my hand was able to interact with the rifts. I’d been able to intuit the size of each radius as we went along, dependant on each respective rift, and I could tell from where we were standing that we were too far from this one for me to be of any use.

So, down it was. With all the damage, it was difficult to tell whether the architecture pointing us down toward a singular focal point was intended or an accident of the explosion. Either way, it was obviously the origin point of the explosion. We tentatively worked our way around the broken stonework, attempting to find a path.

We didn’t get far before a booming voice echoed through the courtyard, so loud it pounded through my head, making it impossible to determine its origin. It took a moment for me to even comprehend that they were words being spoken, and I had to concentrate to process them.

“NOW IS THE HOUR OF OUR VICTORY. BRING FORTH THE SACRIFICE.”

I frantically scanned the area, but everyone else looked just as confused and alarmed as I. Soldiers were stationed at various points across the circumference of the balcony, and some were below already. All were looking in different directions, trying to find the source.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra wondered, the fear and bewilderment clear in her voice and plain on her face.

“At a guess? The person who created the Breach.” Solas kept his gaze on the ground, face unreadable. His voice was markedly even, and I marveled at how calm he appeared. I noticed he was pointedly not looking at me, while others were now waiting on my word. Well, and if that voice belonged to the one who did all this, I was most eager to meet the bastard.

We continued picking our way carefully downward, when I heard Varric exclaim from behind me.

“You know that’s red lyrium, Seeker,” he said, for the first time sounding genuinely unsettled. I looked around to see what he meant, and saw several red crystals jutting out of the walls and floor ahead of us. Their fierce, bright color was at such contrast to the darkly foreboding burnt ruins and sickly muted green of the rift and the Breach that it hurt my eyes to look. I’d heard of red lyrium only through the rumors coming out of Kirkwall, but the descriptions hardly did it justice.

“I see it, Varric,” Cassandra responded.

“But what’s it doing here?” Varric was clearly agitated by its presence.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple, corrupted it,” Solas guessed.

“It’s evil,” Varric insisted. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it!” He and Cassandra both gave the stuff a wide berth, and Solas and I followed suit as we continued toward the path leading down into the courtyard.

“KEEP THE SACRIFICE STILL.” The voice again reverberated from everywhere and nowhere.

“SOMEONE HELP ME!” A second voice, belonging to a woman and sounding greatly imperiled, joined the first. It hit me like a thunderclap; I knew that voice! It stirred something in my memory, but even as I tried to reach that part of my mind that could put a face to the voice, it slipped back behind the fog and out of reach. I was left grasping desperately, more frustrated than before, as all around me turned their heads this way and that, trying to find the voice’s origin in the corporeal world.

Except Cassandra, who gasped with sudden recognition.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!”

How is that possible? I had assumed, given the grief-stricken tone and expression Cassandra exhibited whenever the Grand Divine was brought up, that there had been no doubt of her passing, that there had been a body or evidence of some kind. So, how were we hearing her voice now?

Looking up at the gigantic rift above, it suddenly made sense. If rifts were tears in the Veil, and by extension direct links to the Fade, it was possible the Fade was tapping into the memory of this place, making it interact with the waking world, causing the past to bleed through into the present.

I shook my head. It almost beggared belief, but the proof was right before our eyes. If the Veil was truly becoming that unstable… I shuddered at the possibilities that implied.

Finally, we reached a low enough outcropping of rocks that enabled us to jump down to the bottom of the crater, and we approached the base of that great and terrifying rift. I felt the air itself pulsate around me like a heartbeat. The ruins were all saturated with whatever energy was frothing forth from the Breach. Bright veins glowed and faded in waves through the fragmented walls that remained. It felt like walking into the core of some great beast.

Even the rift was different here. Instead of a simple tear, there was an ever-shifting mass of sharp-edged, jutting shapes that looked like crystals. It was impossible to tell if they were tangible or just clearer manifestations than the ones we’d faced previously, but they felt more solid.

I tried to puzzle out what that could mean, but I must have gotten too close, as I suddenly felt the air shift and my surroundings changed drastically.

I found myself standing in a room, surrounded by thick stone walls, whole and untouched by the explosion. It was dim, the torches hung at the four corners doing little to stave off the darkness. A woman hung suspended in the air before me, looking at me with terrified eyes.

“SOMEONE HELP ME!” The same echo of a memory resounded. It came from that woman.

A bright flash forced me to shut my eyes lest I become blinded, and when I opened them again I was back in the ruins of the crater, surrounded by bewildered soldiers. But the echoes weren’t finished.

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?”

“That was your voice!” Cassandra declared from behind me, and if I did not know fear before, I knew it then. I had never heard my own voice through another’s ears before, and so had scarcely recognized it. Once Cassandra said it, however, I knew there could be no mistake; that was me. I had spoken to the Grand Divine before, yet I had no recollection of it. I felt the panic beginning to rise again. Why could I not remember? Just what had happened to me and how was it connected to all this chaos? Cassandra, too, was still trying to comprehend. “Most Holy called out to you, but… “

Then the rift took me by the hand.

I know no other way to describe what happened. My hand jerked upward of its own accord, and I felt as if I were being led, even though I was standing still. I was helpless, at the mercy of a will I could not hope to understand or combat. There was another flash of white light, and I was once again in the dark room, with the terrified woman hanging in the air before me.

This time, I recognized her as Grand Divine Justinia. A portrait of her had hung in Faxhold’s great hall for as long as I could remember, though here she appeared far older than the smooth features of the oil canvas. Behind her were several sets of eyes, red with menace and disembodied in the darkness left unpenetrated by the torchlight. A second figure, vague enough as to be indistinguishable, stood between us. It gazed impassionately down at the woman, even as she looked to me for aid, though I knew I could offer none.

Above them all, I sensed rather than saw another pair of eyes watching all this unfold. They were immense, yet inconspicuous somehow. Their colour eluded me; indeed even now I am unable to discern what they truly looked like. I knew only that they watched, and waited. It unnerved me more than anything else I saw that terrible day, though I did not understand why then.

“What’s going on here?” It was my own voice speaking now, from my own mouth, but I had not consciously spoken the words. Both figures turned to look at me, as I knew they would. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but likely it had to do with the unsettling sense that I had seen all this unfold before, and knew how it would end.

“Run while you can! Warn them!” the image of Divine Justinia pleaded to me. I remained frozen in place.

“We have an intruder,” the faceless silhouette said to those menacing red eyes. “Kill her, now.”

With another flash of white light, the echoes disappeared, and I was returned to the ruined courtyard as before. I was trying to make sense of what I’d just seen when I was jerked roughly from behind. Cassandra’s fierce, accusatory eyes were inches from mine.

“You were there!” she declared. Grabbing me by the shoulders, she shook me with every question as she demanded answers. “Who attacked? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t remember!” I broke her grasp on me and stepped backward. I was reeling, not just from her grip, but from all I had seen. I could no longer deny that I had anything to do with all this, but nor could I remember what part I had played. What if I was responsible?

No! I couldn’t bare to think of it. I would never…

Solas stepped between us, directed our gaze upward to the rift.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” His words brought me little comfort, merely confirming what I already knew, but they seemed to placate Cassandra for the moment. She clearly wanted to continue her barrage of questions, but held her tongue and settled her gaze on Solas, content for now to allow him to provide answers when she could not find any from me. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily,” he explained. “I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely.” I waited for the catch. “However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.” There it was.

Cassandra caught on to his meaning swiftly.

“That means demons. Stand ready!” Her last statement was a command, shouted for the benefit of all who still stood guard over the courtyard. There was a brief flurry of activity as soldiers ran to and fro, taking better positions and knocking bows, drawing swords, preparing themselves. It all had the feel of a great inhale, then a pause of held breath while they waited. Only belatedly did I realize they were waiting on me.

Cassandra nodded to me, and I turned to face the rift. I noticed almost absently that I was holding my own breath as I lifted my left hand and pointed it toward the rift, not knowing whether the mark would be able to open as well as close. Solas seemed certain, and so I tried to take hold of that, to allow his confidence to bolster me. It took only a moment before I felt it; my nerves all alight, an inferno that encompassed only me.

Except this time it was different.

I should have known, beforehand; if closing a rift left me feeling overfilled with energy, opening one would logically have done the opposite. Too late, I tried to stop the flow of energy being pulled from me, already feeling the weakness waiting behind it. I hadn’t noticed until that moment how much I was being sustained by the energies I had been drawing from the rifts I had closed throughout the day. As it drained out of me, I felt my legs shake and my body collapse with the fatigue that was left.

I fell to the ground, no longer able to stand under my own strength. Above us, the rift was now open, and to my horror, movement was already stirring on the other side.

A great, armored, towering creature materialized from the rift and fell to the ground, shaking the fragile foundations. It announced its arrival with a great roar, and I let out the breath I’d been holding in a string of curses lost to its cacophony. A pride demon stood before us, almost tall enough to reach the balcony where the archers stood waiting, its frame massive and pierced with spikes. Its multitude of eyes quickly found me, regarding me with targeted malice.

I was powerless, frozen to the ground, weak as a newborn babe.

“Now!”

Cassandra’s order yielded a wave of arrows hurtling through the air, but they seemed to have little effect on the demon. It began marching toward me, and I cursed again. Desperately, I crawled backward, trying in vain to find the strength to stand and run, or even to summon a spell. But I had nothing left. The rift had taken everything.

Suddenly, Solas stood before me, and I felt the steadying calm of his magical aura as he summoned a barrier to lay over us both. With a sweeping motion, he called forth a burst of freezing cold wind that halted the demon in its tracks.

From there, it was chaos. I remember little of what came next, but I know there was a cacophony of shouting and steel against flesh and arrows flying and the electric crackle of the Pride demon’s enormous whip as it flew through the air. I remember the searing pain I felt when it flicked out toward me and wrapped around my torso. I think I was flung through the air then, as the next thing I knew was the hard ground against my face and a lingering ache in my knees, hands, and side. At some point, more demons must have come through; I found myself apart from any allies and surrounded by shades and wisps. I managed to find the strength to stand, then, having no choice but to run for my life. Every muscle screamed at me in protest as I dodged attacks and it was impossible to summon spells. Bereft of my magic, I was reduced to using my staff as a bludgeoning weapon to defend myself.

In desperation, I tried reaching out my left hand and willing the rift to close, hoping I would be able to draw on the energy it had taken from me. To my dismay, the burning sensation lasted only a moment before subsiding, and before I opened my eyes I knew it had failed. The rift was still above us, hovering in defiance of every sense of logic and sanity I had learned to trust in my life.

But something else had changed too. The Pride was kneeling as if in pain, and the few arrows still flying toward it actually seemed to be sticking.

“What did you do?!” A hand grabbed me by the arm and I was turned forcefully around to meet Leliana’s surprised expression.

Cassandra was faster to grasp what had happened. “The demon is vulnerable! Now!” At that, the others laid into the Pride with renewed vigour. Leliana quickly released my arm and resumed putting arrow after arrow to notch on her bow, releasing each with precision and a fluid motion that only came with extensive practice.

Other demons around me were advancing, and I wearily fended them off with what little energy I had left, temporarily boosted by my disrupting of the rift. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. I soon found myself struggling to stay upright and seeking cover to catch my breath. I felt the second skin of Solas’s barrier once again, but didn’t see him in the chaos of the battle. My body protested every movement, and everything within me cried out desperately for rest. It was all I could do to remain conscious and dodge the Pride’s stinging electric whip.

After what felt like an age, the demon finally fell to the swords and arrows of Leliana’s and Cassandra’s forces. I breathed a deep sigh of relief, but it was short-lived as I saw all eyes turning to me expectantly once more. In my adrenaline-addled and exhausted state, I couldn’t fathom why until Cassandra shouted to me.

“Now! Close the rift!”

The rift… right.

I lifted my hand out of habit, bracing for the impact of the Fade to engulf me again. Only this time it was worse. Far worse. I was being burned alive from the inside. I tried to break the connection, but my hand was held in place, no longer under my own power. I pulled harder, trying desperately to break away, but it was no use. The energy poured into me, but it was too much, too big, too volatile. I was coming undone, and there was nothing I could do about it. All my strength was sapped, I had no magic left in me, had barely the fortitude to remain standing. I had nothing left with which to fight.

Visions swam before me, disembodied and familiar.

A pair of cold, grey eyes regarding me with cool dispassion, a twinge of curiosity giving them pause.

The Divine, eyes pleading and desperate.

Myself, standing alone in the darkness, a dagger held in one shaking hand.

The face of a woman I didn’t recognize, serene and unconcerned in sleep, dark hair laying in waves around her oval face, spread out around her on a soft pillow. I raised the dagger---

No!

The word came to mind on its own. I was still burning, but some part of me wasn’t ready to give in yet. I latched onto that word, pulling every ounce of will and strength left in me, and instinctively I pushed back into the rift with everything I had. I felt a resounding rush of energy going upward, back into the Breach far above.

Then everything went dark, and I knew nothing more.

Chapter Text

V: So, now we get into the birth of the legend.
T: No, now I explain why I’m not a legend. Don’t forget why I agreed to do this.
V: All I’m saying is folks love a good story.
T: Clearly. But a good story shouldn’t preclude the truth.
V: Who said it did? If anything, the truth helps a good story. Shit, some of the craziest parts of my stories are based on real events.
T: Like your Tale of the Champion?
V: Hey, now, let’s not go there. We both know I wasn’t going for honesty with that one.
T: Yes, but the rest of Thedas doesn’t know that. That’s the problem.

Consciousness slowly returned. Shadows lingered in my thoughts as I slowly regained my bearings: portals into the Fade, a brilliant silhouette reaching out to me, a room of darkness and menacing eyes. The cold grip of a dagger suspended above a sleeping face. Impassive eyes watching it all unfold from afar.

I awoke further, and sensations began to register. I was lying on a soft bed, covered in thick blankets. People were talking somewhere out of sight, too faint to comprehend. The bed was warm, but my face was cold. I shifted to pull the covers overhead. At once, a wave of pain swept through me, culminating in a splitting headache. As I reached up to clutch at my temples, a glint of green light flashed from my left palm. I paused, remembering.

So. Not a dream then.

A gasp and a thud from elsewhere in the room caught my attention, and I looked up to see a slight elven girl who looked scarcely past her teens quivering before me.

“I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” she exclaimed, breathless.

I frowned, confused. “Is this another prison?”

“I… no? At least, I don’t think so.” She couldn’t have possibly sounded less certain. I looked around, noting wooden slat walls and a solitary window opposite from where I was lying. It was daylight outside.

“Then where am I?” The throbbing in my head had not subsided. Slowly, I sat upright, rubbing at my temples in a futile gesture. She waffled, wringing her hands, as if unsure whether to answer. “Tell me!” I demanded, exasperated.

The poor girl jumped, and I regretted my harsh tone instantly. My gaze softened, though I wasn’t sure why she looked so terrified of me. I was about to apologize when a familiar face came up beside her and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. It took me a moment to place a name with the face, but once I remembered, I breathed a sigh of relief, glad to see Solas had survived the battle.

“It’s alright,” he was saying to the girl. “She is not like the others.” The girl seemed to take comfort from that, but still looked shaken.

“I beg your forgiveness,” she muttered to Solas, then turned to me. “And your blessing! I am but a humble servant!” My frown returned, now more confused than ever. My blessing? What could that possibly mean? “You are back in Haven, my lady,” she continued, answering my earlier question. “They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the past three days!”

I looked down to my palm again, belatedly realizing that it no longer hurt. The glow seemed fainter as well, less piercing. I was pondering the possibility of now being allowed to leave, when I processed her last comment.

Three days?

Well, they hadn’t executed me; I supposed that was something. Perhaps my efforts had earned me some leniency. Or perhaps they were waiting to see if I would have the decency to die on my own. I looked back up. Solas was waiting quietly, hands clasped behind him, looking almost casual. Sunlight streamed inside from the doorway behind him, casting his shadow on the brightly colored rug that covered the dirt floor. The girl was bent over, gathering the spilled objects from the crate she’d dropped upon seeing me wake - the thud I’d heard a moment ago.

“So a trial happens now, I suppose?” I asked. Solas shrugged.

“I don’t know anything about that,” the girl said, lifting herself from the ground, crate now righted and neatly re-packed. She still seemed nervous, but at least she was looking me in the eye now. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘At once!’”

That seemed in keeping with what I’d come to know of Cassandra. It didn’t necessarily mean trouble for me yet, but it wasn’t likely to be good either.

“And where is she?”

“In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor.” She placed the crate next to the desk, out of the way, then began tentatively retreating toward the door, clearly anxious to leave. I was tempted to try to get her to stay and answer more questions, but Solas nodded and smiled at her, and she seemed to take that as dismissal. “‘At once!’ she said!” the girl repeated, almost like a warning, before she fled the cabin. You’d have thought the room was on fire.

She left the door open. Solas remained.

“How are you feeling, Theresa?” he asked.

“I’ve been better,” I replied. Thankfully, my headache had subsided, and the overall aching had lessened to a dull soreness. I felt weak, hungry, and slightly dizzy. On the other hand, I was alive, and the searing pain in my palm seemed to have abated for now. “But I’ve been worse too,” I amended. Solas nodded, apparently fine with this answer. He wasn’t one to pry, I recalled.

I sat on the bed a moment, half expecting a squad of soldiers to come in and place me in shackles again. When that didn’t happen, I stood and took quick stock of my surroundings. The room didn’t look much like a prison cell; rather, it looked like someone’s home. Hopefully, no one had been displaced on my part, though looking around that certainly seemed to be the case. There were hanging furs and paintings, shelves filled with jars and books and candles, assorted barrels and even a chest, all too neatly arranged for this to be a storage room. A small desk and chair were tucked into the corner near the window. Walking over to it, I noticed several scattered papers weighed down against the errant breeze by an ornate stone carving of a dog, clearly the most expensive thing in the small cabin.

Fereldens… I thought, rolling my eyes.

“So, I take it I’m not under arrest?” I turned to glance at Solas over my shoulder.

“Not at the moment, though I would be lying if I didn’t confess to some uncertainty as to whether that continues.”

I sniffed in amusement. We agreed on that, certainly.

Turning back to the desk, I scanned the notes briefly and realized that they were about me. Someone had been keeping tabs on me while I slept, caring for me. Apparently, my survival had been a near thing. I shuddered, though that may have been from the mountain wind slithering in through the open door, a not so gentle reminder that I was expected elsewhere.

“I suppose I shouldn’t keep Cassandra waiting.”

“She’s not known for her patience,” Solas agreed with the hint of a wry smirk. He remained where he was.

“You’re meant to escort me.”

“I’m afraid so.” He had the grace to sound apologetic.

“Why you?” I asked. His brows rose in response, and I winced, realizing the question had sounded harsher than intended. “I mean, why not a templar?”

“Ah, I suppose my efforts to keep you alive for the second time now have earned me enough trust to play turnkey. Rest assured, they are keeping a close eye on this cabin.”

“How long before they come storming in demanding the demons depart our bodies or die?” I asked in jest. It earned a chuckle from Solas.

“Should be any moment now.”

I laughed, the first time in a while. However, another shiver brought my attention to a new problem; I was in the mountains and only just noticed I was bereft of all but my undershirt and hose. Luckily, the crate the elf had brought was full of warm clothes. I rifled through the folds, quickly deciding on a warm woolen tunic and some thick canvas trousers that fit snugly around my legs. A pair of fur-lined boots also looked like they would fit, and would cover my lower legs. Using a simple leather thong, I tied my tangled mass of hair out of my face and into a low horsetail. I scanned the room in vain for a staff. Unsurprisingly, none were present. That would have been too much to hope for.

As I dressed, a new thought occurred to me. “Has the village been mistreating that girl?”

Solas, who had turned politely to face away while I dressed - a fact I found rather endearing, considering we had been talking face to face only moments ago - cocked his head slightly.

“The elf? Not that I know of,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“She seemed pretty skittish around me.”

“Ah, that’s… something else.”

“The mark?”

Solas hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

I pondered that as I finished lacing my boots. “You told her I’m not like the others.”

“Oh, that.” An edge of bitterness flavored his voice. “She came here as a ‘kind donation’ from a Ferelden nobleman.” I could hear his snarl as it twisted itself around the words.

“Donation?” I asked, incredulous. The word was rather innocuous for all it implied.

“Her story is not mine to tell,” he said. “But suffice to say, it is not a happy one. I am glad the advisors granted her full employment status, with pay. They seemed to find the entire notion as distasteful as I.”

“Advisors?”

“Forgive me, I forget how much has happened since…” He stopped himself then. “Well, you will see soon enough. Ready to go?”

I almost pressed him further, but it would only delay us. He’d been more forthcoming than most so far, and I didn’t wish to push my luck with his good graces.

“Yes.” I moved forward, then, hesitating, turned back to the crate. After a moment’s pause, I reached for a set of knitted, fingerless gloves, and pulled them on as well. As I’d hoped, the mark’s light was at least partially diminished by the thick material, if not wholly hidden. I sighed with resignation.

Well, at least I was warm now.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Together, we walked through the open door. Whatever I had been expecting, I was wholly unprepared for the sight of saluting soldiers and what appeared to be the entire village gathered outside. They all fell silent when I stepped from the tiny cabin, gawking at me, pointing with hushed whispers. I stood frozen in momentary panic, but neither the soldiers nor the villagers made any moves toward me. The Chantry’s vaulted roof was visible over the meager buildings on the path ahead. Solas stood beside me, waiting.

Well then.

With Solas as my escort, I started down the path. The crowd quickly parted before us. I expected looks of fear or hatred, but instead saw gratitude and admiration writ in their faces. That was new. And very unsettling. Fear and hatred I was used to; this was so completely foreign that I didn’t know what to do, except quicken my pace to move past them. Everywhere I looked, soldiers were saluting me, and complete strangers were waving, smiling, or kneeling. Kneeling. And as I walked, the whispers followed.

“---stopped the Breach---”

“---supposed to close it---”

“---lots of rifts left, little cracks in the sky---”

“---can seal those, she’s the Herald of Andraste.”

“Walk safely, Herald of Andraste.”

“Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste!”

That last title was called out in more variations as we continued. I frowned, leaning closer to Solas.

“Do they mean me?” I asked quietly.

“Yes, it seems your efforts have earned you a new title, much to the chagrin of the Chantry.” He didn’t sound at all displeased at the notion of the Chantry’s discomfort. “Rather impressive sounding, isn’t it?”

“This can’t be real,” I muttered. “How am I the Herald of Andraste?”

“A desperate grasp at hope,” Solas waved dismissively upward. “There were many witnesses to your efforts in the temple ruins. And they’ve heard the rumor of a woman seen behind you in the rift where you were first discovered.” I shuddered, remembering the disjointed images from the Fade; a glowing silhouette that might have been the shape of a woman. “Many have convinced themselves that was Andraste, and you are her chosen.”

As the path turned and my eyes were drawn upward, I paused to take in the sight. The Breach still haunted the sky above the peaks, but now it appeared to be more stable, quieter.

“I failed,” I said, still staring.

“Yes and no,” Solas said. “The Breach remains open, but it has stabilized. Your mark as well.”

I flexed my left palm at his mention of the mark. He was right of course; like the Breach, it felt less hungry now. Still, it wasn’t over. The by now familiar light flickered in my periphery, and that slow dread returned to settle in the pit of my stomach. The mark hadn’t claimed my life yet, but I had to wonder when it would grow tired of waiting.

It seemed I now existed in a curious state of limbo. Waiting to see if I would be arrested, tried, and executed. Or perhaps waiting for this infection to worm its way through my body. How long would it take to consume me completely? Why had my attempt to close the Breach failed?

I remembered my first view of it as I exited the Chantry as Cassandra’s prisoner. It felt longer than a mere three days. Then, the villagers had leered at me. They would likely have torn me limb from limb had Cassandra not been there, her hand protectively on my shoulder, guiding me down the path to help fix the disaster they all blamed me for. Now it was Solas who guided me in the opposite direction, and the crowd that had once wanted my head now knelt in my wake. It almost beggared belief, how much my situation had changed in such a small amount of time.

I took some small comfort from that. If they still needed me, after all, they couldn’t execute me just yet.

We reached the Chantry, and Solas’s pace slowed to a halt.

“Here is where I leave you,” he said. “I wish you luck.”

I nodded my thanks to him, and with renewed confidence, I pushed open the heavy wooden doors.

Chapter Text

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The few lit torches scattered along the stone walls were a poor substitute for the bright sunshine and white snow from outside. I blinked, waiting, and took in my surroundings. Now that I wasn’t being led through here in shackles under fear of death, I was able to observe with a much different perspective. The great hall itself was not as expansive as it had felt then - having more frame of reference than one cramped stone cell adjusted my perception somewhat. Pillars separated the main throughway from the alcoves along both sides, where I saw a few small groups or pairs of women in Chantry robes alternately chatting and seeing to various tasks. One pair of sisters was lighting votives and uttering prayers, while others nearby in dusted and swept. A cleric crossed the room ahead carrying assorted papers in her arms. All were pointedly not looking at me, I noticed, though my entrance had been impossible to miss given the tremendous groan of the aging doors I’d come through.

Muffled voices were coming from somewhere ahead, loud enough that it was clear there was a heated argument happening behind closed doors. One of the voices sounded like Cassandra. I made my way down the great hall in search of the voices, and found they were coming from the door at the far end, directly ahead. They were discussing me, I realized when I drew closer.

“I do not believe she is guilty.” That was Cassandra. Her distinctive accent and firm, assured tone was unmistakable. She sounded distinctly displeased, though given her demeanor so far perhaps that was just her usual tone.

“The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way.” A second voice, male, vaguely familiar. That was unsurprising; since when has being of use to others ever protected mages? I considered running again, wondering whether the newly appreciative crowd would try to stop me.

“I do not believe that.” Cassandra again. That was surprising; she trusted me. Even more surprisingly, I trusted her in return. She had promised I would be given a fair trial when she cut my bonds, before leading me into the valley toward the Breach. She had allowed me to keep the staff I’d found later to defend myself against the demons attacking from the rifts. She had protected me when it would have been easier to let me die. Weighing my odds, I realized my chances were better relying on her support against the Chantry over the untamed mountain wilderness with no food, no staff, and no idea where to go.

Hoping I was making the right choice, I thrust open the door, ready to speak in my own defence.

“---not for you to decide!” the man had been saying, stopped short by my entrance. I recognized him; we’d encountered him on our way to the Breach, I recalled. Another high-ranking Chantry official. Rodger? Romulus? Cassandra stood hunched over a table looking like she was trying to push it into the stone below in her frustration. A third person - Leliana, I remembered - stood beside her facing the man. All three had turned to look at me when I entered, their argument briefly forgotten. It was the man - Roderick, I now remembered - who recovered fastest. “Chain her!” he commanded to the two guards standing on either side of the door. “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that,” Cassandra said with badly concealed annoyance. “And leave us.”

Thankfully, the guards obeyed the latter, and turned to leave, closing the door behind them. Awkward silence was left in their wake.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick turned to Cassandra. He was trying to intimidate her with a cool tone and narrowed eyes, but it was hard to be imposing next to her. She easily met his gaze and squared her shoulders against him, giving him pause. I’d seen enough pissing contests between templars and Chantry officials to know Cassandra had the high ground here. She wasn’t exactly a templar, but seemed near enough. Judging by the deference the soldiers gave her, the title of Seeker carried at least as much weight, if not more. It looked like I had chosen correctly, for the moment at least.

“The Breach is stable,” Cassandra said, unimpressed by Roderick’s display. “But it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

And already I was forgotten again. It felt just like home. Still, I hadn’t come here to stand idle and look pretty.

“I did everything I could to close the Breach,” I said, forcing them to acknowledge my presence. “It almost killed me.”

“Yet you live.” Roderick barely inclined his head in my direction as he addressed me. “A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.”

Yes, how inconsiderate of me to go on living when you’ve personally decided my guilt already. I kept my face expressionless as I bit down on the inside of my cheek; a trick I learned as a child to prevent punishment for insubordination. I may have been boiling beneath the surface, but my face was a mask of neutrality.

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra threatened, having no such qualms about letting her growing rage show. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” Leliana said, stepping forward, hands clasped behind her back. As much as I would have liked to see Cassandra lay out the Chancellor, it was likely more productive that Leliana stepped in when she did. “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others… or have allies who yet live.” She looked pointedly at the Chancellor, and he took her meaning instantly.

“I am a suspect?” He practically sputtered with indignancy.

“You, and many others.”

“... But not the prisoner?”

“I have a name,” I interjected through clenched teeth.

“I heard the voices in the Temple,” Cassandra interjected. “The Divine called to Theresa for help.”

Flashes from the Temple returned to mind. An aged woman garbed in splendid Chantry robes, held captive to a great shadow with eyes that held no warmth. So they had seen it too. I flexed my left hand, wondering for the hundredth time what the mark’s true purpose was, and how it related to Divine Justinia’s death.

“So her survival, that thing on her hand… all a coincidence?” The Chancellor was still skeptical, and though I was loathe to admit it, I was in agreement.

“Providence,” Cassandra countered. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

The Herald of Andraste. The villagers outside had called me that. They expected me to be, what? Some kind of prophet? A savior? My blood chilled at the prospect.

“You can’t honestly believe that I’m any kind of… chosen one?” I asked, incredulous.

“We are all subject to the will of the Maker, whether we wish it or not,” Cassandra replied with the fervor of a believer. I recalled her title of Seeker, and was not comforted. This was a joke, a farce. It had to be. “No matter what I may believe, I cannot pretend that you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

I shook my head in futile denial, willing it to be undone.

“The Breach remains,” Leliana said. “And your mark is our only hope of closing it.”

All my life, I’d been made to feel that my existence was a threat, an inconvenience. I was a danger to those around me simply because of who I was. Now, suddenly, all that was reversed. My world was shifted, all that I had been taught flipped on its head. Nothing about this made sense.

“This is not for you to decide!” Chancellor Roderick gave one last attempt to wrest control of the situation back. Cassandra wordlessly walked to the back of the room where a locked chest sat upon a table. Using a skeleton key strapped to a ring around her belt, she unlocked it, pulled an absurdly thick and heavy-looking tome from its depths, and crossed back to the table, where she slammed it down upon the table between Leliana and the Chancellor.

“You know what this is, Chancellor.” It was not a question. She continued, not waiting for a response. “A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She advanced on Roderick as he backed away, invading his space, punctuating each statement with a fierce poke to his chest. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order.” Roderick was now backed against the wall. “With or without your approval.”

Roderick’s face was red with fury, but whatever he wanted to say, he thought better of it and instead stormed out of the room. I’d almost have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t just been arguing passionately for my arrest and execution.

“We aren’t ready,” Leliana said to Cassandra when he was gone. “We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support.” That last part sounded like a recrimination. Cassandra sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“We have no choice. We must act now,” she insisted. “With you at our side.” That was to me. I found myself on the receiving end of both women’s expectant gazes once again. Not a place I particularly liked being, considering where it tended to lead me.

“You want to start a holy war,” I said. I knew my histories well enough to know what another Inquisition would likely mean. I’d spent countless hours in Faxhold’s library, eyes straining in the dim candlelight, back and legs aching from sitting in awkward positions on uncomfortable chairs while I poured over account after account of the Exalted Marches and the foundation of the Chantry and its Templars. I had been trying to understand how things could have gone so wrong, how we could have gotten the messages so twisted. I never found any satisfying answers.

“We are already at war,” Cassandra said. “You are already involved. Its mark is upon you. As to whether the war is holy…“ she shook her head. “That depends on what we discover.”

They were right of course. We had gotten no closer to discovering how the Breach had been created in the first place, and as long as it was still open, I couldn’t just walk away from this. Still, I needed to ask.

“And if I refuse?”

Both women looked at each other. Whatever passed between them was left unspoken, but Cassandra gave a curt nod. They’d been expecting that question.

“You can go, if you wish,” Leliana said. I was wary enough to wait for the “but” that she left out, but it was Cassandra who finished the thought.

“You should know that while some believe you chosen, many still think you guilty. The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.” Ah, there it was. The words were not spoken without sympathy, yet I knew an ultimatum when I heard one. “It will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend this has not changed you.”

She was right, I had to admit. Before all this started, I was alone and afraid. A lifetime of imprisonment and abuse had left me without trust or allies. The few friendships I’d had came with strings attached, and my only family connections were severed the day I was sent away to the Circle. Most of those I’d known growing up had been killed when Faxhold was purged, and the few who survived that had likely been in the temple during the explosion. Now, everything I was had been stripped away, replaced with a burden of responsibility I’d never wanted. The rage I’d felt all my life trapped in a fortress for others’ comfort was nothing compared to the fear I felt when I looked up at the sky and beheld the Breach for the first time. The injustices I’d suffered paled in comparison to the pain that coursed through my body when the mark in my hand flared. I had a bigger threat to face, and whether I liked it or not, I seemed to be the only one capable of fixing things.

I still had no memories of the event itself, and was no closer to finding out how I had survived, or how I was connected to all this. I would never find those answers if I ran away now. I looked to the two women before me, patiently awaiting my response, already confident they knew what it would be. I realized ruefully that I knew as well. They would use me, I knew. I would be a figurehead, a public idol that they would shove in front of rifts as proof that their cause was righteous. They would use me as a puppet, and in return, they would ensure that the Chantry could not use me as a scapegoat. It sounded depressingly similar to the bargain offered to every mage brought to a Circle: serve their needs and obey their rules, in exchange for a wall between us and the angry mob. It was a choice that was no choice at all.

I sighed. Leliana smiled, seeing my defeat writ on my face. I would have to be wary of her; somehow I suspected her hand orchestrating this trap.

“Help us fix this, before it’s too late.” Cassandra stepped forward and extended her hand to me. It seemed a genuine attempt at fellowship. I was stuck, and they knew it, but they were at least willing to pretend out of respect. Something else I wasn’t used to receiving. Today was a day of many firsts.

I reached out and shook Cassandra’s hand.

So much for freedom.

Chapter Text

T: Varric, what a surprise! We weren’t supposed to meet today.
V: Hey, Herald. Hope I’m not interrupting anything?
T: Not at all, Cullen’s taken Ellie to Chant for the afternoon. I’m just wondering who you’re hiding from?
V: You let him take your baby girl to Chant? I thought you hated all that stuff.
T: It was part of our negotiation. I agree to let him raise her as Andrastian if he agrees that I get to train her if she turns out to be a mage.
V: Huh, that’s actually pretty reasonable. Glad you’re making it work.
T: You haven’t answered my question.
V: Sorry?
T: Who are you hiding from?
V: What! No one! Why would you even suggest---
T: ---Varric…
V: … Choir Boy’s in town.
T: Ah, I remember hearing something about that. Trade negotiations, right?
V: And already I’m bored out of my mind. I need a break, just for a few hours.
T: You know this is one of the first places Aveline’s going to look for you, right?
V: Yeah, so you could just say you haven’t seen me?
T: Absolutely not. Nowhere in our agreement did it include lying to the captain of the guard.
V: Oh, come on, she likes you! You could get away with it!
T: Hah! I don’t know if we’re talking about the same Aveline here.
V: Look, I’ll take the fall when she finds out, I swear. I’m used to her being mad at me.
T: *Sigh* Alright, come in.
V: I owe you one!
T: I’ll start a running tab.
V: Okay, I’ve got all my notes from last time. We left off right after the Inquisition was officially declared, right?

The first few days after the birds flew carrying the official declaration of the Inquisition’s formation were chaotic to say the least. Everyone was rushing to preemptively minimize any public outcry of heresy. Not to mention the logistical nightmare of all those left homeless or displaced by the Temple’s destruction, from food to housing to medical treatment. Then there was the needs of the Inquisition itself; training and arming soldiers, recruiting volunteers, gathering any intel that could be gleaned from the ashes and ruins that might point to a perpetrator, sending out feelers to local nobility who might be tentative allies.

I was mostly forgotten in that time, and as a result found myself in a strange kind of limbo. I was not under anyone’s immediate supervision, and so spent my time learning my way around Haven. So long as I stayed within its walls, no one seemed to care where I went. This was a freedom I wasn’t used to. I’d been under scrutiny and behind fortress walls most of my life. Once I was free of those, I was forced to live on the run, fearing trackers could find me at any moment. To be ignored entirely was an altogether new experience. I enjoyed it immensely.

Inevitably, however, it had to come to an end. After several days, I was summoned into the room at the back of the Chantry that had been converted into a makeshift strategy room. A great map of Thedas was laid over the massive table, held down at each corner by thick candles, the wax already melting into shapeless pools over the stiff parchment. So many displaced missives, scrolls, and books were laid haphazardly on any available surface not taken up by the map that I could well have believed a terrible storm had blown through just moments before. Standing around the table was the group I would come to know later as the Advisors Council.

V: Or “Terrible Threesome”, depending on who you asked.
T: Well, in those early days, maybe the “Fearsome Foursome”?
V: Ha! That’s good. Can I use that?
T: It’s all yours.

Cassandra and Leliana were both there, and two others - Cullen, the apparent commander of the Inquisition’s army, whom I recalled as the soldier we’d met on the battlefield on our way to the Breach, and a woman clearly born of nobility named Josephine Montiliyet, who seemed to be in charge of diplomatic matters. A wise move, in my thinking, as I had seen no evidence of diplomacy or tact in any of the other three present at the time.

Presumably, they’d intended to include me in their plans for the Breach thanks to my status as the only one alive capable of closing it. In reality, however, it quickly became apparent that they couldn’t agree on anything, least of all the best route forward to close the Breach. They all knew the Mark in my hand alone wouldn’t be enough, but while Leliana wanted to increase its power by recruiting what remained of the core group of rebel mages, Cullen vehemently disagreed, citing the danger inherent in pouring more power into a thing none of us truly understood.

I might have agreed with him on that notion, were it not for his proposed solution.

“Templars could suppress the Breach,” he insisted. “Weaken it so---”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana countered, to my relief. The very mention of Templars was enough to put me on edge.

“I was a Templar,” Cullen growled. “I know what they’re capable of.”

“You’re a Templar?” My mind reflexively went into a brief panic before I could regain control. I was alarmed, though of course it made perfect sense. All Templars had been summoned to the Conclave, just as the mages had. Still, the fact that it was logical that the Inquisition would have a Templar amongst its chief advisors was small comfort. Suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere else. The room felt confining, and my shoulders stiffened. Had I known that I would be forced to work closely with a Templar, I would have been far more obstinate about leaving.

“I was.” Cullen gave me barely a sideways glance. “But no longer.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. Templars don’t leave the Order, everyone knew that. They could certainly be excommunicated, but that tended to result in them living on the streets begging for scraps or anything they could sell for their next fix. A Templar cut off from the Chantry’s supply of lyrium was a sorry sight. Cullen didn’t look like he was hurting overmuch to me. And yet, now I was paying attention, he lacked the familiar stubborn aura of a Templar. Interesting. If the others noticed my skepticism, however, they gave no acknowledgement of it.

Cullen resumed his argument with Leliana until Josephine jumped in and pointed out the futility, as neither the mages nor the Templars would so much as agree to meet us at this point. The Inquisition, it seemed, was deeply unpopular since the Chantry had officially denounced us -- and me specifically.

“They still think I’m guilty.” I shook my head in disbelief. It seemed I was to be the public scapegoat of this disaster after all. I flexed my left hand, trying to quell the doubt that lingered in the back of my mind.

“Shouldn’t they be busy arguing over who’s going to become Divine?” Cullen sneered.

“I’m afraid that is not the entirety of it any longer.” Josephine sighed. “Some are calling her ‘the Herald of Andraste’, and that frightens the Chantry. The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring her.”

I recalled the whispers of the crowd back in the village the other day. They believed I spoke for Andraste. I scoffed. It was patently ridiculous. Solas had called it a desperate grasp at hope. It sounded like mild delusion to me.

Cullen asked how the notion had come about, and Casssandra explained about the many witnesses to my failed efforts to close the Breach, and those who reported seeing a woman through the rift where I was first found.

I frowned, trying again to form a clearer picture from the stilted fragments of memory from my time in the rift, again coming up short. The woman made of light, standing above, beckoning down to me. I had assumed it was a spirit. But Andraste? That wasn’t possible.

“You’ve tried to disabuse people of this notion I hope?” I asked.

“We have not.” Cassandra was blunt, surprised I had even asked.

“The belief that you are chosen by Andraste Herself is quite possibly the only thing preventing us from being stormed by the Chantry’s forces,” Josephine explained.

“That and the Chantry has no forces left to speak of,” Cullen added.

“You know as well as I that if they were united in this matter, they would have found a way to storm Haven by now,” Cassandra said. Cullen seemed to know better than to retort, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture that was neither disagreement nor acquiescence.

“In any case,” Josephine interjected with practiced patience, the merest stiffening of her shoulders the only indication of what might be annoyance. “The public’s divided opinion on the matter, coupled with the Chantry’s own in-fighting, are our saving graces for the time being.”

“‘The Herald of Andraste’. Quite the title,” Cullen sneered again. I was beginning to think disdain was the only emotion he was capable of. “One can hardly blame them for declaring blasphemy.”

“I’m no herald of anything. Particularly Andraste.” I raised my chin in defiance, stubbornly insisting they listen. I couldn’t let them hold up my name as some sort of idol to perpetuate their misguided faith.

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree,” Cullen muttered.

“People are desperate for a sign of hope,” Leliana cut in before I could retort. “For some, she is that sign.”

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong,” Josephine added.

And in the middle was me, pulled apart by both factions. I listened in dismay as they argued on for some time over how best to take advantage of the situation, wondering how I had managed to free myself from the Circle only to become ensnared in a new kind of prison. The walls were invisible in this one, but no less constricting. Even if I ran out that door and never stopped running, I would not get far before I encountered someone who knew who I was, what I was. The Mark’s glow was difficult to hide, even with gloves, and once my identity was known, those who found me would either want to worship me or turn me over to the Chantry. Or worse.

As I listened to their bickering, I felt like I was back at the forward camp, before reaching the Breach. Once again, I was being left out of the conversation centered around my fate. I sighed loudly, growing weary of having to insist on my own inclusion.

“Doesn’t anyone care what I think?” I practically shouted to make sure I was heard. The arguing paused. Four pairs of eyes turned to fixate on me. It made me hesitate, but I’d already started, and wasn’t about to stop. Trying to channel the righteous anger I felt in that valley, I continued. “I agreed to stay, but we all know I didn’t really have a choice. For whatever reason, I’m the only one who can close the Breach. Because of this.” I raised my left hand, flexing it open to display the ever-present green glow emanating from it, lowered it again. “I know I don’t really have a say in how the Inquisition moves forward, but I want to make it absolutely clear now that I will not participate in anything I find objectionable. And I won’t allow you to ignore me anymore. You don’t have to listen to my opinions, but you will at least hear them.”

I crossed my arms and set my shoulders, trying to emulate Cassandra’s adamant immovability. Josephine had the good grace to appear embarrassed, while Leliana’s face remained implacable as always. Cassandra had both brows raised but was otherwise calm, looking at me as a parent might watch a toddler’s tantrum pass without comment. Cullen seemed surprised and indignant, as if my reaction was entirely unwarranted and had come out of nowhere. Perhaps from his perspective, it had.

After a beat, they all exchanged glances, though whatever passed between them in that moment I couldn’t be sure. Cassandra nodded to Leliana, who looked between Cullen and Josephine. Cullen shook his head and sighed, apparently conceding some unspoken point. Josephine looked through the scattered papers on the table for a moment. When she found the one she wanted, she handed it over to me.

“There is actually something you can do.”

V: Heh, I forgot how much you and Curly didn’t get along back then.
T: It’s strange to think on now, but we hardly knew each other in those days. And both of us were carrying old ghosts around…
V: So, now seems like a good time to bring up how we ended up getting sent out on our first assignment to---
A: You cowardly worm!
V: A-Aveline! You got here quick. I was hoping you’d try the Hanged Man first.
A: I did. It’s not that big of a place, Varric. It didn’t take long to confirm you weren’t there.
T: I did warn him this wasn’t the best hiding spot.
A: Yet you let him stay anyway? I would have thought you of all people would remind him of his responsibilities.
T: I figured it would make your job easier if I kept him in one place.
V: Wait, you were just biding time?
A: Ah, sound thinking. You have my thanks. Viscount, let’s go. You have a trade agreement to negotiate.
V: Ugh, but I’m terrible at that!
A: That’s why Bran is doing the actual negotiating. But you still need to be there to make it official.
V: Seems pointless, if you ask me…
A: I didn’t.
T: Have fun you two!
V: I won’t forget this, Herald.

Chapter Text

We had been in the Hinterlands for three days now. Our official mission, as decided on by the advisors, was to rescue Revered Mother Giselle from the Crossroads, where she and her sect were in danger of the nearby fighting between the ongoing mage and Templar conflict. Unofficially, we were meant to put a good face on the newly formed Inquisition and do what we could to spread word of the cause. That was the agreed upon terms for allowing me to accompany the group out of Haven, despite my still somewhat precarious role. Despite my protests, it seemed the title of “Herald of Andraste” wasn’t going away any time soon, so as far as the advisors were concerned, we may as well use it to our advantage.

Progress was slow, partially due to the aggressively uneven terrain. Mostly, though, it was because of me.

Frequent stops were necessary to allow me time to catch up, or to give me a chance to rest. It was humiliating, made all the more awkward by Cassandra’s gruff stares. Solas was taciturn as well, but I had come to know this for his natural state, and learned not to take it personally. Varric, apparently not used to such tight-lipped company, frequently attempted to fill the awkward silences with jokes, or tales of his prior companions, usually featuring the Champion of Kirkwall prominently in some manner. This did little to lighten the mood; indeed, Cassandra only grew more surly with each tale.

For my part, I wasn’t able to contribute much to the conversations. I was regularly out of breath, whether from the exertion or from my clogged sinuses. My nose began running after the first day and had yet to cease, leading to more difficulty breathing, leading to me slowing what little progress we were making even more. Though it was yet in the early days of Spring, with a lingering chill in the air, I quickly grew overheated as my body was unused to such constant exertion. My feet ached with every step. Blisters formed and broke throughout the day as we made our slow way across the sprawling hillsides and descended through valleys.

As if to compound the issue, the Mark in my left palm alternated between a dull, throbbing ache that seeped into my very bones and an urgent, nearly painful itch that I soon realized indicated a rift was nearby. Per Cassandra’s orders, we gave them a wide berth for now. Glad though I was to avoid conflict in my exhausted state, that naturally meant more miles tacked onto our journey.

In short, I was miserable.

I was worse than useless; I was a burden, serving only to slow the others down. They were too polite to say as much, of course, if not entirely too polite to imply.

“Hold up!” Varric called out to the party ahead.

Despite its raspy quality, Varric knew how to make his voice carry when he needed to; by his own admission, a side effect of spending so much time in busy taverns and pubs. Of course, in the wide open fields, there wasn’t much impeding the replies from being heard, even at a distance.

“Perhaps we should make camp for the night?” Solas offered.

Cassandra’s sigh traveled effortlessly over the distance to me. She turned back from her place at the lead, the very picture of impatience with arms crossed and leaning back on one hip. I was too far back to read the details of her face, but my mind filled in the familiar frown likely etched there.

“It’s barely past midday!” Her tone was incredulous. “We need to make more progress or we won’t reach the Crossroads before they’re completely overrun.”

“At this rate, maybe we’ll get lucky and the fighting will already be over by the time we get there,” Varric muttered from a few meters ahead. He was trying to make light of it, but even he sounded frustrated. He may have fared better with travel than me, but we shared a general distaste for the wilderness.

I gritted my teeth, holding my tongue on the bitter responses that came to mind. It wasn’t their fault I was so slow. Instead I focused on placing one blistered foot in front of the other, continuing my weary progress forward. As I slowly drew closer, it became apparent that their attention had shifted; all three, now that Varric had caught up, were looking with interest at a point on the ground ahead, their voices now too low for me to overhear. Whatever it was, it was hidden within the tall grasses that marked the edge of one of many farmers’ crops in the area. I’d come to recognize them by their unnaturally uniform shape and size. This one looked to be growing wheat.

By the time I was within a stone’s throw, their hushed conversation abruptly ceased. Cassandra, avoiding both my gaze and the spot on the ground, continued on across the field. She said nothing.

“What is it?” I asked, trying to steady my heavy breathing.

“We should continue on.” Cassandra did not elaborate or break pace.

I glanced at Solas, who was carefully expressionless. He shook his head to me, and followed after her.

I continued forward to the spot they had been examining. The valley spread out all around us, coming up against the mountainous horizon on multiple sides. My feet ached all the more thinking of the distance between here and those mountains. It quickly became apparent what had caught their attention.

A small body lay face down, weighing down the grass and creating an odd sort of pockmark in the otherwise uniform growth. The maggots had been at him; he’d been dead for some time, though not so long he was unrecognizable as a young boy. I guessed him to be no older than ten. I’m ashamed to admit it now, but at the time I was grateful he lay face down. I was still unused to death, terrified of the thought of seeing his face, cheeks still round with baby fat, eyes open but unseeing. Three arrows protruded from his back, the blood from the wounds long dried, staining his plain tunic in small rivers that flowed down into the earth below him.

No other bodies were nearby. I wondered where his family was, whether they knew he was dead. I wondered who had killed him and why. I wondered what his name was.

“Bandits.”

I started; I hadn’t known anyone was nearby. Varric stood beside me, his expression uncharacteristically solemn.

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“Arrow shafts look homemade,” he nodded to the corpse. “Feathers are too messy, crudely fastened, probably from the local crows.” I frowned, tried to look more closely to see if he was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to stare for more than a moment. “His belt’s been sliced. Probably made off with a coin purse or whatever weapons he might’ve had.”

“Since when do you know so much about analyzing a dead body?”

“I’ve been around.” Varric grimaced. I decided against pressing for details.

“Why kill him if all they wanted was to rob him?” I asked instead.

“You heard the scouts back at base camp. The local supplies are scarce from… all the fighting.”

“From the mage rebellion, you mean.” I hadn’t missed the hesitation in his voice, and couldn’t help but feel defensive at the implication of a connection. “We only wanted freedom, not for… this.”

“I’m not saying that,” Varric raised his hands in a placating gesture. “But every war means innocents die. There’s no getting around it.”

“So we should all just accept our cages without question?” I felt the fury rise in me, heard my voice rise slightly.

Varric only sighed. “I’m not saying that,” he repeated. “All I’m saying is… Well, look at the kid.” I looked, forcing my gaze to remain steady on the body. He had sandy blond hair, cropped short, now disheveled and matted with dirt and grime. He looked thin, almost emaciated, as if he hadn’t had a full meal in a long time. His clothes were roughspun and ill-fitting, and far too thin for so early in the year.

I tried, for just a moment, to imagine what his final moments must have been like, how scared and in pain he must have been. Instead, my memory flashed back to another boy from my own past, his face stained with tears, his mouth open in a futile wail as two Templars dragged him away to the room on the top floor of Faxhold Circle.

All possible retorts I would have made grew quiet. I leaned heavily on my staff, reeling at the unexpected memory, and swallowed against the sudden lump in my throat. Varric watched quietly, ready to catch me if I should faint. After a moment, he handed me his canteen.

“Look like you need this,” he offered. I took it gratefully, drank, and promptly spluttered and coughed. A bitter liquid that was clearly not water stung the back of my throat. Varric grimaced. “Guess I should have warned you, sorry.”

“What in the void is that?” I managed between coughs, handing the dangerous brew back to him.

“Special brew out of Kirkwall.” He grinned. “Can’t remember what it’s called.” He took a swig for himself, then returned it to its place at his belt.

“Why don’t you carry water?”

“Oh I do. You just looked like you needed something stronger.” He started off after Cassandra and Solas. “C’mon, let’s not let them get too far ahead again.”

I sighed, or tried to; the deep breath in started another round of coughing. I spared one more glance at the body, then resumed limping after the others.

We didn’t make it to the Crossroads that day. Too many paths were blocked by the rough terrain. To my shame and no one’s surprise, I wasn’t as nimble as the others, necessitating much doubling back and rerouting. Eventually, Cassandra was forced to concede that we must needs make camp for the night, and we settled into a small clearing in a wooded area, with a small outcropping of rock jutting out to create a sort of makeshift ceiling of protection.

Of course, I was worse than useless with many of the tasks of setting up camp, just as I was with traversing the wilds. I did what little I could, and stayed out of the way the rest of the time. By the time the sun had sunk low in the sky and we had all eaten our cold rations - Cassandra refused to risk a fire - I was more exhausted than I ever remembered being. Eventually, I settled with my pack under the covering of rocks, seeking comfort in the solidness of its roof above me.

Solas came over to sit next to me as I unraveled my bedroll, offering a small pouch in one hand. “Healing salve,” he explained before I could ask. “For your muscles.”

I took it, gratefully, and began rubbing it into my shoulders. It smelled strongly of elfroot and something else - deep mushroom, perhaps - and relief was quick. I felt the knots begin to slowly unravel, and muscles I hadn’t even known were tense began to ease. I sighed.

“You seem to be having a rough time of it.”

“How could you tell?” I laughed without humor. “I spent most of my life in an aging seaside fortress meant to keep me imprisoned. I’ve not spent this much time out of doors since I was a child.”

“But the Circles rebelled, what? Almost three years ago now?” Varric asked from where he lounged against his pack.

“Some of them did,” I amended, not meeting his gaze. “Others took longer.”

Something in my tone must have signaled to both of them that topic was taboo. Varric changed the subject, and it was not mentioned again.

We settled into a polite unease, still unsure of each other, keeping conversations light and shallow. Varric pulled out a well-worn leather bound journal and began scratching notes into it with a charcoal pencil, muttering to himself every few minutes. Cassandra, in her quest to ignore Varric as much as possible, busied herself about camp: re-straightening her bedroll, unpacking and re-packing her bag, polishing her shield. It was quite impressive how much noise she was capable of making despite speaking not a word in all that time. Solas, in contrast, remained near me in companionable silence. I thought initially he might have been meditating until I noticed his eyes following the movements of various birds and small critters darting about in the trees and underbrush around us.

With so little energy left to me, I had no choice but to sit and recover. The salve helped somewhat, but my blisters needed to be cleaned and wrapped to prevent infection. I set about this in grim silence as my thoughts wandered back to the body we’d left in the field. Unsurprisingly, it did not improve my mood.

“We will sleep in shifts tonight,” Cassandra announced after a while. “I didn’t like the look of some of the houses we passed today.”

“Agreed,” Solas nodded. “Clear evidence that bandits have run amok in this area.” It was true, the few homes we’d seen had been abandoned, most with evidence of thievery and ransacking. I wondered whether we might stumble across the ones responsible for the body in the field.

“We should have lit a pyre for that boy.” The others paused in their debate of who would take the first shift to look at me quizzically, and I realized I’d said that thought aloud. There was an awkward beat before Cassandra spoke.

“Your concern is admirable,” she said, slowly. “But we cannot stop and burn every body we come across out here. I fear it will only be the first of many, and we do not have the time or manpower to devote to such a task.”

I nodded, embarrassed, and didn’t press the matter.

“Hey, you two finally agree on something,” Varric declared with forced enthusiasm. “Must be a miracle!” Cassandra scoffed in disgust, a familiar sound by now.

“You surprise me,” Solas said to me. “I didn’t take you for one to believe in such sentimentality.”

“Respect for the dead is not mere sentiment,” Cassandra argued, indignant. Solas ignored her, waiting for my response.

I was at a loss for a moment, not sure where the thought had come from. He was right; I had never been the sort to care overmuch for how the dead were treated. It had always been my way of thinking that any respect for the dead was solely for the comfort of the living. It wasn’t the disposal of his body that troubled me. I frowned, thinking.

Guilt. The word intruded on my mind, derailed my train of thought. But why should I feel guilty?

The boy from Faxhold. The library fire. A memory well over a decade old and yet as fresh in my mind as the image of that lifeless body facedown in a field.

“Theresa?” Solas’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. Cassandra had returned to busying herself by sharpening her blade near her bedroll. The scratching of quill on parchment continued as Varric tried to catch what light was left from the setting sun. “Does it pain you?” Solas prompted, gesturing to my hands; I’d been running my fingers over the Mark and hadn’t noticed.

I frowned, stilled my hands and tentatively flexed the left one. It hadn’t been hurting. I couldn’t explain the absent-minded gesture, and so merely shook my head no in response. He waited, relentlessly patient, expecting more. I hesitated, still unsure of the reason behind this mood that had come over me. I almost dismissed it entirely, but something in me wanted to confide in him, to trust that his interest was genuine. Perhaps a sense of camaraderie for a fellow mage. I swallowed, gathering my thoughts.

“That boy reminded me of another,” I started. “From the Circle. From many years ago.”

“I see,” Solas said after a moment. “A friend?”

“No,” I frowned, still unsure why this memory tugged at me so, after so long. “I barely knew him. He had only been there a few months, when…” I paused, took a breath, continued. “He’d been practicing spells in the library one afternoon. He shouldn’t have been, of course. He was only weeks into his lessons, no one was there to supervise him. But he was curious, I imagine. He lost control of a fire spell, and it spread quickly.”

“Naturally.”

“Within moments it consumed dozens of shelves of tomes and scrolls. He’d hidden in the farthest corner he could find to practice, you see; the gated section where the oldest and most valuable scrolls were kept.”

“Ironic, to lose so much knowledge to an accident brought about in pursuit of it.”

“Yes,” I agreed bitterly.

“You were able to quell the flames?”

“Eventually,” I nodded. “But it was a very costly mistake.”

“For your Circle? Or for the boy?” His tone was neutral, belying the darkness implied in that question.

“Both.” I looked up into Solas’s pale eyes with some effort. For some reason, I found it difficult to hold his gaze for long. “Do you know what the Rite of Tranquility is?” His mouth hardened into a thin line; the only outward sign of his inner thoughts. He nodded. The sound of Cassandra’s whetstone paused, resumed. Varric’s quill scratching had long since ceased. “They dragged him away from his bed the next night. Likely, they intended to get it done while the rest of us slept, but he made such a racket when they took him… ”

“They’d use such torture for a mere accident?” Solas kept his voice calm, but his eyes blazed and I could see the muscles in his jaw clenching.

“Tranquility is meant as a precaution, not torture,” Cassandra insisted, though whether she was arguing with Solas or trying to convince herself was unclear.

“Come on, Seeker,” Varric said, shaking his head. “You’re not that naive. Not after Kirkwall.”

Cassandra opened her mouth as if to counter, but said nothing. The name of the ancient city state seemed to hang like a cloud over them both. I’d heard stories of what happened there, had dismissed most of them as rumor and exaggeration. Now, though, looking at their hunched backs and haunted expressions, I wondered if perhaps more of it was true than I’d thought.

Maker knew, my own Circle had its share of horrible tales.

“Every mage lives in fear of it.” I lowered my eyes again, staring at my hands where they lay folded in the center of my crossed legs. “There was a room reserved for rituals that require Templars; creating phylacteries, Harrowings… and Rites of Tranquility. Our Circle was built in an ancient Tevinter lighthouse, so the upper rooms are only accessible by a single staircase. They marked the very top room exclusively for those rituals. Going up those steps can feel like a march of death when you know not every mage who ascends will come back down.” A shudder ran the length of my spine, unbidden, as I recalled my own Harrowing, and the uncertainty preceding it. I had been half convinced while being escorted ever upward that I was going to be made Tranquil myself.

V: Hang on, they didn’t tell you it was your Harrowing?
T: No, not until I was already locked in the room upstairs.
V: Why not?
T: *sigh* That’s a longer story than we have time for just now.
V: Why else am I here if not to hear you tell your story?
T: We can get to that if you like. Just, not today.
V: Alright, but I’m leaving a note in the margin so I don’t forget.

The others had been silent for some time, each of us lost in our thoughts. My words hung in the air about the camp like a fog, dimming the mood.

Solas sat very still next to me. Though I could not bring myself to look up, I could feel his gaze over me like a cloak. Suddenly, swiftly, his hands reached out to cover mine. It was meant as comfort, I think, but I withdrew reflexively, not used to gentle touch. I regretted my rudeness the very next moment. I looked up apologetically; however, where I expected to see offense, I saw fury. Not for me, I knew, but for my tormentors. The bitterness I felt was matched in his eyes, deceptively light for the burning rage they contained. A moment of understanding passed between us, born of shared experience. I didn’t know then what he had endured, but I knew better than to ask.

Then it passed, and he withdrew his hands, sitting back a bit and drawing his knees up close to him, laying both arms over them casually. Granting me merciful space.

“It is easy to see how Tranquility can seem like a kind of death,” he said. I nodded.

“The boy they brought back down was not the same one who was taken up. He went by the same name, had all the same memories, but he no longer felt emotion. He no longer...wanted...anything.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Cassandra said. “Tranquil aren’t stripped entirely of emotion, it doesn’t work that way.”

“It does,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could as I turned to face her. “It does work that way. A Tranquil may have preferences, but they don’t have desire. More importantly for the Templars, they don’t actively pursue those preferences. They obey, above all else. That overrides whatever they may...prefer. They’re made agreeable.”

Cassandra scoffed and shook her head, but said nothing else. I felt a familiar rage rising in my chest, but my response was interrupted by Varric.

“Why so extreme? From what I heard, your Knight Commander wasn’t anywhere near as demented as ours.”

And suddenly, I realized what was truly eating at me. The epiphany felt like the fog had lifted, and everything came back into focus.

“Some of the mages brought to Faxhold have ties to local noble families.” I didn’t elaborate on that fact; either they all knew the significance of my family name or they didn’t. I would not reopen that particular wound willingly. Not today. “Most don’t.” Solas frowned, not understanding. “That boy had no one. No important relatives to object to the Templars’ mistreatment. No one to seek redemption against the mages who turned him in.” I swallowed past my shame, continued. “That’s why it was so easy to point the finger at him. Why his punishment was so quickly meted out that the First Enchanter hadn’t even been consulted.”

“You were one of those mages.” His tone was not accusatory, but hearing it spoken aloud stirred up many conflicting emotions, and I had to lower my gaze again.

“Not me alone,” I shook my head, knowing I sounded defensive, unable to help it. “All of us were questioned. But I did nothing to try to hide the truth. I did nothing to try to protect him. And someone had to pay for all that damage.”

“If you are blaming yourself, don’t.” Cassandra now sat facing us, all pretense of sword sharpening forgotten. “You did what was expected of you. The Templars’ abuse of their position is not your doing.”

I did not respond, instead glancing aside at Solas. He raised his brows in mute alliance. It was not worth another argument, and I was tired, drained both physically and emotionally from the days’ events.

The others seemed to agree. Cassandra, offering to take the first watch, stood and stretched her long, solid limbs, and walked out several yards to what she must have determined was our perimeter. Solas rose from the ground in one smooth motion, making his way to his own bedroll where he’d laid it out under the open sky. Varric, no longer able to write in the low light that remained, put away his journal and pulled out a pipe to smoke.

I sighed, feeling suddenly very heavy. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to curl up into a soft bed and sleep for days. I looked forlornly at my own inadequate bedroll, with no pillow save for my travel pack, and a single blanket, too thin and itchy to be comfortable. I was too exhausted to care.

Still, I could not sleep yet. I quashed every screaming complaint in my body as I rose awkwardly to a stand and went to beg a spare piece of parchment and charcoal pencil from Varric. He obliged without question, lost in his own thoughts, and I returned to my spot under the rocks, patting down a bit of earth to make a flat enough writing surface. Despite the darkness, I found that the unsettling glow from my palm provided just enough light to write by. I was momentarily grateful that I was right-handed. At the top of the page, I jotted a quick note:

Hinterlands, Day Three - A boy of about ten, face down in a field, slain by arrows

Then, I folded the parchment neatly and stuck it in an inner pocket of my travel pack, along with the charcoal. Finally, I allowed myself to lie down and sleep.

Tomorrow would be another day. There would be more bodies without names. I meant to record as many as I could. Even if nothing could be done for their remains, at least this small remembrance might keep their memories alive in the Fade.

Chapter Text

“Theresa.”

A soft voice pulled me far too soon from my slumber. Slowly, carefully, I shifted under my blanket, feeling my muscles already protesting another night on the cold, hard ground. I opened one bleary eye to see Solas leaning over me through the opening of my tent, one hand extended, poised, but not quite touching my shoulder.

“What is it?” I asked, propping myself up on one elbow while I wiped the sleep from my eyes with the other hand.

“Smoke.”

I blinked, not understanding the brief response, but he had already retreated. I was left to don my outer gear in a state of half-awake confusion. Once I was dressed, I exited the tent with many a grunt and moan, my body still not recovered from the prior days’ exertions.

It was still dark out, adding to my consternation. Cassandra and Varric were both already up and readying themselves. Cassandra was buckling her sword belt, her bag neatly packed and slung over one shoulder, her shield over the other. Varric was making adjustments to his crossbow---

V: ---Bianca.
T: ...Must you?
V: Call her by her proper name and there’ll be no need for interruptions.
T: *sigh*

Varric was making adjustments to Bianca, his own pack laying on the ground beside him. Solas, who traveled lightest out of all of us and preferred to sleep under the open sky, had little more than his staff and a satchel to carry. He was lingering a few yards away, looking over his shoulder at us every few moments. For one as stoic as him, it made him look quite anxious to be on the move. Everyone’s expressions were solemn.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Solas spotted a smokestack during his watch.” Cassandra, still fastening her sword belt, gestured with her chin toward the western sky, in the direction Solas was waiting eagerly. Following her direction, I could discern faintly the outline of a dark plume of smoke against the night sky, rising steadily over the sparse treeline. “He insists we investigate.” There was barely concealed annoyance behind that remark; I suspected I’d slept through an argument between the two.

“It could just be another camp nearby,” I offered, still not understanding the urgency and less than happy at being dragged from badly needed sleep.

Solas shook his head. “I walked the Fade to see if there was danger. I felt fear and pain from that direction.”

“You can do that?” I was awestruck. We had no lyrium on hand. Suddenly his reticence about his past made more sense. Dreamers were a rarity, and fiercely hunted and policed by the Templars when discovered. Many thought the gift lost completely. Cassandra’s sour mood now also made more sense. I glanced quickly over at her, noting now that she was keeping her hand close to her sword hilt, had angled herself so Solas was always in her periphery.

Why would he reveal this to her? What could that smoke signify that was so vital we must leave immediately?

Given everyone’s mood, I decided against pressing the matter further. Instead, I went about tearing down my clumsily assembled tent canvas and rolling it along with my bedroll into my pack as best I could. My head was swimming with questions for Solas, but I dared not ask any of them while Cassandra loomed nearby, brimming with disapproval.

With my things gathered and my staff firmly in hand, we set off in the direction of the smoke, Solas leading the way. I kept pace as best I could, but before long I had once again fallen behind the others. Using my staff as support, I huffed and I hobbled after them, wincing as I felt my blisters breaking all over again within my boots. Determinedly pressing on, I managed to keep Cassandra’s squared shoulders and dark hair in sight ahead of me as, after some time, we approached the crest of a hill. Judging by the closeness of the looming cloud, now nearly overhead, its source was likely just on the other side.

I took a moment at the top of the hill to catch my breath, standing with the others who had all paused there. The sky was still dark, but grew lighter near the horizon; it was closer to dawn than I’d initially thought. The rocky outcroppings that cut through a good portion of the countryside here rose into a low wall that watched over the valley below like a stone guardian.

Following the smoke’s path backward toward the ground, I saw the ashes of a cabin that had once sat comfortably against the steep rockside, looking out upon the idyllic hills. Now, it was a smouldering ruin.

The smell of burning flesh hit me, carried by the smoke as it stung my eyes and coated the inside of my mouth. I coughed and retched, covering my mouth with the kerchief I wore about my neck. I was reminded, to my horror, of the charred bodies from the crater below the Breach, frozen in positions of surprise and anguish in their moment of death. I swallowed hard against the rising bile in my throat.

The others all looked as dour as me; they’d smelled it too. We were too late.

Even so, we were compelled to descend and get a closer look. As we approached, Varric and Cassandra both elected to cover their faces for protection, but Solas refused, appearing unaffected by the thick smoke. We stopped several yards back, out of reach of the flames. Solas looked back to me, holding his staff aloft and gesturing toward the inferno. I quickly understood his meaning.

Coming to stand beside him, trying to breathe as shallowly as I could even through my kerchief, I reached forward with my own staff, mirroring his stance. Pulling up that energy from deep within my core, I directed it into the staff, sending a burst of cold air and frost out the staff’s head and into the base of the flames. Solas did the same. Together, we concentrated as the flames balked, unwilling to cede their newly claimed territory but unable to withstand the steadfast icy onslaught.

It was going well, until the wind shifted and a plume of smoke hit me directly in the eyes, blinding me for a moment and forcing my focus to waver. My spell broke, and I collapsed to my knees in a fit of coughing. A hand was planted lightly on my shoulder, and without looking up I knew its source. I felt Solas’s steadfast stillness emanating through his palm, suffusing it into me. After a moment, I managed to regain control of my breathing, and rose to resume the spell.

It took some time, but we were eventually able to quell the flames, only the embers left still flickering with life. I received an approving nod from Solas, and felt a swell of pride, though I wasn’t sure why. It was a simple spell meant for a mundane purpose. Still, it was a small victory at the end of a long line of shortcomings on my part, so I did not entirely begrudge myself a feeling of success.

We’d come soon enough that the cabin wasn’t entirely consumed; there was still enough of the walls left to ascertain the size and shape of the home, enough of the furniture left to count two beds, a trunk, a cauldron still clinging to the remnants of a stubborn crossbeam that refused to collapse with the rest of its neighbors. Enough remained to tell a grim story.

Cassandra stepped forward, carefully picking through the embers. One wall was still mostly standing, blocking our line of sight. When she emerged on the other side, she was carrying a long pole with what looked like the burnt but distinct shape of a morningstar on one end.

No, not a morningstar.

I squinted, looking more carefully. It was a familiar design, meant to represent a snowflake, rendered in spherical shape, indicating its focus on channeling ice magic. This was a mage’s staff.

Solas bowed his head, his only outward sign of emotion. Varric swore. I felt the bile rising in my throat again.

“Apostates,” Cassandra declared. Her tone was saddened, but there was an underlying hint of judgement that I did not miss.

“A distinction without a difference, isn’t it?” The question sounded more bitter than I’d intended. Cassandra’s eyes shot a warning at me. I glared back, silent but defiant.
.
“Why didn’t they leave?” Varric wondered.

I stepped forward, shaking, but needing to see for myself. It didn’t take long before I saw what I was searching for; two bodies, burnt beyond all hope of recognition, skin crisped and blackened by the heat. The sickly sweet smell that was far too familiar to me now was overwhelming, and I was glad for the kerchief hiding my face. I didn’t want Cassandra to see my expression just then. Both bodies were near what used to be the door, arms outstretched in their efforts to escape.

“They were locked in.” Despite the lingering flames and embers around me, I felt an icy chill run down my spine. For a moment, I was back in Faxhold’s library, smelling the burning paper and hearing the frightened screams of my peers attempting to put out the flames. With the next breath, I was under the Breach, seeing the aftermath of the explosion all around me, blackened faces contorted in silent screams that would never stop.

“Theresa.” A calm, low voice cut through my panicked thoughts. Solas, standing beside me, keeping me grounded. My throat burned and my chest ached, but I held his gaze and managed to steady myself after a moment.

“Wouldn’t mages have been able to stop the fire?” Varric asked.

“Not if the ones who set the fire were Templars,” Solas said, eyes still locked with mine. I gave him a brief nod of thanks, and a small sign of reassurance that I was fine.

“Templars would have captured them,” Cassandra shook her head, shifting her gaze to him. Solas pressed his lips together in a thin line, but said nothing. I laughed, a short, derisive snort, before I could think to stop myself. Her glare returned to me, but I would not be silenced this time.

“For a Seeker, you’re embarrassingly naive about Templars.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice held an edge now, one I hadn’t heard before. I was approaching a dangerous line, but I could feel the rage rising in me. I clenched my hands where they clung to my own staff; the same staff I’d picked up in a moment of sheer desperation when demons had set upon me and Cassandra on our way to the Breach. Its design was similar to the one she was currently holding so irreverently. For some reason, that enraged me further.

“Templars are hate-filled zealots!” I spat at her. “Clearly, they’re using this rebellion as an excuse to exterminate every mage they can find!”

“And whose fault is that?” Cassandra demanded.

“The College of Enchanters voted to dissolve the Circles! The Templars had no right to---”

“---To do their duty and uphold their vows? The mages tore down the very system meant to keep them safe!”

“Safe?” I laughed at the absurdity. “We were never safe in the Circles. You’re forgetting I was raised in one. I could tell you stories of Templars that would make your blood run cold!”

“And I could say the same for your kind! As far as I’m concerned, every mage is now an apostate, and a danger to the public!”

“Then so am I! The only difference is you have a use for me! You need me to fix this disaster before you throw me to the wolves!”

I was right in her face now, so close I could smell the leather and metal of her armor. She held her ground, not giving an inch to the diminutive mage before her. Her knuckles were white where she clung to the half-burnt staff, held like a barrier between us. Somehow, she had the strength of will to restrain herself as I unleashed my fury at her. Solas was at my side again, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my blazing temper. Then, a hand grasped at my forearm, making me jump. I turned to see Varric, hand firm but gentle, not pulling me back but only trying to get my attention.

“Let it go, Herald,” he said softly. “We aren’t getting anywhere if we start tearing each other’s throats out.”

“You can say that?” I spat, refusing to be silenced. “You saw what was happening! You saw what the Templars did to us in Kirkwall!”

It was a line I’d never seen nor expected to look for in the even-tempered dwarf, but once I mentioned Kirkwall, I knew I’d crossed it. He grew very still, the cloth covering the lower half of his face shifting slightly as his jaw clenched. His eyes, normally kind and dancing with humor, now looked cold. A tense moment passed between us.

“Yeah,” he nodded. His voice was low, and he picked his words carefully. “And I saw the mages do just as bad and worse. Let it go. No one wins this fight, believe me.”

I wanted to say more, to keep yelling, to shout the injustice of all this to the Void at the top of my lungs. More than anything, I wanted to find the Templars who burned these two mages alive and deliver the same fate to them. But whether from the uncharacteristic sadness in Varric’s voice, or the steady presence of Solas at my shoulder, or the repentant silence of Cassandra, I felt the rage dissipate like a fire deprived of oxygen. I sighed, releasing the tension in my shoulders, and held up one hand in a gesture of surrender.

“Thank you,” he said, relinquishing his grip on my arm.

I didn’t reply. My left fist ached; I’d been clenching it so tightly I felt the indents left by my nails. I flexed my fingers slowly, and lightened the death grip on my staff with my right hand.

“I know you may not like it---” Cassandra started, but I didn’t wait for her to finish. I turned back toward the embers of the cabin and began sifting through the ashes once more. I wasn’t going to argue with her, but that didn’t mean I had to listen to what she had to say either. She was silent for a few moments, then heaved a sigh of her own.

A hateful quiet fell between us for several moments, punctuated by the crackling of lingering flames as they fed off the bits of wood and other fuel that remained. I concentrated on my breathing, continued flexing the fingers of my left hand in and out, wondering why the mark in my palm ached so.

Varric spoke first.

“Well, I think we all feel a little better getting that off our chest, don’t we?” His light tone had returned, but sounded forced, condescending, as if he were speaking to two children who had been caught fighting over a toy. It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Cassandra turned all her paused rage onto him, stepping toward him as she threw down the staff.

Whatever she was about to say - or do - to Varric was interrupted by a crash. The burning structure was already far from stable, and whether it was our shouting voices or energy inadvertently expelled by me - or just enough damage done by the flames - what remained of the forward-facing wall and crossbeam collapsed in a heap of smoke and ruin, right on top of all four of us.

Instinctively, I crouched down and threw my arms over my head. I waited for the impact, but after a moment when I was not buried beneath ash and wood, I tentatively looked up. My vision was awash with a translucent field of magical energy, coloring the world around me ever so slightly blue. I recognized the cool tingling of a barrier spell, and looked beside me to see Solas standing with staff held aloft. His face was a mask of concentration as he maintained the spell against the last of the falling rubble. A piece fell against Cassandra’s outstretched arms, who flinched but did not look pained. I knew from past experience that she would not have felt the impact; the flinch likely just a reflex.

“Quick thinking, Chuckles,” Varric said, his voice partially distorted by the barrier.

“You’re referring to me, I presume,” Solas said. Now the danger had passed, he lowered his staff, allowing the spell to fade. My vision returned to normal, and I saw the barriers retreating from the others as well. “I merely reacted, nothing more.”

“Faster than the rest of us,” Cassandra observed. “You have my thanks.”

“I do not want it.” Solas turned, not quite meeting her gaze over his shoulder. “But you are welcome.” Without looking to the rest of us, he walked off down the hillside.

Cassandra watched him go, brow furrowed in what may have been interest, or annoyance. I thought for a moment she might try to stop him, but she merely sighed and shook her head.

“Come on, we should continue on. The Crossroads shouldn’t be far.” She paused, and though I turned away I could feel her studying me. “There’s nothing more we can do here.”

She gave one last glance at the pile of ashes that had once been someone’s home, then shrugged her shield back into place, and started off down the hill after Solas. Varric looked back to me with a shrug and followed.

I heard their bootsteps growing fainter, but I stayed rooted to the spot, not ready to leave yet. I was being petulant, I knew, but it was nice to entertain the illusion of freedom, however fleetingly.

It felt callous to just leave the bodies where we found them like this. I took a moment to jot them down in my list of the unnamed dead, just under the boy from the field. Perhaps once we were able to liberate this Mother Giselle from the Crossroads, I could show it to her and request they send someone to collect the remains. It seemed rather more idealistic than I was normally given to, but the ever-present itching in my left palm reminded me that if ever there was a time for idealism, it was now.

Restless, I reached down, picking at the debris, until my hand came across something colder than its surroundings; a small trinket that somehow felt familiar. My hand closed around it and pulled from the ashes a small glass vial, charred like the rest of its surroundings, but still whole, the stopper’s seal unbroken. The telltale aura of a spell clung to it and, shaking it, I felt liquid move within. I frowned. Could this be a phylactery? Why would these mages be carrying their own phylacteries?

“Theresa?” Solas called from behind me. Likely he was sent by Cassandra when they realized I wasn’t following. I marked for the first time that he’d never once referred to me as “Herald”, and I felt a small surge of relief at that. To him, at least, I was just a person. “We must continue on.”

He was right, of course. We had a job to do here. I considered the phylactery for a moment, then, impulsively, threw it sharply to the ground. I took no small amount of satisfaction in the resulting shattering of glass and the gentle sigh of the spell dissipating. It was a redundant gesture; phylacteries were no use in tracking dead mages. Still, it felt good.

I gave the ruin one last look before departing. My memory lingered on the sight of the crater beneath the Breach, the bodies that remained, forever frozen in their final moments of life. The sense of immolation I felt when I closed a rift, or when I had stabilized the Breach; that feeling of being melted down and reforged, of being overfilled and drained all at once. I flexed my left hand.

We’d avoided any rifts we’d come across thus far, but we knew from reports that several of them had cropped up in the area. It was part of the reason we were here. I would be feeling that sensation again I knew, and likely soon. The thought left me restless. I suddenly wanted to be far away from this place.

Turning on my heel, I made my way down the hillside, joining Solas as we followed after Cassandra, toward the Crossroads.

Chapter Text

After our confrontation, the journey was tensely quiet. Cassandra stormed ahead of us, marching across the rocky terrain with little heed for any obstacles, leaving the rest of us to scramble after her. We had been sent to the Hinterlands with a specific mission, and she was determined that we should fulfill it as quickly as possible, anxious about the fate of the Chantry sisters, and Mother Giselle in particular. No more distractions would be tolerated.

I knew little of this Mother Giselle, save that she was a potential ally for our fledgling Inquisition. She had sent an urgent message to Haven asking for our help shortly after the Breach threw most of Thedas into turmoil. As one of the only Chantry officials willing to speak to us, we could hardly refuse the call. The only problem had been that, with all the myriad tasks that needed sorting in those days immediately following the Breach’s creation, there had been no one to send to her aid.

Until I had walked into an advisors’ meeting and demanded to be taken seriously.

“Pick up the pace!” Cassandra called back, loud enough to make me jump, even from yards ahead. Late morning sun glinted off the shield hanging from her back, bright enough that I could pick out the brown highlights in her dark hair. “If we hurry we may reach the Crossroads before noon.”

Varric and I groaned, knowing that meant hours of trekking ahead of us. Having been raised in the comforts of the city most of his life, he shared my distaste for wilderness travel. It had led to a bond of sorts between us. Solas paused to wait for us both to catch up. He smiled indulgently, but I did not miss the hint of amusement in his eyes. Reluctant though he was to speak of his past, he was clearly the best-traveled among us. He could easily match pace with Cassandra, but repeatedly slowed to prevent me from falling too far behind.

I had decided to be grateful for this, rather than embarrassed. Despite his reticence, he seemed to prefer having me nearby. His companionable silence was more than welcome, especially now Cassandra and I were emphatically not on speaking terms. In fact, her mood had grown sour enough that she was hardly talking to any of us. Mostly, she just barked orders.

“Hurry up!”

“Rest here.”

“Carry that.”

“Be silent!”

That last was usually directed at Varric, who continued to delight in egging her on. When he wasn’t being deliberately antagonistic, he would go on at length about one topic or another, determined that we not travel in silence. Occasionally he asked for our input, though for the most part it was a one-sided conversation. I began to suspect he just liked the sound of his own voice.

V: Excuse me?
T: Oh, I’m sorry. Are you about to tell me how stoic and tight-lipped you are?
V: You should be thankful! If not for me, the only other options you had for conversation in those days were Chuckles and Ser Barking Orders.
T: I wasn’t complaining. Besides, Solas was a great deal friendlier than most gave him credit for.
V: Yeah, maybe to certain people. You know, you weren’t exactly the most cheery traveling companion in those days either.
T: Oh, trust me, I’m aware of how insufferable I was. Like as not many still consider me so.
V: Yeah, maybe, but who cares about them?
T: You probably should at least a little, the way you go on so loudly in my defense…
V: Fancy titles and strongly worded denouncements don’t scare me, Herald. Now, where were we?

“Shit!” My foot caught between two rocks I hadn’t noticed in my path, and a jolt of pain shot through my right ankle. Solas was there in an instant, catching me and preventing me from tumbling forward.

“Are you alright?” he asked. He waited patiently as I leaned on his shoulder to awkwardly dislodge my trapped foot. To my relief, I was able to bear weight on it with little trouble. Not sprained, at least.

I nodded sullenly, muttering, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Cassandra’s exasperated sigh echoed back to us, and I felt my cheeks flush. As if I wasn’t already enough of a burden, now it seemed I wasn’t even capable of walking a straight line. These last few days seemed to be catching up with me, and our early morning and interrupted sleep hadn’t helped.

“Do not be frustrated,” he said, paying no mind to her bristling impatience. “It will take time to grow comfortable with travel, and I imagine you’ve not had the opportunity before this.”

“There wasn’t much call for camping skills in the Circle,” I agreed with a bitter smile. “And after I left, I spent most of my time in hiding rather than traveling.”

I did not specify the circumstances of my desperate flight from Faxhold. Nor did I add that the months following were tainted with near-constant terror, interspersed with mad dashes to a new location when I was discovered by templar hunters or outed as a mage to those around me. I was relieved Solas did not press further, again thankful for his introspective nature.

We gestured to Cassandra that all was well, and continued on picking our way down the steadily descending hillside toward the valley below. We were following what appeared to be an overgrown shepherd’s trail that hugged the rockside through the hills pointing downward, in hopes that it would lead to a main highway that connected to the Crossroads.

“Had you spent much time at all outdoors before then?” From anyone else it would have felt like a rebuke, but Solas sounded genuinely curious.

“We had a courtyard, of sorts, for gardening,” I replied. “We only got to use it if the templars approved. And only certain plants were allowed.” I smiled self-consciously, aware of how pitiful that likely sounded to one as worldly as him. Gardening duty had been one of the most sought-after chores at the Circle. The few times I was able to tend to the plants were among my few pleasant memories growing up.

“I’m sorry,” Solas said.

As an apostate, likely he’d spent his whole life avoiding Circles like mine. I envied him his freedom, not for the first time. I remembered something then, and was about to ask him about walking the Fade as a Dreamer, but just then our attention was drawn to Varric, who let out a loud groan.

“Are we there yet?” We all three looked over to see him leaning against a boulder, shaking one boot in his hand as several small pebbles fell out. “This is fun and all, but I really miss civilization.”

Cassandra, out of what little patience she had left for the day, marched over and stood looming, her shadow falling over him ominously. Varric squinted up at her with apprehension.

“You have been told your presence is no longer required, dwarf,” Cassandra growled, her fists clenched firmly at her sides. I was sure she would strike him, but after a few breaths, she regained control. “You can leave at any time.” With another huff, she turned on her heel and trapsed back down the hill, not sparing any of us another glance.

Varric, with a great deal more muttering and cursing (though he notably waited until she was out of earshot), roused himself and proceeded to refasten his boot laces.

“She has a point,” Solas remarked as we resumed our downhill trek. “You could have left at any time. Why have you stayed?”

Varric grunted. “I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this?” He looked upward, where the edge of the rumbling green shadow of the Breach still hung low in the sky, like a demonic constellation pointing toward Haven. He lowered his gaze and shuddered. My palm ached with the memories of that night, and I flexed it to ease the discomfort. For a whie he said nothing more as we walked. I thought that was the end of his response, but he continued, his voice uncharacteristically solemn for the second time that day. “Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky?” He shook his head. “Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.”

“Well said,” Solas remarked, either surprise or approval lightening his voice. Perhaps both.

I nodded my agreement, biting my tongue on the injustice of my own circumstances. I may not have had a choice, but I didn’t have the heart to detract from someone else’s selflessness.

V: “Selfless” might be going a bit far.
T: One of these days, you’re going to have to come to terms with the horrifying truth that you are a good person.
V: ...Naw.

“In any case,” Varric continued. “I’ll take this over the Deep Roads any day.”

“You’ve been to the Deep Roads?” Solas raised one brow. “I thought you said you were from Kirkwall.”

“He went there hunting treasure with Hawke,” I blurted before I thought to stop myself. A beat of surprised silence followed.

“You’ve read my book?” Varric chuckled, giving me a sideways glance. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a fan.”

“Nor I,” Solas remarked. “There must not have been much decent fiction in your Circle’s library.”

My face felt warm, and I lowered my gaze in hopes they wouldn’t notice my blushing. I’d eventually recalled why Varric’s name had sounded so familiar upon our first meeting. A copy of the Tale of the Champion had somehow found its way to Faxhold’s library not long before the senior enchanters first started their whispers of joining the rebellion. Indeed, I credited that book with finally convincing them things could not remain as they were for much longer. And of course, once I knew Varric for its author, it hadn’t taken me long after that to discern the reason behind Cassandra’s pointed animosity toward him. I had a belated laugh then at my initial suspicion that the two were old lovers, though I knew better than to share the joke with either of them.

“Sneer all you like, Chuckles,” Varric sighed in mock exasperation. “It’s gonna keep right on being my best selling work.”

“Much to the chagrin of scholarly writers everywhere.”

“I seriously doubt the scholarly writers are even a little bit threatened by---” But just then he was interrupted by a soft grunt as he bumped into Solas, who had stopped in his tracks right in front of him.

When I looked back, Solas was staring fixedly into the distance, head poised, listening.

“What is it?” I asked.

“We’re not alone.”

Solas’s answer was almost instantly followed by the ring of Cassandra’s unsheathed sword echoing against the rockside, as she turned in one smooth motion toward a voice calling from overhead. I turned to see, to my shock, a short, plump figure perched atop one of the rocky outcroppings near where she stood. Both their hands were held up in a peaceful gesture, but a bow and quiver of arrows conspicuously poked out over one shoulder.

“No need for that, Seeker!” the figure called out in a light, feminine voice. “I’m on your side.”

“You’re with the Inquisition?” Cassandra asked, making no move yet to sheath her sword.

The figure nodded, and leapt agilely to the ground, lowering the hood that shadowed their face to reveal a young, befreckled dwarf woman with strawberry blonde hair neatly pulled back in a braided bun.

“Yes ser, Lace Harding. I’m one of the scouts sent ahead of you by Sister Nightingale.” After a moment’s consideration, Cassandra sheathed her sword and took the young woman’s offered hand in a firm handshake. I blinked in confusion at the mention of a Sister Nightingale, but quickly concluded that could only be Leliana, recalling she had mentioned during our last meeting that she had scouts in the area sending her reports. Harding looked over the rest of us as we approached, her wide eyes stopping last on me. “You must be who all the fuss is about. It’s an honor to meet you, Herald.”

There was respect and awe in her voice, and I shifted uncomfortably under such reverence, nodding and mumbling something by way of greeting in response.

“We’re on our way to the Crossroads,” Cassandra said to her, all business. “What is the status?”

“Well you haven’t come a moment too soon,” Harding responded. “Things have been degrading quickly down there. You’re lucky you haven’t run into much trouble yet.”

“What happened?”

“Yesterday, a group of Templars came in and drove all the Inquisition presence out, declaring the Crossroads under their protection.” Her sarcasm at that notion made it evident such protection had not been asked for. “A nearby faction of apostates soon got wind of that, and they stormed in early this morning. The two sides have been in steady conflict all day.”

“And Mother Giselle and the other sisters?”

“Trapped there, until the fighting stops.” Harding was grim. “We tried to convince them to leave with us, but Mother Giselle refused. Said she wouldn’t abandon the people there.”

“But she’s still alive?” Cassandra sounded desperately hopeful.

Harding nodded. “But there’s no telling how much longer they’ll last. These people don’t seem to be distinguishing between their enemies and innocent bystanders.” Her gaze lowered momentarily to the ground, and a hint of sadness tinged her voice. I remembered the boy in the field, and wondered how many more corpses were littering these hillsides, belying the idyllic countryside. How many of them had been slain by mages?

No.

I suppressed that thought almost as soon as it surfaced, refusing to believe it.

“Then we haven’t a moment to lose.” Cassandra gestured to us, and told the scout to lead the way.

We resumed our trek with renewed urgency. Harding was in the lead now, nimbly navigating among the stones and tangled grass. Soon, we began to see the signs of fighting she had referred to. Here and there, fresh scorch marks or patches of frost told of battle spells. Occasionally, I spotted untriggered elemental mines, waiting patiently to unleash their deadly attacks on any who stumbled over them. Solas and I called out warnings, pointing them out where we saw them. The wildlife had fled the area, leaving the rocky hills eerily silent.

As we passed homes - most barely more than huts with thatched roofs and log walls, sealed with moss and half grown over with vines - we saw evidence of thievery and pillaging. Doors were broken and left open, and gardens were left unattended and overgrown. Some, like the one we encountered this morning, were set aflame and left to burn. To my relief, I did not detect the frighteningly familiar scent of burning flesh, but we could only hope the occupants had been able to vacate.

It was near midday when we first heard the fighting. The sun beamed down weakly from overhead, providing little relief against the chilled breeze of early spring. Despite this, I was sweating beneath my leather jacket and thick linen tunic. The little hairs on my arms and neck perked up with the familiar sensation of spellcraft in the air. Beside me, Solas tilted his head in the direction of its source; he’d detected it too. The ground had at last evened out, and Harding led us to a main highway, wide and straight, the dirt bare and firmly compacted from heavy travel, now ominously empty.

“It’s not far,” she said, pointing off down the road. “You should hit the Crossroads shortly if you go straight from here.”

“You’re not coming?” Cassandra asked.

Harding shook her head. “I left a group of scouts in the hills overlooking the fighting. I’m heading there, and we’ll provide ranged support. Just be on the lookout for arrows.”

“Don’t hit us,” Varric commented unhelpfully.

“Not to worry,” Harding said with a wink. “I’m a crack shot.”

And with that, she left us, deftly climbing one of the nearby trees and using it to lever herself onto the cliff above and out of sight. None of us heard her retreat. We were alone, with the sounds of fighting coming from ahead.

The others hurried forward, down the wide road. I did the best I could, pathetically hobbling after them. No longer waiting for me, they continued at their own pace, and the gap quickly grew between us. Even Solas was far ahead before long. Grimacing, I focused my attention on the slowly increasing sounds of fighting, coming from the cluster of buildings I now saw ahead. With every step, a knot grew and tightened in the pit of my stomach. When I at last reached the Crossroads, chest heaving, I found myself confronted with a fierce battle.

We hadn’t seen fighting - real fighting - since our attempt to close the Breach had failed. I had forgotten the chaos, the smell, the noise that accompanied a battlefield. Even then, that battle had been against demons. What I saw before me now were people that looked very much like me. They were scattered about a wide intersection-turned-town-square, surrounded by sturdy, single-story buildings, all a flurry of motion as each attacked and defended, a swirling maelstrom of violence.

Mages hurled spells, punctuated with flourishes from their staffs. I knew those spells, had been trained in the safe and lawful casting of them since I was a child. These were Circle mages, but they had long since abandoned their conditioning, casting indiscriminately in wide arcs and funnels, striking enemies and bystanders alike.

The Templars were no better, attacking with more mundane weapons, but wielded just as carelessly. I felt the familiar dip in connection with the Fade that was the Templars’ skill, but there were far too many mages for them to be able to suppress all of us. Unfortunately, they were compensating by mercilessly cutting down all in their path, staff or no.

Both factions had gone mad, and neither seemed to care for anything beyond killing as many of the other side as they could, no matter the damage to anything else.

I froze. There had only been one other time when I had been forced to fight people, and even then I had only templars to fend off, under threat of my own death if I refused. It was altogether a different experience than what I’d seen at the Breach, but no less horrific in my mind. I had never fought other mages before.

The few civilians left who hadn’t already fled or been cut down were desperately trying to stay out of the way. Somewhere in between them all were a third faction that took me a moment to place until I caught sight of one bearing the flaming eye that was Andraste’s sigil. Those were the Inquisition soldiers Scout Harding had mentioned.

Just as I made the connection, I heard a swift woosh as an arrow flew across my field of vision, striking a nearby templar soldier square in the chest, just as he was about to land a killing blow on a cowering civilian. The templar fell, gurgling as his mouth filled with blood, but still the poor woman stood rooted to the ground where she crouched, quivering with fear, mere feet from where I stood.

I moved forward and attempted to coax her into standing. She was near enough to the edge of the fighting that she stood a good chance of fleeing with her life, but as I gestured urgently to her, urging her to move, she shook her head and cringed at my approach, eyes wide in fright.

Unfortunately, out in the open as we were, it wasn’t long before someone took notice. Even more unfortunately for me, it was a mage who spotted us first.

She was several yards away. I locked eyes with her entirely by chance, but once she saw me, hiding or running were no longer options - for the woman I was beckoning to, or for me. I’m not sure why she decided we were enemies, or if she even thought long enough to make the choice. I suppose it didn’t matter either way. In one fluid motion that was both agonizingly slow and too fast to track, her staff turned on us and a funnel of flame burst forth from its tip.

I moved to counter, acting purely on instinct. I lifted my own staff with a surety come from years of training, and gathered energy to bring forth a blast of frigid air that carved a path through the flames, forcing them to turn split apart and sputter out harmlessly on either side of me. From behind, I heard the woman let out a terrified cry. I looked back, afraid she’d been burned despite my efforts, but instead saw her frantically running for the treeline that bordered the eastern side of the square.

Good.

That brief distraction cost me, however. When I turned back, I was struck full force by a stone projectile, shaped and accelerated by the opposing mage. Flung from my feet, I landed hard on my back and felt my head strike off the cobblestones, leaving me momentarily stunned. Pain blossomed from the back of my head all the way down my spine, radiating around to my chest where the Stonefist spell had landed.

I knew I had to get up, that a delay could be fatal, that the other mage would press her advantage as I lay there helpless, but I could not move. I wanted to cry out to her that I wasn’t her enemy, that I would have gladly helped her dispatch the templars, but the breath was knocked out of me from the rough landing, and all I could do was sputter and cough, trying to regain my focus. I saw her priming another attack, and realized she was going to kill me.

I had no time to think, only react.

The crackling energy of storm magic was there, waiting in abundance on the other side of the Veil. I reached out with my will and pulled it through, summoning a powerful lightning bolt down upon her. There was a deafening CRACK as it struck her solidly on the chest, then she fell to the ground, motionless.

I had only a second to scramble to my feet, as the sound had attracted other combatants. They quickly asserted that I was an enemy, and all at once I found a small group of mages descending on me. Frantically, I looked around for allies, but saw no one I recognized. I was alone.

I pleaded with the advancing crowd, tried desperately to make them see I was one of them, that I didn’t want to fight any of them. But all they saw was the body of their fallen comrade, slain at my hand. They attacked, and there was nothing I could do but defend myself.

Instinct took over quickly. I countered their attacks and unleashed a flurry of spells of my own, pulling the incorporeal energy through the Veil like flour through a sieve, willing it to take shape as I commanded. My staff was in constant motion, directing attacks this way and that in an arc before me. When one mage fell, another would rush forward to avenge them. There seemed to be no end to them. I hadn’t had cause for such prolonged, sustained use of my spellcraft since the Breach, and already I was starting from a weakened position, exhausted as I was from the days of travel. Even so, I refused to fall. When I ran out of strength to summon my own spells, I relied on the staff to channel the necessary energy to attack. With every spell that landed, knocking me from my feet, singeing my clothes and hair, freezing my limbs, I gave as good as I got. I kept my mind focused on the lessons I’d absorbed in my many years in the Circle, tried to pretend this was just another sparring session.

Battle has a strange effect on one’s perception of time. I don’t know how long it went on. I maneuvered through the street, keeping distance between myself and any attackers. I faced off against templar and mage alike, the initial horror of having to kill quickly overridden by my determination to survive.

Eventually, finally, it did end. Silence at last fell over the square, smoke and mist hovering close to the ground, lending an unsettling atmosphere to the scene. Bodies covered the square, blood staining the cobblestones below. Here and there, arrows protruded. The air was thick with the stench of death. Here and there, Inquisition soldiers milled about; some standing under their own power, others leaning on comrades. Those few mages and templars who hadn’t fallen were retreating. It seemed there would be no prisoners today.

I stood in the midst of it, panting and sweating, hackles still raised against a threat that had, for the moment, passed. Looking up, I noted the sun was still high overhead. It felt like hours since we’d first arrived, but the sun had barely moved. My hair had gotten loose from its braid and fell in a tangled black mass across my shoulders, tendrils clinging to my sweat-drenched face.

Slowly, I scanned over the bodies, dreading seeing a face I recognized. The chance was slim, but these mages had clearly been Circle-trained. I’d quickly lost track of the few survivors of Faxhold in the months after our desperate flight; it was possible some of those here had come from Ostwick. To my relief, however, none of the dead I saw were known to me.

The mechanical clanking of Bianca was heard some distance off, and I looked across the sea of bodies to where Varric stood, holstering the hulking weapon to its place over his shoulder. He saw me and nodded, a tired smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. He looked disheveled, but unhurt. Solas was not far from him, surrounded by bodies wearing Templar arms and armor. He looked to have not a scratch on him, but was leaning heavily on his staff as he caught his breath.

I began picking my way gingerly toward them, wanting to be near familiarity, when I almost stumbled over Cassandra, bent and kneeling above a body armed in Templar colors. Her sword, unsheathed and bloodied, hung limply from her hand. Her face was neutral, but her eyes were reddened, as if she’d been crying. She was staring down at the lifeless young man, her normally imposing figure shrunk down to human scale.

I hesitated, unsure whether I should speak, or what to say, but she broke the silence first.

“I knew him.” Her voice was flat, hollow, empty of its usual commanding authority. She did not look up. “His name was Jamis. I thought him a good man. Just now… I saw him cut down a mother and child without hesitation.”

I said nothing, watching her carefully. She was shaking slightly, whether from exhaustion or horror, I couldn’t have said. I had been lucky; none of the dead wore faces from my past. To be forced to cut down someone I knew, someone I once considered a friend? I felt a surge of sympathy for her. She had been willing to vouch for me when most would rather have executed me and been done with it. She had been the first to give me a choice - a real choice - and had stood by my decision afterward. Whatever she thought about the Mage Rebellion, she was the first person who ever placed trust in me. I could never wholly forget that.

Uncertain how to help, I stood beside her in silence while she recited the Chant in whispered verses. Whether my presence gave some small comfort or not, she gave no outward sign. Ever stalwart, it didn’t take her long to recover. Standing with a deep sigh, she wiped her sword on her pant leg and sheathed it. After a moment, she looked up at me. Almost immediately, her expression changed as she assessed my sorry state.

“You’re hurt!” she exclaimed, loud enough to catch the attention of Varric and Solas, who were approaching wearily.

“It’s not my blood,” I tried to say, only I couldn’t manage to get the words out. I realized I was swaying on my feet. Looking down, I saw a deep crimson stain running down my tunic. I had assumed it was from those I slew, but now I saw it was pouring forth from a large gash in my right flank. Something had cut through leather and cloth to tear raggedly at my flesh, and in my adrenaline soaked panic for survival I hadn’t noticed.

I looked up to the concerned expressions of my companions. Cassandra said something, but it sounded like it was coming from far away, and I couldn’t make it out. Before I could ask her to repeat, I swayed once more, coming up against something hard, and everything went black.

Chapter Text

V: Here.
T: I’m fine, I don’t need it.
V: Just take a drink. You’re tenser than a dwarven family reunion right now.
T: …
V: Better?
T: A little. Still hate the taste though.
V: Heh. Well, you don’t drink for the flavor. If you want we can take a break here?
T: No, I’m fine. I can keep going. There’s another good hour left of sunlight.
V: Alright, if you’re sure.

When next I opened my eyes, I was lying on a stiff cot, covered in clean, wool blankets. I was indoors, somewhere unfamiliar. Thick, wooden beams framed a vaulted ceiling above me. Sunlight streamed in through several small windows across the wall opposite me.

I shifted, and immediately wished I hadn’t as a wave of pain swept across my torso and forced the air from my lungs.

“Lie still, child,” a deep, motherly voice said from beside me. “Do not reopen your injuries.” I turned to my right and saw a woman kneeling there. Her skin, deep brown and marked by age, was only slightly darker than my own. She had kind eyes that looked down at me with genuine concern. The crisp white of the Chantry robes she wore marked her as high ranking. Her accent was strongly Orlesian, but she spoke in Common.

“What happened?” I asked after a few deep breaths.

“You were badly hurt in the fighting, and so were brought inside so the healers could mend you.”

Her hands gently pushed me back into the cot, urging me to relax. She moved the blankets and lifted my undershirt slightly, where I saw a bandage was wrapped around my abdomen. With deft, practiced motions, she checked the wound underneath for new bleeding. I lay quietly while she looked, my gaze fixed pointedly up at the ceiling, afraid to see the injury for myself.

“You lost quite a bit of blood, I’m afraid, but by the Maker’s grace, the healers were able to stop it in time. You’ll be weak for some days, though, until your body is able to replenish what was lost.”

She reaffixed the bandage in place, satisfied that I’d not reopened the wound, and lowered my shirt.

“Thank you,” I said.

“It is I who should thank you.” She took my hand in hers. Her grip was warm and firm, and she smiled kindly, the laughter lines in her face deepening. “You and your companions from the Inquisition have helped save me and my flock from harm, at great risk to yourselves.”

Finally, I pieced together who this woman must be.

“Mother Giselle?”

She nodded.

“Take this time to rest, child. You have a hard road ahead of you.” Her eyes flitted for only a moment over to my left hand, where the ominous, ever present glow of the mark shone dimly in the afternoon light.

“You know who I am?” It was a foolish question. She chuckled lightly, and I felt oddly self-conscious, like a child being patiently humored by a parent.

“You are the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste.” Her voice gave added weight to the title, reminding me of the awe with which Scout Harding had addressed me.

I shifted uncomfortably, but a twinge of pain reminded me to be still.

“Not through any choice of mine.”

That earned another chuckle. “We seldom have much to say in our own fate, I’m sad to say.”

“You agree with them?” I couldn’t help the note of incredulity as I asked.

“I do not presume to know the Maker’s intentions.”

Deciding not to argue the point, I looked around. I was in a long, rectangular room, with rows of cots to either side and across the wall opposite me. Likely once a meeting hall, now it served as a makeshift healer’s room. Several other beds were occupied, some attended to by Chantry sisters and mage healers in their cumbersome Circle robes. Most were resting peacefully, though a few were grasping at wounds while awaiting treatment. No one I knew appeared to be among them.

“Where are my…the ones I was traveling with?” I wasn’t sure yet what to call them. Allies? Companions?

“They are aiding in the preparations for the funeral rites.” Mother Giselle indicated toward one end of the hall, where a door stood open and through which I could see many people moving back and forth outside. Some were carrying bundles of wood or large sacks. Others, working in pairs, were carrying bodies. “So many dead,” she said, the smile and warmth gone from her face, replaced by sadness.

I noted the relatively small number of wounded, and swallowed against the urge to retch. I wasn’t yet ready to remember the battle, but the memories flooded my mind regardless. The blank surprise of the first mage I’d killed. The smell of singed hair. The stinging cold of a frost spell I couldn’t dodge. The dizziness of constant motion and hyper-awareness of my instinct to survive, to fight.

How many had I slain? Had any of my spells caught innocents in the crossfire? It was just like my final night at Faxhold all over again. Old memories of death mingled with new. Breathing was suddenly hard, and as I started to heave I felt a fresh burst of pain from my flank.

Urgent voices and a sudden flurry of motion sounded around me, and I felt cool hands pressed to my forehead and chest, holding me back. The coolness spread from those hands to my flesh, down into my core. It was soothing, not painful like the battle spells I’d endured; this was meant to calm, to heal. Looking up, I found myself under the care of a mage, her pale blue eyes glazed over in concentration as her spell worked its way into me.

Once the pain and nausea subsided, I nodded my thanks. She bowed low to me, smiling shyly, before moving on to another patient. She looked young, barely old enough to have passed her Harrowing. I wondered if she had even gotten the chance before the Circles were dissolved.

“You work with mages?” I asked of Mother Giselle, who was waiting nearby.

“Magic is no more or less evil than a soldier’s blade. Those here have turned it to noble purpose. There are others who have fallen prey to their darkest impulses and have become lost. They turn aside from the Maker’s purpose for them.”

I wanted to argue, but after what I saw today, I no longer had the energy or the will. I took stock of her once more, noting how she stayed on my right side. There was a hint of wariness in how she looked at me. She was studying me, just as I was her.

“Why did you send for us?” I asked.

“I sent for you.”

“Me?”

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement,” she said, coming to sit next to me once more, still on my right. “And I’m familiar with those behind it. But you are an unknown. I wanted to see the truth behind the tale for myself.”

“And now that you’ve seen me?”

She said nothing for a moment, studying me again. At last, she looked over to my left hand. Realizing I’d been clenching it into a fist, I relaxed, flexing it outward, causing the green glow to tint the golden brown of her eyes in the instant before she looked away again. She muttered something to herself, and I detected the familiar rhythms of the Chant. Regaining her courage, she met my eyes again. Whatever she saw there seemed to comfort her; it eased her shoulders, and smoothed the tension from her face.

“I honestly don’t know if you were sent by fate to help us, but I hope.” She sounded more confident than her words indicated. “Hope is what is needed now. Hope, to combat the fear. Fear makes us desperate, but not beyond reason. Those who decry you as a heretic have heard only frightful tales of you. Go to them. Give them something else to believe. Show them you are no demon to be feared.”

“They want to execute me, and you think I should just walk up to them?” I raised one brow in doubt, unsure if she was aware of how impossible a task that sounded to me.

“You are no longer alone. They cannot imprison or attack you.”

“They can try.” They would try. I remembered the determined fury on Chancellor Roderick’s face as he’d stormed out of Haven’s chantry.

“Let me put it this way.” She paused, picking her words carefully. “You needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to… doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you receive the time you need.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

She sighed, a sad sort of exasperation in her face now. “I won’t lie to you. Many of the remaining clerics are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the next Divine. And in that goal, you are an obstacle.” I blinked, unsure how to interpret that. “The people will listen to your rallying call as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a powerful force that could deliver us… or destroy us.”

I could think of nothing to say. I wanted to laugh, and to cry. I wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear from the waking world. I wanted to get up and run out the door of that hall and never stop running until the land itself stopped and met the sea. What I did instead was stare, blinking, back at Mother Giselle, this powerful woman who had just laid the fate of Thedas at my feet and smiled indulgently at me as if she were providing a great favor.

It would have been comical, if it wasn’t so terrifying. I thought of Cassandra scoffing at the very idea of me at the head of the Inquisition. Then I remembered that she had taken to calling me the Herald herself. And she wasn’t alone. The title was spreading faster than we had thought possible. Just as I’d feared upon first hearing it, wherever we went my left palm betrayed me, and those who recognized the mark looked on me with a reverence that left me profoundly unnerved.

Mother Giselle left me then, with the firm but gentle directive that I was to lie still and rest until the morning. I took the opportunity, grateful to have the small comfort of a bed above the ground for a change. One of the Inquisition’s scouts came to check on me after some time, and must have reported my condition to Cassandra, who came to my cot asking after my welfare.

Neither of us spoke of the battle, but I noted a gentleness to her tone that hadn’t been there before. For my part, I found my own bitterness had softened toward her. For the moment, at least, we seemed to have forged a truce.

Solas and Varric came to check on me as well, both noticeably glad I was recovering. It warmed my heart more than I cared to admit at the time to be the subject of such concern. It had been a long time since I’d felt cared for in such a manner. I made sure to thank them for getting me to the healers so quickly, and expressed my relief that all three were relatively unharmed from the battle. Both men brushed off my comments in their usual manner - Solas with quiet grace, Varric with casual bravado - then returned to their duties aiding in the clean up.

By the time the sun’s light through the windows had started to fade to a deep red, much of the activity outside had calmed. In the twilight, I could hear Mother Giselle’s voice, clear and confident and mournful, reciting the last rites. The telltale crackling of flames and the scent of smoke soon followed as the funeral pyres were lit. They would burn long into the night. Settling myself down under the blankets, I finally allowed sleep to take me.

Unfortunately, I was to find no solace in sleep that night.

I dreamt that I was one of the bodies lying on the funeral pyre, with mourners surrounding me, reading the last rites. No matter how I shouted and screamed, I could not drown out their recitations. No matter how I thrashed and kicked, I could not lift myself from the pyre. When the flames started to rise around me, I was helpless to stop my own immolation. It felt just like the Breach.

I awoke in a cold sweat at dawn with the dream vivid in my memory. My wound was healed, and the pain was gone. What remained instead was a lingering sense of dread. I didn’t know it then, but that dread was to be my constant companion for a long time afterward.

Chapter Text

“You’re leaving.”

The voice stopped me in my tracks, and I turned to face Solas, who stood not three paces behind me. It was dark, but the night sky was clear and the moon nearly full. I could see he was wearing his coat, satchel slung across his shoulder. Leaning idly on his staff, he looked for all the world like he’d been waiting here for me. I hadn’t heard even a hint of his approach.

“How did you…?”

“You’ve had your eyes fixed on the horizon since the moment I met you,” he answered with the barest hint of a smirk. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you tried this.”

“And you’re here to stop me?”

I was already calculating my chances of getting my staff out before he could disarm me. A wide cast without the staff would be faster, but less controlled and more noticeable. That was the last thing I wanted. The camp was still fast asleep behind me - behind us - and I wanted to keep it that way.

“Do I look as though I intend to stop you?” He made a gesture that encompassed himself, staff, satchel, and all.

“You want to come with me?” I was dubious.

“You’ll note that I am not standing in your way.”

He was still leaning on his staff, deceptively casual. I wasn’t fooled; I had seen him cast often enough to know he could have it readied in a blink if need be.

“Why?”

Solas shifted his weight, taking a deep breath of the frosty air, exhaling wisps of fog. Unlike Haven, the Hinterlands lay below the snow line. Still, spring was slow to catch on this close to the mountains, and the temperature dropped quite low most nights. He seemed unbothered by the chill.

“Because, though I am loathe to admit it, I agree with Cassandra,” he said. His smirk widened slightly, though still did not reach his eyes, giving him a rueful expression. “Surely you’ve noticed how most greet you when they realize who you are?”

“I don’t intend to introduce myself as Andraste’s Herald everywhere I go.”

“Of course,” he acknowledged with a small chuckle. “But it’s hard to hide the most obvious indication of that title.”

He was right, of course. Even with the thick leather of my glove covering it, the unnatural glow emanating from my left palm was barely dimmed, making anonymity impossible. Everywhere we went, people quickly marked me as the Herald of Andraste, and their reaction was always exactly as I’d feared; either they were awe-struck or terrified. I was either an idol of worship, or a demon to be exorcised.

And every time I saw their faces change, Mother Giselle’s words echoed in my mind.

“The people will listen to your rallying call as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a powerful force that could deliver us… or destroy us.”

Whether I wanted it or no, I had become the face of the Inquisition. No, worse than that; I was their icon. A puppet, to be brought out and used whenever needed. Because I had an ability no one else possessed. Or understood.

We were not far from a rift even now, I recalled bitterly. We passed it on the way to the farmlands, where we’d made camp for the night. Maker knew how many more were scattered across the Hinterlands, or all of Ferelden, for that matter. We had even been getting reports that they were appearing in Orlais. There truly may not be any escape from this curse.

Solas was infuriatingly quiet, his unspoken surety grating at me.

Cassandra had deemed getting to the Crossroads a higher priority, and so the rifts had been left unaddressed our first few days here. Now the area was under Inquisition control, however, the rifts needed to be dealt with.

On her orders, we’d spent the last few days wandering the countryside chasing after reported sightings. And where there were rifts, demons were sure to be nearby, for they vigorously defended their portals into the waking world. Which meant each discovery required fighting, which was harrowing and taxing all on its own. Then there was the closing of the rifts themselves. Each time, I was left feeling both drained and overfilled, broken down and reforged.

It was exhausting, to say the least.

To make matters worse, there were still rogue factions of the templar-mage war, determined to wreak as much havoc on the peaceful farmlands and hillsides as possible. So, in addition to fending off demons and closing rifts, I’d been fighting mage and templar alike, forced to strike down those I had once counted allies, kin. Raised under the cruel blades of the Order as I had been, I could understand the rage that made them want to continue the war, but seeing fellow mages lowered to such depravity hurt more than I could admit to the others.

The physical toll was one thing, but nothing could have prepared me for the emotional torment of these last few days. It had become too much to bear. So here I was, ready to flee, desperate to escape. Running away in the middle of the night, like a coward.

“This isn’t my problem to fix!” I hissed at Solas, tears blurring my vision. I wiped at my eyes roughly, furious at their betrayal.

“No, it isn’t,” Solas agreed.

“I didn’t create this mess!”

“I know.”

His face was impassive as he looked back at me, unblinking at my growing rage. How could he be so certain? I was incensed, and he was being far too agreeable. I threw down my staff and closed the gap between us, grabbing a fistful of his coat in my right hand and thrusting my left palm into that damnably calm face. He didn’t so much as flinch.

“Why should this cursed thing mean I have to stay and risk my life for people who would just as soon hang me for a blasphemer and a murderer?” Now I was nearly shouting, but Solas remained still, unblinking. “Why am I the one who has to fix this?”

“Because you are the only one who can fix this,” Solas said simply, an ocean of sympathy evident in his pale eyes.

I knew his words for truth, but I hated him all the more for speaking it. I released my grip. I was trembling, tears blurring my vision once again. This time, I couldn’t stop them, and they fell in twin trails down my cheeks. I wanted to run, but I was too afraid to be on my own. A sob tore from my throat, and I turned away in a vain attempt to hide my grief.

For a long while, neither of us spoke. The camp remained silent behind us, and the only sound came from my own ragged breathing. It took time to regain control over my emotions, but Solas remained patient behind me. Finally, I was able to speak.

“Would you really let me go?”

“Yes.”

“But you would come with me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I believed him, but I couldn’t understand. I’m not sure why I needed to know, but the answer suddenly felt very important.

“Because you are both right and wrong,” he said. I heard footsteps, felt him approach. Still, I didn’t turn, not ready to look him in the eye. “None of this is your fault, no. But it is your responsibility.”

“You don’t know that!” I turned then, defiance rising in me, outweighing my shame. “You can’t possibly know this isn’t my fault! Even I don’t know this isn’t my fault!”

There it was. The nagging doubt in the back of my mind that I’d been trying so hard to ignore, to push down and repress, spoken aloud at last.

What if I had caused the explosion?

“You didn’t do it,” Solas said. A simple statement, so confidently given. It left no room for doubt.

“How do you know?” I demanded.

He merely shrugged. “Because I know you. Whatever the circumstances may be that led to you receiving that mark, they were not of your making.”

I tried to take comfort from that, but still the injustice of it all left me feeling defeated.

“But it’s still apparently my responsibility to undo?”

“It’s not fair,” he agreed. “But fairness is a small concern when we are weighing it against the fate of all of Thedas.”

How could I possibly argue with that?

“Are you always so damnably sure of yourself?” I asked. I tried to sound bitter, but the anger had left me almost entirely, like a great wind had died, leaving only quiet. I breathed deeply of the night air and let out a heavy sigh. The cold was normally bracing, but tonight I hardly felt it, too wrapped up in my own thoughts as I was. Reaching down, I picked up my staff, then straightened and faced the tents with their sleeping occupants.

“Most of the time,” he said as he came to stand next to me. “It’s not a virtue.”

“Neither is cowardice.”

“You are no coward.”

“Aren’t I?”

Solas turned to face me, smiling his sad smile. “You didn’t leave.”

Without waiting for my response, he strolled forward and returned to his bedroll where it was propped against a tree trunk, never once looking back at me.

So damnably sure.

Shaking my head, I returned to my tent, unburdened myself of my pack and lay my staff next to my bed roll. Then, too restless to sleep, I went outside to instead sit beside the dying embers of the campfire, and watched the moon sink low in the sky. By the time it had grown too faint to see and the sun’s light had started creeping up from the horizon, I was woken by Cassandra’s firm hand shaking my shoulder. She was telling me to get a bowl of porridge to give me strength.

Today we would tackle more rifts.

V: So, how many times did you try to escape?
T: That was the last time.
V: Really? Huh…
T: You sound disappointed.
V: Seriously? I mean, maybe I should be, but ever since you told me about that first time with Cassandra on your way to the Breach, it got me thinking.
T: Oh?
V: It’s honestly pretty surprising you didn’t try to escape more than that. Or that it was Chuckles who dragged you back instead of, you know, the Seeker.
T: No, I’m sure she suspected, but she never said anything. And Solas had promised to keep that night between us.
V: Hmm.
T: What?
V: Nothing, just… I guess I missed more than I thought.
T: You’re not the only one.
V: You okay?
T: Actually, do you mind if we take a break for today? I need to--
V: --Yeah no problem, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a stack of letters I’ve been neglecting anyway. Just let me know when you’re ready for another session.
T: Thanks. Oh, here’s your flask back.
V: … Keep it.

Chapter Text

Returning to Haven was a strange experience for me. It struck me when we first spotted the sharpened points of logs that served as its perimeter wall poking above the treeline; not so much the makings of a secure fortress as a stern insistence on isolation. As we navigated the snow-laden forest, I wondered if this was what coming home felt like for most people. Though I had only spent a few scant days there prior to my excursion to the Hinterlands, it had become familiar. And returning to a familiar place was a wholly foreign concept.

I had only vague memories of my family’s estate before being carted off to the Circle at age twelve. Thereafter, Faxhold had been home, but of course I was never permitted to leave it - until I was given no choice. Even then, returning was altogether an impossibility, for several reasons. After that, nowhere was home, as at any moment I could be forced to flee whatever hiding place I’d secured, never to return. It had begun to feel as though familiarity had become a luxury I could no longer afford.

Yet here I found myself, in the company of those I had begun to know well, returning to a place of peace and welcoming. A strange experience, indeed, but also comforting. Now, I saw it with new eyes.

I marveled at the orange and red hues of the setting sun, reflected off the flat, stark whiteness of the frozen lake. The semi-sweet scent of wild elfroot conflicted with the sharp bitterness of deathroot, all layered over the crisp pine which grew in abundance here. Some of the villagers were out picking the valuable herbs and placing them in large baskets hung from their waists. And everywhere, snow spread across the ground like a thick blanket and hung from the tree branches in patches, weighing them down. In the valley below, spring was beginning to take hold. Up here, nestled amidst vast mountain peaks, winter was still in full force.

The biting cold of the wind made me shiver, and I pulled my cloak tighter with one hand. The other held fast to Cassandra’s belt, keeping me in place behind her on the saddle we shared. Our mount - an even-tempered, chestnut brown mare - pricked her ears this way and that at the myriad of new sounds as we continued our approach. Beside us, Solas and Varric shared a dappled white and grey gelding; Solas in front, guiding the reigns, Varric behind, clinging to his waist much like I clung to Cassandra’s. We shared a private look of annoyed resignation at the indignity.

After patrolling the Hinterlands for several weeks, we had finally managed to quell enough of the fighting from bandits, mages, and templars to reach a besieged horse breeder by the name of Dennet. Harding - none the worse for wear after the Crossroads battle and newly promoted to lead scout - had pointed us in his direction. It was well done, for his prowess with the beasts was greatly lauded by not just the local farmers, but many noteworthy noble families and military commanders across Thedas.

With great effort, we managed to convince him to lend his expertise - and mounts - to our cause. That had convinced Cassandra that we deserved some down time. Finally, after weeks of sleeping on uncomfortable, root-infested ground and walking for hours on end, of fighting demons and crazed templars and, sadly, even mages, we could return to what had become the main base of operations for the Inquisition. It was no exaggeration to say we were all looking forward to a hot meal, eaten at a real table, and falling asleep on a soft bed, under a solid roof.

As we approached the modest outer gate, the landscape suddenly emptied; many of the trees in a wide berth from the wall had been cut down. Almost immediately once we passed under the gate, we could see why.

The Inquisition’s three advisors - the Terrible Threesome, as Varric had taken to calling them - had not been idle while we were gone. The field that nestled between the lake and the inner wall had been flattened and cleared of all underbrush, and the felled trees had there been put to a multitude of uses.

Practice dummies and archery targets were arranged in rows, and a great number of soldiers - many more than when we left - were wailing away at them with training swords. Nearby, watchful trainers alternated shouting praise and rebukes, at times stepping forward to demonstrate a proper grip or point out an error in technique. I noted with apprehension how many of those trainers wore the flaming sword of Andraste on their breast.

Every spare inch of the grand field that wasn’t dedicated to training was given over to an erratic and haphazard sea of tents, all presumably occupied by refugees, from their plain clothes and lack of arms or armor. In fact, many looked not so different from the farmers and villagers in the Hinterlands. The sheer number of them was staggering; there must have been hundreds, and these were in addition to those already crowded into Haven proper. As we descended the sloping hillside within the outer gate, we could see in the center of the tent city a great line of men and women, elderly and children, waiting for their helping of whatever was being served by heaping spoonfuls from several large cauldrons hanging above smouldering fires.

I could hear a smith’s hammer ringing and, looking up, I saw smoke pouring from a chimney above what could only be the armory, hugging the inner wall. As I observed, a young elf barely past childhood was carting a wheelbarrow full of fresh-forged swords, steering it toward the training grounds.

Several new buildings had gone up as well; hasty constructions that likely were only meant as placeholders until more permanent arrangements could be made, all jutting out at odd angles from unexpected places.

And everywhere people bustled back and forth.

Haven had become very busy in our absence. And very noisy. Bitterly, I wondered at the odds of me actually getting any sleep tonight, after all.

“Cullen has done well,” Cassandra voiced her approval, looking out over the scene.

I gave no response; in truth, it all looked like pandemonium to me. As well, my mood soured at the reminder that a templar was in charge of all those trainees. The thought made my skin prickle, and with every group of soldiers we passed, I couldn’t help but feel like a target they were sizing up.

“Cassandra!”

A voice called out, and we all turned to see Commander Cullen himself, standing not far off and waving us over. His full chest plate reflected the setting sun as he stood facing us, leaving me with nothing but a silhouetted impression of his ridiculous pauldrons to identify him by. Cassandra returned his wave and veered our shared mount over to him. As we approached, he was finishing a discussion with another soldier, who promptly hurried off in the direction of the armory. The Commander turned to appraise us with a quick nod.

“Good to see you all returned safely,” he said. I did not miss the quick darting of his eyes over to me as he spoke.

Yes. I defied him silently with an inscrutable stare. I’m still here.

Remembering my near-escape a fortnight ago, however, I remained quiet. Thankfully, Solas had kept that night between the two of us, but I still cringed at its memory. I hoped no one ever learned of my moment of weakness; that shame, I would keep to myself.

Cassandra dismounted, swinging one leg smoothly over the horse’s neck and landing with solid grace in front of the Commander. The two shared a warm handshake, and for a fleeting moment I thought I even saw Cassandra smile, ever so slightly.

“It is good to be back,” she responded. “You’ve done wonders here.”

“Things are still barely organized chaos.” He waved off her compliment. “Still, we were happy to receive the influx of recruits out of the Hinterlands. It seems you’ve not been idle yourselves.”

He looked over to me again, where I was gingerly attempting to make my own way down from the saddle. Realizing I was under his scrutiny, I hesitated and my foot caught in the stirrup, nearly tumbling me face first into the dirt. Cassandra, belatedly noticing my struggle, reached out a steady hand, which I took, and managed to plant feet to ground without further humiliation. Even so, I heard Varric snicker behind me from his vantage point, still saddled behind Solas. The Commander coughed into his fist, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was covering a laugh of his own. Wonderful. I glowered down at the ground, my mood now thoroughly ruined.

“Sister Leliana’s scouts have sent reports of your activities,” he continued after a moment. “Mother Giselle arrived only a few days ahead of you, and she’s brought many refugees with her who attribute your interference with saving their lives. She herself says it was you who convinced her to join our cause.” That last was meant for me, and I frowned, looking up to meet his appraisal. “Well done.”

I mumbled somewhat in response, too distracted trying to find the hint of sarcasm in his words or see the edges of the trap to be properly gracious for the compliment.

While I was in my thoughts, he and Cassandra spoke at some length about the newly erected training grounds, using terms and phrases I was unfamiliar with. Varric and Solas had both dismounted, coming to stand next to me and mutter about whether they were still needed. I shifted from foot to foot, impatient to be on my way as well. I had just begun to wonder whether anyone would notice if I just wandered off when the Commander finally seemed to remember his courtesies.

“You must be exhausted,” he said to all four of us. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid Sister Leliana and Lady Montilyet will want your report straight away.” He ran one gloved hand across his wheat-blond hair, where it came to rest at the back of his neck for a moment before returning hesitantly to hang from his belt. “You’ll find them both in the strategy room, most like.” He gestured toward the chantry.

Cassandra, to her credit, only sighed with mild annoyance, nodding. Then, pausing, she asked, “Shouldn’t you also be there for our report?”

“Mmm? Oh, I… Right. I suppose so.” He seemed genuinely surprised by the notion, though I couldn’t fathom how one could forget a thing like being appointed lead commander of an entire army. “I’ll be there momentarily. There are still some things here that require my attention. Do not wait for me if I’m delayed.”

He was already walking off toward an incident he’d noticed unfolding between two of the recruits; it appeared a disagreement was about to turn physical. He was yards away before his strong bellow sounded, echoing over the field and causing many who heard it - myself included - to jump in surprise. With other business pressing, however, we did not stay to witness its resolution.

We continued on toward the inner gate, and I could see the steepled chantry rooftop looming above the other buildings. Solas and Varric quickly veered off toward the pub once we were past the inner wall. I attempted to follow, but didn’t get far.

“Mistress Trevelyan, if you please,” Cassandra beckoned. “Leliana and Josephine will want to question you regarding your conversation with Mother Giselle, among other things.”

I resisted the urge to groan in frustration, barely. I’d been hoping the Commander’s remark about reporting had not included me. I caught the tantalizing aroma of whatever was being served from the pub; some sort of thick stew, I guessed. My mouth began to water, and my stomach grumbled its protest at the delay.

“Surely you’re better suited to give them any information they require?”

“You are the Herald of Andraste. Your thoughts on these matters are important.”

I had to appreciate the irony; now, when I wanted nothing more than to be left alone, they sought my council. Still, I could hardly protest if I wanted to continue being included in such meetings. With a resigned sigh, I allowed myself to be led up the path, away from the warm light of the pub and toward the imposing doors of the chantry.

Like outside, the great hall was buzzing with activity. Everywhere women in white robes of various ranks from revered mother to lay-sister went to and fro; lighting candles, folding blankets, counting stacks of pots, shuffling papers, carrying books and scrolls. Some I recognized from the Crossroads, others had been there since the Breach, and still others were entirely new to me.

The Inquisition had not been idle, indeed.

Leliana was talking to one of the lay-sisters. My eyes had initially skipped over her, hidden as she was beneath a drab shroud that obscured the bright wisps of her copper-colored hair. It wasn’t until she waved us over, looking not even a little surprised to see us, that I recognized her.

“Cassandra, Herald, I’m pleased you made it before sundown,” she said when we approached. Turning to the young woman she’d been talking to, she said, “Please send for Josephine and tell her they’ve arrived. We will meet her in the war room.” The young woman nodded and ran off toward one of the side rooms to carry on the message.

We both followed Leliana into the room situated at the very end of the great hall behind a thick wooden door that groaned petulantly as it opened. I had to pause, squinting in the dim light emanating from candles marking the corners of the enormous table that took up much of the available space. The great map of Thedas was still draped over it. Once my eyes adjusted, I noticed there were many new markers scattered across the map.

While I was scanning over them, Lady Josephine entered, a flurry of papers in her arms, apologies and pleasant perfume in her wake. Her deep brunette hair was elegantly coiffed in a style that reminded me of some of the favored styles in Ostwick. Her meticulously crafted cloth-of-gold blouse could not have been a further contrast from Leliana’s simple leather-and-chainmail tunic and Cassandra’s full breastplate. I detected the telltale rolling consonants of an Antivan accent when she spoke, and my mind wandered momentarily, trying to place her family name among the many noble relations Ostwick associated with.

My thoughts were interrupted, however, when Josephine was settled enough to have a look around the room.

“Where is the Commander?” she asked. “Shouldn’t he be here for this?”

“We spoke with him on our way in,” Cassandra answered. “He said he would join us presently, but not to wait for him.”

Leliana and Josephine exchanged a meaningful look. Josephine raised one delicate eyebrow before making a note on the parchment she carried. Leliana walked over to the door, opened it, and said something to the guard outside before returning to her place across from Cassandra and me at the great table.

“Trouble?” Cassandra asked.

“No, nothing unusual.” Leliana side-stepped the question, already pouring over some missives lying in a pile before her.

Josephine stepped in to explain.

“He has been diligent with his duties, to be sure, but his time management can be… lacking at times.”

“Meaning?” Cassandra crossed her arms, not willing to leave it at that.

“If he had his way, he’d never leave the training field,” Leliana sighed. “He certainly has a knack with the recruits, but we need him here more than out there.”

“Has he been neglectful?”

“Certainly not,” Josephine quickly backtracked. “However, I fear he may be…” She seemed to struggle to find the right phrasing.

“You know how he is by now,” Leliana said with a dismissive shrug.

Whatever that meant, I would not find out, for at that moment the Commander himself came through the door with a beleaguered sigh.

“You needn’t have sent a guard to fetch me, like some wayward dog,” he grumbled. “I was already on my way, but an argument started up in the square that required interference.”

Leliana merely shrugged again, her face implacable, while Josephine changed the topic gracefully to the matter at hand. After a few moments of shuffling papers and resituating various markers on the map, the interrogation began.

V: Interrogation?
T: Well, maybe that’s a bit uncharitable.
V: Maybe a bit dramatic?
T: Says the man who keeps bringing up his own interrogation every day or so.
V: Hey now, I haven’t--
T: --Yesterday during your meeting with Wycome’s council representatives.
V: … How did you hear about that?
T: Aveline, of course.
V: Shit, I keep forgetting you two have those playdates.
T: “Playdates”?
V: Yeah, your little tykes play in the grass and you two sit and gossip about me.
T: It’s not always about you. And I wouldn’t use the word “gossip”, exactly…

They wanted to know everything about our time in the Hinterlands. This amounted to quite a lot of intensive questioning. Leliana was particularly interested in my conversation with Mother Giselle, asking a multitude of questions about the most minute details: her tone, her stance, a particular word choice, her amount of eye contact, and so on. Maker knows how much time passed, and by the end of things my head was fair swimming.

In the end, Leliana simply asked, “Did she sound genuine to you?”

I blinked at that, so far beyond being able to process any more information that I was momentarily unable to form a response. Four pairs of eyes were focused on me, awaiting my opinion.

I resisted the urge to simply shrug, wanting nothing more than to give up and try to get a plate of whatever food was left at the pub, thinking miserably that it was all likely either eaten or cold by now. But I held my tongue, chiding my ingratitude, remembering that I had wanted to be afforded this level of respect. If I wanted to keep it, I’d better justify it.

I took a deep breath, trying to think back to my conversation with the revered mother. The advice she gave had sounded well informed, though I did not pretend to know the inner machinations of the Chantry. Instead, I focused on my memory of her, not her words. I remembered the kindness in her eyes, how she had looked directly into mine when she thanked me. She had clearly feared the mark in my hand, but as I myself held no small amount of trepidation toward it, I could hardly blame her for that.

I was a mage, and the bearer of an accursed disfigurement that somehow connected me directly to the Fade. On top of that, the Chantry had openly declared me anathema. Yet despite all that, she had asked to see me, specifically, to make up her own mind.

After a moment, I looked up into Leliana’s piercing grey eyes, and nodded.

“Yes, I think so. Or at the very least, I can see no possible benefit for her aside from what she claims; that she does not want more innocents harmed while the Chantry fails to act.”

Leliana and Josephine shared another look, then both glanced over to the Commander. He considered me for a moment, and I had to stop myself from fidgeting under the weight of his hooded gaze, ignoring the twinge of guilt in the back of my mind.

I had deliberately withheld only one detail - Giselle’s prediction that the rise or fall of the Inquisition would fall on me. Not out of false modesty or personal stake; Maker knew I would run from the hall that very moment if I knew I could truly escape the responsibility. It simply unnerved me too much; even Solas did not know of it.

If the Commander knew any of that, however, he showed no sign. After a moment, he nodded over to his colleagues. I felt my shoulders lower slightly, and fists I hadn’t known I was clenching eased open.

“Good, then that’s settled,” Josephine said, making more notes on the parchment she carried. It was supported by a grand flat board that looked impossibly awkward, but she balanced it with little effort. “We will begin making plans to meet with the Revered Mother Hevara, the highest ranking of the names Mother Giselle gave us. It will take some time to arrange, as she is currently stationed in Val Royeaux.”

Orlais, I thought with dismay, hoping Josephine was right in her estimate. My back ached at the thought of such a long trek so soon after our recent return.

“In the meantime, we must begin planning our next move,” Leliana said, pouring once more over the numerous markers on the map. “The Breach still needs sealed, and we haven’t the resources to do it ourselves.”

“We should go to Therinfall Redoubt,” the Commander responded at once. “And try to meet with what remains of the Order.”

Leliana shook her head.

“We’ve still not heard anything from them. We have no idea whether they would be amenable to an alliance---”

“---Or just execute me on sight,” I finished for her, quashing what was sure to be an attempt at downplaying how dangerous such a proposition would be.

“But we’ve not heard from the mages either,” he pressed, leaning toward me. “And we must begin taking steps to counteract---”

“---No.” My voice rose slightly, and I felt my heartbeat rising with it. “I will not approach Templars for aid. I told you already I will not participate in aught I find objectionable.”

“But this isn’t just about y---”

“NO!”

I shouted this time, feeling the tenuous control I had been maintaining in the face of fatigue and hunger and defensiveness slip from my grasp. At that same moment, a bright flash burst from my palm, filling the room with its lurid color and making me double over in pain.

It was over in a blink, but I was a moment longer recovering, gasping and trying to steady my racing pulse. When I looked up again, I was met with terrified stares. The Commander’s hand was gripping the hilt of his sword. Leliana and Josephine had both backed away from the table, nearly hugging the opposite wall. Cassandra, however, was beside me, one hand gripping my elbow to steady me.

“Maker…” Josephine muttered, one hand rising to cover her mouth, then lowering again. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, but my ragged breathing and trembling hand belied any assurances I might make.

“It hasn’t done that since you stabilized the Breach,” Cassandra said, concern plain in her voice.

“It’s done this before?” The Commander was aghast at the notion. I recalled that only Cassandra and Leliana had witnessed the mark’s effect on me before now.

“I’m fine,” I insisted through gritted teeth, placing my hands on the table for stability. The pain had subsided and my breathing had normalized, but the room felt like it was spinning and my chest still throbbed with the pounding of my heartbeat.

Maintain control, I told myself. You cannot lose yourself now.

“We still know so little about… whatever that is,” Leliana muttered.

“Perhaps we should adjourn for the evening,” Josephine said. “It was inconsiderate of us to expect you to report here without even the courtesy of a meal and a night’s rest.”

“Quite,” I heard the Commander say.

His hand had moved away from his sword and hung in a balled fist at his side. His jaw clenched, and I saw fear flickering in his eyes, turning them from cool amber to bright golden flames. He looked like a taut string, ready to break at any moment. He looked, every inch, like a Templar who had spotted an abomination.

For a brief moment, my mind returned to the Circle: halls lined by men and women like him, straight-backed and cold-eyed, ever watchful, sword hands hovering over their hilts in silent warning.

I was suffocating; the room felt entirely too small to breathe in. The scrape of parchment and tiny gutterings of candles suddenly felt like a booming cacophony. I couldn’t breathe.

No! Maintain control…

He lunged toward me, launching his attack. Instinctively, I backed away - right into Cassandra, who remained stalwart behind me. With nowhere to go, my panic only grew.

“Stop!” I shrieked.

He paused, arms extended toward me in aid, not attack.

“I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help!”

The room was quiet again, and everyone fell still. He backed away, settling at the far wall with arms crossed. Even from there, I could hear his breathing, deliberately steady and extended. Belatedly, I noticed his sword had remained sheathed.

“You need rest,” Cassandra said. I recognized the firm command in her voice. That was an order, not sympathy.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, but even I could hear the ragged quality of my voice. After a moment, I relented, nodding.

It was agreed that we would pick up tomorrow evening after dinner, then there were parting words and forced courtesies uttered. Leliana left first, wishing me well on her way out. Still leaning over the table, I felt the Commander’s retreat and breathed easier with him out of the room. Cassandra hesitated at the doorway, waiting for me. As we both turned to leave, however, Josephine spoke up.

“Mistress Trevelyan, my apologies, but if I could speak to you in private for just a moment?”

Cassandra gave me a questioning glance, and I nodded reassurance, unsurprised at the delay. I had suspected I might be held to task for my behavior. She left, closing the door behind her at Josephine’s request, and I braced myself for the lecture I was expecting.

“I assume you’ll want me to apologize to the Commander?” I asked, too weary to put up much defiance.

“Actually, I wanted to speak with you about another matter,” Josephine said, pulling a piece of parchment from the folds of her waistcoat. The hesitance in her voice gave me pause, and I waited, frowning, for her to continue. “We have been sending volunteers to the site of the explosion to search for bodies or … anything that could identify the many dead there. We’ve been receiving daily reports of any confirmed names, and… this came just three days ago.”

She handed the parchment to me, and I unfolded it. It was a list of names, along with titles for those who had them. It didn’t take me long to realize why I was being shown this. Halfway down the list, two names immediately jumped out:

Trevelyan, Dexter, Bann of Ostwick
Trevelyan, Maxwell, heir to Trevelyan estate

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” said Josephine.

Chapter Text

Am I a terrible person, I wonder, to admit that I felt nothing?

I stared down at the two names on the parchment with no emotion, save mild surprise. My father and brother, confirmed as two of many hundreds of casualties from the explosion that ripped the Temple of Sacred Ashes and any chance at peace between mages and Templars to pieces.

I had barely given them a thought in years; my own family, my blood.

Not knowing what else to say, I thanked Josephine for telling me, and left. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Outside, the sun had fully retreated behind the mountain’s peaks and darkness had settled over the village. I wandered down the leftward path toward the tavern, distantly recalling that I had yet to take my evening meal. Though my appetite had fled, I knew I needed to eat. However, the closer I got to the boisterous singing and raucous laughter of patrons deep in their cups, the less I desired to be in the midst of it. I would not find solitude there.

The feeling of imprisonment was rising again, making me hug at my arms and check over my shoulder. Everywhere I went, it felt as though eyes and whispers followed me. Solitude felt like a dream I could no longer remember. When had I last been truly alone?

I was contemplating the benefits of just finishing off the last of my trail rations and pitching my tent in whatever empty space I could find with the other refugees, when I heard a commotion rising not far off. It was coming from behind me, down the path toward the inner gate. I paused, listening, but all I could ascertain from this distance was that several people were shouting.

I looked around, realizing I knew of no other way to get to the field from here, and let out a string of curses under my breath. Whatever was going on out there, I would have to wade through it if I wanted to sleep tonight. Not willing to delay any longer, I moved warily in that direction, hoping I would not be noticed.

When I reached the source of the noise, however, it became obvious that would not be possible.

A sizeable crowd had gathered, shouting and gesticulating, clearly agitated. As I stood there, feeling very exposed and trying to find a path through the group, I began processing the shouts and cries.

“Mages killed the Divine!”

“Justice for the Divine!”

“Mages tore open the sky!”

Oh Maker, this wasn’t good.

I gripped my staff instinctively, glad I had not stowed it anywhere prior to the meeting. I hoped it would not be necessary, but it made me feel safer.

Still keeping my distance, I examined the crowd more closely. It was divided into two factions; one side was mostly comprised of villagers, soldiers, and Templars - with more than a few Chantry robes mixed in - while the other was almost entirely mages, recently arrived from the Hinterlands or among the few survivors of the Breach. I noted with surprise that some Chantry sisters were among them as well, if not nearly in the same numbers as their counterparts on the opposing side. Mother Giselle was among the mages, raising her hands in a peaceful gesture, but whatever she was saying was easily drowned out by the rage of the crowd.

Commander Cullen and Cassandra were in the center of it all, making of themselves a defensive wall between the two factions, while Leliana appeared to be trying to get the mages rounded up and away to safety, with the aid of some of her scouts and runners.

They weren’t having much success; things were looking ugly.

One young man, bearing the mark of a Tranquil on his forehead and looking still in his teens, was pushed to the ground and repeatedly kicked by two soldiers. I watched, petrified, afraid I was about to see the poor boy stomped to death, when Cassandra shoved the men off him, shouting them down in her fiercely imposing voice.

Finding my legs could now move, I rushed forward through a momentary gap between pressing bodies. I knelt over the boy, holding my staff protectively above me. Here, in the midst of the aggression, it was loud; a cacophony of pure rage that made it impossible to hear anything but the shouting as it rose ever higher, utterly indistinguishable from one voice to the other. Everywhere around me bodies pressed in, making me flinch, afraid I was about to feel the next blow at any moment. I frantically looked around, trying to find an escape route, wondering if I had the strength to lift the lad in my arms.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the attackers manage to get past Cassandra and was raising his fist for another onslaught. His face was contorted and reddened with rage, with eyes focused only on his target. I covered myself and the Tranquil in a barrier spell. It was patchy, hurried, but it did the trick for the first blow at least.

The man reeled back, surprised, but it wasn’t from the barrier.

My left palm was pulsing brightly, its fierce ache radiating up my arm, covering us all in its sickly pallor. It nearly caused me to lose focus on the barrier, but I gritted my teeth and counted my breaths until the pulsing - and the pain - dimmed. Still, the effect it had on the crowd was noticeable.

Almost at once, it had grown very quiet. Everyone had paused, momentarily blinded by the light. Now, they were all watching me, expectant, fearful. Enraptured.

“The people will listen to your rallying call as they will listen to no other.”

I ignored them all, and turned back to the boy under my protection.

“Are you badly hurt?” I asked him, leaning close so only he could hear me, but keeping my eyes on the crowd around us for new threats.

“I believe a rib may be broken,” he replied in the eerie monotone of his kind. I repressed a shudder. His face was contorted in pain, and he was struggling to keep his breathing shallow.

“Here.”

I gingerly took one of his arms over my shoulders and lifted us both to a standing position. One of the sisters spotted us and gestured that she would take him for treatment, and I allowed him to be transferred to her care.

“Thank you, Herald,” he said as he limped away, escorted by the sister and a scout.

Behind me, the Commander and Cassandra had managed to get the would-be rioters cowed enough to begin dispersing. Leliana had rounded most of the mages up and was leading them away from the scene.

“But Knight-Captain!” one of the Templars shouted in protest, addressing the Commander, who rounded on him in an instant.

“That is not my title!” he spat, getting very close to the other’s face. “We are not Templars any longer! We are all members of the Inquisition!”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” a voice called out, pitched to carry above the remaining din. Heads turned, and I recognized Chancellor Roderick as he stepped forward, exuding snide confidence.

“Back already?” the Commander sneered. “Haven’t you done enough?”

I wondered what that could mean, but Roderick wasn’t about to answer, at least not directly. Instead, he took a position that ensured he would be seen by all remaining members of the crowd, and when he next spoke, though he was addressing the Commander, it was quite apparent he was playing to the crowd, gesticulating grandly and giving his voice the familiar rhythm of a sermon, rather than a debate.

“I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’---” he drew out the word as if it were a vulgar curse. “---will restore order as you’ve promised.”

His gaze lingered on me then, eyes brimming with hate, and I was aware that many others followed his lead, waiting for my response. I merely returned his glare, keeping my face carefully blank, though I was seething below the surface. I was certain then that he had been the one to instigate this argument, somehow, likely hoping it would result in a riot. I was furious, but knew there was no point in accusing him. Likely, that would just be playing into his hands.

For a moment, it looked like the Chancellor might say more, but the Commander stepped between us.

“Of course you are,” he said, sounding thoroughly unimpressed with this display of rhetoric. Then, he turned to those still standing about who had paused to hear the Chancellor’s little speech. Using a more authoritative tone, he addressed them. “Back to your duties, all of you!”

The soldiers and Templars obeyed immediately, and soon the civilians began to wander off as well. Now the crowd was dispersing at last, I felt my pulse lower and I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

I was not to have peace yet, however, for Chancellor Roderick remained, continuing his argument with Cassandra and the Commander.

“As if the continuing war between mages and Templars wasn’t bad enough,” I heard Cassandra saying. “Now you’ve got them blaming each other for what happened at the Conclave! How dare you invoke Divine Justinia’s death to stir chaos!”

It seemed I was not the only one who had made that assumption.

Against my better judgement, I decided to remain and keep Cassandra from doing anything rash; I knew how deeply she had felt the Divine’s death, and I knew her temper.

“We need a proper authority to guide these people back to order!” the Chancellor countered. Now his audience was gone, he had dispensed with the grand gestures, but his voice sounded oddly more earnest than before.

“Who, you?” the Commander scoffed. “Random clerics not important enough to be at the Conclave?”

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’? I think not!” Roderick spat the words back, and pointed over to me. Clearly, this was something he was never going to let go.

I sighed, knowing that I could deny the title ‘til my face turned blue for all the difference it would make. I tried a different tack.

“If the ‘proper authority’ hadn’t completely failed, the Conclave wouldn’t have been needed.”

But Roderick was ready for that as well.

“So you suggest I blame the Chantry and exalt a murderer? What of justice?”

I bit my tongue on several unwise retorts, mostly regarding who the real murderers were, and stayed silent.

“That won’t help restore order in the here and now,” Cassandra said.

“Order will never be restored so long as this rebellion is allowed to fester!”

Roderick turned on his heel and marched off toward the chantry, at long last leaving us in peace. We all watched him go, none of us daring to say anything else that might trigger his about face until he was well out of ear shot.

“Cullen.” Cassandra crossed her arms and took a deep breath. “Remind me why we’re allowing the Chancellor to stay?”

“He’s toothless,” the Commander replied, shaking his head. “There’s no point turning him into a martyr just because he runs at the mouth. He’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

He looked aside at me for only a brief moment as he said that. I imagined he had more than his share of reservations at sending me to the heart of the most powerful opposing force to our newly-fledged Inquisition.

“He’s not toothless if enough people are listening,” I said. “You’re naive if you believe words are powerless.”

“Eh, that’s not quite what I meant.”

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, shifting his weight from foot to foot slowly. Cassandra was watching this swaying carefully, I noticed.

“He’s still insisting on my execution.” I shook my head. “He’s one of the highest ranking Chantry authorities left in Haven. And you think he’s harmless?”

He sighed, a deep exasperated sound.

“If you insist on continuing to antagonize him, of course he will continue to shout you down.”

I was incensed. Me, antagonize him? But before I could launch into another tirade, Cassandra stepped between us.

“It has been a long day, for all of us. We should try to get some rest.”

I agreed, having had my fill of crowds and company for the night. I bade them good night and headed toward the inner gate. Twilight had completely faded and the night sky hung dark and velvet over Haven. The great glowing monstrosity of the Breach overpowered much of the stars, but the white disc of the moon was still visible. I hoped it would be enough light to pitch my tent by.

“Herald.”

I turned automatically at the address, then cursed myself; not only was I growing accustomed to the accursed moniker, but it had been the Commander who called, and I was thoroughly not in the mood to be chastised any further today. However, when I turned and met his gaze, I saw the hardened lines of his face had softened somewhat, into confusion.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To find a place to sleep,” I said, indicating toward the gate. “It has been a very long day, and I assume no one was intending I help keep watch.”

Not waiting for a reply, I turned and started off again; however, as I walked, I felt the space between my shoulder blades itch, and I had the familiar suspicion of someone watching me. Turning, I caught the barest twitch of the Commander’s head as he turned away to address Cassandra beside him.

I frowned.

Once a Templar, always a Templar, I thought with little surprise.

I decided to ignore him and continued toward the gate. I didn’t get far, however, before I heard my unwanted title called out yet again, this time by Cassandra, who was now running after me. Again, I swore under my breath. It seemed solitude was a dream too far. Turning to face her, I crossed my arms and waited, taking care to keep my face neutral.

“I was reminded that we have been neglectful in our responsibility to you,” she said. I raised one brow, wondering where this could possibly be leading. “We have set aside one of the cabins for your personal use while you are in Haven. And I believe Josephine has arranged for your dinner to be sent there since our meeting ran longer than expected. I can show you the way, if you like?”

Without waiting for my reply, though Maker knows what I would have even said in my complete shock, she walked past me and led me away from the gate. I followed her to a small cul de sac of short, single room cabins tucked away from the main throughways of Haven’s central square. She pointed to the one at the top of the arc they were arranged in, indicating that one as mine.

“Hopefully it will suit,” she said, apparently unaware of just how grand a gesture this felt to me.

“Th.. thank you,” I stammered. Then, remembering, I asked, “Was this what the Commander was talking to you about?”

“Of course,” she said, brows raised in surprise. “What had you thought we were discussing?”

I paused, then shook my head. “Nothing, nevermind.”

She considered me for a moment, then sighed. “You do him wrong, you know. You should at least give him a chance.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but only just. “Should I?’

All at once, she was directly in front of me, close enough that I had no choice but to meet her gaze. A familiar touch of annoyance lit her eyes, changing their usual deep brown to burning embers of bronze.

“Enough.” She wasn’t shouting. Her voice carried none of the pure, unfiltered rage of when she accused me of causing the Breach; nor did her glare hold the quiet menace of when I was shouting my fury at her over the ruins of a burning cabin. This was something I hadn’t yet seen from her. She looked… sad? Disappointed? “You are truly determined to hate him, aren’t you?”

I blinked in shock, then my indignation rose.

“I’m not just being stubborn!” I said. “He’s a Templar! I’ve suffered at the hands of dozens like him.”

“No.” Cassandra shook her head, infuriatingly confident for someone who knew nothing of my life beyond the past month. “Not like Cullen, I can assure you.”

“Oh can you? Would you say the same of all the others we saw out in that field training today? Every one of them must have just been misunderstood?”

“I did not say he has done no wrong---”

“---No, you’re only saying I should ignore all of that because, what? You are fond of him?”

“Fond of him?”

She looked genuinely perplexed at that, but I held up my hand to forestall any argument.

“It doesn’t matter why. I don’t care. And I don’t care what sins he thinks are forgiven by being here. I’ll not be his placeholder for salvation.”

With that, I pushed past her toward the cabin.

“Everyone in that field has made mistakes,” she said to my retreating form.

I paused, turned back.

“Templars do not ‘make mistakes’,” I said. “What they do, they do out of either misguided belief that it is the right thing, or deliberate malice. Either way, mages suffer.”

“You are right,” Cassandra nodded, though I could tell it pained her. “Mages have suffered under the system as it was, but so have Templars. Maybe not to the same degree,” she quickly added, quashing my argument just as I opened my mouth to voice it. “But they have also been used for the sake of doctrine we should all now be questioning.”

I shook my head, not sure what she was getting at, but not quite able to bring myself to care. Cassandra turned slightly, nodding in the direction of the wall that marked the borders of Haven proper. Beyond it, I knew, lay the immense and disorderly city of tents. It was meager protection from the cold I could feel beginning to set in with the night winds.

“There’s not a single person camped in that field out there or housed in the chantry here who hasn’t lost loved ones, their homes, their livelihoods, and more.”

“That’s not---”

“---Not fair? No, it isn’t. And I know you had no choice in any of this, but neither do most of them. I do not envy you your part in all this.” Her tone softened, eyes flicking down momentarily to my left hand, its ever-present glow an anchor tying me to the center of the chaos unfolding around us all. “And I understand why you are hesitant to trust Templars---”

“---I doubt that---”

“---But I will not have you dismiss the efforts of those who are here willingly, trying to do the right thing.”

She turned back to face me, then, and I could see an untold story in the sadness behind her eyes. Whether that sadness was for herself, or the refugees, or the Commander, I couldn’t say.

“The Order doesn’t just allow its Templars to walk away,” I said, still defiant.

“Who said he waited for their permission?” That caught me off guard, and I said nothing. “You left the Circle by choice, did you not?”

“Not… exactly.” I bristled, wary now.

“I was under the impression you hated your life there?” She raised one brow, studying me.

“It’s… complicated.”

I looked away, toward the wall, and would not say more. Cassandra considered me another moment, but must have decided it wasn’t worth it to pry.

“In either case, you agree it is possible for a mage to walk away.” She shrugged. “Why not a Templar?”

Again, I had no answer. She was right, though I was loathe to admit it. A question nagged at me, however.

“Why did he leave the Order?”

“That… is not my story to tell,” she hesitated. “Not what you wanted to hear, I’m sure.”

She smiled slightly in response to my consternation. She opened her mouth, then closed it, running one hand through her hair, as if unsure what to say next. Finally, she shrugged again.

“You cannot continue being selfish with your sense of injustice. There is more than enough to go around.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, reluctantly, too exhausted to argue further. Her point made, she bade me good night and left me alone at last. For the first time in many long days, I had solitude. Eagerly, I retreated to my own private cabin, escaping the rapidly dropping temperature.

The cabin was small but warm, thanks to an iron stove that doubled as a fireplace, recently lit and stoked to a welcoming glow. A bowl of thick stew sat atop it, kept warm by the flames below. A pitcher of cool water sat on a bedside table, along with a bowl for washing. The bed was low, with thick wooden posts and a thin mattress under layers of soft quilts and furs, topped with two down-filled pillows. A single window and door took up the wall facing the cul de sac, with another window on the opposite wall that looked out onto the thick growth of coniferous trees that grew everywhere at this altitude. The fresh smell of pine suffused the entire room, mingling with the inviting scent of the waiting food.

Hungrily, I dug into the stew, using the stale bread it came with to soak up the dregs. In mere moments, I’d devoured the lot of it, sighing contentedly. My mood was much improved with a full stomach.

I stoked the fire back up, adding another log to ensure it lasted the night. Then, I washed my face thoroughly, scrubbing with the rough cloth left folded by the bowl, and changed out of my travel gear, clicking my tongue in dismay at their filthy state. Hopefully there would be time to wash them before we had to set out again.

I also noted several tears in the leather overcoat and leggings, and the tunic I had worn underneath was nearly threadbare. Well, I’d had these for some months now, I remembered. The underclothes had been mine since the Circle, but most of the rest had been … acquired … in desperation after my rather unceremonious flight from Faxhold. Much of it was ill-fitting and none of it matched, but in the months since being forced out of the Circle, I’d had no other options. In all that time, there hadn’t been many opportunities for patchwork. I anticipated they weren’t likely to last another long journey. Well, that was a problem for tomorrow.

Speaking of which…

Rooting through my bag, I found the list of unnamed dead I had been keeping, folded carefully into an inner pocket. The list had grown to nearly fill the page by now. I made a mental note to find Mother Giselle tomorrow, and speak to her about possible last rites.

Unbidden, my thoughts returned to my own dead. Maxwell, my brother, my oldest sibling and heir to the Trevelyan line. And my father…

He’d had an open face, with a smile that always reached his eyes. I remembered the many lectures I’d get from Mother for escaping my lessons to climb the trees in the courtyard; in those days I spent every moment I could out-of-doors. Father would always shrug off Mother’s exasperations at my recklessness with a laugh.

Many had told me when I was young that I favored him more than her, who was fair-skinned with grey eyes and auburn hair that she always pulled into elaborate styles atop her head. I, meanwhile, had Father’s high cheekbones and golden-brown skin that always grew slightly darker in the warm sunlight of Ostwick’s summers. I had his thick, black hair as well, and eyes the color of deep, rich soil, such a dark brown they were almost black.

I remembered his winning smile belying the sobering gravity in his eyes on one particular day, as he crouched down to my level, my tiny hands wrapped in his, and his conspiratorial whisper.

“We will keep it between us, won’t we? Our little secret.”

Had I passed his corpse on my way to the Breach?

I shuddered, and tried to put it out of my mind, readying myself for bed. However, exhausted as I was, sleep remained stubbornly elusive. I tossed about for an interminable amount of time before finally giving up and rising to pace about the cabin, searching for something to occupy my thoughts.

In my days at Faxhold, I’d peruse the library, searching for texts about histories, or magical theory, or philosophy; our steady trade with the noble families of Ostwick guaranteed new entries almost constantly. Here, the only books to be found were dusty old religious tomes, which wouldn’t do at all.

Still, I was restless; I needed a change of scenery. With no other ideas, I headed for the door, then quickly doubled back to don shoes and grab the top blanket from my bed. Then, I left the cabin to try to walk off my unease.

V: You know, it’s weird, I don’t think I ever remember you talking about your family in all the time I’ve known you.
T: It’s not a burden I share lightly.
V: Say no more. Believe me, I know how awkward families can get. I guess I always figured you just didn’t remember them well.
T: No, memory and distance weren’t the real issue.
V: Nobility, huh? Well, I don’t wanna get you too side-tracked. We can get into that another time.
T: Thank you.

Out in the mountain air, I instantly felt calmer. A light snowfall had started sometime during the night, and a new veil of snow hung over the heavily trodden earth. The moon hung high in the sky, nearly full, but its light was outdone by the Breach, seen from nearly all angles at Haven. It cast the night air in a pale green glow, more than enough to see by. Doing the math in my head, I realized the moon’s phase meant it had been only a month since the Breach had been created. Only a month since the Inquisition had been formed in response.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply to help settle my nerves. The air was biting cold, and smelled of campfires, ale, stew, metalwork, manure, hay, and myriad other things too subtle and intertwined to identify. It smelled of Haven; not quite home, no, but familiar.

What was not familiar was the quiet.

I was accustomed to the sounds of Haven during the day; the hammering, the people, the chants, the shouting, the clashing of steel. I had yet to explore the village by night. With all the fires doused, the training field empty, and all the people retreated to their beds, the only sound I could hear was the wind rustling through the trees.

In the Circle, sleeping quarters were shared in groups of a dozen or so, and we were locked in after quiet hours each night. Every sound made would bounce off the stone walls, and there was always movement with so many people in one room. Between shifting positions, whispered conversations, and other… recreational activities… it was almost never entirely silent.

Later, when I was on my own and on the run, every sound was fraught with the terror of the unknown. It was impossible to enjoy the peaceful quiet when I was straining to listen for potential threats.

I shuddered, as much from the memory as the cold. In all the activity of the last month, I had nearly forgotten the nightmare of that time before the Conclave, forced to die or flee, unprepared for the harshness of the world outside the stone fortress I had spent my life in until that point. It felt like it had happened to another person.

Well, and I supposed I had become another person. Looking down at the ever-present glow in my left palm, I frowned. Things had changed a great deal for me since then.

The mark had flared up twice today, and I wasn’t sure why. That was… concerning.

This isn’t helping, I told myself. I had come out here to clear my thoughts, not stir up every growing concern taking up space in my mind.

So, I walked. Past the other cabins, all their doors closed and windows dark, their occupants sound asleep inside. Past the pub, with the sound of garbled singing coming through the warm glow of the windows, its few remaining patrons too drunk to recall all the words to whatever they were singing. Past the chantry, tall and foreboding in the pale light.

I walked at a slow but steady pace, with no particular destination, just wanting to keep moving. The ache in my muscles had finally started to subside, but my limbs were still stiff, and the cold wasn’t helping. Soon, I reached the inner gates, shut for the night. I didn’t bother asking the guards posted to let me through. Instead, I turned left, following the path as it hugged the tall pointed logs that comprised the protective inner wall, our last line of defense against possible attack. I wondered if it would stop demons, then quickly quelled such thoughts. I was trying to clear my mind, I reminded myself.

Eventually, I came to the first of several trebuchets I had noted being built upon our arrival. It didn’t look complete, though I couldn’t say for certain, as this was the first I’d ever seen one in person.

Fascinated, I crept forward, one arm poking out from the protection of the quilt to run my hand over the smoothly sanded wooden beams of its frame. It was massive. And complicated. There were so many moving parts, I couldn’t begin to make sense of how it might work. My hand came up against a lever, and as I was examining it, trying to figure out what it might do, a voice from behind caused me to jump.

“Please don’t.”

Commander Cullen stood several paces away, looking much less imposing out of his armor and fur-accented pauldrons. Instead, he wore a simple quilted doublet and leather trousers that seemed barely warm enough to contend with the frigid mountain air, though he appeared unbothered. His heavy boots had left tracks in the fresh snow behind him, indicating he’d been wandering the perimeter paths. He nodded to the lever I’d been examining.

“At this time of night, launching the trebuchet without warning is likely to cause quite the fuss in camp.”

I could swear he was being sarcastic, but there was not a hint of humor in his tone. Though his face was not contorted in its customary scowl, he still regarded me warily. His posture was guarded. Mercifully, he kept his distance.

“Right.” I withdrew my hand back under the quilt, and took a step away from the machine, keeping myself angled halfway back toward the way I’d come.

His face softened, and he cleared his throat.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I shook my head.

“I just… wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out here.”

I was suddenly very aware of the fact that it was just the two of us. I cast about hoping to find a nearby guard or other restless villager, but there was no one else. I was alone with a Templar.

“You do him wrong.”

No, not a Templar, as he has repeatedly insisted. Doubtful though I still was, I had to admit - now that I thought to check - I didn’t detect the familiar obstinate aura that was indicative of those of the Order. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? It was most curious; I’d never heard of someone successfully leaving the Order. Not with their sanity in tact, and certainly not willingly.

“I could say the same,” he said. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I lowered my gaze, giving no reply. I was still not certain how to act around him. My instincts shouted at me to leave, but his actions today confounded me. He loudly denounced his previous title as a Templar, yet he insisted we still try to contact them for aid. He had stepped between me and Chancellor Roderick, almost protectively. Yet he was quick to put hand to sword when the mark began acting out during the meeting.

I glanced over to his belt; he had no weapon on him now. At least, none I could see.

Perhaps sensing my caution, he cleared his throat again before continuing.

“I, uh, wanted to… to apologize to you.”

I glanced up in surprise. When I again gave no response, he continued.

“I’m not sure what I did to frighten you so at the meeting, but I never intended you any harm.” He ran one hand through his hair, mussing the carefully combed blond locks. “S-so I am… sorry.”

I was dumbfounded.

After a beat, he fidgeted with something in his pocket, seeming to cast about for something else to say.

“Well… I… won’t intrude if you prefer solitude.”

After a brief pause, he turned and started off down the path, back the way he came. I watched him walk away for a moment, hesitant. Though I was relieved at his departure, Cassandra’s words echoed in my mind once more. Against my better judgement, I spoke up.

“Wait.”

He paused, turning back to me, brows raised in cautious curiosity. I took a moment to organize my thoughts.

“What happened at the meeting today… My past experiences with Templars has left me…” I searched for the right word. “...Untrusting. I didn’t mean to react the way I did. So, I suppose, I’m… sorry as well.”

His brows rose a fraction further. Clearly not what he had expected to hear. Well, at least we were both in uncharted territory then.

“I don’t know what drove you to leave the Order, and I won’t ask,” I said. “But I can at least appreciate that you’re here trying to help. To do the right thing, whatever that is. And that puts us somewhat in the same boat, I suppose. So.” I shrugged. “Fresh start?”

“Fresh start.”

He nodded, even allowed one corner of his mouth to pull slightly in the barest hint of a smile. It was a much better look than his usual scowl, I had to admit. There was a long beat of silence as we both tried to get our bearings. Presently, he resumed fidgeting with whatever was in his pocket. He pulled out a pipe and small pouch of tobacco.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

I shook my head, a little surprised someone as rigid and upright as him would participate in such a hobby.

“Blame the dwarf,” he answered in response to my bemusement. “He introduced it to me after I, ah, took ill during our trip here over the Waking Sea.”

I nodded, understanding. I’d seen Varric light his own pipe quite often during our travels to the Hinterlands and back; it was a favorite nighttime activity of his.

“This is why you’re out so late?” I asked, a little dubious. “To smoke?”

“I… yes.” It sounded as though he might say more, but he instead busied himself with packing a few dried leaves into the pipe, then pulling a small tinderbox from his other pocket to light it. I watched as he quietly took a few puffs on the pipe, unleashing wispy clouds with each exhale. “What about you?” he asked.

“Our little secret.”

I shrugged, pulling the quilt closer around me. “I just… couldn’t sleep. So I decided to take a walk. I was curious about these,” I nodded to the incomplete trebuchet.

“Fascinating machines, aren’t they?” There was a hint of pride as he looked up at the massive weapon. “I found a schematic for them in an old book on Orlesian siege warfare. They’re supposed to be able to hurl objects much larger and across much farther distances than traditional catapults.”

“I’ve heard of them, but never seen one in person before,” I admitted. “They’re quite impressive.”

“Truly? I admit I hadn’t expected such things to be of interest to you.”

“And why not?” I asked, allowing slight offense to creep into my voice, brows raised expectantly.

“Oh, I… hm.”

He stammered for a moment, realizing he’d been caught out in his bias. I had to fight to keep the smirk from showing on my face, finding petty satisfaction in his discomfort. After a moment, I had to relent.

“No, it’s alright. I suppose I haven’t demonstrated an interest in much of anything while I’ve been here.”

“It’s quite understandable, given what you’ve been through.”

Sympathy was another thing I hadn’t looked for in a Templar.

Former Templar, I had to remind myself. I had promised a fresh start. Still, admitting vulnerability felt a step too far. Oblivious, he continued.

“Oh, I was sorry to hear about your loss. Your father and brother? Josephine mentioned she gave you the news after our meeting.”

My heart constricted, and I felt myself withdraw instinctively inward, making a mask of my face once again, devoid of all emotion.

“I should get some sleep,” I said quietly, not meeting his gaze.

Without waiting for a reply, I bid him goodnight and retreated back down the path I’d come. I didn’t feel safe enough to cry until I was inside my empty cabin, with the door shut. Even then, I sheltered my grief deep beneath the multitude of covers on the bed, my face buried in the pillow.

Chapter Text

At some point during the pre-dawn hours, after all my tears were spent, I fell asleep at last. I lay in bed for some time after waking the next morning, still restless. Thoughts flitted half-formed into my mind, only to be replaced by others just as incomplete.

And over and over again, Cassandra’s words from last night repeated themselves.

“You cannot continue being selfish with your sense of injustice.”

The words ate at me. It wasn’t as though I’d been refusing to help. I was closing the rifts, at great personal pain. I was trekking all over creation fighting in the name of the Inquisition, helping those I could, restoring peace where possible. All that, despite the injustice of my fate.

And you never let anyone forget that, do you?

I recalled the taunts of the other apprentices at Faxhold that haunted my childhood.

Spoiled, they would call me. Sullen. Selfish.

“Such wasted potential. You must think of more than just your selfish desires.”

The memory of my mother’s imperious look of disappointment picked away at old hurts, making my cheeks flush in a familiar sense of shame.

“There’s not a single person camped in that field out there or housed in the chantry here who hasn’t lost loved ones, their homes, their livelihoods, and more.”

Selfish… my thoughts agreed.

Had I not readily accepted the gift of a private cabin with little thought to all those forced to suffer the mountain winds in meager tents? Was I not accustomed to eating hot food regularly at the tavern while they all were forced to subsist on gruel and stale bread?

And what of my traveling companions? Had I not been surly and confrontational since our first meeting? Have I not been making the strategy meetings with the advisors exclusively about my discomfort and pain, with little disregard for the innumerable other concerns they were shouldered with?

I had been keeping them all at a distance, expecting them to treat me like I was still back in the Circle, like I was still a prisoner. I was not used to being given this much autonomy, this much trust. This was uncharted territory for me and, I suspected, for everyone else as well. I was not a Circle mage anymore. I needed to stop acting like one. I would need to do better.

Eventually, my restlessness turned to purpose. I roused myself and dressed, making my way down to the lake with a bar of lye soap and the towel from the nightstand. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had the chance for a real bath, and unfortunately here my only option was the half-frozen lake that bordered the training field. I had debated whether the cold was worth it, but ultimately my eagerness to rid myself of weeks of accumulated layers of travel grime and grit won out.

It took some hiking before I found a bend that was out of sight of the rest of the field, shielded by some cattail bushes. Then I quickly stripped down, bore the arctic waters and scrubbed as swiftly as I could before toweling off and dressing again. Not out of any sense of modesty - the cramped conditions of Faxhold didn’t allow for much of that - but moreover the unfamiliarity of this area and these people had me more self-conscious than was my wont. I knew what was acceptable at the Circle; here was another matter.

Finally clean, I headed shivering to the tavern in search of breakfast and warmth. It was well into morning by then, and so it was quite crowded, but I managed to find a spot near the fireplace where I gratefully warmed my hands a moment before making my inquiries of the barkeep. Her name was Flissa, and she informed me with a proud smile that she was in fact the owner of the tavern - The Singing Maiden. We joked at how appropriate the name was considering the vociferous patrons who seemed to take up residency there each night.

Breakfast was a simple bowl of porridge augmented with dried fruits and honey, but I gratefully scarfed it down, along with a mug of hot tea provided by a harried Flissa, who nonetheless smiled sweetly when I thanked her.

Varric found me there, and we engaged in light chatter as I nursed my tea and allowed the warmth from the fire to seep into my bones. We were frequently interrupted by other patrons, as it seemed word had gotten around as to his identity as the author of the infamous Tale of the Champion. Many of them had questions as to the veracity of this event or that - some less politely phrased as outright doubt - but most of them simply wanted to gush. He bore it with patience and grace for the most part, but I saw the subtle clenching of his jaw and the newfound tenseness of his posture. I gave him an understanding nod and sympathetic smile when he excused himself to find some peace and quiet elsewhere.

With appetite satiated and the cold of the morning’s frigid cleanse finally melted away, I ran through all the tasks I wanted to get to in my mind, contemplating on where to start. There was no summons from the advisors until the evening, and no set date on when we might next depart, therefore no immediate travel plans to prepare for. I realized I had the entire day to myself.

My first thought was to seek out Solas, for there was much I wanted to discuss with him. First and foremost, I needed to ask his thoughts about the mark’s flare-ups yesterday. Also, I had been meaning to discuss the Fade - and his abilities as a Dreamer - in more detail now we were out from under Cassandra’s ever-vigilant glare. However, when I searched, he was not in the pub nor anywhere nearby, and I had no idea where to start looking for him.

Ah well, perhaps that was for the better. I had plenty I wanted to accomplish today, and in any case Haven was a small enough village; I was likely to come across him at some point.

So instead, I made my way to the chantry, where I asked of a few of the sisters where I might find Mother Giselle. One of them pointed me toward the requisitions tent, where she was helping calculate supply needs for the newly arrived refugees. I politely waited until they were through before asking an audience of her.

“Herald, what can I do for you?” she asked.

Her face still held the warm regard I remembered, though her eyes now showed a pull of weariness. It looked like the road had not been kind to her, and her advanced age had likely only made the journey harder. I hesitated, suddenly aware of how ridiculous my request would sound.

“I wanted to ask you something, but I’m not sure exactly what can be done about it,” I started, fussing at the hem of my jacket in my uncertainty.

I was still uneasy around her thanks to her ominous prediction, and now I was feeling guilty for taking more of her time when she looked so tired. I pulled from my pocket the list of unnamed dead I’d been collecting. It had grown quite long in the days since I’d first met her at the Crossroads, taking up nearly a full page now. I showed it to her and explained its origin and my initial desire to see something done for those listed.

“I know it’s impractical to collect their bodies,” I said, fidgeting again as I tried to understand my own motives. “But I was hoping maybe a final rite could be made, in absentia, to help lay them to rest?”

She considered it for a moment, eyes darting over the list. “I think I know of a few passages that will do,” she said eventually, and I found myself under her warm consideration again. “You have done a noble thing.”

“I wish we could have done more,” I said, remembering the multitude we’d found over the past weeks, especially the very first - the sandy-haired young boy in the wheat field, slain by arrows. It felt terribly cruel leaving them all where they lay, but with only four of us and an endless list of more pressing tasks at hand, there wasn’t much we could do then. Now, we could at least do this much.

“Do not let the demons of doubt detract from a good deed. The dead heed your compassion, and I am sure they take comfort from it.”

She placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled, and I managed to resist the urge to flinch. The growing knot of guilt in my stomach loosened, just the tiniest bit. I returned her smile genuinely, and thanked her, resolving to continue the list and bring her updates when next I returned to Haven.

“You needn’t do this all yourself,” she cautioned as I was turning to leave. “Perhaps you could mention this to Sister Leliana? I understand she has many scouts under her command, and their range is growing wider every day. They would be a great help in this task.”

I paused, considering. I hadn’t thought to mention this to anyone else, but her advice was sound, once again, and I made a mental note to bring it up this evening when next I would see the advisors.

My next task took me to the armory, easily found by the continuous plume of black smoke rising from its chimney. I needed a new set of trousers, and the leather travel coat I’d been relying on was gaining far too many holes for my meager skills to patch.

Once there, I was directed toward a short, stocky man by the name of Harritt hammering away at a sword. He had a gruff voice, made little eye contact, and spoke bluntly to just about everyone. Most seemed to find him off-putting, but I rather liked his candidness. I explained what I needed, and he took some quick measurements, promising to add it to the list but with the caveat that I’d likely be waiting several days for its completion.

“Wait.” He called me back as I was turning to leave. I noticed his eyes were now locked to my left palm, and the cursed glow that the glove I wore was only barely able to disguise. “You didn’ say you was the Herald,” he said.

“No, I didn’t.”

In fact, I had deliberately avoided saying as much. I felt more than a little foolish to think I could escape notice here, so close to the Breach, where the title had been born. Harritt scratched at an old burn on his arm, looking me full in the face for the first time, taking the measure of me.

After a moment, he said, simply, “I’ll have your clothes done by the end of today.”

Then, before I could protest, he turned back to the anvil where I’d found him and the rhythmic pounding of his hammer resumed. I sighed, deciding it would be untoward to complain about preferential treatment, and let it be.

While I stood in the sunlight, pondering the rumbling Breach above - for it tended to draw one’s attention no matter where one looked - I noticed a new building that hadn’t been there before my excursion to the Hinterlands. It was a simple construction, built as a long rectangle with a low thatched roof and log walls. The log beams were too slender to provide much insulation; they must have been from the few trees left in the area after the training grounds were set up.

Impulsively, I decided to investigate. Inside, it was immediately apparent that it was meant to serve as a stable for Horsemaster Dennet’s mounts. I had learned over the course of yesterday’s reports from Josephine and Leliana that he had arranged for a handful of well-trained Ferelden Forders to be delivered, and they had arrived just ahead of us.

The stable’s smell reminded me of my time in the Hinterlands, of farmland and hay and manure; not the most pleasant of scents, but I was growing accustomed to it. What I was not accustomed to were the great beasts that occupied the stable. Four large horses had taken up residence in the hastily erected stalls, and all of them were instantly alerted to my presence, looking out at me over their low gates, ears perked forward with curiosity.

I tentatively approached one, remembering my disastrous attempts at riding astride at Dennet’s farm. More often than not I’d ended up flung off into the nearest puddle, and on the few occasions I’d managed to keep myself in the saddle I’d been scared out of my wits until Cassandra had taken pity on me and brought the beast to heel.

The steed had a deep brown coat with a wide white stripe down its nose. Large, expectant eyes looked out at me with uncanny intelligence. It was unnerving. I almost turned around to retreat to the safety of my cabin, but determination or stubbornness kept me there.

Slowly, gingerly, I approached the horse with one hand outstretched, and he sniffed at the palm before shaking his head and backing away. I laughed, in spite of my nervousness. I’d held out my left hand without thinking.

“I’m not so fond of it either,” I said to him. He looked back at me warily.

Trying again, I reached out with my right hand, offering it up for appraisal. Unfortunately, the horse wanted none of it, backing away and whinnying at me with indignation. Frustrated, I took another step and reached out more determinedly, only to be rejected once again. I tried mimicking the soothing noises I’d heard Dennet and his daughter making, tried waiting patiently, tried backing up. Nothing seemed to make a difference.

“It’s because you’re nervous.”

I jumped at the unexpected voice, and turned to see Cassandra framed against the stable entrance, astride a fifth horse that was saddled and bridled. How long had she been there?

“Excuse me?” I asked.

She dismounted with effortless grace, and I couldn’t help an annoyed grimace.

“Horses are sensitive beasts,” she said. She began loosening the fasteners on the bridle with one hand, using her free hand to gently rub at the underside of the horse’s jawline. “They can sense even slight mood changes, and they are prone to skittishness.”

I watched in silence as she finished removing the bridle and hung it neatly on a nearby hook, then started unbuckling the saddle. All the while, the horse stood patiently, seeming to appreciate the attention.

Her lecture the night before had been running through the back of my mind most of the day. I’d been in no mood to listen then, and though I had come to acknowledge, at least to myself, that she’d had a point, I wasn’t yet ready to look past the bitterness it had dredged up. So, I was left not knowing what to say.

Fortunately, she spoke first.

“I hear you spoke to Cullen last night.”

With the riding gear properly stowed, she set about brushing down the horse, starting at its flank. She kept her gaze on her task, not looking over at me.

“How did you hear that?”

“Leliana isn’t the only one with a vast network of spies,” she replied casually, concentrating on the horse’s coat with a slight frown. “I’ve set them all to watch your every move.”

I stared, mouth agape, unsure how to respond. It took a moment to realize she was joking.

“Cullen told you.”

“Cullen told me.”

She looked over the horse’s long, curved back at me, mouth quirked in the barest hint of a smirk. The long, swishing strokes of her brush continued, and she moved across to the other side, facing away from me.

“About what you said last night,” I started, summoning the courage at last. The coarse brush paused only briefly, then continued. “You may have had a point---”

“---No.”

The brushing ceased, and she turned back to me, arms crossed, face pinched slightly into what might have been annoyance, or might have been guilt.

“It was wrong of me to insist you process all this at any pace but your own,” she said. “I should not have been so harsh with you.”

“But you were right,” I tried to insist, but she forestalled my protest with an upheld hand and a stern look.

“Whether either of us was in the right is not the point,” she said. “We were both tired and agitated, and I should not have taken my frustrations out on you.”

That almost sounded like an apology. I blinked, trying to reorient myself.

“I just… I never thanked you properly,” I said. “For giving me a chance. A choice. About how to face the Breach.” I hugged my arms close to myself, making myself small, not looking up to meet her eyes. Uncharted territory was tricky to navigate. “You placed trust in me before anyone else. I… owe you for that.”

“You owe me nothing.” She sounded surprised that I would even suggest such a thing. “It was simply the right thing to do.”

“How do we know the right thing?”

“We don’t.” She shrugged. “But our mission is clear enough. ‘Close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order.’”

I remembered. The mental image of her backing Chancellor Roderick against the wall in her fierce stubbornness made me smile in spite of myself.

“For what it’s worth,” she continued. “You’ve been holding up admirably, considering the circumstances.”

“Have I?” I scoffed, remembering with a cringe my near-flight in the middle of a dark night in the Hinterlands. “I’ve been nothing but a burden. I can’t even ride my own mount.”

“But you haven’t given up. No one expects you to be masterful at this. There’s not a one of us who knows what comes next, myself included. We’re all just trying to keep our heads above water. And as for riding…” She walked her horse into an empty stall, shutting the gate behind it. “There’s no reason you can’t learn. I could teach you, if you like.”

I almost scoffed again, before I realized her offer was genuine. It was a kind offer, given without any strings that I could see. Despite my own reservations, I found I hadn’t the heart to refuse.

“Alright.”

“Good,” she nodded. “Then let us begin.”

She gestured to the horse I’d been trying to familiarize myself with, who perked up from his pile of hay, munching curiously.

“Now?”

“Never a better time than the present.”

Suddenly I was regretting my decision.

“I-I don’t… even know how to fit a saddle.”

Cassandra’s mouth twitched.

“Then we’ll start there,” she said, unphased.

T: … You can stop laughing at any time.
V: Sorry, sorry… Just remembering your first riding attempt back at Dennett’s farm.
T: Don’t remind me.
V: The look on your face when that horse took off at full gallop!
T: …
V: Then you went face first into that puddle…
T: You’re still laughing.
V: No no no… I’m good, I’ll stop.
T: …
T: Any time now.
V: Phew! Okay, now I’m good. Where were we?

Much to my surprise, Cassandra was a patient teacher, guiding me methodically through the steps of saddling and bridling. In short order, the horse was properly fitted, and I was carefully astride under Cassandra’s watchful guidance, and we were slowly making our way along the path that led up into the hills behind Haven.

It was slow going, as both myself and my mount were ill at ease with me at the reigns. Still, it was a pleasant day, the winds were calm, and our path took us far from the crowds and noise of the training field and main square of the chantry.

As we made our way in companionable silence, I noticed her casting what were clearly meant to be surreptitious glances at me every so often. It might have unnerved me, except I knew her moods well enough by now to see it was not out of malice or suspicion. I was content at first to allow her to decide to speak on her own, but after several minutes I grew weary of waiting.

“Is there something in my teeth?” I asked.

“What?”

My random question startled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up at me from her place at the horse’s bridle. Her expression was pure confusion, and I barely managed to hold in an amused chuckle.

“You seem as if you want to ask me something.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She sighed, ruffling the back of her short, raven hair, leaving it slightly mussed. It was odd to see her so out of sorts.

“It occurs to me that I don’t know much about you,” she said at last.

From her hesitation, I sensed that wasn’t what was really occupying her thoughts. Since it would have been useless to pry, however, I didn’t challenge the feint.

“What do you want to know?” I asked instead.

“I’m… not sure. You’re from Ostwick’s Circle, correct?”

“You know that I am.” Now I was the one on edge; that was not a topic I considered open for the asking. “At least until the rebellion began.”

“Yes, I suppose that… would have required you to stay on the move.” There was a pause, then she continued, either heedless of my discomfort or disregarding it. “Tell me, do you consider the Free Marches your home? Are you eager to go back?”

I had decided that was enough of this line of questions.

“That’s no business of yours.”

“True enough.”

Her gaze returned to the path ahead, and we both fell silent as she guided the horse around a sharp turn in the path. When it led up into a steep incline, she instructed me to lean forward in the saddle, and I obeyed, feeling the horse’s surge of energy propelling us both forward a few short yards to the crest of the hill. Cassandra was all business again, her voice flat and commanding, impersonal, and I regretted my earlier harshness.

“If I ever go back, it will be too soon,” I admitted.

She cast another glance at me, then returned her attention to the path ahead as we continued upward on a more steady incline.

“I understand. I… suppose I feel the same about my own family.”

My brows rose at that small crumb of information. It was quite possibly the first time she’d ever volunteered anything about her past, I realized. Not wanting to risk overstepping, I decided to keep the topic on myself for now.

“You know my family?”

“As I understand it, the Trevelyans are a large clan with a rather clever coat-of-arms, and strong ties to the Chantry.”

I grimaced at the blunt, euphemistic summation. I’d heard far too many debates in my early years - and indeed, even at the Circle - about that accursed coat-of-arms, and whether the sigil was a workhorse or warhorse, whether it was meant to represent both or simply that its true origin had been forgotten over time. I cared little either way, for it was not my sigil, and had not been for many years.

And the less said about their relationship with the Chantry the better.

“They’ve also been in the business of strategic marriage alliances with most of the Free Marches and even into the Tevinter Imperium for generations,” I added bitterly.

“And Nevarra. I think we may share a cousin or two in common.”

“Truly?”

I had to confess, I’d not heard much of the Pentaghast line, though it had sounded vaguely familiar when I’d first heard the name. Finally, something clicked into place; her elevated accent, her family name…

“You’re part of the Nevarran royal line?”

I was amazed; to look at her, nobility was the last thing that came to mind - and that was to her credit, at least in my thinking. I’d spent much of my own life trying to remove the same assumption about myself, though not with quite as much success.

“The Pentaghasts are the royal house of Nevarra,” she admitted with a sneer. “I am… “ Her expression went thoughtful for a moment, then, “Seventy-eighth in line for the throne. Or I was, before I joined the Seekers of Truth.”

“You joined to get away?”

“It was a life worth getting away from.” Her sneer held a particular resentment I was all too familiar with.

“You’re not on good terms with your family then.”

“If I ever go back, it will be too soon,” she echoed my earlier sentiment, making me smirk. Perhaps we had more in common that I’d assumed.

“I heard about your loss,” she said quietly. “Your father and brother?”

“Yes, my oldest brother,” I replied, feeling the impulse to retreat within myself again, but fighting it this time. I couldn’t run from these feelings forever. “I hadn’t seen or heard from either of them in years.”

“Do you miss them?”

“No,” I said at once, then rethought. “Maybe.” I paused, thinking on the grief that had overcome me last night, trying to understand it. “I suppose I miss what they could have been. Should have been. If that makes sense.”

Cassandra smiled.

“It makes perfect sense.”

We had come to a precipice that looked out over the landscape, and I carefully dismounted with Cassandra’s steady hand for support. While she fastened the horse to a low-hanging branch with the reigns, I stepped to the edge and looked out over the snow-laden hills below, realizing we were overlooking Haven itself. The chantry was immediately recognizable as the largest building by far, and from there it was easy to pick out the layout of the rest of the small village.

Cassandra came to stand beside me, and together we admired the view in awed silence. The training field was a mosaic of movement, figures too small to make out - no, there, that was the Commander, certainly, with his enormous fur pauldrons - going to and fro in small patches, executing drills. I watched two groups mimic a charge, weaving their contrasting-colored flags and tunics into a tapestry of swirling momentum that then separated to circle around, regroup, and charge again. It was mesmerizing, and I nearly allowed myself to forget the horrifying context they practiced under.

I heard a heavy sigh beside me as Cassandra sat down, her legs dangling precariously over the ledge.

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked.

I looked down at her, incredulous. Where had that come from? She gestured down at the small army below.

“What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

Ah. This is what had been on her mind.

Cautiously, apprehensive of the enormous drop below us, I leaned down to sit beside her. I wasn’t sure what to say at first, but I knew what she wanted to hear.

“What does your faith tell you?”

She regarded me, eyes narrowed in suspicion, likely wondering if I was belittling her. I returned her gaze with no pretense, brows raised in question, waiting.

“I believe you are innocent,” she said at last, turning back to the spectacle below as the troops began an arching flank maneuver. “I believe more is going on here than we can see. And I believe no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot. But is this the Maker’s will? I can only guess.”

Mother Giselle’s words returned to me once more. She had made no special claims to know the Maker’s will either. Strangely, it made me trust them both more. But that also raised another question I’d been too afraid to ask until now.

“You don’t think I’m the Herald of Andraste?” I allowed just a hint of sarcasm to creep into my voice, mocking the absurd title ever so slightly, making light of my own fears.

One corner of Cassandra’s mouth quirked up, but her expression was genuine when she replied.

“I think you were sent to help us, whether you wanted to or not.”

I smiled at that, despite myself. She continued.

“I hope you were. But the Maker’s help takes many forms.” She favored me with another long scrutiny. “Sometimes it’s difficult to discern who it truly benefits, or how.”

I thought on that, gazing out over the field again. This time, my eyes passed over the troops to see the chaotic city of tents and the multitude of newly homeless it sheltered. The sun was nearly at its apex, and I watched several cauldrons being set up to serve the midday meal. Bright white figures whom I recognized as Chantry mothers and sisters were working their way through the crowd, handing out items or speaking to this person or that. They were all heretics, according to the Chantry proper, which sat an entire country away from this epicenter and decried everything that we were doing.

They were heretics… and I was an apostate. But I doubted that mattered to the people below.

“What’s going to happen now?” I asked.

Cassandra took a deep, bracing breath before responding.

“Now we deal with the Chantry’s panic over you before they do even more harm.” She looked up, and I followed her gaze, eyes guided instinctively toward the gaping wound that hung there. “Then we close the Breach. We are the only ones who can.”

I should have resented that “we”, but in truth I was grateful for the reminder that I did not have to face that thing alone. I repressed a shudder, trying not to remember how the last attempt had ended.

“After that,” Cassandra continued. “We find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them. And if there are consequences to be paid for what I have done, I pay them. I only pray it is not too high.”

“Isn’t it a bit late to worry about it now?”

“We have only just begun.”

That made me look over to her once more, and in her face I saw such a fierce determination that her eyes fairly glowed with it. I realized, in that one moment, that I would follow her through a great many trials - that I already had, in fact - and not give it a second thought. I found, to my great surprise, that I admired her more than anyone I had ever met.

Then she chuckled, and the moment passed. I smiled quizzically, unsure of the cause for her sudden change in mood.

“My trainers all used to say that I was too brash, I needed to think before I act. You can see how well I listened. I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

I’m not ashamed to admit that I felt tears welling up at that. I had been denying my own involvement to everyone, including myself, but the truth was doubt still gnawed at me in the darkest corners of my mind. I dared not ever voice them - only Solas had ever witnessed that fear brought out in me - but I knew others still carried the same doubts. It was a greater relief than I had expected to hear Cassandra of all people so frankly expressing her belief in my innocence.

“I cannot say I’m not grateful to hear that,” I said, trying to keep behind my mask of sarcasm, not ready for her to hear the depths of my emotions just then.

“I can be harsh, I know,” she admitted, kindness softening her voice.

She was quiet another moment, long enough for me to recognize that she was about to ask another tricky question, and was trying to formulate the words in her mind. I braced myself.

“You’ve said you don’t believe you were chosen,” she started, decidedly looking down at the fields below, though her eyes were unfocused. “Does that mean… you also don’t believe in the Maker?”

I had not braced myself nearly enough for that question.

I took a deep breath, held it, released it. I was genuinely at a loss for words. I could have lied, could have said the same practiced lie I’d learned to repeat throughout my years in the Circle. One didn’t long avoid the wrath of the Templars by loudly disavowing religious doctrines. After all, was Cassandra not also part of the Chantry? Had she not just espoused her own faith in the very religion she was disobeying when she openly declared the Inquisition reborn?

But no. I knew her better than that, respected her more than that. So, I told the truth.

“I honestly don’t know.”

I had spent many years trying to reconcile my faith with the prison I’d been forced to inhabit, the suspicion I endured, the abuse I was subjected to. In the end, I knew my belief didn’t matter. I would suffer all the same whether I believed or not, and so I had stopped caring. For many years, I uttered the Chant out of habit, giving it no thought or time in my mind, believing my energy better spent on expanding my knowledge as much as the Enchanters and our library allowed. This was the first time I had been forced to actually confront those thoughts again. I wasn’t sure I was ready to.

Thankfully, Cassandra chose not to pry further.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter now,” she said, rising with a grunt and wiping stray pieces of underbrush from her trousers, then offering me a hand up. “I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now, it simply remains to see where it leads us.”

“Back to the tavern, I hope,” I said, glad for a distraction. “I believe it is past time for midday meal.”

She chuckled as she helped me re-mount the horse to return to Haven.

Chapter Text

It took us some time getting back to Haven proper, having taken a wrong turn in the overgrown pathways that permeated the hills above. At one point, we found ourselves well on our way to ascending one of the grand peaks that devoured the horizon around the village before we realized our mistake.

By the time we finally got back, I was famished. Of course, Cassandra insisted on laboriously instructing me through the process of de-saddling and brushing down the horse. I bore it with good-natured grumbling, which she returned in kind, never relenting. Once everything was done to her satisfaction, I was free at last.

I made a beeline for the tavern, taking a quick meal of hard bread and sharp cheese that made my jaw ache, but was nevertheless satisfying. Still a little restless, I elected to take my food and walk a meandering path about the village that eventually led me to the training field. The soldiers were still at their maneuvers, taking the majority of the open space for themselves, but the training dummies close by had been given over to some of the mages who appeared to have volunteered their services as well.

I felt a pang of nostalgia watching them move through familiar forms and patterns, catching myself naming the spells in my head as they hurled fireballs and waves of frost at the badly abused targets. One young elf with platinum blond hair and a plain iron staff was having trouble stabilizing his lightning strike, growing increasingly agitated every time he took aim and missed. I waited for one of the instructors to point out his mistake, but they were all preoccupied with other trainees. Finally, I stepped forward cautiously, unsure if I was overstepping. I made sure he heard my approach so as not to startle him into an accident.

“Your staff is carrying residual mana from the other spells,” I said when I had his attention. “When was the last time you cleansed it?”

“Cleansed it?” He looked utterly perplexed at the notion.

“It needs to be cleansed regularly of any ambient energy. Like tuning an instrument. It’s a simple spell.” I frowned. “How long did you train at the Circle?”

“Only about four years.” The young lad looked briefly down at the ground, shuffling one foot into the dirt. “I didn’t even get a chance at the Harrowing before…”

That explained it then.

“How practiced are you in spirit magic?”

I demonstrated a basic mana cleanse for him and he was able to mimic it after only a few attempts. He was a fast learner, but seemed to lack for confidence; a major drawback when working with something as volatile as storm magic. I advised he keep to winter spells until he had mastered them to his trainer’s satisfaction.

“Lightning spells are among the most dangerous,” I cautioned. “They can have a mind of their own if you’re not careful.”

“R-right,” he nodded and looked down at the ground again. I pretended not to notice the flush creeping across his cheeks.

It was almost heart-wrenching, how young he looked. Not even a harrowed enchanter, and they had him practicing battle magic? How many more were there like him? How many of those soldiers practicing charges and flanks had even held a sword before they arrived here?

It made me ill at ease, and the brief comfort of nostalgia was gone, replaced with that sickening dread I was growing disturbingly accustomed to.

I left the training field more restless than ever, and continued my aimless stroll across to the lake, watching the opaque shadows of rustling trees reflected across the flat, frozen surface. I shivered, mimicking their movements, unsure whether it was from the icy breeze or my own dark thoughts.

Last night I had craved solitude, but today, perhaps it was better to seek out familiar company. I had felt more calm during my riding lesson with Cassandra, after all. Returning to the village, I at first began looking for Varric, who always seemed to turn up in the most random places.

However, it was Solas I found first. Or perhaps more accurately, he found me.

It was entirely by chance. I was walking through some of the rows of cabins when I heard his familiar monotone, now accentuated with a hint of irony.

“The Chosen of Andraste! A blessed hero to save us all.”

I looked about in surprise, but I failed to spot him.

“Look up,” he said, the amusement in his voice growing.

I looked up, and there he was, sitting cross-legged atop one of the cabin’s wood-slatted roofs, looking comfortable and confident, as if he had done this often. For all I knew he had. I quirked my head upward, lifting one hand to shield my eyes from the bright afternoon sun. He looked quite pleased with himself, though his mirth was almost entirely hidden but for a faint twinkle in his eyes that proved he was capable of humor when it pleased him. I decided to respond in kind.

“Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

His mouth twitched, but his face remained otherwise unmoved.

“I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly they are extinct.” He gestured to a spot on the roof next to him, waving me over. “Come and join me, if you have no prior engagements.”

“And how do you propose I do that?”

“The log pile against the wall there provides ample height to lever oneself up.”

“If one were so inclined.” I smirked at his eccentricity. He merely shrugged; it was no wonder so many others found him hard to read.

“There is method to my madness,” he said. “Come and see for yourself.”

After a few moments of feebly scrambling to lift myself up with just my arms - eventually aided when Solas reached the end of his staff out for me to grab - I was up, panting a little with my efforts. He was right, unsurprisingly. Up here, we could be seen by just about anyone who cared to look up, but our conversation wouldn’t be overheard as long as we kept our voices low. We had visibility and privacy. It was perfect.

He regarded me with a long, quiet stare that would have been unnerving if I wasn’t already accustomed to his reticence. Whatever he was puzzling out, I waited patiently, enjoying the view of Haven from up here. We were just high enough to see above the inner wall his cabin bordered, and though the wind tugged at my jacket and pulled shadowy wisps of my hair from its braid, the sun’s warmth was enough to counteract its chill. I breathed deep of the aromatic mountain air, and found myself much calmer than mere moments before.

We spent many long minutes in companionable silence before Solas finally gave voice to his thoughts.

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” Here, he paused, making sure I was attentive to his next words. I listened curiously. “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

My first thought was to protest, to insist I was no hero, merely uniquely unlucky enough to find myself mired in the midst of one of the greatest tragedies in living memory. But it would have been pointless, and irrelevant to the nature of his question. Solas had a way of stripping away any pretense or ego from such philosophical discussions. He wasn’t laying praise at my feet; he was demanding accountability.

I thought on it, carefully.

“A shield,” I said after a long moment. “The kind who will protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

He lifted his brows mutely, and I was unsure if it was out of surprise or approval.

“That can account for a rather wide range of people,” he said. “You take on quite a burden, but I wish you luck.”

I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I detected a hint of mockery to his tone. I dismissed the notion, sure I was mistaken.

He turned to look out over the wall, taking in the panorama with a thoughtful expression. More time passed, and the wind was beginning to bite at my ears and nose. The sun’s light had weakened, and clouds were forming from the west that held the promise of snow for tonight. Eventually, Solas nodded to himself, as if coming to a decision.

“It will be interesting to watch this fledgling Inquisition make its way,” he said. “I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been sealed.”

“Was that in doubt?” I asked.

It was the first indication that he’d ever intended to do aught else, aside from my nocturnal near-escape back in the Hinterlands. Neither of us had spoken of it since, but I remembered his firm assurance that he would go wherever I did, so long as I held the sole ability to close Fade rifts. His commitment to undoing this disaster had always been his primary motivation, at least as far as I could tell.

Solas raised both hands to his side in a gesture meant to encompass all that he was.

“I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me.” He shrugged. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

“Cassandra trusts you,” I said. “She would never let anyone put you in a Circle against your will.”

Solas gave no answer, but smiled slightly and looked away again. He doubted, and I couldn’t blame him. After all, I had made sure not to speak to him of the Fade while she was in earshot. Some things were just not discussed in front of enforcers of the Chantry.

And speaking of which…

“I was actually looking for you earlier today,” I said.

“I was wandering the trails around Haven,” he replied, meeting my gaze once more. “Why were you looking for me?”

I explained to him, in as much detail as I could remember, the two instances of the mark flaring up the day before; first in the strategy room, and second during the near-riot. He listened attentively, never interrupting, his brows furrowed in concern. When I had finished, he meditated on the events for a moment before responding. I watched the thoughts play across his face, shown in only the barest twitch of a muscle or lift of a brow. I tried to calm my nerves as I waited impatiently, afraid of what he might say.

“I cannot be certain, as this is magic beyond anything seen in many ages,” he said at last. “But it sounds as though you are activating its abilities in moments of great stress.”

“But how can that be?” I shook my head, trying to understand. “There are no rifts nearby anymore, and even when I’m closing one, the mark takes control over me, not the other way around.”

“But you are much closer to the Breach here than anywhere else in Thedas. And that means you are closer to the Fade here. That mark binds you to the Fade, somehow. It only makes sense that your emotions would have a greater effect over it.”

“You’re saying my state of mind is exerting control somehow?”

“Not consciously, of course.” He quirked his head slightly, considering something. “But with training, perhaps that could be achieved.”

“That sounds dangerous,” I balked. “What good would it even do without a rift?”

“As I said, this magic is nearly unheard of. We’ve no idea what it could be capable of if your mastery were to grow.”

“All the more reason not to toy with it.”

“I do not ‘toy’ with magic, of any kind,” he said with a stern edge to his voice. “But I have studied a wide variety in my time. It seems to me learning more of its properties and limitations would be far safer than remaining mired in ignorance. You needn’t worry,” he added. “I will remain by your side. I will not let it harm you any more than it already has.”

I was still apprehensive, but he was right, of course. It was only to my detriment that I knew no more about this mark today than the day I woke up in the chantry cellar and beheld its light for the first time. And I trusted no one more than him to guide me through this. I nodded, and he led me through guided meditation to clear my thoughts and ensure my mind was calm but alert.

“Now, I want you to focus on the mark,” he said. My eyes were closed, but his calm voice held me gently secured as I maintained my deep, rhythmic breathing. “Tell me what you feel.”

“It tingles,” I said. “Not painful, but… warm. It gets… hotter… when we’re near rifts. When I close them, it burns…”

“Ignore your fears,” he cautioned. “Keep yourself in the here and now.”

My pulse had elevated slightly at the memory. I concentrated again on my breathing. The mark’s tingling was rhythmic as well, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I told Solas this.

“It is in tune with your body,” he said. “You are its host, but that also means you have a degree of control, just as you do with the energy that comes through the Veil. I want you to try and make it glow brighter, but only by a small amount.”

“How?”

“Concentrate on it. Exert your will over it.”

I tried, opening my eyes to see. I was sitting cross-legged, my left hand laying palm-up across my knee. Its glow was quiet but unmistakable. As I looked down, trying to will it to brighten, I felt the wind growing colder, more insistent. My braid had all but come loose entirely, and my hair flew this way and that, a black veil across my vision, partially obstructing my view. After several long moments, nothing changed.

“It’s not working,” I said, grimacing in mild annoyance.

“That’s because you’re treating this as if it were the same as Fade magic,” Solas replied. “It is both the same and separate from the wisps you are used to conjuring and shaping to your will. This is more tangible. You feel its thread that connects you to the Breach, do you not?”

“Yes,” I frowned. “But how did you…?” Even as he described the sensation, I realized it had been there all along, so faint it was barely a feeling. It tied me to the Breach just as a boat was moored to a dock.

“I’ve felt the same connection myself whilst attending to you in the days after the Breach’s creation,” Solas nodded. “It was what first made me postulate that you might have the key to closing it.”

“I see.”

“Now, try to pull at that connection, lightly. That should provoke a reaction.”

I closed my eyes again, to better visualise the thread. Though the distance between us was vast, I could still effortlessly orient myself in relation to the Breach, even without looking. I had been able to do the same even whilst in the Hinterlands. I marveled that I had somehow missed the connection before.

Now, when I held the thread in my mind’s eye, it swayed in the wind, just as I did. It resembled a single strand of spider-silk, frail and near-invisible, but it held fast to the two points at either end; the Breach, and the mark, engaged in an unrelenting tug-of-war. I pulled on my end, gently, carefully, testing its pliancy.

I did not need to open my eyes to know that it worked.

The bright flash against my eyelids was palpable, and immediately following came the pain, pulsing and boring into the flesh of my hand like a drill. I gasped, and opened my eyes.

I stood in a dark room, stone walls all around me. In front of me was a bed, occupied by a sleeping form. Their chest rose and fell in slow rhythm, their face was a mask of peace; no nightmares plagued their wanderings in the Fade this night. I stepped forward, raising my right hand. The dagger it held glinted in the moonlight that fell in a silver path across the bedcovers.

“Theresa!”

A familiar voice pulled me back to Haven. I sat atop a cabin roof once again. The wind was playing at my hair, making it dance across my vision. The person on the bed was gone, replaced by Solas’s piercing grey eyes boring into mine, concern writ plain in his furrowed brow and taut jaw. His hands were on both my shoulders, bracing me.

“Steady breaths,” he said. “You are safe.”

“What happened?” I asked, or started to. My voice had gone ragged again. Had I cried out? I cleared my throat and asked again, more clearly.

“I’m not sure,” he said, still eyeing me closely. “The mark flared, much more brightly than I think you intended, and you appeared to be in great distress. What did you see?”

“I… I’m not sure. A memory? But it couldn’t have been my own.”

“Was it connected to the voice we heard at the epicenter?”

I shook my head.

“I think it must have been somewhere else. Or maybe, the same place but another time, from before the explosion. It didn’t feel the same as the vision I had then.”

Except that wasn’t quite true, was it? I frowned, trying to reclaim the feeling. It was both similar and wholly different. Was there a connection I was missing? It was connected to no events in my own past that I could recall. But then, so much of my memory of that time was still elusive. It left me unsettled. I hadn’t been able to discern the face of the sleeping form, and couldn’t quite tell where that room had been. None of it felt remotely familiar to me. And yet…

“Oye!”

Solas and I both turned and looked down, where one of Leliana’s scouts was bolting toward us, her eyes wide in fear. Belatedly, I recalled our elevated position had been a shield against evesdroppers, but also eliminated any obstacles that might have shielded that flash from carrying across the landscape. Likely, it had been seen by the whole village, and the refugees and trainees in the field beyond.

Oh shit.

“What in the Void was that?” the scout shouted up at us once she reached the cabin. She leaned down, hands braced on her knees.

“A harmless exercise,” Solas responded calmly. I could see the tick of one eyebrow indicating his annoyance at the interruption.

“Harmless?!” The scout was panting, her face incredulous.

“It’s alright.” I held out my left palm, showing her it was back to its normal state. The pain had mercifully receded as well, and I was able to present myself as much at ease as the circumstance allowed. “We were only testing it. We didn’t anticipate such a strong reaction, but everything is fine. Please let everyone know there’s nothing to worry about.”

Solas gave a noncommittal noise, but he looked agitated, barely acknowledging the scout below and shooting me an angry glare.

“Too right!” The scout still looked fearful, but somewhat placated. “Well, long as you’re fine, Herald, Sister Nightingale asked me to fetch you. The advisors are waiting for you in the war room.”

Surprised, I glanced at the horizon and realized that the sun had sunk low, nearly hidden by the mountain peaks. I swore under my breath. How had we lost that much time?

“Tell them I’ll be right there.”

The scout nodded and jogged at a much steadier pace back in the direction of the chantry, pausing periodically to spread the word to panicking passersby that all was well.

“We will need to be more careful next time,” I told Solas when she was well out of ear shot, making sure to pitch my voice low just in case. He said nothing, back to silent scrutiny, and I was hard-pressed to discern what his current expression might mean.

Unfortunately, I had no time to ask him. I grabbed my staff and scrambled back down the cabin wall, doing my best to dust off the snow and brush and taking a brief moment to re-do my braid before heading to what Leliana seemed intent on dubbing the war room. My bottom and legs ached again, and I wondered once more how we had lost track of time so badly, chalking it up to the wonders of meditation.

When I arrived, the advisors looked none too happy, and I could only imagine what the scout must have told them about my impromptu training session with Solas. Josephine and Leliana looked concerned but said nothing, but Cassandra and Cullen had no such qualms.

“What were you thinking---”

“Are you utterly mad---”

Both talked at once, but I quickly held up my hands in a peaceful gesture.

“I apologize,” I said at once. That shocked them to silence them long enough for me to finish. “I know it was ill-advised to practice so openly without warning anyone. It… wasn’t exactly planned.”

“What were you even hoping to accomplish?” Cassandra demanded, leaning forward to brace herself against the massive table. The look of unmasked fury on her face made me rather glad that the table was between us just then.

“Solas thinks that with practice, I might be able to better control the mark.”

“And that would be beneficial how?” Cullen asked. He had perched himself against the far wall again, arms crossed in front of him. He could not have been further away from me if he’d tried.

“It’s better than me blindly waving my hand at rifts and hoping it continues to work while knowing nothing at all about it.” I lifted my chin and set my shoulders, proud of how steady my voice was.

He scoffed and shook his head, giving no reply. Cassandra looked back to Leliana, but found no support in her ever-inscrutable face. Josephine shrugged helplessly, utterly out of her element. Cassandra sighed, looking back to me.

“Just… let us know the next time you plan on doing anything like that again.”

“I will,” I agreed, knowing I had acted rashly.

“Well then,” Josephine said with forced cheer. “Shall we begin?”

“Must you bring that to every meeting?” Cullen nodded to my staff where it hung from a sling I’d fashioned to sit against my back.

“And why not?” I asked. “You and Cassandra have your swords at your side.” I saw both of their hands go to their hilts automatically, followed by a shared look of guilt between them. “And judging by the folds in her sleeves, I’d say Leliana has at least two daggers on her at any given time.”

“How observant,” Leliana smirked, sounding a little impressed.

“Yes, you’re all very well armed,” Josephine said, her mask of politeness slipping just a little as she sighed with exasperation. “But unless you’re all preparing to duel, could we could begin?”

She looked to Leliana, who dipped her head in agreement. Then to Cassandra, who rolled her eyes, but nodded all the same. Lastly to the Commander, who uncrossed his arms and shook his head again before unpeeling himself from the wall and coming forward to the table, standing next to Leliana.

“Right.” Josephine’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. I winced in sympathy. Playing mediator between this lot of strong personalities had to take its toll. She reviewed the notes on the oddly shaped and bulky tablet she carried for support. “Picking up from where we left off yesterday… Having the Herald address the clerics in Val Royeaux is not a terrible idea.”

“You can’t be serious.” The Commander had returned to his default state, scowl planted firmly in place across his face.

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong,” Josephine replied, unphased. “At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.”

“And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?” Leliana asked.

“Let’s ask her.”

Josephine’s prompt led to four pairs of eyes focused expectantly on me. It was just as unnerving as my prior experiences. Still, this time I had an answer. I’d already made my peace with the fact that it was necessary to confront them, whatever the danger posed to me; Maker knew I wasn’t much safer facing down demons in the Hinterlands, after all. And this was just as vital to our cause. That did not, however, mean I was entirely comfortable with the plan.

“I’m more concerned this won’t actually solve any problems,” I said.

“I agree.” The Commander’s remark surprised everyone, me least of all. “It just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says.”

“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” I replied.

“What can they do?” he asked. “They’re just talk.”

“Do not underestimate the power of their words,” Leliana cautioned him. “An angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade.”

I smirked, privately wondering if he recalled I had said very much the same last night, after our own near-miss with a rioting crowd of soldiers and Templars. Judging from the guilty look he shot me out of the corner of his eye, he did.

Cassandra stepped to my side.

“I will go with her.”

I was hard-pressed to keep the genuine smile from my face, but I did allow the gratitude to show in my nod of thanks to her. I had assumed I would not be sent out alone, but I was glad I would at least share the journey with someone I trusted. She returned my nod with a rare smirk before turning back to Josephine.

“You mentioned a name yesterday? A Revered Mother Hevara? We should contact her as soon as possible.”

“But why?” Leliana objected. “This could easily be a trap!”

Cassandra threw both hands up in defeat, and I could tell her patience for debate was wearing thin.

“What choice do we have? Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach. Use what little influence we do have to arrange a meeting. We must see this through.”

Leliana pursed her lips, but nodded, acquiescing. Josephine scratched a note into her stack of papers, then shuffled through them briefly.

“This can be done,” she said, reading over whatever she had written there. “But while those ravens fly, we have another task we will need your assistance with.” At that, she looked up at both me and Cassandra. “We have sent some of our scouts to the Storm Coast to establish a foothold. We would ask that you meet with them there to reaffirm our position.”

“Why would you send scouts there, of all places?” Cassandra asked.

“My contacts have told of sightings of Grey Wardens in that area,” Leliana said. “No doubt the Breach has caught their attention. There is a chance they have information we do not. We would like you to find out.”

“The Grey Wardens usually have their own agenda,” Cassandra shook her head. “Why would they help us?”

“They are sworn to be vigilant, even when there is no Blight. As for why they might help?” Leliana shrugged. “Convince them it is for the good of Ferelden. That should not be hard, because it is true.”

“That is not the only reason we are asking you to go there,” Josephine added. “Our scouts report being contacted by a representative of…” She paused, referencing her notes again. “The Bull’s Chargers?”

I looked over to Cassandra, but she shrugged and shook her head; she didn’t seem to know the name either.

“They appear to be a mercenary group, and they are offering their services to the Inquisition,” Josephine explained. “We would like you to meet with them and ascertain whether their offer is… genuine.”

“The northern coast is a long way off,” I said, making the calculations in my head. “We’ll be many days on the road getting there and back.”

“Yes, well, we can supply you with mounts this time, at least,” Josephine said cheerily.

Cassandra looked amused at that, and I flushed a little, recalling how green I still was at riding. This would be a long journey.

“Besides,” Leliana added. “Likely the Chantry will delay their response as much as possible. And it would do them good to have to wait on us a little, too.”

With that settled, we moved on to other matters, mostly regarding the logistics of maintaining supplies and sanitation for the ever increasing number of refugees flocking to Haven. I made sure to bring up Mother Giselle’s notion of having scouts search for unnamed dead so that they might be laid to rest. To my surprise, all four of the others approved of the idea. Leliana willingly agreed to assign dedicated scouts to the task, and Josephine offered to coordinate with Mother Giselle for regular funeral rites for those that remained unidentified. Cullen even suggested having his soldiers cross-reference with the scouts and post a master list with regular updates for the refugees to peruse for missing family members.

It was an inspiring and novel sight; all three of them coordinated and in agreement on a task. I felt a small bit of the dread in my gut lifting ever so slightly, and made a mental note to thank Mother Giselle for the idea when next I saw her.

Some time later, well past sunset, we concluded our business and dispersed to take our evening meals. In the morning, we would begin preparations for our journey to the Storm Coast.

Chapter Text

The next night, Mother Giselle led the very first in absentia funeral rites for the unnamed casualties of the Breach. A small pyre was built at the edge of the lake, with a copy of the descriptions and locations of each body I had noted placed on top - a touching bit of symbolism thought up by Leliana. The original copy was now posted outside the Chantry, so that refugees might peruse it in search of missing loved ones.

Most of the chief members of the Inquisition attended, along with a sizeable portion of Haven’s residents. It moved me to see so many pay tribute to people they’d never known. Now that Leliana’s scouts and Cullen’s soldiers were to begin keeping records of as many unidentified bodies as they could while out in the world, such ceremonies would become a regular occurrence before long.

Solas had declined to attend, making sure to remind me of the senselessness of this endeavor when I asked him. His words stung, but I reminded myself that his faith was different from most here. Even if I didn’t consider myself Andrastian any longer, I had the arguable benefit of receiving education based around it most of my life. Still, I felt the loss of his calming presence that night.

Mother Giselle sang the Chant with heart-wrenching sincerity, her voice low and rich, easily carrying across the crowd and raising gooseflesh across my arms and neck.

“The Light shall lead her safely
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees the light and goes toward the flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light.
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,
And she shall know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.”

Some sang with her - Leliana and Cullen the most surprising among them - voices rising to crescendo as the pyre was lit. It quickly caught in the dry wintry air, and I followed the sparks as they rose toward the sky, to be quickly swallowed up in the whirlwind of green and grey above.

Blessedly, there were no bodies to burn, but the scent of smoke and ash and wood was enough to send my stomach tossing all the same. My dream of a rabble of fervent chanters surrounding a pyre meant only for me flashed through my mind, making me shudder. I suddenly felt very alone amidst the crowd of mourners.

The wind changed and a cloud of smoke hit me in the face, invading my throat and sending me and others nearby coughing. I tried to regain composure, but my throat constricted and I couldn’t breathe. The pyre blazed in front of me, and for a moment it looked as though flaming tendrils were reaching out toward me, eager to pull me toward their core. The wood cracked as it burned, so loud it began to drown out all else, and my vision swam.

Maker no, not now…

I staggered back, uttering hurried apologies as I pushed past faceless bodies. I needed air, clean air.

Once I was free, I walked a staggering path toward my cabin, but my continued gasping and near-retching forced me to pause while I regained control. Here, the smoke couldn’t reach me, and the mountain air was grounding. I had stopped at the crest of a small hill, shortly before the inner gate, allowing me to see past the mass of tents to the frozen lake beyond. There, the pyre continued to burn, while many of the crowd had begun to disperse. I stayed a while, trapped between my need for solitude and the fear of dark paths my thoughts would take if left alone.

Out of the darkness below, a figure emerged, and I recognized Cullen’s silhouette coming up the path toward me. A curse escaped my lips, and I inhaled deeply of the bracingly cold air, settling my features in hopes he would not notice my distress.

“Herald?” he called, pausing when he was within a few paces. His hooded eyes watched me warily.

“Theresa.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You don’t need to always use that infernal title,” I said, allowing a small smile to ease some of the bitterness of my tone. “Please, just Theresa.”

“Oh… right.”

He cleared his throat and took a tentative step forward. When I did not shrink away, he came to stand beside me, turning to follow my gaze out over the snow-laden valley. He was hesitant, clearly wanting to say more. I waited for him to continue, but the longer the silence stretched between us the more fraught it became. Suddenly unsure what to do with my hands, I began to fidget with my gloves; loosening the tip of each finger, then pulling them tight again. Whole minutes - or perhaps just seconds - passed.

Ever since our mutual apology by the trebuchets, we had made a peace, of sorts, settling into a stiff professionalism when meeting over the war table. Outside of that, however, I was still at a loss as to how to behave around him, always seeming to flounder under empty politeness and forced niceties. I rubbed at my left palm, absently circling my right thumb across the tingling center of the mark while I tried to parse out his motivations tonight. Eventually, I broke the silence myself.

“Did you need something?”

“Hm? No, nothing urgent, I just…” He tousled his hair with one gloved hand, then gestured toward the pyre, a small beacon in the deepening night. “I saw you rush off, and wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked troubled.”

“I’m fine.” Inside my head, I unleashed another string of curses, furious with myself. How many others had noticed my panic? What must they think of me now? I hugged myself against the breeze, looking down at my feet, shifting my weight from one to the other.

You’re doing it again, I chided myself.

He was being kind, or trying to, and I was closing myself off. Awkward at the continuing silence, I tried to think of something to say in return for his concern.

“You sing very well.”

Wait, what?

Maker, why was that the first thing that occurred to me? I felt a flush rise in my cheeks, and I kept my gaze firmly down, letting a loose tendril of hair fall over my face, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, uh, thank you.”

His reply was so flat and short that it broke through my embarrassment. I glanced over to see his brow furrowed, the lines deepening in annoyance. His gaze still faced out towards the lake and the pyre, but his eyes were focused inward, unseeing and cold.

“I… didn’t mean to offend you,” I said, unsure if I’d crossed an unseen line somehow.

“What?” As if just coming out of his own thoughts, he looked over to me, momentarily confused, before shaking his head. “Oh, forgive me. It’s just, well… I don’t sing anymore, except for the Chant, of course.”

“Ah,” I said, immediately understanding. “I wasn’t mocking you.”

“No, I know.” He nodded, one corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Thank you,” he said again, meaning it this time. “Are you really alright?”

I shrugged, then shook my head. He waited while I considered my response.

“The smell of the flames was bringing back some… unpleasant memories,” I answered truthfully.

“I see,” he answered after another pregnant pause. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, trying to sound grateful. I was, truly, but gratitude was still a novelty, as was sympathy. Once again, I was in uncharted territory without a constellation for guidance.

I risked a side glance to Cullen, who had just drawn breath to say something. Whatever that might have been, however, was cut off by Cassandra’s sudden approach from the path below, heading toward the gate.

“We have an early start in the morning, Herald.” Her curt remark cut through the silence as she marched past without breaking stride.

“And a good night to you as well,” I remarked to her retreating back. She wordlessly lifted one arm to wave over her shoulder as she continued on.

“Ray of sunshine, that one,” Cullen muttered, though his worry lines had retreated, and his ghost of a smirk had returned.

“Unlike you?” I replied before I thought to stop myself.

“I beg your…” He sputtered before catching himself. Then, quite unexpectedly, he laughed; a light chuckle, widening his barest hint of a smirk into a nearly full smile as he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Well, then, it’s no wonder we get on so well.”

I stifled a laugh of my own, promptly followed by an insistent yawn. Much of that day had been a flurry of activity preparing for our departure at dawn, and it seemed to have finally caught up with me. I decided to retreat for the night before I said aught else to embarrass myself.

“I should get some sleep,” I said, taking advantage of the excuse Cassandra had provided.

“Of course,” Cullen replied with a nod. “Safe travels, Her-- Theresa.”

We passed through the gate, and I watched him go on down the path after Cassandra for a moment before turning and heading toward my own cabin. Thankfully, all the activity of the day left me weary enough to fall asleep quickly, before my inner demons could plague me again.

The sun rose lazily the next day as I rose and dressed in my freshly made travel wear. The armorist, Harritt, had completed my request promptly as promised, and I was more than pleased with the results. The hose and tunic were of thick wool in a surprisingly soft weave, fitting snugly against my body, the better to keep the cold out. The outer coat was ram’s leather, lined with fur. I had been concerned at the lack of sleeves, but Harritt assured me that as active as I would be, the freedom of movement and airflow would be needed. The boots reached my knees and were of a sturdier leather, also wool-lined, with thick soles. Lastly, a hooded cloak would protect me from the elements. All of it fit perfectly, and felt far more comfortable than the mismatched garb I’d made do with until now - to speak nothing of the cumbersome and gaudy Circle robes all mages were required to wear.

I met the others by the inner gate. Cassandra nodded sharply upon seeing me. Varric gave a bleary-eyed smile and casual wave. Solas said nothing as I approached, meeting my gaze for only a brief moment before turning away. I barely had time to wonder what that was about, however, as Cassandra soon gave the order to head out. I carefully mounted my horse - each of us had our own this time - and set off after the others with good wishes and fond waves from many of Haven’s villagers. I tried not to be bitter as I returned their farewells, remembering how mere weeks before they had all looked upon me with hatred and suspicion.

Our journey was slow going, taking us the better part of a week as predicted, and not only because of the distance that needed crossing. Once we descended below the snow line and turned our mounts north toward the coast, we were soon waylaid by soggy terrain and a persistent, damp fog. Within a day, the fog transformed into a light mist, spraying forth from a perpetually grey sky and soaking the land around us. I thought it was a sign of terrible storms to come, but Varric and Cassandra assured me this was normal weather for the region. Such assurances were poor comfort as I huddled in vain beneath my cloak against the wet chill.

If I thought the Hinterlands was bad, I was wholly unprepared for what we faced as we approached the Waking Sea. At least this time, everyone else was as miserable as I.

Most of my distaste for the Hinterlands was merely a disguise for my inexperience and discomfort with sustained travel. Its rolling hills, while scenic, made my legs ache and my feet blister, and the endless fields contained all manner of evil plants that played havoc with my sinuses. I would have taken weariness and hay fever any day over the pure misery that was the Storm Coast.

Instead of rolling hills, it had rock-covered ridges with sheer drops. Without warning, a barrage of falling debris would come tumbling down to dislodge our ascent and send our poor mounts scurrying for purchase. After the third such close call, Cassandra called for us all to dismount, and the rest of the journey was on foot.

Instead of benign cattle and bison grazing in fields, it had vicious predators that stalked our campsite. We learned quickly to carefully seal away all food stuffs after a great, lumbering bear wandered into our midst one night in search of the smoked meats we’d left out. When we tried to save the food, it attacked. We managed to subdue it, but not without serious injury, and we were forced to ingest nearly half of the healing draught we’d packed with us, painstakingly brewed for our journey by the ill-tempered alchemist back at Haven. I grimaced when I thought of having to ask him for more upon our return. Not for the last time, I lamented not having taken a healing specialty while at the Circle.

Perhaps most intolerable, however, was the rain.

Thick grey clouds covered the sky in an ominous canopy - although the Breach still managed to shine through in sinister mockery of a silver lining - and transformed the mist into a steady drizzle that never seemed to cease. When the wind picked up it dashed frigid droplets across our faces, making it difficult to see and impossible to avoid. Even my new cloak was no match for the constant downpour, and soon even my innerwear was soaked through. To prevent hypothermia, each night Solas and I would warm us all as best we could, but spells could only barely stave off the worst of it. There was simply no way to keep our clothing dry.

When making camp, we slept in shifts, our backs perched against each other to stay upright, seeking what little warmth we could find huddled together under our collection of cloaks and blankets. We sought shelter beneath whatever copse of scrawny trees or cliffside outcropping we could find. Fire was out of the question; Leliana’s most recent reports of the area had spoken of bandits attacking on sight, and Cassandra refused to take the risk. It was a moot point in any case, as the rain never ceased long enough for us to ignite a spark.

To make matters worse, Solas’s earlier reticence continued throughout the journey. He spoke little, even for him, and all my inquiries were rebuffed, leaving me in private fits trying to puzzle out what could be bothering him. Bereft of my usual confidant, I was left to my own devices, making less and less conversation with the others, and growing steadily more surly myself. This, of course, meant Casssandra and Varric had only each other for company - a pairing that never seemed to end well.

Thus, the lot of us reached the forward camp, bedraggled, soaked, and ill-tempered, only to be greeted by an equally dispirited Scout Harding.

“For what it’s worth, welcome to the Storm Coast,” she said with a hapless shrug upon seeing us.

We gratefully relinquished our weary mounts for care to a waiting scout while Harding debriefed us. Apparently, her new promotion came with a great deal more traveling. Her skills were required to help establish any new outposts and organize the initial expeditions to map the surrounding areas. She’d been sent here straight from the Hinterlands, and had been on the coast a fortnight already. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much good news for us.

“I wish I could give you information on the Grey Wardens,” she explained as we peeled off our cloaks to drape over a drying line, sheltered from the downpour under a canvass. Not far off, waves crashed against rocky shoals in a broken rhythm. I realized with dismay that we would be sleeping within earshot of the beach, and sighed, coming to stand with the others warming themselves over the watch-fire. Harding continued, “But our efforts have been… delayed.”

“How so?” Cassandra asked.

“We’ve been waylaid by a group of bandits local to the area. They know the terrain, and we haven’t been able to match their forces with what we have here. I sent a few soldiers to try to speak with their leader. Haven’t heard back though.”

Harding kept her gaze on the fire, not meeting any of our eyes. I felt a pang of sympathy, knowing how terrifying it felt to suddenly be burdened with so much responsibility. And to have it go wrong.

“We’ll do what we can to find them,” I said.

She glanced over at me and smiled briefly before nodding.

“Thank you.” She took a bracing breath, reasserting her confident tone and lifting her chin slightly. “We haven’t been entirely on our own. The Chargers have been a big help.”

“Yes, Leliana mentioned them,” Cassandra nodded. “I was not aware they’d already made contact with you.”

“They showed up a few nights ago, offering their services as a ‘preview’.” Harding smirked. “They’re an… interesting bunch. Especially their leader. They’ve been patrolling every night, keeping the bandits from attacking camp and even taking a few of them out. Made quick work of them, too. They’re definitely good at what they do.”

“What can you tell me about their leader?” Cassandra prodded.

“He’s big. I’ve heard stories about the Qunari, but I think even for them he’s an outlier.”

“He’s Qunari?”

“Kinda makes his name sound like a rude joke, doesn’t it?” Harding’s eyes danced in the flickering firelight. “You’ll meet him soon enough. He took two of his men on patrol a few hours ago. He’s due back soon to switch off with some of the others. You can speak to the rest of them in the meantime.”

She nodded toward another group of tents huddled under a second canvas that was stretched between three trees, where several Inquisition soldiers and scouts were crowded together, listening to a story being shared among four others who seemed to keep tripping over each other with their own contributions to the tale.

Varric perked up and made his way over, effortlessly inserting himself among the rowdy bunch. Cassandra rolled her eyes, but followed. I glanced over to Solas, who was standing several paces away, staring off into the ocean, his shoulders stubbornly set against the rain. I approached tentatively.

“Will you join us?”

“I prefer solitude.” He kept his back to me, his voice the same carefully emotionless tone he’d maintained since our departure from Haven.

I sighed. “I wish you would tell me what was bothering you.”

“Why should anything be bothering me?” It was an armed question, venomous barbs barely detectable below the veneer of calm. I knew better.

“Solas…” I waited until he turned slightly; still not quite facing me, but at least I knew I had his attention. “Please, talk to me. I don’t want…” But my throat closed with unexpected emotion, and I had to start over. “I value your wisdom.”

He sniffed at that, and said, “Clearly not more than others’.”

“Excuse me?”

He faced me at last, though the cold distance in his eyes made me wish he hadn’t.

“You spout all manner of shallow words about mage independence, but the moment the others grow even a little uncomfortable, you grovel at their feet and ask forgiveness.”

I blinked, mouth agape, utterly at a loss for words. There’d been no hint that he had considered me the source of his foul mood until that moment, and I had no idea what he might be referring to. Then, it clicked.

“You’re angry with me that the advisors objected to our training session? We could have caused a mass panic with our carelessness!”

He shook his head dismissively.

“Yes, I am aware how skittish the uneducated rabble are around magic. That does not mean we should cater to their fears by keeping it out of sight.”

“That’s not what I’m---”

“---Enough.” He waved his hand. “I thought you could be more, but clearly you still belong to the Circle. There is no point in continuing to debate this.”

Without another word, he pushed past me, heading away from the camp and into the nearby woods, leaving me reeling as if I’d been slapped across the face. I wanted desperately to go after him, to shout that he was wrong, that I was no longer a Circle mage. But I knew my absence would be noted, and he clearly did not want me coming after him.

What hurt most, though, was that I wasn’t entirely sure he was wrong.

So instead, I made my way back to the fire, standing next to Harding in silence as I tried to blink away the tears, grateful for once for the rain that would serve as a scapegoat should any of them fall. I listened with half an ear to the rambling tail still being spun from the other fire. The Chargers’ voices carried well enough - even over the rain from several yards away - that I was able to hear most of it clearly. In an effort to distract, I made myself listen as their story concluded.

“And then the villagers tried to pay us with rice!” One of the Chargers, a young-looking man with a Tevene accent and tan skin, delivered the punchline to a round of roaring laughter from the soldiers. “The Chief was pretty pissed about it, but he didn’t have the heart to demand anything else. I tell ya, I got so sick of the stuff after a fortnight, I haven’t eaten rice since!”

When I regained control of my emotions, I joined them, greeted with jovial cries of “Herald!” as I took a seat between Varric and Casssandra. I noted several of the Inquisition scouts and soldiers were slurring their words, and lifted an eyebrow toward Cassandra, who rolled her eyes and shrugged. Nothing to be done about it now, after all. Apparently, as one inebriated soldier happily explained, this morning’s raid on a bandit camp had unveiled several casks of barrelled red wine out of Tevinter, well-aged and quite strong.

Varric offered me a mug, with assurances that it was “good shit”. I was hesitant, not having had wine of any kind in quite some time, but after much encouragement from the crowd, I relented and sipped to a chorus of raucus cheering. It was dry and smooth, coating the inside of my mouth as it slithered down my throat to sit, warm and soothing, in my stomach. Varric was right; it was good.

So I sat and drank, careful to keep my pace slow, and listened to more of the Chargers’ stories of past jobs, each growing more improbable than the last. Time passed around us in the way it will when one is surrounded by good company, and before long my head was swimming with the outlandish tales - or perhaps that was just the alcohol. I hadn’t realized how long we’d been there until I looked up to see the sun had sunk below the blanket of grey, leaving an outline of orange and pink twilight on the horizon.

It was around this time that one of the Chargers - Krem, the lad with the Tevene accent - stopped mid-story and stood at attention all of a sudden. He was looking over my shoulder, face all business. Turning to follow his gaze, I saw quite possibly the largest man I’d ever seen come stomping into camp.

He was Qunari, covered in mud and blood, with one arm draped over his companion as he laughed uproariously at something. He wore no shirt, the better to showcase his well-muscled torso, and his grey skin blended seamlessly with the dun and grime of the coastline. Despite this, it would have been nearly impossible to overlook him, literally or figuratively. He towered over the others, easily a full head taller than the tallest recruit, and that wasn’t even counting his horns - twin protuberances jutting out from either side of his head, both coming to a neat curve and pointing straight up. I had a random thought, wondering how he navigated doorways.

“Are all Qunari that… big?” I looked over at Cassandra, but she looked just as staggered as I.

“No,” Varric said, glancing sidelong at Cassandra and me with an amused chuckle. “No, they aren’t.”

“Chief!” Krem called, raising one hand in greeting. “They’re here!”

The enormous Qunari looked over at the greeting. His laughter paused, but the leftover smirk never seemed to quite leave his face. As he approached, I realized one of his eyes was covered with a patch, and even in the dim twilight numerous scars were visible across his chest and arms. Truly, this was a man with many stories to tell.

He gave our trio a quick glance before his eye settled on me, and his smirk widened.

“The Herald of Andraste.” His voice was just as looming and demanding as the rest of him, while somehow maintaining a casual swagger. He stepped forward to offer his hand in greeting and I took it, wincing in his firm grip. “Glad you could make it.” He took a seat by the fire, and Krem handed him a clean cloth, which he used to ineffectually dab at the spray of brown and red that covered most of his upper body. Either he was unaware of how daunting he appeared, or he was unconcerned, talking without a hint of self-consciousness or hesitation. “Let’s talk business.”

“Iron Bull, I presume?” I took a seat across from him, next to Cassandra. It was patently obvious, of course, but I could think of nothing else to say, and Cassandra wasn’t speaking up.

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away,” he said, still dabbing at the stains.

I frowned, trying to determine if he was being sarcastic, but his tone was flat and his face held the same lopsided smirk as before.

“Looks like you had a successful night,” Varric piped up when no one else said anything in response.

“Yeah, your head scout mentioned there’d been trouble with some local riffraff when we got here.” Iron Bull nodded over to Harding, still by the watch point at the camp’s entrance, huddled over the fire. “So, we figured we’d give the Inquisition a little taste of what we can do.”

“Been picking ‘em off like flies ever since,” Krem said, approaching with a large mug of wine. He handed it to Iron Bull, who took it all down in three loud swigs, smacking his lips and giving a satisfied sigh. “Oy, Chief, that’s good wine! You’re supposed to savor it!”

“Savor?” Iron Bull sneered. “That what they teach you in Tevinter? Booze is for drinking, not savoring! You wanna ‘savor’, go to Orlais.” He returned the empty mug to Krem, who took it with a roll of his eyes. Then, his scrutinizing eye fell on me again. “You’ve got ‘Vint blood, yeah?”

I blinked, too surprised by the question to wonder whether he was insulting me.

“Uh… a few generations removed, but yes.”

“Ah well, we’ll let it slide then.” He pointed to Krem, still by his side. “My lieutenant, Cremisius Acclassi. Full-blooded ‘Vint. I try not to hold it against him.” Krem grunted and walked off, shaking his head. Iron Bull’s smirk widened to a grin momentarily, then receded, back to business again. “So, by now your soldiers have seen us in action, and I promise they will assure you we’re worth the cost. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

I wasn’t entirely sure of that, actually - Josephine seemed to hold charge of the finances - but I wasn’t about to admit as much. I had already deduced this was his sales pitch, and didn’t want to risk weakening our position.

“And exactly how much is this going to cost us?” Cassandra asked, finally coming out of her stupor, her tone all authority.

“Wouldn’t cost you anything personally, unless you wanna buy drinks later.” I felt Cassandra reel a little from that, and I had to hide a smirk. I got the feeling this man liked setting people off edge. “Your ambassador… what’sername… Josephine? We’d go through her,” he continued. “Gold’ll take care of itself, don’t worry about that.”

I cocked one eyebrow, doubtful it was as easy as he was insisting. If Josephine wanted us to meet with him, though, she must have considered the cost worth the asking. Still, I wanted to feel him out a little.

“The Inquisition needs magical power to close the Breach,” I said. “It doesn’t need mercenaries.”

He chuckled.

“Everybody needs mercenaries.” That earned a drunken salute from his Chargers; I realized belatedly all of them had been watching quietly while we talked. “But if I need to sweeten the deal…” Iron Bull rose from his seat, ostensibly to toss his now soiled rag to the side, but I recognized a power display when I saw one. He looked back to me, suddenly serious. “You need a frontline bodyguard. I’m your man. Whatever it is; demons, dragons, the bigger the better.”

I leaned back, glancing over at Cassandra, whose hand was quietly moving away from her sword’s hilt. Varric’s eyes were darting between all three of us while he hid a smile in his drink, clearly enjoying the show.

“You need more assurance.” Iron Bull shrugged. “Suits me. Come out with us tomorrow morning, see us in action personally. I guarantee, once you have, you’ll agree you can’t afford to let us go.”

He blinked - or winked? - and with that, he left us, walking over to his Chargers who all greeted him with cheers and jabs.

“Well, that was… something,” I muttered. I looked over to Cassandra once more. “What do you think?”

“I think we may be in over our heads,” she replied sardonically.

“Will we join them tomorrow?”

“We had better. We didn’t come all this way to refuse them at a glance.” She sighed and rubbed at her face, her exhaustion suddenly showing. “Leliana should be the one to handle this…” Her voice was so low I wondered if she’d meant to say that aloud. I pretended not to hear.

“Well, I suppose we’d better get some rest then.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Varric said. “I’m going to hang around this bunch a bit longer. They tell good stories.” He flashed a grin meant for Cassandra, but she was already marching off to see about setting up a separate tarp to cover our tents. He watched her go with a shrug, turning back to the lively group now grilling their boss for details of his latest fight.

If either of them noticed Solas’s absence, they said nothing. I glanced back in the direction he’d gone, wondering again if I should go after him, but decided I had better help Cassandra with our tents instead. I still didn’t know what I would even say if I found him. The heavy feeling in my chest returned when I thought on his words, but I pushed them from my mind for now.

Hours later, when I was lying awake staring up at the pointed roof of my tent, they returned to trouble my already sleepless night.

I’d known rest would be hard to come by the moment I’d heard the waves. The sound was unsettlingly familiar, reminding me of my years in the Circle. Once an ancient Tevinter lighthouse, our Circle was set offshore and outside the Ostwick’s city walls, surrounded on three sides by water. Crashing waves were the white noise we all learned to ignore eventually, but they were also an incessant reminder of precisely how trapped we were.

My early days there were measured by that sound. I would lay awake at night listening to their crashing echoes against the walls, my eyes red from crying, missing my family terribly and wondering what awful thing I had done to deserve such punishment. Once I’d come to accept the truth, the sound was a bitter torment. The Trevelyan estate had been inland, but we used to make regular excursions to our beach villa during calm summer days, when the city was sweltering from the heat. The sounds and smells of the coast used to mean peace, and joy; they coincided with some of the only memories I had of all of us together and happy. At the Circle, it meant imprisonment, and I resented the loss of comfort it used to bring.

Now the rain had died down at last, but the waves still sounded restlessly against the rocks. I couldn’t help but wonder if Solas had been right. I had thought myself free of the Circle, but no matter how far I fled, it seemed to effortlessly keep chase with me.

Frustrated, I rose, donned my coat and, with my blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I left the tent, coming to stand atop the hill. The ocean spread out before me, pitch black under the night sky. Inscrutable, much like Solas.

Much like the Iron Bull.

Who, to my great surprise, was now standing next to me, causing me to start in shock. How long had he been there? How does someone so massive move so quietly? Or was I more in my thoughts than I’d realized?

“Didn’t scare you, did I?” he asked, his customary lopsided grin firmly in place.

“No, just… surprised,” I said. “Are you standing watch?”

He shook his head, massive horns swinging to and fro.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “Figured it was only a matter of time before you gave up on trying to sleep.”

“How did you…?”

“So there’s a thing I didn’t mention before.” He blew past my half-formed question. “Might be useful, might piss you off.” He looked down at me with flat seriousness, and at his swift change in mood sent a small shudder down my back. “Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

I frowned at the unfamiliar name, shaking my head.

“It’s a Qunari order. We handle information, loyalty, security… Spies, basically. They’re concerned about the Breach; magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening.”

It took me a moment to fully grasp what he’d just admitted.

“You’re a Qunari spy, and you just… told me?”

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I’m on your side.” He made sure to draw those last words out, emphasizing their importance. “I’ll be sending reports, yeah, but I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with you.”

“Not even an attempt to hide it?” I was still dubious.

“From something called the ‘Inquisition’?” He chuckled. “I’d’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it from me, up front.”

“But why are you telling me?”

“I told you, my orders are to get close to the people in charge.” His grin returned. “And no one’s higher on the food chain than the Herald of Andraste.”

I pressed my mouth into a thin line, lifting my chin as I responded. “I don’t appreciate being condescended to.”

He laughed at that - a great booming guffaw. I was at a loss to understand what he found so funny.

“Sorry, I guess that’s a bad habit of mine,” he said once he’d regained his composure. “In any case, this is still a win-win for both sides. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

The implicit threat in his words was not lost on me. The Qunari had been a thorn in the side of the Tevinter Imperium for years, and anyone who knew of the sacking of Kirkwall feared what they were capable of when they turned their sights on a target. The idea of a full-on invasion on top of everything else was… unsettling, to say the least. But to allow one of their spies into our midst felt profoundly unwise.

Cassandra was right, I thought grimly. We are in over our heads.

“What would you send home in these reports?” I asked.

“Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that’ll compromise your operations.” A deceptively vague response; about what I’d expected.

“And what are you offering to share in return?”

“Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip…” He shrugged. “Alone, it won’t be much, but if your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put it to good use.”

“‘She’?”

He chuckled again.

“I did a little research. Plus I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.”

I lifted both brows at that, managing not to roll my eyes. His mood swings were truly hard to navigate, and I was beginning to get the sense that was deliberate, now I knew who he really worked for.

“You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said. “Just wanted you to have all the information at your disposal. Sleep well.” He gave me a casual wave as he retreated toward one of the tents.

I was left alone once more, wondering bitterly if his parting comment was in jest. If sleep had been elusive before, it was a futility now. Shaking my head at the ever stranger turns my life was taking of late, I wandered over to the watch point, greeting the scout on duty. He returned my nod with a curious smile, but remained respectfully silent. I stood there for some time, warming my hands and pondering what to do with this new information as I waited for sunrise.

V: You know why he told you first, right?
T: Now I do. At the time, I was still naive about the Game.
V: I doubt that’s what he was doing.
T: No, not quite, but the rules are similar. He was… very good at making just about everything he did look like an accident or coincidence. And the Game isn’t just the providence of pampered Orlesian nobles swapping daggers and courtly gossip.
V: Yeah, the more books I sell there, the more I’m coming to realize that.
T: Leliana did try to warn you.
V: Long as they’re not stabbing me with those daggers, I’m happy. They’ve become some of my best customers.

“Ben-Hassrath?” Casssandra’s surprise was palpable, bringing her instantly out of her half-asleep state. She kept her voice low, however, as the camp was already stirring with morning activity. I’d gone to her first thing after she’d awoken.

“So you know what that is?” I asked, rubbing some of the fatigue from my own eyes and suppressing a yawn. As predicted, I hadn’t been able to get any more sleep last night.

“I’ve had past experiences with them, yes,” she said. She looked back toward Varric, who was bent over a steaming mug, making notes in his journal while he listened to one of the Chargers spinning yet another tall tale, nodding periodically, face pinched with focus.

Not for the first - or last - time, I wondered what untold story was in that glance. One of these days, I would find the courage to ask one of them.

“So what do we do?” I asked. “It seems foolhardy to hire them now.”

“Yes, but it seems more foolhardy not to.” She sighed, running one hand through her sleep-tousled hair. “Leliana usually handles these things.”

“You said as much last night,” I said, concerned with her being so ill at ease. “Why her?”

“I was the Divine’s Right Hand, she was her Left. The more… subtle… aspects of our duties were usually her domain. I have no head or patience for intrigue.”

“You have no patience for a great many things,” I said with a smirk, which promptly widened to a grin at her annoyed glare.

“Why would he tell you, of all people?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“He seems to think I’m in charge,” I said, still grinning. Cassandra’s frown deepened, and my grin faded. “I disabused him of the notion, but he just seemed to find the whole thing funny.” I shook my head. “He is very difficult to read.”

“So are you, much of the time,” Cassandra said, surprising me. I was unsure whether to take it as a compliment or an insult. “I wish I possessed half as much self-control. You and Solas both are so careful not to let your emotions show.” She looked about the camp, as if just realizing something. “Where is Solas? I haven’t seen him since we arrived last night.”

I looked down at the ground, conscious now that I had reflexively made a mask of my face, wondering how long I had been doing so.

All I said was, “He decided he preferred solitude.”

“He just wandered off?” Cassandra’s voice raised slightly, drawing attention from some nearby scouts who suddenly decided they had very important business on the other side of camp.

“Is he not free to come and go as he pleases?” I asked, defensive and endeavoring not to shrink before her disapproval.

“That’s not what I---”

“---You just want to make sure the apostates are always in sight, yes?”

Cassandra sighed, shaking her head. Her eyes had the same odd emotion they carried the night of my mark’s flair-up back at Haven, when she’d scolded me for my selfishness.

“Do as you will, then. Both of you. Maker knows I’m not your nursery maid.”

And with that, she walked off, hailing the nearest scout and inquiring about the latest reports of the area. I was left to lament whatever self-righteous idiocy had led me to push two people I admired to march off in annoyance within the span of a night and a day.

Solas did eventually return, walking silently into camp whilst we congregated around the fire waiting on the porridge to heat up. He and I made eye contact briefly, long enough for me to be certain our conversation last night was not settled or forgotten. Then, he looked away, politely refusing a mug of tea offered by one of the soldiers. He ignored Cassandra’s flat questioning as to his whereabouts and proceeded to sulk quietly near the meager flames, angled away from everyone.

“What crawled up his ass?” Varric muttered to me.

“I wouldn’t know,” I lied with a shrug. “I suppose the Storm Coast disagrees with him.”

If Varric caught the hard set of my jaw or the new wateriness in my eyes, he made no comment. Not long after, we were blessed with the distraction of Iron Bull and his Chargers gathering us to a huddle to go over their planned routes for morning patrol.

“Okay, we’ve been picking the wings off these guys for a few days now,” Iron Bull started. He sat on a small boulder, leaning over to rest an elbow on one knee. His tone was all business, and the light of humor in his eye was absent. “But best as we can figure, they’re gonna keep coming no matter how many of ‘em we take out. These guys are the worst kind of scum.”

“Thugs,” Cassandra agreed.

“Fanatics,” Iron Bull corrected. “They’re religious zealots, call themselves the Blades of Hessarian.”

“Isn’t it a bit hypocritical for a Ben-Hassrath to be so displeased at religious zealotry?” Cassandra asked.

“You’re Ben-Hassrath?” Varric asked, eyes instantly focused on Iron Bull. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

“So she told you, huh?” Iron Bull didn’t sound displeased; in fact, when he glanced sidelong at me, the familiar glint of amusement had returned. “Figured honesty was the best way to get on your good side. Looks like the Inquisition is a stickler for honesty.”

My cheeks flushed and I returned his glance with fierce indignation. Too late, I realized he’d been testing me. What my actions had proven, I wasn’t sure, but I did not like the insinuation that I was so easily manipulated. And I liked even less that it had worked.

“We’ve intercepted a few of their notes back and forth,” he continued. “Enough to figure they seem to think of themselves as tools for Andraste. And enough to know that they’ve got a home base somewhere in these mountains. Now, we could spend days or weeks searching for it…”

“Or?” Cassandra prodded.

“Or, we could get them to lead us right to it.”

Varric leaned forward. “That sounds like you know how to get them to do just that.”

“It just so happens I do.”

Iron Bull nodded. His massive horns turned with his head as he looked over to me, and my blood ran cold as I met his gaze, knowing what he was about to say before he said it.

“Bait.”

Chapter Text

I had to admit, it was a good plan.

Phase one was simple enough; we do some fighting along the Storm Coast, making sure to close the reported rifts in the area, just to make sure the Blades of Hessarian knew who I was.

The Blades of Hessarian; I scoffed when I first heard the name.

They were the roving bandits who had been attacking our forces. No more than common thugs, attempting to elevate themselves with self-appointed divine purpose. Despite such lofty claims, they’d spent the last few years doing little more than harassing the local fishing villages. Only recently, with the announcement of the Inquisition, had they started focusing their efforts on larger prey.

To get our attention, according to Iron Bull, because they wanted me.

Finding rifts was easy; there were several reported in the area. Even closing them was not difficult, if still agonizing. Thankfully my concern over altering the mark’s function after my little experiment with Solas had been unfounded. It worked just as before, closing the rift and leaving me burning and brimming with magical energy, but unharmed.

Which brought us to phase two. I had a problem with phase two.

It involved waiting for the Blades to attack us… and then surrender me to them.

It wasn’t long before they surrounded our camp. Six of them attacked while we were butchering our catch for the evening’s meal; three archers, two simple swordsmen, and a great lumbering man with an ax nearly as tall as me. I gave him a wide berth. Iron Bull make good on his offer of bodyguard, putting himself between me and any attacker that got too close, while I focused on taking out the archers until I heard him call for a retreat - a signal we’d prearranged.

When the moment came, it was masterfully done. Cassandra showed fierce resistance, continuing to fight until Varric had to physically pull her back. As agreed, I stayed behind, pretending to become separated from the others by accident, and surrendering once I realized I was alone. I quickly showed them the mark in my palm and demanded to be taken to their leader.

Which was how I found myself being led through the damp, dim woods, hands bound before me, trailing behind a length of rope held at the other end by a grizzled man with cold eyes and a permanent sneer. Behind me were two others, a man and a woman. One carried a bow with a knocked arrow, the other carried my staff. Both cast their eyes all around us, watching for any sign that we had been followed.

Iron Bull had assured me no such signs would be present; the Chargers don’t give away their position unless they want to.

Now for phase three: infiltrate the compound and persuade their leader, somehow, to release our soldiers and cease all aggressions against the Inquisition. Simple enough, if one ignored the fact I had no experience with hostage negotiations.

I tried to remain calm, but the farther into unfamiliar territory they took me, the more my resolve wavered. My heart practically hummed in my chest. I clenched my hands into fists to stop them trembling. I concentrated on not stumbling on the slimy underbrush, and recounted the plan in my mind for the dozenth time while we marched on in silence.

Now, I just had to trust that Iron Bull and his Chargers were actually as good as they claimed to be.

Trust came easier when we were back at camp, with his massive frame and casual confidence dominating the space as he sat opposite me across the fire. Out here, alone among enemies, with my staff surrendered and not a friendly face in sight, it was much more difficult. I passed the time by rehearsing in my mind the things that Iron Bull had coached me to say, hoping that his assertion was right. I had no other choice.

Hours later, well past sundown and long after my legs began to ache, a modest but sturdy wooden fortress crept into view at the crest of a hill. It was easy to see how our scouts could have missed it. Nestled against a steep cliff on one side and surrounded by dense foliage on the others, it was well-protected from outside attack; the surrounding trees made it difficult to spot from afar, and the slippery hillside made it nearly impossible to reach on foot unless you used a narrow, winding path dug into the southern side.

As we approached, I saw movement from a guard tower, followed by the telltale groan of a bow string being drawn, making me tense reflexively. No arrows flew; instead, the guard called down to our small party.

“You are lost.”

“As are we all,” the cold-faced man holding my leash responded with practiced ease. “Grant me purpose.”

Satisfied, the guard eased his bow and shouted to someone on the other side of the wall, and a door embedded within the wooden slats groaned slowly open. I hesitated, only to be pulled forward by the rope as my captors moved forward.

I forced my legs to move, and tried to memorize the layout of their fortress as we marched through the doorway. It didn’t take long; the whole base was barely bigger than Haven’s chantry.

Wood slats made up the barrier wall, which stood nearly ten feet high, and stomped earth served as the ground beneath. A watchtower was positioned over the only entrance, sheltered by more slats, with holes cut through which they could look in all directions or aim arrows for defense. The interior was almost entirely open to the sky, save for a cabin nestled against one wall and a kennel against another. As we passed the latter, I heard menacing growls from within, and increased my pace.

In the center, a dozen or so people milled about; men and women, some eating, some standing in groups of two or three, others polishing or whetting their weapons. All were grown, none were older than middle-aged. All looked to be fighters of one form or other; I neither saw nor felt any mages in their ranks. Movement stopped and conversation paused as I was led through their midst, eyes tracking my progress with wary interest. My back itched, but I kept my chin high and shoulders squared, trying to emulate Cassandra’s indomitable will.

As I returned each of their gazes with forced stoicism, I noticed how rough-shod and ill-equipped they truly were. Their tunics were threadbare, their chestplates discolored and poorly aged. Most wore no cloaks against the cold. There were no forges, no smiths, not so much as an anvil or work table to be seen. All they had was on their backs or at their sides, and much of it was rusting away to nothing, victims to the damp climate of the coast. One tossed the remainder of his meal into the kennel, which quickly erupted with growling and yelping as the meager scraps were viciously fought over.

It was a testament to their innate skill that they had given our soldiers such trouble. I had seen Cullen’s relentless drills often enough that even I had to admit he was an effective trainer; the likelihood of him sending inept fighters into the field was low. Was it their zealotry or a lack of opportunity for honest work that forced them into such conditions?

Behind us, the gate shut with a solid thud, and I flinched despite my careful control. I was trapped, with no one who would help me if this went wrong.

Let’s hope they treat their prisoners better than their fighters, I thought grimly. I could not forget that my task here was two-fold - to lead the Chargers to this stronghold, but also to ascertain the fate of Harding’s soldiers. I could only hope the worst had not occurred.

We were approaching a dais of sorts, made of flattened stones and lined with…

Oh Maker…

I swallowed hard, eyeing the numerous skulls arranged into some sort of macabre altar. Panic bubbled up in my chest, and I nearly retched, wondering if this was what had become of our soldiers.

I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t….

Someone from behind pushed me, and I fell hard onto my knees as footsteps approached. From my low vantage, a pair of worn leather boots stood before me. I lifted my eyes to see a burly man whose face was encircled by a tangled blond mass of hair and beard. Centered within were piercing pale eyes that studied me with cruel intelligence and something… wilder.

I scrambled to my feet, painfully aware of how feeble I must look. All my carefully rehearsed words fled, leaving my mind blank. My hands itched to hold my staff, so I clenched them again, trying to reclaim my resolve. I had less than a scrap of hope that I would succeed in my task, but I had to try nonetheless.

The bearded man looked me up and down while my cold-faced captor whispered in his ear. I bit the inside of my cheek hard to fight the panic threatening to unleash within me. When he was finished, the bearded man nodded and took the lead, pulling it taut. I resisted, holding my ground, but he only smirked and pulled a dagger from his belt. With one jerk of his wrist, I was inches from his face, smelling his foul breath as he reached out with the blade.

I flinched away.

With a snick, the ropes slackened and fell away. He sheathed the dagger and stood with arms crossed, looking down at me from the dais with imperious amusement. The cold-faced man retreated, and I was left alone before their leader.

“Is it true?” He barked the question, eliciting another flinch from me.

I said nothing, still frozen in fear, not processing the words. He gestured to my hands, and I knew what he wanted. With clumsy movements, I pulled the glove from my left hand, and lifted it palm out to show him the mark.

Gasps and whispers erupted behind me, and as I stood there quavering, the glow brightened. It threatened to explode outward as it had before, but I remembered Solas’s teachings. Breathing slowly, I managed to maintain my focus, turning away from the darkness trying to pull me down, keeping my mind on the here and now. The glow held steady.

“The Herald of Andraste,” he declared, thick whiskers shifting around his mouth as he sneered. The glint in his eyes turned shrewd, and he chewed on a piece of beard, taking the measure of me. “So you come to challenge the Blades of Hessarian?”

I blinked. What?

“I’ve… come to negotiate the release of our soldiers,” I answered, small and trembling, still trying in vain to recall the practiced words I’d gone over and over back at camp.

His laughter boomed loud enough to set the dogs in the kennel barking again, and I felt several of the watchers behind me shift uncomfortably. The knot of dread in my stomach tightened.

Gesturing to his right, he stepped back a pace and waited in a show of solicitousness. My eyes followed where he indicated, noticing for the first time the corner of an iron-barred cage, partially out of sight behind the ramshackle cabin that took up most of that wall. I stepped forward, feeling cold awareness spread through me as I beheld its contents.

The cage - just as rusted as the rest of the fortress’s metal, but no less sturdy for it - was barely tall enough for an average man to stand upright, and equally as wide on all sides. Within lay the bodies of four soldiers wearing Inquisition colours. The one on top lay face up, her eyes frozen wide in fear and mouth open in a silent plea. Protruding from her body at all angles were dozens of arrows, piercing skull and cheeks and arms and stomach. Those below her looked much the same. A dark puddle pooled below them; blood mingling with the mud, mixed by the constant rain. Not a touch of decay marred their flesh as yet; their deaths had been recent.

My nails dug into my palms hard enough to break skin while I struggled for equilibrium. They’d been locked in that cage and struck down, helpless to defend themselves against the arrows flying toward them. Their final moments must have been filled with such pain…

I shut my eyes, feeling them burn with unshed tears, and the image of a small, sandy-haired boy face down in a field flashed through my mind, slain with arrows very much like these.

I rounded on the smirking demon behind me.

“Why?” I demanded. My voice cracked, but I had no capacity left to care.

He laughed again, then his demeanor changed, his face closing into a scowl.

“You ask that?” he shouted. “You, who come here with claims of holiness, you who blaspheme Blessed Andraste’s name and claim Her work for yours!”

“I never claimed---”

“---The very mark you bear is an affront to the Holy Bride of the Maker! You will not be allowed to leave here!”

With a mighty roar, he charged, and I barely dodged from his path in time. He’d drawn an ax for a weapon, and it struck hard against the cage as his swing missed my head by inches.

I scrambled, frantic, limbs stiff and ungainly, as I tried to process what just happened. He came after me again, and I ducked beneath his swing, rolling to my left and falling to my knees. Not about to give me time to recover, he reared back and swung again. Again I rolled, hearing its blade sink into the wet dirt behind me. I tried to regain my footing, but something pulled me back and I collapsed. A second attempt was just as futile; something had me caught.

Turning, I saw my attacker standing above me, hands resting on the handle of his weapon. The ax’s head was still embedded in the ground, trapping the end of my cloak with it. I pulled desperately at the fabric, trying to break free.

“This is the great and mighty Herald of Andraste!” He laughed again, loud and cruel, arms at his side, ax forgone in his triumph. He barked a command I didn’t understand at first, until I heard a gate latch swing open, followed by furious barking and growling.

Oh fuck.

I saw only a brief flash of snarling black and brown fur punctuated with yellowed fangs barreling toward me before I instinctively cowered beneath my arms in a futile attempt at protection. I could hear them all around, saw their paws digging into the dirt as they raged and snapped at me. One caught my cloak in his jaws and pulled, ripping it free of the ax with little effort. Another nipped at my shoes, tugging at the leather and leaving indents when shouted off by his handler.

As I reeled in terror from the cacophony, my right arm lost purchase in the mud and slid out from under me, and the sudden movement caught one of the hounds in a brief frenzy. He lurched forward and sank his teeth into my forearm. Pain blossomed forth along with gushing blood, deep red against the sandy brown of his fur, and I screamed, all my awareness focused on the pinpoints of his fangs as they tore at my flesh to leave a gaping gash behind.

A shout and a firm hand pulled the beast away, and I cradled my injured arm tight against my chest. The handlers recalled the dogs, holding them at bay mere paces away, their obedience all that stood between me and those mauling, gnashing fangs. But I was not to be given a reprieve just yet.

A thickly muscled arm reached down, pulling me to my feet by the folds of my coat with ease. I heard a tear, felt a jerk at my throat, and my cloak was gone, exposing me to the steady drizzle from which the fortress provided little protection.

“You are weak! This is the best the Inquisition could send?” He spat, and the spittle ran down my cheek, quickly washed away by the rain. I was sure in that moment, I was looking into the face of my own death.

Well, some calm, detached corner of my mind thought. I have faced death before.

“You do not speak for the Prophet,” he sneered, shaking me like a rag doll in his massive hands.

“At least we agree on that much,” I hissed, making sure to meet his gaze as I summoned what little will I had left.

Suddenly, he cried out and his grip loosened. I fell, gasping as the pain of my open wound rebounded tenfold with the impact. He reeled away, grasping at his hands, which were smoking and reddened from the flames I had conjured. I allowed the cold, wet ground to soothe my own burning hands while I watched carefully for his next move. It was never advisable to use damaging spells without the buffer of a staff for protection, but sometimes there was no way around it.

Perhaps I should have taken this moment to flee, or to try and plead my case now that I had established my strength. But as I rose to my feet and saw the blind rage in his eyes, recalling the blank stare of his victims, something in me changed.

My field of vision narrowed until I only saw him. Blood pounded in my ears, drowning out all else. Whatever my face conveyed, it made him pause, and that hateful smirk faltered ever so slightly. He took up a readied stance in an instant, poised for another round, but I wasn’t about to give him one. I unclenched my hands and held them out to either side, as if in surrender. He remained still, unconvinced.

“You killed soldiers of the Inquisition,” I said with a steadiness I did not feel. I lifted my chin with an authority I did not possess. “We cannot let this stand.”

His smirk returned, expecting as much. His eyes flitted to his ax’s hilt, sticking out of the earth only a pace away.

“You want justice? Claim it!”

With a final shout, he lunged for the ax. He didn’t make it more than a step.

His foot grazed the glyph I’d just finished summoning. In his confidence and rage, he hadn’t noticed the sigil glowing below, and now that he’d seen, it was too late. Sensing movement, the glyph activated, knocking him from his feet as a stalagmite of ice jutted up from below. I wasted no time, using my rage and fear to spew forth twin cones of flames from my hands. The fiery tendrils found their mark, consuming him with terrifying swiftness, the sudden brightness painful to my eyes as I was forced to look away. He barely had time to cry out before he was gone, body charred and smoking at my feet.

It was all over in a heartbeat. I stood there for Maker knew how much longer, panting and staring at the blackened mound. Eventually, movement stirred in my periphery and my hackles rose instantly, remembering the hounds with a fresh wave of adrenaline-laced panic. But what I faced when I turned wasn’t an attack.

The dozen or so bandits who had been watching the fight now knelt before me, each laying down their weapons in surrender. The hounds were back in their kennel stalls, howling and barking in protest but safely caged once more, save one, which lay dead in the mud, a single bolt jutting out from its neck. I frowned, wondering when that had happened. Before I could wonder for long, one of the men - my cold-faced handler - stood slowly. I tensed as he came forward, but his gaze was directed over my shoulder, and he moved past me. I followed his gaze, belatedly noticing an ornate, gilded sword that lay across the altar of skulls at the top of the dais. He took it reverently from its place and turned back, holding it out to me.

“Praise Andraste,” he said. The scar that cut a path through his stubble twisted slightly as he smiled.

It took some time before I could formulate a response.

“What is this?” I demanded when I found my voice again.

“You came with a challenge for the holder of the Blade of Mercy,” he explained patiently. “You defeated him. Now, the sword belongs to you.” I looked from him to the others who remained kneeling below us, a look of reverence on each of their faces that was both terrifying and familiar. “And so do we.”

It was so preposterous, so far beyond any outcome I had feared, that I couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t possibly think of what should come next. While I was still puzzling it out, a slow, hollow clap resounded from the entrance. All of us turned to look, and all at once cold fear was replaced by white hot fury when I saw who stood there.

Iron Bull was framed against the open doorway, still clapping, his casual smirk firmly in place. Behind him stood Krem and several others of his Chargers, along with - to my immense relief - three familiar faces. Cassandra glowered around Iron Bull’s shoulder, a dark cloud of ire that demanded a buffer from all who stood near. Varric held Bianca at the ready, careful not to aim at anyone in particular, but watching the crowd with sharp scrutiny. Solas looked across the yard at me, but when our eyes met any relief I’d felt fled before the cool indifference I saw there. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and tried to push it to the back of my mind. I had more important things to focus on right now.

Like punching Iron Bull square in the face.

A belated connection had formed in my mind between Varric’s crossbow and the bolt that had slain one of the hounds, and I was quickly beginning to puzzle out just what had gone on here. Scanning the crowd, I marched over to the bandit who held my staff and thrust out my uninjured arm in a silent demand. She relinquished it without hesitation, and before I lost my nerve I stomped over to Iron Bull, holding it out between us threateningly.

“Where in the Void were you?” I shouted at him.

“Behind you the whole way, just like I promised.” He met my indignant rage without a hint of self-consciousness or apology, perfectly composed.

“Why didn’t you interfere? I could have been killed!”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you fight. I knew that joker wouldn’t give you any trouble.”

Then, like a slap in the face, realization struck me.

“You knew this would happen!”

“This was the plan from the beginning.” He flashed a conspiratorial grin. “Like it?”

I stepped back and launched a stonefist spell directly at his chest.

He easily sidestepped it, and a solid thud echoed back when it struck a tree trunk several yards behind him. He looked not at all put out by the attack, which only infuriated me more. I had a sudden, powerful urge to unleash a steady stream of flame at him until he looked just like the pile of ash behind me, but I resisted, regaining control after a few deep breaths as I gripped the staff, white-knuckled and seething.

“Next time, you will tell me the whole plan,” I growled through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, no problem Boss.” He said it easily, with a short nod and a dismissive shrug, and I narrowed my eyes in doubt.

Cassandra let out an aggravated sigh and shot us both a look filled with contempt, then turned and walked back into the woods. I watched her go with a pang of surprised guilt, unsure what I’d done to anger her this time. Surely she didn’t think I intended things to turn out this way?

Solas stepped forward, leaning close to whisper to me.

“Is a mage’s temper such an intolerable thing to her, still?” he muttered, shaking his head.

I stared into the trees, once again swallowing against the swell of guilt. I had thought I’d earned her trust by now, and it hurt more than expected to see that I was still no more than a liability in her eyes. I shouldn’t have been surprised; she was a Seeker, after all, one of the Chantry’s top enforcers. What more could I ever expect?

Again, as before, I had to turn my attention to more important matters, namely the sudden appointment of a renegade cult at my disposal, waiting obediently for direction.

“You knew this would happen, too,” I said to Iron Bull.

His smirk widened, not quite reaching his eye as he looked shrewdly down at me.

“The Inquisition needed its bandit problem taken care of,” he answered. “But these cultists can be tough to completely eradicate without an all-out assault. This way, there’s less blood shed on both sides. And now, they work for you.”

“For me, or the Inquisition?”

“Is there a difference?”

That gave me pause. The notion was unsettling, and not something I cared to entertain just then. As if summoned, the man from before - whom I now guessed to be a second in command or lieutenant of some kind - approached, still carrying the sword.

“Your Worship?” He gave the others with me a wary glance, eyes lingering on Iron Bull, who towered above everyone else in the yard.

“Is that what I think it is?” Iron Bull asked, indicating the sword.

“Yeah, I recognize it too,” Varric spoke up.

“You know what this is?” I asked, surprised.

“Hawke came across something similar a while back,” he nodded. “Tried to give it to her boyfriend, but, well…”

“It’s a Blade of Mercy,” Iron Bull explained, holding a hand out to take it. The lieutenant withdrew, holding it protectively to his chest.

“It’s the Blade of Mercy!” he insisted, his sneer returned in full force, though somewhat less threatening when measured against Iron Bull’s carelessly imposing figure.

“Wait, wait.” I shook my head and frowned, trying to remember the story. “Are we talking about Archon Hessarian’s blade?”

“Right, the one he used to end Andraste’s suffering on the execution pyre,” Varric nodded. “They make replicas as ceremonial gifts in Tevinter.” He approached the sword in question, studying it, while the lieutenant took a protective half step back. “This one looks different from the usual models, though.”

“As I said,” the lieutenant replied, lifting his chin. “This is the Blade of Mercy.”

“You mean to say this is the literal blade wielded by Hessarian himself?” I asked, incredulous.

“Not possible.” Iron Bull shook his head. “Any sword that old would have rusted into scrap metal ages ago.”

“Oh, I’ll bet this one has an enchantment on it.” Varric’s voice was sour with sarcasm.

Iron Bull reached out for the sword again, and again the lieutenant refused to relinquish it.

“It is for the Herald!” he repeated. “She defeated our leader in a challenge. The Blade belongs to her now, as do we.”

Four sets of eyes all looked over to me expectantly. I hesitated, but realized any protest would be useless. Sighing, I reached out and accepted the monstrosity as it was at last reverently handed over.

Holding it up with some effort, I studied it more closely. It was heavy; far too heavy for me to even hold aloft, let alone swing. And it was frightfully gaudy; the hilt and guard were outfitted with an elaborate gilded mold meant to resemble a dragon, wings outstretched across the guard and mouth open and upturned, appearing to devour the massive blade - or perhaps expelling it, like a cone of flame. The blade itself was etched with symbols I was unfamiliar with, presumably ancient Tevene given its supposed origins. It did look similar to sketchings of the reputed blade depicted in histories I’d read, though this was far more elaborate. I could only guess at its value or its age.

Perhaps the armorist Harritt could date it, I thought. The blade was apparently mine, but as a mage I had no use for it, and given its age it seemed unlikely to survive any real battle, even if wielded by an experienced swordsman. Dating it might at least help us determine its value, and the Inquisition was likely in dour need of funds about now.

No.

I quickly dismissed the idea. This blade’s importance was in its symbolism. Selling it would only anger the Blades of Hessarian, likely even turn them against us, leaving us back at square one in the Storm Coast.

“We should leave it here,” I suggested.

Iron Bull shook his head.

“It’s yours. You wanna just leave it here for someone else to claim after you’ve left?”

“And what do you propose?”

“It’s a symbol,” he said, echoing my own thoughts. “So are you. Take it back to your headquarters and let the big wigs on your advisor council decide what to do with it.”

I thought a moment, then nodded. He had a point, though I was loathe to admit it. Its presence might help legitimize the Inquisition’s authority in the eyes of many doubters. The arrogance of using a symbol of honor in Tevinter to fly in the face of the Chantry’s condemnations was not lost on me; and neither, I suspected, would it be on many of our detractors.

“Now.” I took a deep breath, looking out over the crowd, still kneeling, all watching me with patient abeyance. “We need to decide what’s to be done with them.”

“No,” Solas said, stepping forward to pull my injured arm forward, making me gasp from the pain as fresh blood oozed across my torn flesh. “Now we must clean and close this before it becomes infected.”

He sat me down and demanded any medical supplies the bandits had on hand. They hesitated, unsure whether to obey, but one glare from Iron Bull sent them scurrying, and they returned in short order with clean cloth, a bowl of rain water, and some foul smelling distilled liquid in a jar that I could only guess was some form of potent alcohol.

While Solas set about his task and I endeavored not to squirm or cry out as he indelicately dabbed at the ugly gash - a challenge I utterly failed to meet when he set to with the alcohol - the issue of what was to be done about the Blades was raised again, this time by Varric.

“Sounds we’ll need the Seeker back for this,” he said.

I nodded in agreement, biting the inside of my cheek as Solas finished cleaning and rummaged through his travel pouch to pull out a needle and thick thread. He ignited a small flame spell in his palm to sterilize the needle before threading it, then gave me a grim look, making sure I understood. I took a drink from the foul-smelling jar as he set to closing the jagged edges of the wound.

Varric volunteered to find Cassandra, figuring it the least risky option.

“Far as I know, she’s still as mad at me as she ever was,” he muttered.

Ever the dramatic one, he marched off after her with the air of a man being led to the gallows.

V: Oh come on, that’s hardly fair, considering who else was in our merry band.
T: Well, keep in mind we hadn’t met up with Dorian yet.
V: Uh, actually I was referring to Cassandra, but…

She did return after some time, her fury dampened; though, however Varric convinced her, neither would say. Not yet ready to face her disapproval head on, I left the explanation to the others as we made our way back to camp. The Chargers stayed behind for the night to ensure the fortress remained under our control.

Unfortunately, I had to be the one to inform Harding of the fate of her soldiers. She took it hard, but hid it well, throwing herself into her duties and insisting we hold a funeral for the fallen. Arrangements were made, and a pyre was swiftly constructed at the fortress; the constant rainfall made it necessary to douse the wood in accelerant before it would even light. I made myself attend, but kept upwind of the smoke.

The Blades were forbidden to attend, though Harding refused to allow any of them to be executed, deferring to my judgement on the matter. After much consideration and consultation with the others, it was decided that the one directly responsible - their former leader - had already been held accountable, and all others who participated were only to be disarmed and disbanded as punishment. There was some grumbling at the leniency, but none dared openly object, and the matter was considered settled.

For a while, we were all of us at a loss as to what was to be done with the rest. Their lieutenant, whose name was Gerault, explained that the man I’d defeated had taken over a few years ago, quickly proving himself to be no more than a vicious brute, content to harass the fishing villages and little more. Though most of the band loathed him, none felt capable of challenging him, nor were any willing to break their oaths and leave. For the most part, the remaining members seemed all too happy to see him gone, which worked nicely in our favour, but left me puzzling once more just how much of this Iron Bull had known prior to coming up with his plan.

Eventually, it was settled that we would send Gerault as an emissary back to Haven to be introduced to the advisors, with a note from Cassandra explaining the situation and vouching for him. If anyone would know how best to utilize their services, it would be the Terrible Trio. I desperately wanted to know just what that note said, based solely on the expressions playing across Cassandra’s face as she wrote it, but I didn’t dare approach her.

When it was done and Gerault was off - escorted by two Inquisition soldiers, just in case - we turned our eyes toward our original task and reason for coming to the Storm Coast in the first place: finding the Grey Wardens.

We started by sending scouts as far as they could trek across the slippery, rocky terrain. Now the bandit problem was taken care of, they had little to worry about aside from a disturbing overabundance of bears congregating near the streams that meandered down the cliffside toward the sea.

While we waited for news, I was left with little to do but fret over the fragile state of my friendship with Solas. It saddened me that he still kept his distance, and I floundered trying to think of what to say to him. Eventually, I settled on an idea and spoke to the requisition officer about a particular item. Thankfully, she deemed it a simple enough request since they happened to have a Tranquil in the camp, and I provided what was required from the materials we’d gathered since our arrival. Once more, I returned to waiting, anxiously tossing about on my bedroll each night as the waves pounded in relentless rhythm against the shore.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before one of the scouts returned, reporting that several locals had hosted a small pack of Wardens that had recently passed through. One of them, a young man with bright, sad eyes that belied his tender years, had wanted to go with them and take the Joining, but had been refused. That alone seemed odd - considering their numbers had been decimated during the Fifth Blight, they should be begging for new recruits - but what the boy said next was even odder.

“They was lookin’ for someone,” he explained, vowels rounded and consonants dulled in an accent that was distinctly rural Ferelden. “That’s why they was here, and that’s why they left.”

“Who were they looking for?” Cassandra asked.

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t say. But he was here, they said. Just not no more. So they left.”

He looked down at the ground, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched. When prodded further, he estimated their arrival and departure as lasting no more than a week, and we had missed them by only a few days. We were disappointed, but thanked him nonetheless and sent him on his way with a small pouch of coppers for the information - that at Varric’s insistence, though none of us begrudged him the payment.

As he was leaving, he gave us one last valuable tidbit, to our dismay.

“They said there was Darkspawn below us.” His blue eyes were wide with worry, and I could hear an answering murmur from several of the soldiers and scouts behind us at his words. Cassandra hushed them all with a glance over her shoulder. The boy continued. “They told us they could sense ‘em right beneath the surface, that they’ll come up soon. Then they just… left.” His voice turned bitter, and he spat. “They left us. We got nothing can fight off Darkspawn. Can you fight ‘em off?”

His gaze fell to us, worry now mingled with desperate hope. I looked to Cassandra, seeing the muscles in her jaw working for a moment before she responded.

“We will do what we can,” she said, to my relief. “You have my word.”

The boy thanked her profusely, and left with the scouts meant to get him safely home. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that I heard her release a heavy sigh, causing me to realize belatedly that, without Grey Wardens, her promise had been all but empty. Our mission suddenly felt more dire than it had moments ago.

All the same, she directed a few of the soldiers - along with any Blades willing to help - to run regular patrols of the area, with standing orders to evacuate all the locals at the first sign of Darkspawn. For now, it was the best we could do.

With no further reason for us to stay and no trail to follow, Cassandra decided we should return to Haven first thing in the morning, with Iron Bull and his Chargers accompanying us. I balked, but offered no protest. However I may have felt about their methods, their results could not be argued against.

Just after dawn the next day, as the others were preparing to leave, I sought Solas out, requesting a moment alone. He agreed, guiding us to a secluded copse several yards away. I felt Cassandra’s disapproving glare as we left the group, but ignored her. I could only fix one friendship at a time.

“What did you wish to discuss?” he asked.

I took a deep breath, taking great effort not to flinch at his flat tone and bracing myself against the awkwardness of what I needed to say.

“I wanted to apologize to you,” I started, fumbling with something in my pocket. The item I had requisitioned had been completed the evening prior, and I’d sat up most of the night thinking of what to say.

He merely raised his brows and waited, betraying no outward sign of his thoughts. He didn’t even look impatient or angry with me anymore, which only made me more anxious, but I pressed on.

“I’ve lived most of my life in the Circle. And though I’ve always abhorred being a captive, I’m finding the greater world outside of it much more difficult to navigate than I’d anticipated. I am trying to adapt, and I’m sorry it’s taking me so long. I am trying to do better…” I stopped, realizing I was rambling, and pulled the item from my pocket: a pendant formed from the jawbone of a wolf, bound with a simple leather cord of its hyde. “I had this made for you,” I told him, handing it over.

He took the necklace and turned it over in his hands, studying it. After a moment, he looked up questioningly.

“There’s an enchantment on this?”

“A wolfsbane rune,” I nodded. “I know how much you detest having to kill them. This should prevent them from attacking as long as you wear it.”

At first, his mouth only twitched, but then a loud guffaw burst forth, startling me. I’d never heard him laugh before; at most, he only ever smirked if something occurred to him as humorous. But this was real, actual laughter, and for a moment his mirth was unhindered.

“Why is that funny?” I asked, unsure whether his reaction was good or bad.

“Forgive me,” he said, regaining control and wiping a tear from his eye. “It is more fitting than you know.”

He stepped forward and took both my hands in his, the jawbone cutting into my left palm slightly in his grip.

“I owe you an apology as well,” he said. “I was too harsh on you before. You’ve spent so long under the thumb of the Chantry. I cannot expect you to overcome years of indoctrination in mere weeks.” He released me, and pulled the necklace over his head, letting the pendant settle at the center of his chest. “I thank you for this. It is a wonderful gift.”

I smiled, feeling a terrible weight lift. As we made our way back to camp, he tilted his head upward, watching a pair of birds flitting from branch to branch above.

“I did not think enchantments this advanced were approved by the Circles,” he commented as he watched their progress, hands clasped behind him as he walked.

I cocked a brow at him.

“You didn’t think I always obeyed them, did you?”

He smirked, nodding his approval, and we continued on in companionable silence.

Chapter Text

If I thought the Storm Coast would allow us to leave without extorting another toll, I was sorely mistaken.

I was made painfully aware of my folly on the second morning of our trip back, when I awoke with an ache throughout my body and a fog in my head. Attempting to ignore it only led to its worsening, and by the fourth day, I was beginning to run a fever, and my right arm pained me fiercely. By then, Solas had noticed and demanded to see my injury.

The moment the wrappings were unfurled, he winced, and I made myself look. The area had turned a bright red and swollen to a horrifying degree. Pus oozed forth from the puncture wounds where the dog had pierced the skin, and it was warm to the touch. Cassandra took one look and called for a temporary halt to allow me to rest in hopes I would not worsen.

I had no such luck.

Though Solas diligently sanitized and re-treated the wound, by the fifth day, I was shivering, feverish, and nauseated. This necessitated another day’s travel lost while I huddled near the fire beneath every spare blanket I could find, cursing my weakness and sipping the blessedly hot tea Solas had brewed to help me regain my strength.

One great relief, at least, was that Solas had resumed his normal mannerisms around me. He had taken once again to seating himself nearby in comfortable silence, occasionally making observations. I would try to respond in kind, despite my altered state, but mostly I was just grateful for his company. By evening, I was feeling improved enough to be conversational, and Varric, who had been keeping to himself as well, decided to join us while I slowly spooned porridge into my mouth, unable to stomach much else.

“So,” Varric mumbled around a mouthful of the rabbit stew prepared for us by one of the Chargers. “We’ve got a band of fanatics on our side now?”

“Their zealotry is matched only by their brutality,” Solas said, his distaste plain. “I’m not convinced using them entirely wise.”

“It’s unnerving,” I agreed.

“If it makes them friendlier, what does it matter?”

“Faith should never be used as a weapon,” Solas said.

“Why not?” Iron Bull interjected, strolling over with his own bowl to take a seat opposite all of us. “It’s damned effective as one.”

“And here I thought faith was supposed to unite?” Varric cast a displeased side glance to Iron Bull, but the question was directed at Solas.

“For some, it can be a balm,” Solas allowed. “But there are too many who view it as a means to an end, with few qualms about using its followers.” There was a distance in his eyes as he said this that I had come to recognize, though I couldn’t place the source. He tended to look this way when I asked him of things he’d seen in the Fade; a pronounce melancholy that it felt intrusive to question, and so I never had.

“That’s how wars start,” I said instead, adding to his point. It was a familiar pattern across countless histories I’d read, crouched and squinting over the texts in the insufficient candlelight of Faxhold’s abundant library.

“Nah, religion isn’t what starts wars.” Iron Bull shook his head, speaking between heaping spoonfuls of stew into his mouth. “It’s just one of the more popular excuses.”

Solas raised one skeptical brow. “Spoken like a true disciple.”

“Actually, I think that was a crack at the Qun,” Varric muttered. “Not in defense of it.”

Solas grunted, saying nothing more. After a moment of awkward silence, Varric mumbled an excuse and retreated back to his tent with the remains of his meal, avoiding the rest of the group swapping jabs and jokes at the second fire some yards away. Iron Bull sat and happily slurped down his dinner, paying neither of them any mind. I glared wordlessly at him, still bitter about his manipulations. He proceeded to ignore me as well, and soon the sloppy wet sounds of his eating combined with the memory of the charred corpse I’d left behind in the Blades’ base sent my stomach roiling, and I stumbled away to violently deposit its meager contents into the grass.

Having had enough of company for the night, I retired to my own tent, surrendering to dreamless sleep in my exhaustion.

Though my wound was little improved the next day, it was decided that I would need a healer if I was to recover, and so we packed up to make for Haven with all haste. Solas offered to share his saddle, and I gratefully accepted, having little confidence in my own strength to stay upright. It also meant he would be in close proximity should I need further treatment along the road.

The rest of the journey was a haze. I know we reached Haven soon after, though I have no notion of exactly how long it took, beyond “more than a day”. I also know someone must have escorted me to my cabin, for that was where I found myself once my fever broke late one evening and I regained consciousness.

I was greeted with piles of missives from villagers and refugees with prayers for my swift recovery. As well, there were all manner of gifts, from talismans to prayer books to worry coins. There were even gifts of fruits and grains, which I insisted be returned to the refugees, where they would do far more good.

It all would have been touching if it wasn’t so terrifying.

Apparently a healer had been sent for, along with Adan, our resident apothecary, to ensure I did not succumb to infection and fever. When word reached the advisors that I had woken, both were sent for again to tend to my recovery. Neither were good company; Adan was as grumpy as ever, and the healer was stern and elderly, with wizened skin and eyes gone rheumy with age. Still, her hands were skilled and she examined me with detached professionalism. The swelling and redness in my arm was much reduced, though it was still painful to the touch. After much fussing and cleaning and changing of poultice and bandage, they declared me still in need of restricted activity and no travel for a few days, but I at least was able to eat solid food and leave the bed long enough to attend a war room meeting with the Trio, Cassandra dutifully by my side.

I did my best to answer their concerns as to my wellbeing with good humour, knowing they came in good faith but impatient to get on with the tasks at hand.

“You are very lucky,” Cullen remarked, shaking his head in what might have been admiration if he didn’t seem so exasperated. “I cannot decide whether the Maker favors you or resents you.”

I could only shrug in response, not sure myself which was the truth. The concern in his tone and the deepened worry lines crossing his forehead made it hard to be insulted by his crassness.

I had just finished explaining the events in the Storm Coast as I remembered them, peppered with additions from Cassandra where necessary. Her tone was all business, missing the underlying warmth I had come to know. I tried - with mixed success - not to shrink beneath her withering glare every time she turned to acknowledge me, still hurt by her lack of trust over the whole event.

“It was certainly a gamble,” Leliana remarked, though she too sounded impressed. “This Iron Bull knows how to read his opponents. He could be useful.”

“But how do we know we can trust his intel?” Josephine asked the obvious question. “We would be fools to take anything he has to say at face value.”

“You’re the one who suggested she meet with them in the first place,” Cullen said.

“That was obviously before I knew he was Ben-Hassrath!”

Cullen pursed his lips and lowered his gaze to the map, leaning over the table across from Cassandra and me, one hand casually resting on his sword hilt. Leliana and Josephine stood to his right. As always, candles guttered all around us, and in my groggy state they appeared to cast a dozen tiny halos, reminding me of childhood summer evenings catching fireflies in the courtyard. I was leaning on my staff and trying valiantly not to waver where I stood, with no idea whether I was succeeding.

“It is a moot point in any case.” Leliana shook her head, arms crossed in front of her. “We would be fools to pass this up. Whether we like it or not, this Iron Bull is correct - the last thing we want is for the Qunari to take an interest in fixing the problems caused by the Breach.”

“That still doesn’t mean we should trust him!” Cullen argued.

“No one said we trusted him.” Cassandra exuded irritation beside me, so tense I worried for the table trapped in her vice-like grip as she hunched over it. “But I agree with Leliana. We cannot afford to turn him loose and risk the wrath of the Qunari on top of everything else. We barely have enough resources to maintain what little forces we do have, and more people are pouring in every day. For the time being, at least, it appears we are stuck with him.”

Cullen gave an exasperated sigh, rubbing at his forehead as if feeling a headache beginning to form.

“We will be sure to watch him for signs of deception or subterfuge,” Leliana assured him.

“Perhaps that task should fall to Theresa.” Cassandra looked deceptively neutral as she nodded to me, though her eyes burned with the same judgement as ever. I returned her glare, betrayed. I couldn’t be sure, but I could swear there was a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth as she said, “Since this Qunari has appointed himself her personal bodyguard, who better to keep an eye on him?”

“His definition of bodyguard seems to differ wildly from the common usage,” Cullen remarked with dripping sarcasm, eliciting an amused sniff from me despite myself. Josephine muttered her heartfelt agreement. No one raised an objection to Cassandra’s idea, however.

Well then.

“What of the Grey Wardens?’ Leliana moved on, apparently considering the matter settled. Cassandra repeated the information we’d gotten from the young fisherman, making sure to reference the Wardens’ warning of Darkspawn. When she was finished, Leliana shook her head sadly. “A pity we missed them. I will put my scouts to the task of picking up their trail. Perhaps if we knew who they were looking for we might even have some leverage to encourage their aid.”

“Unfortunately, none of the villagers seemed to know that much,” I said.

“Actually.” Cassandra perked up, her head tilted in thought. “Varric may know.”

“Varric?” Leliana frowned. I was surprised as well. Now I thought on it, Varric had been taciturn during our return journey, but wrapped up in my own misery as I was, I hadn’t marked it as unusual at the time. Considering he and Cassandra got on like oil and water, I was surprised she’d taken notice.

“Yes,” she said, adding tentatively, “He made a comment to that end before we left the coast, but he wouldn’t elaborate. Either he doesn’t really know, or…”

“Or he’s protecting someone.” Leliana chewed her bottom lip while she pondered that, then nodded. “Thank you, that does narrow it down quite a bit.”

“To who?” I asked, but Cassandra and Leliana both shook their heads.

“Best we not speculate until we know more,” Leliana said. I caught her eyes dart so quickly over to Cullen that I thought in the very next instant that I must have imagined it. Whether it was real or not, she merely shrugged and leaned onto her back leg. The concentrated frown she wore as she scrutinized the map between us told me plans were already formulating in her mind.

There was a determination in her eyes that carried a light I hadn’t seen before, and I wondered why finding these Wardens was so important to her.

“Well then.” Josephine perused notes, briskly moving on to the next item. “Our next order of business is the Chantry. We’ve received a reply from Revered Mother Hevara while you were away. She is agreeing to a meeting with the Herald and a select few representatives, in private, in Val Royeaux. We have delayed sending a response due to…”

“Due to my illness?” I finished for her.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t your fault your wound became infected,” she hurriedly placated. “From what I hear, the Storm Coast is a breeding ground for sickness for those unaccustomed to it.” I muttered noncommittally in response. I did not point out that no one else who had journeyed with me had fallen ill.

The mighty Herald of Andraste, I thought bitterly. Laid low by a dog bite.

“In any case,” she continued. “We should compose a response soon, lest we lose what precious little good will we may have.”

“As I understand it, the Herald is not yet fit for travel,” Cullen said.

I felt a flush rise in my cheeks, but said nothing, hoping they would attribute it to the lingering fever.

Maker, of all things to waylay us…

“Make the arrangements anyway,” Leliana said. “We will simply put off the departure until she is recovered.”

Josephine marked it down in her notes, but her eyebrows twitched briefly into a frown. Her unspoken dismay was clear; further delay was unwise, given the delicacy of our standing with the Chantry, but there was nothing to be done about it. For me to travel now would risk the infection spreading, and I dared not risk it flaring up again. I reluctantly nodded my agreement and leaned over the table, calculating the distance between Haven and Val Royeaux on the map with a weary sigh.

By that point, I was more than ready to retreat beneath my mountain of blankets in my cabin for the rest of the evening, but fate had one last joke at my expense before I was free.

“There was something else, Mistress Trevelyan,” Josephine added as she finished her notes. “Regarding your family.”

A beat of silence filled the room. Beside me, Cassandra inhaled sharply, and from across the table leather creaked as Cullen shifted on his feet.

“My family?” My guard was instantly raised, one fist clenched against the table as I gripped my staff harder with the other. I kept my face neutral.

“Indeed,” Josephine nodded. “I would like to dispatch a courier asking the banns of House Trevelyan to align themselves with us. What are your thoughts on how best to approach them for official support of the Inquisition?”

I almost laughed. Truly, this was the definition of irony. I thought over my response carefully.

“I’m afraid my presence may close more doors than it opens,” I said, keeping my gaze on the map. I stared at the marker for Haven, resisting the urge to scan north and east, where Oswtick lay, huddled between the Vimmark Mountains and the Waking Sea. “My family and I are… not on the best of terms.”

Cassandra sniffed, though I didn’t dare turn to check her expression.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Josephine sounded chastened. “I will not pursue the matter.”

Another beat of silence followed before Leliana suggested we adjourn for the evening. The others agreed, sounding as grateful as I. As I was leaving, however, Josephine approached me, keeping her voice low as she caught my attention.

“I do hope I’m not overstepping, but your illness appears to have taken quite a toll on you. How are you faring?”

“I assume that’s a polite way of telling me I look terrible.” I sighed, running my hands through my tangled hair; I hadn’t bothered to brush it before the meeting.

“I beg your pardon,” she replied. “I only meant to express my concern. I have an ointment that may help, if you are not too taxed?”

I almost refused, but the promise of relief was too tempting. So, I allowed her to lead me down the great hall to one of the side doors, revealing a small room equipped with a desk, several bookshelves filled with elaborately bound tomes, and a sideboard littered with missives, scrolls, and sealed envelopes. Candles took up every available surface not devoted to papers, filling the room with a deep, romantic glow. Some of them must have been scented, for the aroma of lavender hung pleasantly in the air.

Josephine gently closed the door behind us and proceeded to create organized chaos as she shifted documents into neater piles, adjusted some candles to better vantage points, or relit others that had gone out.

“Please excuse the dreadful state of things,” she said as she moved about the small room. “It seems all of Thedas has reached out to us these past few days, in light of the Chantry’s official denouncement, and I am still catching up I’m afraid.”

I watched her work, noting a loose tendril of her deep brunette hair had fallen over her cheek and realizing with surprise that she was, in fact, quite flustered; a great contrast from her usual perfectly-coiffed and poised presentation. Or perhaps this had become her new normal state in the days since I’d been gone.

Straightening at last, she took a moment to straighten her waistcoat and sleeves before saying, “Now then! I wanted to take a moment to apologize to you in private.”

“Apologize?”

“Yes, for springing the question about your family upon you like that, in front of the others.” She clasped both hands delicately before her, her poise returned. “I could see that it distressed you, and I neglected to account for the recent loss of your father and brother. I should have been more discreet.”

“Ah,” I nodded with an ironic smile. I hadn’t intended to discuss the matter any further, but I didn’t want her thinking the fault was hers. I sighed, explaining, “That wasn’t why I was upset. My relationship with my family has been… strained… ever since I was sent to the Circle. I believe my mother has an open-ended command that I am to be shunned by all relations, in fact.”

“How dreadful!” Josephine gasped, one hand raised to her mouth briefly before returning to join the other. “Well, you have my sincere promise that I shall not press the matter, but you should be aware that others will.”

“Meaning?”

“Val Royeaux has noted your lineage. It gives the Inquisition some legitimacy in their eyes, although not as much as we’d hoped. Orlesian nobles consider the Free Marches somewhat… quaint.”

I chuckled, more amused than offended, picturing the scandalized expression on Mother’s face if she heard that backhanded compliment.

“The fact that I’m a mage doesn’t give them more pause?”

“You’re not an unfamiliar sight. Mages from noble families are often given more leeway. Besides, Ostwick’s Circle had a reputation for being rather sedate.”

“Only if you weren’t the one always being watched. It’s good to be able to move without people scanning my back. Mostly.” Cassandra’s fearful glare came to mind, followed by Cullen’s suspicious scowl.

“Do you mean the templars?” Josephine strolled over to her desk, taking a seat in the carved wooden chair behind it, gesturing to a matching one across from her.

“The templars… How should I put it?” I took the seat slowly while I thought of my next words, unsure how much I wanted to reveal. “They were more like jailors than protectors, hiding behind religious doctrine while scrutinizing our every move, day and night. Some took their roles… farther than was warranted.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been difficult to grow up with,” Josephine nodded sympathetically. “I’m afraid my own knowledge of such is limited, but I have heard some of the mages here in Haven make similar comments. I apologize if I seem insensitive?”

“Honestly, it’s just nice to be believed.” I smiled. “Usually I can’t even say that much without having it written off as bitterness or overreaction.”

“Well, a sympathetic ear is the least I could do in return for all you’ve done for us, though I know much of it was not your choice. You’ve been most patient with the simple accommodations here, as well. I imagine they are rough compared to the comforts of the Circle.”

“If you could ignore the bars on the windows, Faxhold was quite nice.”

I smiled, remembering my favorite corners of the ancient lighthouse, its imperial architecture, wood floors smoothed by centuries of feet coming and going. Tapestries were hung everywhere for warmth, depicting intricate scenes from the Chant or prominent figures of legend and history. Swirling ironwork sconces latched onto the stone walls, never quite able to fully penetrate the dark, windowless interiors.

“There was a superb library,” I said proudly. “One of the best-stocked in the Free Marches. I used to spend hours there, reading until I gave myself headaches.” I looked away, pretending to study an owl carving perched on the corner of her desk in an effort to disguise the water building in my eyes.

How much of that library survived? I wondered.

V: “Survived?”
T: Our departure after the rebellion was rather… hurried. I doubt anyone thought to detour long enough to grab any books. And Maker knows what use the templars would have for it.
V: I’d heard rumors about the disbanding of Ostwick’s Circle.
T: Disbanding is a kind word for it. Another time, perhaps.
V: I’ll add it to the notes.

“In any case,” Josephine continued, leaning forward, her hands once again clasped before her. “I do hope the accommodations here are not too … rustic for your tastes?”

“The cabin?” I blinked, a little surprised. I didn’t think I could explain to her just how much that small kindness had meant to me. “It’s more than acceptable, believe me. It’s all the traveling I can’t stand.”

“Oh dear, you have my sympathies. I could never tolerate so much time in the wilderness!”

“I don’t know how well I’m tolerating it myself, to be honest.” I held aloft my injured arm with a sardonic grin. Then, suddenly remembering, “So was the ointment only a ruse to get me to come to your office, or… ?”

“Oh!” She blinked, her eyes widening. “Forgive me, I completely forgot…” She rose and crossed over to a small chest nestled on one of the shelves, unlocking it with a key from her waistcoat and pulling out a small porcelain vial. “I’m useless without my notes,” she said, handing it to me.

I took it, opening the stopper and giving its contents a tentative sniff. A strong scent wafted out; rich and earthy, but tempered by something flowery. I detected oakmoss, and perhaps dogwood or elderflower, along with a mixture of various other herbs; pleasant, but sharp.

“That should do wonders for any lingering muscle aches,” Josephine explained, offering a small parchment with application instructions written in an elegant, swirling script. “I have a supplier from Val Royeaux who keeps me in stock. Cullen sang its praises when I gave him a bottle.”

“Now that is hard to picture,” I smirked. “Whatever this is, it must be effective.”

Josephine giggled. “Yes, he is quite dour much of the time, isn’t he?”

I shared in her laughter then, wondering, I began to ask, “What did he need---?”

But before I could finish my question, the door abruptly opened to reveal a man in an elaborately embroidered doublet, a silver mask inlaid with dark gemstones covering the upper half his face. If there could possibly be any doubt as to his origins, his thick accent confirmed him as Orlesian the moment he spoke, all bluster and hurried indignance.

“Ambassador!” he declared before he was even through the door. “This is untenable!”

Josephine’s surprise delayed her reaction for half a beat, before her face smoothed over to a nearly perfect mask of polite innocence.

“Marquis DuRellion, this is an inopportune time. I am meeting with---”

“---The Inquisition cannot remain if you can’t prove it was founded on Justinia’s orders!”

But Josephine would not be talked over.

“More of the faithful flock here each day. They have nowhere to go but here.”

The Marquis huffed and looked like he might say more, but she continued with little pause, raising a hand to gesture to me.

“But allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach. Mistress Trevelyan,” she added, making sure to emphasize my family name. “This is the Marquis DuRellion, one of Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

“And the rightful owner of Haven.” The Marquis puffed himself up as he reached out to take my hand. Reluctantly, I shook it. “House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage. This ‘Inquisition’ is not a beneficiary of this arrangement!”

“Countless people have been injured!” I said, already losing patience with his self-importance and callousness. “You can’t just turn them out into the snow!”

“And who benefits if they stay?” he asked.

My hands dug into the arms of the chair, and a series of rather ungenerous phrases fought for recognition at the tip of my tongue. Before I could say anything foolish, however, Josephine jumped in.

“Divine Justinia benefits, Marquis,” she said, her tone even with infinite patience. “May I reiterate it is the Inquisition - not the Chantry - that is sheltering the pilgrims who mourn her?”

“Why is the Chantry ignoring the faithful?”

“Because it remains in shock,” Josephine answered over the scoff I let loose without meaning to.

The Marquis shook his head, disbelieving. “I’ve seen no written records that show Divine Justinia approved this upstart organization.” He still sounded indignant, but his tone had tempered. He was reaching for further excuse to complain, and Josephine pounced on the moment of weakness.

“That is interesting, considering it was begun by the Left and Right Hands of the Divine. If you are not prepared to take Seeker Pentaghast at her word, I’m afraid she must challenge you to a duel.”

“What?”

That gave him such concern he actually took a half step back and glanced at the door, as if the Seeker in question would come barging into the room at any moment. I bit my cheek to prevent a smirk.

With a face that was the picture of earnest concern, I added, “It is a matter of honour among Nevarrans, I understand.”

“Shall I arrange the bout for tonight?” Josephine asked, lifting a nearby quill as if to make a note of the affair.

“No, no!” The Marquis practically shouted the protest, then managed to regain control, straightening his mask before adding, “Perhaps my reaction was somewhat… hasty.”

Josephine lowered the quill. When she next spoke, it was with true sincerity.

“We face a dark time, Your Grace. Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.”

The Marquis let out a long sigh, and I could tell the battle was won.

“I will think on it, Lady Montilyet,” he said after a moment. “The Inquisition might stay in the meanwhile.”

“Thank you, Marquis.” Josephine inclined her head and smiled.

“It was a great honor to meet you, Lady Trevelyan,” he said to me with a crisp bow before turning and exiting.

When I was sure he was out of earshot, I turned to Josephine, amazed. Her smile had already faded, replaced with a released breath and lowered shoulders.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” she said. “Any reasonable dignitary should know better than to open closed doors unannounced.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m only glad he won’t be tossing us out into the cold any time soon.”

Her smile returned briefly, followed by a grimace. “He is only among the first of many that we must contend with. And each new visitor will spread the story of the Inquisition after they depart. It is my job to ensure the tale is as complementary as possible.”

“Well, at least in this case, you handled him well. How do you manage with such infuriating subjects?”

“Oh, you are too kind,” she said, glancing down at her still-clasped hands with a breathy laugh. “But it’s not so much knowing what to say as how to say it.”

“Oh?”

“It’s an old trick I learned during my years in Orlais,” she explained. “Make it look easy.”

“Make it look easy?”

“It sounds ridiculous, I know,” she chuckled. “But if you speak with authority, others will grant it to you without even realizing.”

“Is that how you came to work for the Inquisition?” I teased, raising one brow. “You showed up and ‘spoke with authority’?”

“Goodness no, I would never be so crass!” She looked positively scandalized at the notion. “Sister Leliana approached me. We’ve been acquainted for quite some time. For better or worse, being the Inquisition’s ambassador has been as… interesting… as she promised.”

“Never a dull moment with us heretical flies in the Chantry’s ointment,” I said, earning another delicate giggle. Then, recalling something that had been bothering me for some time, I asked, “It seems strange to think of Leliana as a Sister of the Chantry. Is that where you met her?”

“No, we actually met while I was Antiva’s ambassador to Orlais. The title is a remnant from years before, when she was a lay sister in Lothering until the Blight.” She paused, thinking. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe she ever formally took vows.”

“From lay sister to spymaster? That’s quite a journey.”

“Leliana is certainly one with many tales to tell,” she nodded, a wistful look lightening her eyes. “Perhaps she may even tell you some of them one day.”

“In any case, you have my thanks for this.” I rose to my feet, holding the jar of ointment. Turning toward the door, I paused. “From what I can see, the Inquisition is lucky to have you as its advocate.”

“Thank you,” she inclined her head graciously. “Let us hope so. Thedas’s politics have become… agitated of late. I hope to guide us down smoother paths. Ideally, paths that lead us to more suitable quarters in Val Royeaux.”

“Oh Maker, I hope not,” I laughed. “Miles of ice and snow between me and those who wish me harm is Haven’s best feature.”

“Don’t speak too loudly,” she teased as I headed out the door. “Chancellor Roderick is still here.”

Chapter Text

It took almost a week of enforced rest before my caretakers were ready to declare me fit for travel. Helena, the elderly healer who’d first tended to me upon my waking, seemed to have taken me for a grandchild, doting on me and clicking her tongue in disapproval every time I wandered from my bed. Adan was little help, grousing and insisting that too much movement would exacerbate my condition.

Josephine, remembering my comments about Faxhold’s library, managed to get hold of a history on pre-empirical Orlais and sent it to my cabin, for which I was immensely grateful. Unfortunately, with little else to do all day, I soon tore through the entire thing and was left once again aching for things to occupy my time. I pleaded with my matronly guardian that I needed to move around or I should go mad and tear the cabin’s walls down. She eventually relented, but still insisted that I not wander past the inner gate.

Thereafter, I passed much of my time with Solas, either walking about the village, or - when the supplicants and admirers grew too many - meditating in secluded spots, where I could practice controlling the mark in secret. I also spent a fair bit of time in the tavern, listening to Varric spin tales for captive drunkards about the Champion of Kirkwall’s great victories and heartbreaking defeats.

Sadly, riding lessons were out of the question; even were I well enough for it, Cassandra’s sour mood had not abated, and I was still reluctant to approach her, or to ask anyone else to sacrifice their time to teach me.

When I grew bored tracing my own tracks throughout Haven, I snuck out to the training field in defiance of my orders so I could watch the few mages in our ranks practice their spellwork, offering advice and corrections on occasion. Templars - or rather, former templars, since they were among our ranks - were usually nearby, but I did my best to ignore them, knowing their authority here was limited, always secondary to Cassandra or Cullen. Even so, I could only bear their watchful stares for so long before needing to retreat back behind the inner walls.

On my third such elicit excursion, however, I found myself drawn to Cullen’s training instead, arranging myself in a comfortable patch of grass to sit in the midday sun as I watched. This time, rather than drills, he had the soldiers paired off in one-on-one sparring matches, to better teach them proper melee technique. Even from across the field, I could hear his thundering commands as he walked among them, shouting corrections and admonishments at regular intervals.

“You there! That’s a shield in your hand! Block with it! If this man were your enemy you’d be dead!”

I had to smile at the fearful “Yes ser!” that followed. I’d spent enough time across the war table from him by now to know most of his outbursts were all bluster, but these soldiers were more afraid of him than any hypothetical enemy on the battlefield.

Soon those enemies will be more than hypothetical.

My smile faded. The thought of these same fighters facing down an army of demons or Maker knew what else the Breach would throw at them soured my mood considerably. The faces on the dead soldiers in their cage in the Storm Coast came to mind, along with the sandy-haired boy from the Hinterlands, and suddenly the bright sun above no longer held any warmth. I’d made sure to get those soldiers’ names from Harding, and just this morning had given the list to Cullen, who had the heavy task of writing to their families to tell them of their fate.

Many more such letters would be going out in the days and weeks to come. Perhaps even months. Or years. We were still no closer to discovering the true culprit of the Breach, no idea who we were training to fight.

Will it ever be truly over?

“They’ve got good form.” The comment came from my right and I stiffened, recognizing Iron Bull’s deep bass. “Cullen’s putting his templar training to good use.”

“How could you know of his training?” I turned slightly where I sat, not lifting my head to meet his gaze. “He wouldn’t have told you.”

“Didn’t have to. Might not be a templar shield, but it’s a templar holding it. He angles it just a bit down, helps direct fire or acid away from the face. Qunari learn the same thing when we train to fight Tevinter mages. Your templar’s doing good work.”

“He’s not a templar any longer.”

I turned back toward the soldiers, but I heard his bootsteps crunch in the melting snow. The sun was blocked, and I found myself seated in his shadow. It took great effort to stop my shoulders hugging my ears with his proximity.

“Still pissed at me, huh?” He sounded unbothered by the notion. “Makes no difference to me. So long as you’re not kicking me out or stopping me from doing my job, you can feel any old way about me you like.”

I remained silent, content to stew in my bitterness. He remained, watching the soldiers with interest, while I struggled to maintain an air of detachment. Whether he admitted it or not, I could tell he was trying to provoke some sort of reaction from me, and I refused to succumb. After several minutes of stony silence, he spoke again, just as unaffected as before.

“It takes time to build a group into a team, but he’s got their loyalty.” It sounded as though he actually admired him. “Now all he has to do is get them to form a decent shield wall and they’ll be good to go. He’s not the Inquisition’s problem.”

“You think the Inquisition has a problem?” I asked defensively. He’d only been here a handful of days and seemed to think he could reorganize our whole operation from the bottom rung. How dare he?

“Oh it’s got plenty.” He grinned. “But to be fair, so do most movements when they first get off the ground. Most of yours can be traced back to one root cause: you’ve got no leader. You’re an Inquisition without an Inquisitor.”

I frowned, wondering what he was getting at. No leader? Cassandra had been the driving force behind all this, right from the very beginning. She was our leader in all but name. It seemed odd that he would fail to notice that.

“You know, among the Qunari, we don’t pick leaders from the strongest or the smartest, or even the most talented. We pick the ones willing to make the hard decisions. And live with the consequences.”

All the while he spoke, his expression grew serious, taking on a harder edge, a coldness that made me shudder. I tried to push it out of my mind, but the longer I stood watching the soldiers, listening to his unsolicited commentary on their technique, the more unsettled I grew. Eventually, I gave up and strode back to the village, sullen at the loss of what had been a perfectly pleasant day.

Halfway across the field I felt my shoulder blades itch and looked back to see his cold stare fixed on me, as if sizing me up as prey. It was disturbingly reminiscent of the templars’ glares, and unnerved me more than anything he’d said. His eye followed me all the way across the field, until I’d passed through the inner gates and out of sight.

Seeking to lose my thoughts amid a crowd, I veered toward the tavern. Therein I found Varric, unsurprisingly parked in his favorite corner next to the fire, which everyone seemed to have agreed was to be reserved for him alone. He was playing cards with a group I didn’t know, and when he saw me enter he waved me toward an empty seat nearby. I sat, but politely declined his offer to deal me in, content to watch for the time being.

After a few hands, Varric folded and declared himself spent for the evening, and the others happily dispersed with their winnings. Once they left, he turned to me with a shrewd smile.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he said. “Buy you a round?”

“I thought your pockets were empty?” I teased.

“You think I’m stupid enough to lose all my coin to those amateurs?” He feigned offense, making me laugh, and waved a hand to Flissa, who nodded and set about filling a pitcher from the tap. “Never let ‘em know your limits, Herald.”

“Oh, good, more advice,” I mumbled as the barkeep approached and laid the pitcher and two mugs on the table with a wink.

“Something bothering you?” Varric asked.

He stood to reach across the table and filled one mug before passing it to me. I took it and drank slowly. The ale was thick and bitter, and I choked despite my care, still unused to indulging. He laughed and clapped me on the back until I regained my composure, then poured his own mug and took a long drink as easily as if it were water. I stared down into the dark brown liquid, my hands encircling the mug, trying to parse out what it was that unsettled me so.

“Do you think we can trust Iron Bull?” I asked finally.

“Ah.” Varric sighed heavily and took another long drink, refilling his mug before responding. “I’ve actually met a Ben-Hassrath before, you know.”

“Truly?” I was shocked. I hadn’t been able to find out much about them since first learning of their existence, but from what I could tell they sounded altogether different from the faction that sacked Kirkwall years ago.

“She’s just about the farthest you could picture from Tiny out there. And I’m not going to pretend to even remotely understand what motivates anyone in the Qun.” He shook his head, bemused. “But I believe him when he says he’s here to help.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s smart.” Varric took another drink and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his coat, adding to the collection of stains and smears. I winced, wondering briefly if he ever bothered to launder it. “Smart enough to know who’s likely to win in an all out war between the Qunari and all of Thedas.”

“They’ve been attacking Tevinter for years.”

“Pecking at their perimeter, sure. If they did actually invade, things would look very different. They might even make it past Tevinter with enough initial force, and probably a good way into Nevarra and the Free Marches too. But then what? They’d be landlocked once the city states united their fleets. Orlais would order an Exalted March in a heartbeat if they so much as sneezed in their general direction. And Ferelden? From what I know of their king and queen, they’re not likely to hesitate planting a huge chunk of their forces at the border, just in case. He knows an invasion is bad for everyone, including the Qunari. It’s what’s kept them from escalating all this time. It’s a very delicate balance.”

“So then what happens when the balance gets tipped?”

Varric stared down into his own mug for a long moment, his face deadly serious.

“Then we better hope it tips in our favor,” he said before emptying his mug again.

I drank as well, swallowing past my throat’s protests. Much of the rest of that day was spent drinking and listening to Varric’s stories as a crowd came and went around us. It was well past dark when I stumbled to bed, only to wake the next day with a thunderous headache, terrible nausea, and the mother of all disapproving glares from Helena. Admonished, I vowed never to drink that heavily again.

V: Heh!
T: Yes, you can guess how long that lasted.
V: I don’t have to guess.

Thereafter in my recovery, I restricted my activities within Haven once more, and found myself volunteered unto the service of Adan. As I had feared, he was most unhappy to learn we had already used up nearly the entire store of healing salves he had made for our travels, and enlisted my help to make more, deeming it suitably untaxing. It mostly involved me handing him dried herbs to grind while he grumbled aloud about any number of things he deemed offensive. Apparently, my additions in such conversations were incorrect, so I resorted to nodding and grunting to keep him satisfied I was listening as he worked.

I might have been resentful, but for the small fact he had apparently been the one to help Solas watch over me while I lay unconscious from my efforts to close the Breach. I brought it up only once, meaning to thank him for his efforts, but he only shook his head and grumbled, his face flushed in either embarrassment or rage, and so I let it be, content instead to learn piecemeal knowledge about the various herbs that went into his concoctions, and their benefits.

I was surprised at my own fascination with the subject; perhaps it reminded me of my days tending Faxhold’s garden, enjoying the precious few hours I was able to spend out of doors, even if still confined to the enclosed courtyard.

At long last, after the sixth day, Helena declared me strong enough for travel, and once I told the Trio the good news, our departure for Val Royeaux was arranged in all haste. The night before we were set to leave, I was more restless than ever, practically bouncing against the walls of my cabin. For all that I hated the physical toll of traveling, the freedom it afforded was intoxicating to the point that remaining in one location for too long had become stifling. By midnight I could no longer stand it, and pulled on my boots and coat, making for the pathways outside.

I’m not sure why, but I found myself once more taking the perimeter path along the inner wall. When I arrived at the top of the hill where the first trebuchet sat, I was not surprised to see Cullen in his quilted jerkin and trousers, pipe smoke wafting up and away in the Breach-lit darkness, as he stood admiring the massive siege engine before him.

He turned, hearing my approach, and I nodded politely.

“Can’t sleep either?”

He shook his head. One corner of his mouth pulled up slightly, making me notice for the first time a scar that marred that side. I wondered how old it was, and how he’d gotten it.

“We’re beginning to make a habit of this,” he said, not unkindly.

“So it seems.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve recovered well enough.” He gestured toward my arm, and I nodded, rubbing absently at the sensitive pink scar tissue beneath the fabric of my coat.

“Luckily for me we made it back in time.”

“Luckily for all of us, I think.” His eyes flicked upward in answer to the low rumble that sounded from the Breach above.

“Of course.” I smiled in an attempt to cover my wince. He hadn’t meant offense, but it hurt somewhat to still be reduced solely to the mark in my palm, that even after all this time my personhood was secondary to my purpose.

Hugging my coat closer - more to give my hands something to do than in response to the chill - I came to stand by the trebuchet, busying myself with examining its cogs and joints, trying to understand the purpose of each detail. Cullen remained where he was, continuing to puff lightly as the scent of tobacco and herbs permeated the air around him.

“Forgive me if this is too personal,” he asked eventually. “But does it hurt?”

For a moment I was confused, thinking he meant the injury, before I saw the wary look in his eyes he reserved for discussions of magic. My left palm twitched, but I resisted the urge to rub it.

“Not… exactly.” I grimaced. Finding the right words to explain the sensation always proved elusive. As I thought, my hands came together of their own volition, and I realized with frustration I’d started rubbing at the mark. Stubborn, I shoved both hands into my coat pockets with a sigh. “Really, it’s the light that keeps me awake. This close to the source,” I nodded upward toward the roiling green storm rumbling above. “It seems to glow brighter. It almost hums at times.”

“That must be frustrating.”

“That’s one word for it. I have a few stronger ones in mind.”

A light chuckle escaped him, and I couldn’t help answering in kind.

“Why are you here?” I asked after another beat, then winced again, not meaning to sound so accusatory. “I mean… is there something keeping you awake?”

“You could say that.”

“Troubles of command?”

“Among other things.”

His tone was flat and short; I had neared an invisible line of his again. I did not press further, turning my attention back to the trebuchet. His pipe had gone out by then, so he tapped it against his boot, letting its contents fall to the ground, then shuffled dirt and snow to cover the ashes.

“These look just about finished.” I offered up the change of topics, hoping to lighten the dour mood.

“Very nearly.” He perked up, face softening as his eyes swept over the machine. “They’ll be ready for testing soon.”

“I’d like to see that.”

“I thought you might,” he nodded. “I’ve left standing orders you’re to be informed when it’s time.”

“Thank you.” I was surprised, and touched.

“You’re welcome.”

It was so simple. A kind gesture, an expression of gratitude. How strange that such an easy, innocent exchange felt foreign to me even now, and how ironic that it centered around a piece of warcraft in the midst of one of the greatest disasters in living memory - a memory that included a Blight, no less. I recalled Josephine’s kindness as well; the ointment she’d given me had helped ease the stiffness from my aching muscles, but it had been offered in response to my poor condition after being forced to fight. It wasn’t even the first time I’d had to kill in service of the Inquisition. Nor would it be the last.

I came to the dreadfully heavy realization that any happy memories I might claim going forward would be within the context of war and death, and I was overwhelmed with sudden despondency, seeing no end in sight to this crucible. Already I was not the person I had been when I first awoke in the dungeons of Haven’s chantry. Who or what would I be when - if - I made it out the other side?

Did I even remember who I used to be anymore?

I tried to think back to the Conclave, and the knotted dread in the pit of my stomach wound itself tighter as nothing but blackness stared back at me. I recalled events, yes. Places. People. But all of it was detached, flotsam and jetsam, adrift without the essence of what was me to pull it together. I was flailing, my only mooring the invisible thread that clung to my hand and wound upward into the sky, where great looming doom hung over all of our heads.

And when I tried to think further back...

Templars, the steel of their swords flashing in the candlelight, and the screams of children rousing us from our sleep…

No!

“Theresa?”

Cullen’s concern cut through my despair, and suddenly I was back at Haven, shivering in the night air. I shook loose of that nightmare, willing myself back into the present, gripping my arms ever tighter until my nails dug into my skin even through the thick wool. It had only been seconds, but my mask must have slipped, for I could see the worry in Cullen’s widened eyes and furrowed brow.

“What’s the matter?” He took a tentative step forward to look me up and down more closely, hands outstretched, prepared to catch me should I faint.

“It’s nothing.” I shook my head, dismayed when my voice cracked. Had I cried out while my thoughts had been chasing that dark path they so craved? I hoped not. Clearing my throat, I took a deep breath before speaking again. “I just… should be resting.”

“Of course.” His frown did not waver, and he looked for a moment as though he intended to press me further, but apparently thought better of it, stepping back and nodding, more to himself than to me. “Do be careful on your journey. Val Royeaux is a viper’s nest.”

“Well, hopefully they’re easier to handle than attack dogs, at least.” I allowed a small smile, hoping it was convincing, before adding, “But I won’t be alone. Iron Bull and Cassandra will both be there to glower threateningly over my shoulders.”

“With that retinue I fear for anyone who stands in your way.”

We shared another laugh, but then his smile faded and he seemed suddenly unable to meet my gaze. With an awkward cough, he took another step backward, rubbing at his neck as his eyes darted everywhere but in my direction.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Right.”

But a beat passed, and though I willed myself to move, my legs remained rooted to the spot, held by a strange reluctance, as if there were something missing. But try as I might, I couldn’t think what it might be.

V: Maker’s balls, you two were dense.
T: I have no clue what you could possibly mean.
V: Uh-huh.

Finally, my will won out and I made for the path back to my cabin. Once there was some distance between us, I felt able to call one last jest over my shoulder.

“Don’t let anyone riot while we’re gone.”

“The walls will still be standing when you return,” he responded airily. Then, lower, likely not meant for me to hear, he added, “I hope.”

On the way back to my cabin, my grin faded, giving way to a growing sense of apprehension, though I couldn’t have said why at the time. Nor for a long while after. When sleep came, I dreamed of flaming swords flashing in the night.

Chapter Text

The pattern of my life had become an endless cycle of departures and returns, broken by intermittent violence and rest. And nowhere in that cycle was my mind content to cease its endless wanderings and be at peace.

I was up well before the sun, anxious to be off, passing the time waiting for the others by reviewing the documentation Josephine had given me on the current political climate in Orlais. There had been a civil war over succession raging for several months now, and the consequences were beginning to be felt across Thedas. Soon, the Inquisition would be feeling it too, and we needed to be ready.

Selecting an alcove in the main hall of the chantry, I curled up with the documents and a journal to copy down important information. With an extra candle for light, I set to work. By the time it had burned down half an inch or so, I had several pages of notes to review along the journey, and my eyes were beginning to strain.

I had just set down my stylus to shake the cramping from my wrist when one of the chantry sisters approached me.

“Excuse me, Herald, but if you have a moment, Mother Giselle would like to speak with you before your departure?”

“Of course,” I said. “You can let her know I’ll be here for a short while longer.”

She hesitated, wringing her hands. “Er, she would like a private audience, if that’s not too much trouble.”

“I see.” I frowned, now on guard. “Is there anything the matter?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Your Worship. She only said it needed to be private.” She pointed to the room at the back of the hall to the right. “She’ll be waiting for you in the office there.”

And with that, she hurried off in the opposite direction, keeping her gaze firmly on the floor in front of her. Wondering what this could be about, I stood and straightened my wrinkled tunic, gathering my notes into a neat pile in my arms and making for the office she’d indicated.

When I walked through the door, however, it was not Mother Giselle who awaited me.

“Thank you for coming, Mistress Trevelyan,” said Chancellor Roderick. “Would you mind shutting the door?”

I very nearly turned on my heel and left. But whether the many recent encounters with violence and death had desensitized me, or the support of the Inquisition bolstered me, my fear of the aging bureaucrat had faded to mere resentment. Not breaking my stony glare, I reached behind me and shut the door with a resounding thud.

He stood facing me, a table between us set with a plate of figs and honeyed toast for his breakfast, together with a steaming mug of black tea. A thick tome was opened before him, one page entirely taken up by a gilded illustration of Andraste’s ashes in their sacred urn; a subtle reminder of what else had been lost when the temple went up with the explosion.

“You’re resorting to petty tricks now to try and intimidate me?” I asked.

Roderick raised his brows, unconcerned and unoffended. “If you knew I was the one who summoned you and not Mother Giselle, would you have come?”

“Of course not! That should have been a clear enough answer all its own.” I sighed, digging the heel of my hand into my weary eyes before I caught myself. “I’m leaving.”

I turned, but before my hand could reach the door pull, he had come around the table and inserted himself between me and the exit, one hand against the door and the other pulling at my arm, nearly dislodging the papers I still held.

“Wait!” he said, his careful neutrality broken for a brief moment. “I only want to talk, you have my word.”

I bit my cheek to stop the torrent of curses that almost loosed itself at his unexpected touch. Stepping back to dislodge his grip, I contemplated whether it was worth it to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’d certainly not earned the privilege, but it seemed foolhardy to leave without at least learning what he wanted.

“Talk quickly,” I said finally. Listening didn’t mean agreeing, after all.

He lowered his hands and moved back toward the table, granting merciful space between us once again. Before speaking, he plucked a fig from the plate to chew on, taking his time to savour it while I stewed, annoyed at the deliberate delay.

“I wanted to ask you,” he said when he had swallowed, “what you intend to say to the mothers in Val Royeaux?”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “I’m not sure what you expected me to say, but you’re going to be disappointed.”

“You still distrust me.”

“You still want my execution.”

“I want justice!” For a moment, his face contorted and his voice wavered, but his next breath returned him to the appearance of reason, and he continued. “I want a return to sanity. I want to honor the wishes of Divine Justinia.”

“You don’t know the first thing about her wishes.”

“And you do? My dear girl, had you ever even met the woman before her death?”

I said nothing, caught in the truth of his question. The unspoken accusation was not lost on me.

“Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Leliana cared for Justinia, to be sure,” he continued. “But their affection has blinded them to their path. They have strayed from their true purpose, and twisted the Divine’s legacy into heresy and chaos. I will not allow her memory to be tarnished!” He slammed a fist on the table, sending ripples through the tea and causing one stray fig to bounce off the plate. I flinched, and reflexively looked back toward the door.

He took another breath, opened his fist and flexed the fingers. My own hand flexed in unwanted empathy, but I kept my face blank. My capacity for care toward him was extremely limited.

“You’re worried about a legacy,” I said with a sneer, “When there are actual, living people outside our gates who desperately need help.”

“You think I don’t care about them?”

“If you do, it’s clearly secondary to your petty revenge fantasy.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, sad breath before opening them again to give me a look dripping with pity and condescending patience, as if I were a student unable to grasp a basic concept, despite his hours of patient lecturing.

“Child,” he said, making me bristle. “Have you ever actually tried to remember the events leading up to the explosion?”

“Of course I have!” I moved forward, any fear at his proximity losing ground to the growing rage and indignity of unearned blame and suspicion. “More times than I can count! No matter how hard I try, there’s nothing! Just blackness.”

“And you believe that speaks to your innocence?” His question cut right to the core of me, forcing the air from my chest and all words to leave me, replaced only with the raw, emphatic denials I stubbornly screamed into the void of my mind where memories should be.

I didn’t do it! I couldn’t have!

And yet…

Seeing the gap in my armor, Roderick pounced.

“If you’ve another more likely target, I’d be happy to hear it.” But of course, I did not, and he knew as much, grinning in smug satisfaction. “Ah, of course, you have nothing but a disembodied voice and floating eyes. You are aware that there are many conflicting reports on just what happened out there when you failed to close the Breach?”

I shrugged, trying to look unaffected, trying to regain the control I felt slipping like sand through my clenched fingers. “The Fade reflects our perceptions, and the Veil was extraordinarily thin in the ruins. It stands to reason that accounts would differ.”

“In fact,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “very few accounts agree on even the smallest of details. None can corroborate your claim of a room of red eyes and a malevolent watcher. Some even claim it was your voice ordering Divine Justinia’s sacrifice. You must forgive me my lingering doubts. Perhaps I have misstepped in my efforts to seek justice, even acted rashly out of anger. But you cannot deny that no other suspect has stepped forward to claim responsibility.”

“And you’re taking responsibility?” I scoffed. “By using me as a scapegoat rather than facing the real problem? At least Cassandra can admit when she’s been wrong.”

“You think all this running about, closing small rifts here and there and constantly sending more people here to strain our already thin resources, doing anything but directly confronting the Breach, is the nobler pursuit?”

I sighed, growing weary of this debate. “Just tell me what you really want.”

“I want you to turn yourself over to the mothers’ custody in Val Royeaux,” he answered, ignoring my responding scoff and shaking head. “Let a trial get to the truth. And I want you to clearly, loudly, and unequivocally renounce your claim as the Herald of Andraste.”

“I’ve been doing exactly that since I first learned of the blighted title! You can see for yourself how much good it’s done.”

“Yes, but you did not have the Chantry backing you. If you surrender yourself to their jurisdiction, it will put an end to the conflict with this Inquisition. With the proper authority guiding the wayward masses again, things will return to order much more quickly. Then we can exert a much more concentrated effort at dealing with the Breach.”

“You can’t believe that,” I said, but of course he did. The Chant dictated his every perspective; of course he thought it was the solution. He didn’t see its roots at the base of nearly every problem we were contending with; he couldn’t fathom it.

“Mark my words,” he continued, pointing an accusatory finger at me. It seemed he was finally out of patience. “If you continue to rabble-rouse, this will only lead to more bloodshed, and it will be on your hands! History will remember you as a tyrant and a blasphemer! Your name will be used as a curse and the story of your demise will be told to frightened children for generations!” He moved toward me as his voice rose to crescendo, spittle flying from his mouth in his fervor. I tried to back away, but became trapped against the door. “You killed the Divine, and the Maker will hold you responsible, whether it be here or in the darkest depths of the Void!”

My voice fled, my will failed me, and I shrunk before him as he loudly screamed my worst fears for all to hear. His face was so close to mine I could smell the honey on his breath, and a fleck of spittle struck my cheek as his rampage continued.

Then the door opened roughly behind me. I would have fallen flat on my back if not for strong arms catching me around the shoulders.

“Theresa?” Cassandra exclaimed in surprise. “What in the…” Then she looked up and saw Chancellor Roderick, red-faced and breathing deep, straightening his robes in an attempt to appear nonchalant. Her eyes narrowed. “Explain,” she demanded. “Now.”

For a beat no one spoke as I righted myself and fussed with my papers, keeping my gaze downturned. I could hardly see anything through the curtain of tears beginning to form. Roderick cleared his throat.

“Seeker, I was merely offering advice to---”

“---It doesn’t matter,” I interrupted. “We were just finished. And I think I had better go prepare to leave.” I couldn’t bring myself to meet Cassandra’s gaze, too afraid of the tears that would fall should I look up, but I reached out one hand to rest imploringly at her elbow.

She considered us both a moment longer before relenting.

“As you say.”

She sounded doubtful, but said nothing more, giving Roderick one last lingering glare before leaving.

I turned to follow, eager to be away from that room and back among friendlier faces. Though I craved sunlight and open air, I paused in an alcove to right myself, wiping the tears from my eyes and straightening my stack of papers, doing my best to cover any evidence of the effect the chancellor’s accusations had left on me.

Once I was confident my control had returned, I gathered up my cloak and bag and marched outside. There, Cassandra was conferring in hushed tones with Cullen, while Solas, Varric, and Iron Bull stood by their mounts in readiness. All faces turned toward me as I emerged, but I quickly made a beeline for my horse, distracting myself by unnecessarily readjusting the saddle and packing away the papers. I took special care with Josephine’s scrolls, hoping she would not take offense that I had taken them with me; going back to return them now was out of the question.

“I’ll take care of it,” I heard Cullen murmur to Cassandra before marching into the chantry. There was a quick, peripheral impression of his stiff back and clenched fists before he disappeared inside.

I grimaced against my horse’s neck, knowing Cassandra must have told him what she’d witnessed, praying he wasn’t about to start a scene. I contemplated going in after him, but did not dare risk another confrontation. Whether she had correctly deduced what really transpired or not, Cassandra made a point to give me a wide berth, and the others followed her lead. For once, I was grateful for the avoidance.

“Theresa?” Solas, always the exception, approached, his face pinched with concern. I mutely shook my head and, after a moment’s hesitation, he reluctantly retreated to his own mount.

Finally I could delay no further and mounted, too distraught to remember my prior clumsiness while astride. Though I could feel their eyes on me, no one else asked any questions, and we were on our way before long, making good time in the mild weather.

Spring was coming at last, even to these high mountains. It was a clear day, and the dawn made a beautiful pastel patchwork of the clouds. As we made our descent below the snow line, the sun rose steadily to shine down in bright, stubborn contrast to my mood. Varric and Iron Bull decided to pass the time by swapping bawdy jokes and limericks, each attempting to one-up the other until finally even Casssandra had to stifle her laughter as she demanded they cease. By the time we reached the basin, my mood had improved somewhat, now we were finally out on the move again. Futile as our mission likely was, momentum still felt like progress.

It was nearly dusk when we stopped for the night. As we set about preparing camp, I noted with annoyance that Iron Bull was keeping himself in my periphery. While he wasn’t looming over my shoulder, he always seemed to be nearby, making me feel as though I might trip over him wherever I turned. At first I assumed this was him acting in capacity as bodyguard, but he was blatantly watching me, not the perimeter. In fact, he was watching my every move very closely, his solitary eye narrowed, reminiscent of his stare in the training field.

By the time our tents were erected and the fire was built, my skin crawled from the scrutiny, and it seemed no matter where I turned, there he was, watching, judging, until I thought I would go mad. If the others noticed, they paid it no mind.

“You are over-simplifying the matter, Cassandra,” Solas was saying as he took a seat beside me at the fire. “What happened in the Hinterlands was merely the inevitable byproduct of years of oppression. It is hardly indicative of how the mages will conduct themselves going forward.”

He added wood to the fire as he talked, building it up to chase off the chill that was fast approaching with the sun’s departure. Beside him, Varric was skinning the pair of rabbits he’d caught, preparing them for the spit. Pine and ash perfumed the air as sparks danced upward with the addition of another log. I sat upwind of the smoke, wrapped in my cloak, my staff beside me. Normally, I left it by my tent when we camped, but Iron Bull’s vigilance made my shoulder blades itch with hyper-awareness, and my guard was up.

“Is that what you would tell the villagers who lost their homes? Their families?” Cassandra countered, raising her voice from across the clearing where she was securing the horses. “That the rebels overrunning their lands are outliers? That the system put in place to protect them was destroyed in favor of apostasy?”

“All mages may now be apostates.” The carefully controlled calm in Solas’s voice slipped, hinting at something harder and sharper beneath. “But not all apostates are inherently dangerous.”

“Neither are templars.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed - generously in my opinion - pausing to share a glance with me. I remained silent, lifting one brow to indicate my skepticism. “But a templar’s actions are sanctioned by the Chantry, even when taken to extremes. Some think that makes them justified. I would argue the opposite.”

“The Chantry is meant to help the people,” Cassandra said. “It is there to uphold order.”

“Then it has failed spectacularly, on both counts” I said, unable to hold my silence. “That the Conclave was even needed is proof of that.”

“All that’s proof of is that you mages need to be controlled,” Iron Bull interjected, glare still trained on me.

“Mages didn’t cause the Breach,” I said.

“You sure about that?”

“We don’t know who is responsible,” Cassandra tried to intercede, but I was growing fed up with the accusations.

“You were comfortable enough using my abilities when it suited you,” I said to Iron Bull.

“That’s what you’re for,” he returned blithely.

“So nevermind the danger to me so long as I’m of use?”

The rest of the camp went deathly quiet. The tone had drastically shifted, and I could feel their eyes on me, watching in fearful apprehension. That their eyes did not also shift over toward Iron Bull was another indignance added to my growing aggravation. Above, the wind pushed and pulled at the trees. The fire crackled between us.

“Exactly.” The neutrality of his tone matched the terrifying lack of emotion in his eye as it continued to bore into me, sharp and cold as an icicle. “You’re a tool, simple as that.”

I was on my feet before I could think, the blood pounding in my ears drowning out all else.

“So what now then?” I was shouting. My staff was out at my side, gripped tightly at the ready. “The mage is out of control! Will you put me down?”

Every piece of my attention was trained on him. I was barely aware of my own actions, but I saw every slight twitch of his muscles, every shift of his weight as clearly and sharply as an owl. The air was electrified with the potential for violence. I could feel the untapped energy as it crowded me, drawn from across the Veil to my heightened emotions.

“Theresa…” Cassandra’s voice, low and cautious, dragging my attention to her.

My breath hitched. I held very still, coming out of myself just enough to notice the fearful look on her face. It was enough, just barely, to bring me back down. I bit the inside of my cheek, closed my eyes, and took several long, shaking breaths. When my shoulders dropped just a fraction, I heard her let out a sigh.

I didn’t look over at Iron Bull, afraid I would lose what little control I had left. Instead, I turned and walked toward my tent.

From behind me, a deep, heavy sigh was released.

“Guess it’s plan B then…”

I turned back, the beginnings of a question on my lips, only to see him standing, his massive ax slung casually over one shoulder. With his free hand, he beckoned to me.

“Show me you can control yourself.”

“I’m not going to fight you,” I sighed.

“Oh you are.” His lopsided grin spread, still lacking any hint of warmth. “One way or another. Might as well prove to me you can keep a lid on that temper of yours.”

“My temper?” I shook my head, recognizing the bait. “I have nothing to prove to you.”

I turned once more back to my tent, but he wasn’t done.

“Don’t prove it to me then. Prove it to all those templars you keep insisting take it too far. Prove they didn’t have the right idea all along.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, feeling my whole body tense almost painfully at his words.

“For the love of the Maker, Bull! Leave her be!” Cassandra shouted, exasperated. But I heard a twinge of fear, still present, behind her aggravation. It was that fear more than Bull’s goading that cut straight to the core of me.

I turned back around, my staff readied.

Someone - Varric, I think - uttered a curse, and there were scrambling movements as the others hurried to get out of the line of fire. Cassandra moved between us as if to interfere, but Varric caught her by the arm.

“Nothing’s stopping this now, Seeker,” he said with a resigned sigh. “May as well enjoy the show.”

Cassandra unleashed a string of epithets that would have made a brigand blush, but she allowed him to pull her back out of the way. Distantly, I was aware this was a very bad idea, but I was beyond caring by then.

He wanted me to prove I was in control? I was more than willing to oblige.

We stood there for a moment, sizing each other up. When he began moving in wide, careful steps, I countered, and soon we were tracing a large circle around the camp, gazes locked, our awareness shrinking down to exclude all else.

I tested the waters first, having the ranged advantage, by summoning a stonefist and hurling it in his direction. He dodged it easily, rolling one shoulder to the ground and coming back up in a heartbeat, never losing his grip on his weapon. He leaned forward, fixing me once more with that hateful, empty stare.

“Not too late to listen to the Seeker, mage,” he said. “But if you’re that eager to self-destruct, I’ll help you out.”

“It won’t be that easy,” I hissed through clenched teeth, sending another stonefist careening toward him. Again he escaped, rolling out of the way with a laugh. How could someone that large be so fast?

Frustrated, I tried freezing him in place, but he outran the spell to come charging forward, inside my guard before I could react, and with a shove I was on the ground. His ax came down, but I managed to get my staff up in time to block, teeth rattling from the impact.

“You’re slipping,” he said, his smirk growing as I struggled for purchase beneath him.

I grunted, forcing the ax away with all my strength. It gave, barely, enough for me to roll free and regain my footing. Inwardly, I cursed myself, knowing he was right.

Bit by bit the tenuous control I’d been desperately clinging to was beginning to slip, falling in pieces around me as if chipped away by some sadistic sculptor. Every glare from a templar, every accusation, both spoken and unspoken, every whispered oath and warding gesture that followed when I passed, had been another stroke of the chisel, peeling away at my sanity and dignity, honing my righteous rage down to a fine point.

Here now, in this moment, all I saw was a cold eye, two horns pointing straight up, and that fucking smirk.

Another spell loosed, this time a tongue of flame reaching out toward his feet, but he was already moving, and it harmlessly charred the ground where he’d been standing. By the time I followed his path, he was beside me, and I had to rush to block in time, wincing at the force behind it. I summoned a wall of flame to force him back, and in the time it took the flames to die I’d formed an ice glyph beneath his feet, but the glow tipped him off and he rolled away just as the glacier reached up to grab him, landing on his shoulder and rotating back to his feet with a confident scoff.

I growled, frustrated, wondering at his celerity.

Trying to give myself time to reassess, I moved back a step, but he bunted the head of his ax at the glacier, sending a spray of ice shards at my face and making me wince and turn my head. I cursed, knowing it for a feint, but had no time to recover before he was right in front of me. I ducked instinctively, feeling the breeze from his ax as it passed through the air directly above my head. It swung again, and I held my staff up to block, but I was off balance and the impact sent me sprawling across the ground. My shoulder came up against something sharp and hard, and I cried out from the pain.

“Use it!”

My cry turned into a scream of white rage, and I hurled a cone of flame in the direction I’d last seen him standing, but again he was already gone. Someone shouted, and the flame quickly died. Confused, I cast about trying to place my opponent, only to feel the snick of the ax blade come across my neck. A tiny trickle of blood wound a trail down to my collarbone when I swallowed against the cold metal.

Shit.

I fumbled for where my staff had fallen, but the blade twitched in warning, drawing more blood. I froze. Rage made my muscles ache to move, to attack, to wipe that fucking smirk off his face. But I had nowhere to go. I was trapped. I had lost. Unwanted tears burned in my eyes and blurred my vision as I lifted my hands, surrendering.

But he didn’t withdraw the blade.

“Oh no,” he rumbled menacingly from above. “It’s not over yet.”

I looked up, struck once again by the cold emptiness in his eye.

He’s going to kill me, I thought. The shock of realization hit me as solidly as one of his strikes, and icy dread crept through my body.

“Use it,” he growled.

I could feel it, the searing hate burning within. The energy in the air danced in response and I shaped it, transferring that hate to the metal at my throat. He cursed, and the now glowing red blade retreated. I rolled, grabbing my staff as I came back to my feet and whirled to face him. He flung the now useless ax to the ground with another curse and looked across to me, gaze passing up and down as he took in my stance.

“Yield,” I demanded.

He laughed, loud and booming, echoing through the trees and setting several birds to flight. I frowned, dread growing stronger. Just what was he trying to do? I cast about for the others, trying to see if they would try to put a stop to this, but the instant my eyes were off him he charged forward, embodying his namesake with terrifying force as he pushed me back and I lost my footing again, wind forced from my lungs as I landed violently on my back. Somehow, I managed to keep my staff between us, but it was clear he was exerting little effort as he pushed it back until it pressed against my throat, threatening to cut off my air.

“Too easy,” he said, close enough that I smelled the ale on his breath as he whispered. “Maybe the templars didn’t need to bother with you at all.”

The sound of steel rending flesh repeated in broken rhythm behind me, and screams were abruptly silenced one after another as I tore through a dark hall in desperate flight.

A shriek of panicked fury resounded around us, and I belatedly realized it was mine. A thunderbolt crashed down from the sky to land squarely on Iron Bull’s unarmored back. He roared in pain, rolling off me and staggering back, blinking wide in surprise.

I was already on my feet, and this time I didn’t hesitate. With all the fury within, I hurled wave after wave of flames at him, my staff a blur of ceaseless motion, forcing him on the defensive with no weapon to shield himself. He stepped back, and back, until in his hurry he tripped over one of the travel bags still lying about.

Seeing my chance, I spun the staff expertly, gathering all residual mana from the Veil to power a web of lighting that I guided to block his path, forcing him to move right, just where I wanted. Holding out my left hand, I visualized the silken thread that held me always moored to the Breach above. Thanks to my practice, the image came easily. Taking a deep breath, I tugged on the thread.

The reaction was instant. A bright, blinding flash of green covered the clearing, then all was darkness again. I did not wait for my eyes to readjust, having marked the spot where Iron Bull fell crashing to the ground. By the time his silhouette was visible in the twilight, my staff blade was at his throat. He looked up at me, hands held out in surrender. I hovered, blinking away the light-blindness as blood pulsed in my ears and reason struggled to reassert itself.

That was when he began to laugh. Not the empty display of bravado from before. This was true mirth, spreading to finally melt the ice from his eye and reshaping his scowl to something softer.

For a long moment, his laughter was the only sound I could process as I collected my thoughts, dumbfounded. My chest heaved and my head swam. Slowly, my awareness widened beyond just the two of us, and I saw Solas standing several paces away, his own staff at the ready. I felt the residual mana, an aura I had come to recognize as his, and wondered what spells he had cast.

The fire.

One of my spells must have gone wide, I realized. He had quelled it.

Oh shit.

Behind him was Varric, Bianca out and loaded, but not fired, and trained squarely on Iron Bull, though Varric’s eyes were watching me, wide and cautious.

Where was Cassandra?

Frantically, I looked about the camp, taking in a scorched tent and the iced over campfire, a trail of broken underbrush where the horses appeared to have fled. Our fight had spooked them. From that path, Cassandra emerged, holding two of the mounts by their reigns. The look on her face was pure fury.

The camp held its collective breath, while Iron Bull lay on the ground, still laughing, and I stood, my staff hanging limply from my hands, trying to process what I had just done.

I remembered the lightning bolt I’d summoned. Remembered another, the same spell but cast years ago, and the split table that had been left. My mother’s appalled face as she took in the damage, realized I had been the cause.

Oh Maker…

“That!” Iron Bull exclaimed, standing and dusting off his trousers, seemingly oblivious to the mood around him. “Was a damn good fight, Boss!”

“...What…” I couldn’t think, didn’t want to think. The adrenaline was beginning to fade, but what was left was strangely lighter, smoother. Where I expected panic, there was only clear, calm serenity.

“I knew you had it in you! Just took the right push.” He walked over to where he’d thrown his warped ax, picking it up to examine now the metal had cooled. He sniffed it experimentally, then laughed again, shaking his head. “Actually, I wasn’t expecting quite this much of a reaction. Must’ve hit a sore spot---”

But a new blade at his throat stopped him mid-sentence. Cassandra was seething.

“Leave,” she growled, her jaw clenched so tightly she could barely utter the word.

Iron Bull, still smiling, released his grip on the ax, letting it fall back to the ground with a heavy clang.

“Easy now,” he said, every inch the placating supplicant all of a sudden. “I was only trying to---”

“Now!”

Her blade pressed harder at his throat, but he didn’t so much as twitch. He studied her, likely trying to think of the best approach. Then, the clearing filled with laughter again, only this time it was mine.

Everyone turned, looking at me as if I had spontaneously grown two new heads and was now juggling with all three. If any of them had asked why I was laughing, I’m sure I would not have had an answer for them. Even now, I cannot say; I only know that it felt good, like a homecoming. Every ounce of anger and fear in me melted away. I felt clear-headed once again. I knew I looked mad, that I needed to regain control and explain myself, but for once - maybe the first time in years - I didn’t care how I appeared.

The laughter grew, spreading to every inch of me, making me double over until I had to lean on my knees for support. My staff fell to the ground, forgotten.

“Theresa?”

It was Solas who finally spoke, approaching tentatively, as if I were a cornered wild creature he meant to subdue. The thought only made me laugh harder. I began gasping for air, and tears stained my cheeks in my mirth. My ribs ached.

Finally, I was able to regain some modicum of control, wiping at the tears with my cloak. Looking over to Solas, who stood at the ready, I shook my head, smiling.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Someone wanna explain just what the shit that was all about?” Varric demanded. I heard the mechanical shifting of Bianca being stowed.

“Boss had pent up tension,” Iron Bull explained. “A lot of it. I helped work some of it out.”

“Excuse me?” Cassandra, blade still at his throat, arched one brow, looking to me for confirmation.

“He’s right,” I said. “I… think I needed that.”

“Are you joking?” Now Cassandra rounded on me, and I remembered belatedly that we had barely been on speaking terms since the Storm Coast. “Do you have any idea the damage you could have caused? How reckless that was? What in the Maker’s name makes you think you have the right to endanger us all because you cannot keep your emotions in check? This is exactly why…”

She stopped herself just short of saying it, but I didn’t need her to.

All my mirth was gone, put out like a candle, but the tension did not return. As I stood looking into the veritable storm of unleashed fury that was Cassandra at that moment, I felt oddly at peace.

“I’m sorry,” I said, proud of my voice’s steadiness. “I got carried away. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“And when it does?”

All I could do was return her gaze, shrugging with sad resignation.

“At this point, you either trust me,” I answered, “or you don’t.”

There was nothing else to say. We stood there, locked in a battle of wills for a long moment, before Varric broke the silence.

“Let it go, Seeker. It’s over with now.”

Another of their significant looks was shared, before she let out a long, shaking breath. I could see her shoulders lower a fraction, her muscles easing, and I let out a breath of my own in relief.

“Maker take the lot of you,” she muttered as she turned and busied herself with resecuring the horses.

Solas looked to me, searching my face carefully but saying nothing. I gave a slight smile and nodded to him in assurance. Satisfied, he set about melting the ice over the fire pit and drying out the wood.

Varric, who had been staring after Cassandra with an expression that was both pitying and exhausted, turned back toward the partially-burned tent and clicked his tongue at the damage, hands on his hips. Realizing with a twinge of guilt that had been his tent, I went over to help him clean. He said nothing as I approached, but gave me a grateful nod.

“I’m sorry,” I said as we pulled his belongings out from beneath the canvass.

“Don’t worry about it.” He waved off my apology as easily as if I’d offered to cover the tab at the pub. “Pretty obvious he was deliberately goading you.”

“That doesn’t mean I should have let him.”

“Maybe. But I’m getting the sense that finding sore spots is his specialty.”

He didn’t comment on the specific remark that had driven me over the edge, though I could hear the unasked question there. I said nothing as we finished. Thankfully, the spell had been doused quickly, and most of his belongings had been spared. The tent was charred but still usable, and though I offered to take it for the night and give him my own, he refused, insisting there was nothing to make amends over.

Shaking my head at his unflappable nature, I left him to reorganize and looked about to see what else I could do. Solas had already gotten another fire going, though any chance for a hot meal was gone thanks to the rabbits having been flash frozen in the ice, the meat ruined. It seemed we would have to survive on rations for the night. Cassandra was in the process of saddling her horse, pausing only long enough to mutter something to us about searching for the remaining mounts before she set off into the trees at a hurried canter.

I watched her go, feeling a familiar ache of regret, remembering our riding lesson and wondering if I would ever be in good enough standing with her to go riding together again.

“She could use a good release too.”

Iron Bull appeared beside me, though this time I heard his approach. Whether that was intentional on his part was hard to say, but I had given up trying to figure him out.

“I wouldn’t try the same method you used on me,” I said, a hint of disdain mingled with the sarcasm.

“Ha! Yeah, probably wouldn’t survive that one.”

I rubbed at the thin cut on my throat from his ax.

“Are you hurt?” I asked him. “The lightning…”

“It gave me a jolt, that’s for sure.” He grinned, turning to show me the burned scrape down his back. I winced, but noted with relief that it looked superficial. “I think I had that coming though, didn’t I?”

When he turned back, I saw that calculating look had returned as he studied me, waiting for my response. I repressed a shudder, lifting my chin defiantly in answer. He nodded.

“Sorry about that,” he said, surprising me. “It was obvious templars were a sore spot, but I figured it was just the usual tension between you lot. But there’s something more there for you, isn’t there?”

The knot in my stomach tightened, and coldness spread to my face.

“That’s not open for discussion,” I said flatly.

He said no more, merely nodding and turning back to sit by the newly rekindled fire. I stayed, staring into the darkness after the path Cassandra had taken for a while longer. When it was obvious she would not return any time soon, I turned to join the others.

Chapter Text

It dawned bright and clear the day we arrived in Val Royeaux, the sun’s rays blinking off the gilded rooftops with deceptively welcoming brightness.

I’d heard about the grandeur of the city as a child from Max. As the eldest, he’d been sent to the University of Orlais to expand his studies when he came of age, and regularly sent letters home, which Father would read aloud to us in the evenings. Once, in the last summer before Mother found out I was a mage, we all went to visit Max and tour the Grand Cathedral.

As a child, I was in awe, intimidated and clutching at Father’s hand much of the time. Now, fully grown and returning for only the first time since I was ten, I stared open-mouthed. My memory had not done the city justice.

The Night Gate, where we made our way into the city proper, passed over a bridge, cutting across the wide reflecting pool upon which the entire market district sat - a gilded lily pad, with all the brightly coloured buildings as its blossoms. That this was the less magnificent of the two main entrances into the city said much for the wonders it held, though I was not sorry to have given the White Spire - ghost of the Templar Order’s former power - a wide berth. The Spire itself was visible from our vantage point even so, its white peak towering above the other structures - a pale diamond amongst bright gemstones. It made me shudder to look upon.

Apart from the Spire, the Imperial Palace could be seen toward the west, as could the gothic steeples of the Grand Cathedral to the north. Wherever I looked, in fact, there was some new detail that caught my eye and merited a moment’s appreciation. Lattices spread across buildings like delicate lace trim. Brightly painted shutters accented windows. Elaborate bouquets sat in every available alcove and corner. Statues lined walkways or posed amid bubbling fountains, casting their haughty mien upon us plebeians below. Even the architecture was grand and overstated, sprawling all around us and towering above in confident opulence.

And the people!

Orlesians are a breed all their own. Those few who visited Ostwick stood out like delicate dolls, never quite comfortable in “the rustics” as they so condescendingly liked to refer to the Free Marches. I was used to their arrogance, and their discomfort. Here, in their own country, they blended into the decor with an ease and confidence that could only come from familiarity.

Here, we were the ones who stood out.

For various reasons, I’d never had cause to put much thought into my wardrobe. Now, I felt so vastly underdressed that I had to resist the impulse to squirm under the scrutiny of total strangers. Compared to the layers of bright fabrics worn by the citizens wandering the streets, my own sturdy travel clothes felt drab and colorless. Though I often practiced at making my face an expressionless mask, here the Orlesians took the notion literally. Nearly every face was hidden behind masterpieces of craftwork; some carved from stone or marble, some molded from gold or silverite, and everything in between. Even the servants trailing behind them wore plainer versions of their masters’ faces. It made me feel terribly exposed.

The feeling was not helped when several groups of citizens began to take notice of us - of me - and quickly backtracked, giving us a wide berth as they pointed and whispered to their cluster of peers, making no effort at discretion. Perhaps they assumed our status as outsiders meant comprehension was beyond our grasp, but I spoke a fair bit of Orlesian, and took no comfort from the fearful or snide remarks I overheard.

“I think they know who you are,” Varric muttered, a familiar glint of humour in his eyes as he watched a couple gasp and clutch at their chests melodramatically upon catching sight of me.

“Keenly observant,” I replied.

“Quiet.” Cassandra’s order brokered no argument. Varric and I shared a look of annoyance, but obeyed.

She and I had barely spoken since the night Iron Bull and I fought. She’d returned from her ride trailing the last two horses who’d escaped and with much of her rage dispelled, but wearing an expression that encouraged a wide berth, which the rest of us were more than happy to grant.

Normally I would have spent that night sleepless and fretting, trying to understand how to mend what had become broken between us. This time, however, I understood that it was not my responsibility to fix. The realization came to me as I sat by the fire, speaking in hushed whispers to Solas while he tended to my injuries. Since then, as if a barrier had been cast upon me, I found the brunt of her glares and curt orders easier to bare, and sleep came peacefully during the nights that followed.

The unfortunate side effect, naturally, was that conversation between the group as a whole had become almost nonexistent, and what was said was fraught. The energy between us was beginning to feel like a bowstring pulled taut and held. Something would break it soon.

In the meantime, we had the looming meeting with the Chantry to distract us.

As we made our way through a market square, a young woman in familiar garb caught our attention with a wave, her Inquisition scout’s uniform as out of place as our own travel-worn leathers and armor. As we approached, she beckoned us toward a nearby seating area that appeared to belong to an outdoor eatery, with ironwork tables and chairs set in groupings of two and three.

As there were no tables large enough for our company, we pushed two of them together and gathered whatever chairs were unoccupied nearby, to the chagrin of the serving staff. Varric staved off their fretting by ordering a plate of cheeses and bread for the lot of us, along with a pitcher of water. Cassandra clicked her tongue at the frivolity until he assured her it was from his own purse, not the funds allocated to us by Josephine for our journey.

“What news?” Cassandra asked once the pleasantries were dispensed with.

“Revered Mother Hevara has agreed to an audience, as you no doubt already know,” the scout said. “Though in truth, she’s been getting anxious about the delay. Especially now the templars are here.”

“Templars?” I stiffened. “I thought they’d all abandoned the Chantry by now.”

“Some remained loyal. The people seem hopeful they will protect them from… the Inquisition.”

“From the heretical Herald of Andraste, you mean,” I filled in her unspoken correction.

She nodded, a slight blush spreading to her cheeks as she looked to Cassandra for reassurance. I regretted my bluntness, belatedly noting her tender years. Cassandra gestured for her to continue.

“Those gathered in the city seem to be waiting for the Chantry to confront them.”

“Well, hopefully the Chantry has better sense than that,” Cassandra responded, surprising me.

“Agreed,” Solas nodded. “Why give them the opportunity of an audience with so much at stake?”

“Should be easy enough to avoid them,” Iron Bull added. “They stand out like black eyes against all this frippery.”

“That doesn’t exactly differentiate them from us,” Varric said, wryly voicing my own concerns.

“In any case,” Cassandra sighed, quieting the rest of us. “We are not here for them. Tell Mother Hevara who we are and that we are in the city awaiting her word. And apologize for the delay.”

I caught her furtive glance in my direction at that last comment, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it, but for Solas’s comforting hand over mine a moment later. I looked down at the table, inwardly cursing my weakness once again.

The scout departed to carry our message to the Chantry, and the rest of us were left to pass the time until we received a response. We finished off the cheese tray in short order, and soon began wandering the square, perusing the merchants’ wares. Though there were many fascinating items for sale, my eyes were drawn instead to the carefully groomed gardens that bloomed everywhere, providing shade and beauty from nearly every angle. It must take a veritable army of gardeners to maintain these carefully manicured pieces of paradise. I shook my head at the excess, noting several species of flora that required far more water than was typically provided by the temperate climate of Orlais.

While I sat and sketched some of the plants for later reference, Varric set to negotiating with the merchants with vigor over whatever he seemed to fancy, walking away from several stalls looking a great deal happier than their sellers. Solas was content to meditate beneath the shade of a flowering dogwood, and if the corners of his mouth tugged slightly every time some noble wandering by was startled or offended at his eccentricity, no one but me seemed to take notice. For her part, Cassandra seemed unable to sit still, pacing in a dizzying circle about the square until Varric finally convinced her to sit at a table with him and Iron Bull for a game of cards.

Thus did we occupy our time, awaiting word from the Chantry, settling in as the bells tolled midday.

When the bells tolled the dinner hour, we were still waiting.

“Do they always take this long?” Varric moaned, shifting in his seat and rubbing at his back. He’d been playing a kind of game with his cards that required no partners - the rest of us had long since grown tired of losing to him - and the colorful suits were laid out before him across the table.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Cassandra affirmed from her seat across the table. Her legs were stretched out, propped on a chair next to her, and her head rested on one hand. She slouched low enough in her seat that she and Varric appeared to be of a height. “Although it is not always quite this… deliberate.”

“You’d almost get the impression they didn’t like me,” I said wryly. I’d been steadily pacing in a circle around the table, on edge ever since several templars had been seen wandering in and out of the square over the past few hours. They paid us no mind beyond a few scant glances, long enough to note the staves Solas and I carried, but it still left me uneasy. Solas, sitting with arms crossed, his chair leaning back onto its rear legs against the white stucco wall behind him, had tried to help settle my nerves with some meditation, but to no avail.

“It’s not you personally they don’t like,” Varric said, gathering up his deck to re-shuffle, nimble fingers flying through the worn cards in a practiced blur. “Just the idea of you.”

“Ah, well, that’s much better.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh - the third such in the last few minutes. Iron Bull stood still as a statue, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, offering no comments of his own, appearing content to observe our collective discomfort with a neutral, disconnected expression.

“Would you kindly stop doing that,” Cassandra growled at me. “You’re making me motion sick.”

I bit my tongue on a few unkind remarks in reference to her hypocrisy, but acquiesced. As I was still too agitated to sit, however, I came instead to stand next to Iron Bull.

“I imagine this wasn’t what you had in mind when you offered your services as bodyguard?” I asked him.

“You’d be surprised how boring guard duty can be.” The edge of his mouth pulled subtly into the familiar smirk he’d been hiding. “For what it’s worth, I’m not disappointed yet.”

“I’m so relieved.”

He chuckled, but otherwise said nothing. Varric set up another round of his solitary game, Cassandra watching him with bored annoyance. He, in turn, pointedly ignored her, whistling tunelessly to himself. Solas continued his sky gazing, paying the rest of us little mind, a play of thoughts crossing his face, too subtle for me to discern. Each of them seemed content after their own fashions, while I struggled to stop my hands from fidgeting.

Beside me, Iron Bull moved not a single muscle, an observation that grew steadily more unnerving the more time passed. I thought back to our fight, recalling the precise control of his movements, his uncanny speed, the ease with which he outmaneuvered my every attack.

“Like the view?” His wry question startled me out of my thoughts. My face grew warm; I’d been staring.

“Sorry,” I muttered, turning to face the square once more.

“No harm done. Can’t say I blame you.” He lifted one brow briefly in a gesture I’d come to recognize as his way of winking. Despite myself, I laughed.

“You let me win, didn’t you?” I asked, giving voice to my thoughts.

Cassandra shifted in her seat, and Varric’s whistling hitched for just a moment before continuing. I felt Solas’s eyes on me, but kept my gaze on Bull. He leaned down conspiratorially, bringing his face uncomfortably close to mine.

“Put that together yourself, didya?” he asked.

“There were probably other less violent ways of getting me to vent my frustrations, you know.”

“Less hurtful, maybe.” He shrugged, straightening. “But you can’t break through years of conditioned control without at least some violence. And you don’t strike me as the type who’s down for a good old fashioned hate-fuck.”

At the table, Varric covered a guffaw with a feigned cough, and Cassandra’s head nearly struck the table when her hand twitched out from where it had been supporting it.

I lifted one brow, not dignifying that last comment with a response, saying instead, “Talking to me like a normal person wasn’t an option?”

“Not my style. And it’s not yours, either.”

“Is that so?”

“I read people pretty well.” He smiled that cold smile again, just a little unsettling while somehow also being disarming. “I know how to get at the chinks in anyone’s armor. Part of my job.”

“Is that why you said what you did about mages?” My tone was sharper now, carrying a dangerous edge. “Or do you really feel that way?”

“Oh I meant what I said,” he replied, a great deal more easily than I’d expected. It took me aback so thoroughly I must have shown my thoughts on my face, for he quickly held up one placating hand as he continued. “That is to say, I meant what I said, but not how I said it. It’s a little tough to explain to a bas, but it’s not just mages; we’re all tools, and all of us need to fulfill whatever purpose we’re best at. It’s how we find peace; not just with ourselves, but the world around us.”

“This hardly seems like the appropriate time or place for a lecture on Qunari indoctrination,” Solas spoke up from his seat. Varric uttered a grunt of agreement. Bull ignored them, waiting for my response.

“So in other words, you believe everyone should be as trapped and confined as mages?” I asked, the edge still in my voice. “Equal oppression for all?”

Iron Bull sighed. “I told you it was hard to explain. Don’t worry about it so much. I’m not with the priesthood - technically - and I’m not here to convert anyone. My job is just to watch and report.”

“Report back to the Qunari,” Cassandra added. “Who do want to convert everyone.”

“That doesn’t exactly make them all that different from the Chantry, Seeker,” he responded. Cassandra scoffed, but had no retort.

I thought on his words for a time, contemplating whether to mention the old wound he’d accidentally struck while seeking out those chinks in my armor he was so good at finding. Ultimately, I said nothing, deciding it was easier to forgive; whether because the fight had actually eased some of my grief, or simply because it was a weight I was becoming tired of carrying. I should have been furious with him, I suppose, but instead I was only more curious.

“How did you predict my movements so easily?” I asked instead.

“Are you kidding?” He scoffed, although not unkindly. “You project them so clearly I could call them from across a field. You’re so worried about hiding the emotions on your face, you completely ignore the rest of your body.”

“The rest…?”

“Every movement broadcasts something about what you’re thinking. The trick is to only broadcast what you want your opponent to see.”

I chewed the inside of my lip a moment, then asked, “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Sure thing, Boss.” He paused, then, making sure I was paying close attention, spoke too low for the others to hear. “We can start by teaching you how to lie better. Don’t know why you don’t want Cassandra knowing about your little training sessions with the elf, but the way you two carry on, even she’s gonna notice sooner or later.”

Before I could formulate a reply, the scout returned, jogging through the square and dodging passersby as she came to stop before Cassandra.

“Finally!” Cassandra let out a long-suffering sigh, straightening.

“A thousand apologies, ser,” the poor girl gasped between breaths. “They kept me waiting for hours once they knew I was with the Inquisition. I would have come back sooner, but I had no way of knowing if---”

“---That’s quite alright,” Cassandra halted what was surely building up to be a long string of apologies. “It’s certainly not your fault. What did they say?”

“They said the Revered Mother will agree to meet you at sundown, after her afternoon service is concluded. Enter through the western wing and ask for her by name. She’s left instructions to the templars to escort you and one other to her personal office.”

“One other?” Cassandra’s back stiffened, and my own shoulders hitched up slightly as she leaned forward. “Her message to Haven said multiple representatives would be acceptable.”

“I’m sorry, ser. That’s what I was told.”

“I knew it.” My blood ran cold and I retreated a few steps to be closer to Solas, the knot in the pit of my stomach tightening. “They’re going to arrest me. This was just a ruse to get me away from the Inquisition’s protection!”

“No one’s going to arrest you.” Cassandra pinched at the bridge of her nose, trying to muster her quickly flagging patience.

“If they should dare the attempt, they’ll have to contend with me,” Solas said, sitting up.

“Oh no,” said Cassandra. “You won’t be coming. And neither are Varric or Iron Bull.”

“Excuse me, Seeker?” Varric asked in the low, careful tone he reserved for those rare fights he was willing to pick. Solas rose to stand protectively by me, and though Bull made no movements, I detected a familiar look of determination in his eye. Things were about to turn sour very quickly.

“We can’t just go in there alone,” I pleaded with Cassandra, doing my best to sound placable. The last thing I needed now was to aggravate her further. “Not with so many templars there still loyal to the Chantry. If the Inquisition’s sigil ever bore power anywhere in Thedas, it means nothing here. Not to them.”

She turned to face me reluctantly, the deep brown embers of her eyes burning in a way I’d seen before. I swallowed, but held steady. When next she spoke, it was through teeth clenched so tight I half expected to hear them crack under the strain.

“We can’t just invite a dwarf, an elf, and a Qunari into the seat of the Chantry’s power against express orders.”

“We don’t take orders from the Chantry! That’s the whole point!”

“The point was to restore order, not to spread further chaos! We get nowhere by flaunting our degeneracy!”

“We get less than nowhere by bowing to their every whim!”

By this point, she had risen from her seat and we were inches apart, fists clenched and stances wide. We were so focused on each other that when Varric stepped between us it took a moment to even register his presence.

“Ladies! Let’s not start a fistfight in the middle of the square, shall we?” He held his arms wide to either side, forcing us apart. “How about this? I’ll stay here and see about getting us some rooms for the night. Solas can keep me company, but Tiny goes with you two for extra muscle. Since he’s officially employed as her bodyguard, they can’t exactly turn him away without making their intentions clear. Sound fair?”

Tension hung in the air between us all for a moment, before Cassandra relented, nodding and turning back to the scout to confirm directions to Mother Hevara’s office in the Grand Cathedral. The others all seemed to relax, except for Solas.

“No.” He shook his head, stubborn. “I’m going with her.”

“I hate to say it, but Cassandra’s right,” Varric said. “Elves aren’t exactly popular around here, Chuckles. Even less so in the Chantry. About the only folks they like any less are Qunari - no offense Tiny.”

Iron Bull only shrugged in response.

“I am perfectly aware of how I will be regarded,” Solas said. “Regardless, I’ll not leave Theresa surrounded by enemies. She is in just as much danger here as when facing the Breach.”

“From what I’ve heard, she didn’t fare too badly against the Breach,” Iron Bull said.

Solas started to say something, but stopped. The sounds of the square continued around us, blissfully unaware of the drama playing out in our little corner of their market. Gathering my courage, I released my hand from Solas’s grip and reached up to lay it on his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” I said. “I won’t be alone.”

He looked back at me and for a moment betrayal flashed in his eyes, gone a second later as he quickly dissembled and gave me a silent nod. As if the air itself had been holding its breath, a gentle breeze pulled at the wisps of my hair that always managed to escape my braid, carrying the scent of spices and perfume from the merchant stalls. The tension lessened, and I crossed to join Cassandra and Bull. Together we headed out of the square as Solas and Varric stayed behind. Though I didn’t look back, I could feel Solas’s steady gaze following me until we rounded a corner and were out of sight.

V: ...Hmm.
T: What is it?
V: Solas. I’d forgotten how attached he was to you back then. And I don’t mean emotionally.
T: Well, with all that was going on, it was probably easy to miss. Which was likely his intention.
V: You know, while you were off meeting with the Chantry, he was fretting about not getting to go along. I just thought he was carrying a torch. *scoffs* I actually thought it was cute.
T: I’m not surprised. I imagine I saw more of that than the rest of you did. It could be quite tiring at times.
V: You never seemed to mind, though.
T: Because I didn’t know better.
V: Well, you weren’t exactly alone there, Herald.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a long walk to our destination, but it may as well have been the length of Orlais for all the discomfort between Cassandra and me. By the time I began hearing the first notes of the Chant, wafting in practiced melody over the air, I all but welcomed a reprieve from the silence. It was said that to fully recite the Chant would take over a fortnight, and here in the very seat of the Chantry’s power was the only place known to do so, cycling through its entirety day after day in an endless loop.

During our visit in my youth, Mother was insistent that we be brought here. At the time I thought it merely a tourist excursion to a popular landmark. It would take months before I finally learned that nothing is ever quite so simple with my family. Back then, my lasting memory was only of how massive it all felt. The feeling had not diminished with time.

The building itself was made of grey stone, distinguishing it from the brightly painted stucco so prominent everywhere else in the city. Spires rose from nearly every square inch of rooftop, reaching out to the sky as if the cathedral itself were praying to the Maker. Great wings reached out on either side of the central hall, encompassing a vast courtyard of paved stones arranged in intricately subtle patterns that were dizzying to watch as we walked.

Turning my attention upward, I observed the massive stained glass window that served as the background for the main balcony, from which the Divine would have presided over a sea of worshippers below. It was perfectly angled to catch the setting sun’s rays, setting ablaze the details of Andraste’s execution pyre.

It all had the effect of making me feel like a wide-eyed ten year old again, and it took significant effort to carry myself upright, so great was the urge to shrink before such a dominating display of craftwork, wealth, and power. It was staggering, contemplating the amount of labour that must have gone into such a masterpiece.

I tried to focus on what I would say to the Revered Mother when we met her, rehearsing in my mind what I’d researched the morning of our departure from Haven. However, as we made our way through the courtyard, a disturbing sight wrenched my attention away and made my gut clench.

Several yards ahead, at the base of a statue of a shamefaced Maferath, a line of nearly a hundred templars was formed, erect and stock-still as the traitorous mortal husband of Andraste in whose shadow they stood. They were facing away from us, toward the central hall of the Cathedral. None spoke or turned to glance in our direction. Through my unease I had to wonder what was meant by this odd display. If they were guarding the Chantry, weren’t they facing the wrong way?

With every step further, I felt a shift in the aura around me. The air grew more grounded, the familiar if subtle change in energy that came with proximity to those of the Order. We gave them a wide berth, keeping to the northern side of the courtyard. As we passed, none so much as glanced our way, and I realized why; they were facing down a second line of their comrades, barely half their number and spread across the base of the stairway leading up to the main arches. Each line glared at the other, wordlessly daring the other side to move first. Hands rested on hilts, shoulders set, helms locked in place. The air was dense with the potential for violence.

I was grateful when Cassandra turned us aside toward a small archway to our left, set in the midst of a row of columns and at the top of a small set of steps. Even so, it was difficult to turn my back on the spectacle, the small hairs of my neck standing on end at the fraught energy, begging to be unleashed at the slightest provocation.

The pair of templars guarding the door looked unsurprised at our arrival, and at their insistence we were forced to relinquish our weapons into their care before being allowed entrance. I felt vulnerable without my staff, but there was little choice. Cassandra, in turn, handed over her sword and shield and Iron Bull his greatsword, both looking about as happy about this as I did. I could only hope their intimidating demeanors alone would suffice to keep me safe within.

Past the entrance was a wide hallway that seemed to stretch infinitely in either direction. Cassandra led us unerringly to the right, and our footsteps echoed off the cold, empty walls as we made our way through. Hardly any other souls were present, and the few we did see marked our passing only long enough to see the Seeker’s crest still emblazoned on Cassandra’s chestplate. Once they did, they hurriedly averted their eyes and quickened their pace past us. It seemed our reputation had spread even here, and unsurprisingly the Chantry sisters and mothers wanted as little to do with us as the citizens in the marketplace.

After some time, the hall opened up on one side to a massive space structured like a formal receiving hall, with a narrow crimson and gold rug running its length atop the marble floor, leading up to a massive statue of Andraste, clad in warrior’s garb, one sword uplifted above her head as she looked down serenely upon her supplicants. The room itself must have stood the full height of the Cathedral, and the statue nearly reached the ceiling, the sword’s tip appearing to just graze the intricately painted rafters high above.

At her feet sat the eternal flame, resting within a wide, shallow brazier, and before her was a low dais. A great, elaborate throne sat upon it, and the otherwise plain surroundings made this the clear and intended focus of attention, with the statue behind appearing as an exalted bodyguard. The throne was carved from dark wood, high-backed and well-cushioned, with a gilded disc at its crown, a curved spray extending outward in all directions in what might have been the sun’s rays, or tongues of flame.

“The Sunburst Throne.” Cassandra’s tone was reverent, and though she whispered, her words echoed high into the vaulted ceiling. “It has stood empty ever since the Divine’s death.” Her voice caught, and she said nothing more. I had the impulse to reach out and lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but it quickly passed.

We continued on, and I gave the throne another passing glance, wondering how much longer it would remain empty, and who would come to sit there once the remaining voices of power within the Chantry came to a decision. I hoped that whoever it was would have the wisdom to see the cracks in the foundation that had led to the chaos we now faced. I doubted it.

To my dismay, the archway at the end of the hall was flanked by four templars, halting our progress with crisp efficiency, clearly stationed there to await our arrival, just as the scout had warned. Their tight, practiced movements reminded me uncomfortably of Cullen’s relentless drilling.

One of them stepped forward and removed his helm, revealing a young-looking man with deep umber brown skin and proud cheekbones, his head and face shaved close, his expression carefully blank.

“Seeker Pentaghast.” His tone was surprisingly polite, and he gave a short bow in deference. He spoke Common, and his accent marked him as Ferelden, making him stand out all the more here in Orlais. “I’m Ser Delrin Barris. I’ll be escorting you to see Revered Mother Hevara.”

“Yes, fine,” Cassandra waved, her impatience growing. “Just get on with it, if you please.”

“As you say.” But he hesitated, eyeing Iron Bull who towered over my shoulder, my imposing and faithful shadow. “I believe you were told to bring only one escort?”

Cassandra gathered herself to her most imposing posture, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, saying nothing. I did not envy the templar as I watched the war of authority play between them, taking what comfort I could from Bull’s immovable frame behind me, until Ser Barris relented, acquiescing with a reluctant nod.

He motioned to the others and the lot of us were marched in rapid order down the hall, as I struggled to control my breathing and calm the tremors in my hands. Being enclosed by clanking armor and creaking leather, the menacing potential of sheathed swords was stirring memories that stubbornly refused to be forgotten. I lamented the absence of Solas’s calming presence as we were led deeper into the labyrinthine halls, further away from any known exit. Why had I thought it wise to leave him behind?

Mercifully we soon reached our destination and the suits of armor ahead of me came to a halt, forcing me out of my head and back into the present.

Before us was a solid wooden door standing ajar, with golden light pouring through into the dim hall. Ser Barris knocked sharply, stepping back when the crack of the archway widened away from him to reveal a short, middle-aged woman in clerical robes who squinted up over her wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Seeker Pentaghast, here to see the Revered Mother,” Ser Barris said, switching to Orlesian, his clipped and professional tone not quite comfortable with the words.

The cleric’s squint deepened with suspicion as her gaze moved in an arc from the templar to Cassandra, to me, and finally to Iron Bull.

“There should only be---”

“---I represent the Inquisition just as she does,” Cassandra interrupted with a waved hand in my direction, then a second gesture toward Bull. “He is here for her protection. A necessity, as I’m sure you understand. My companions stay with me, both of them. And we are not going away.”

It looked as if the cleric intended to argue further, but another voice from further in the room called out.

“It’s fine, Marianne, they may come in.”

Sister Marianne spared us one last glare before standing aside to hold the door fully open. Inside was an intricately carved mahogany desk, at which sat who I could only assume was Revered Mother Hevara, seated in a stiff-backed chair, silhouetted against the setting sun through a tall window behind her, a pile of papers arranged neatly into three separate stacks before her. She had been in the middle of scrawling a note onto one of the pages in an exacting, tight script, but she looked up and replaced the quill in its inkwell as we entered.

If she was surprised at Iron Bull’s presence, she gave no sign, waving one hand to indicate the chairs across from her for us to sit. Cassandra and I took the offer, but Bull remained standing, taking up position behind me with crossed arms. She blinked up at him once, then proceeded to ignore him completely as she nodded to the templars who, to my dismay, were now entering the room to stand attention at each corner.

“What is this?” I demanded, half-rising from my chair.

“You insist on this… bodyguard? Then I insist on my own protection.” Mother Hevara clasped her hands before her face, hiding what I strongly suspected to be an imperious smirk. “Thank you, Marianne, you can leave us to it.”

The cleric bowed low before leaving, shutting the door solidly behind her.

Mother Hevara gave me a shrewd, withering stare while I desperately tried to recall the hours of research I’d poured over to prepare for this meeting, but all of it had flown from my mind the instant the templars had come into view outside the cathedral.

After a long moment of silence, she said, “I suppose it’s too much to hope you’ve come to surrender yourself willingly to our custody?”

“And why would I do that?” I was proud of the steadiness in my voice.

“To end this senseless chaos! To prove your intentions, however misguided, are noble, and you are not simply a servant to your own selfish greed.”

I felt the anger rising within me, but I quashed it, pushing it deep down, where I could summon it later when needed. Here, it did me no favors. I took a steadying breath before replying.

“I am not your true enemy; the Breach is. We should be uniting to stop it.”

“It’s true,” Cassandra nodded beside me. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”

“So you do not claim to rise where our beloved Divine fell?” She lifted one brow skeptically. “You do not make false claims to speak for Holy Andraste?”

“The title of Herald was given to me by others.” I shook my head fervently in denial. “I have never wanted it, nor do I want the role of prophet, false or otherwise.”

“Who are you then?”

“Someone who can help.”

Her stare shifted from me to Cassandra before she heaved a great sigh and let her shoulders sag forward.

“Then I wish you had come sooner.”

Her change in mood was so swift it took me a beat to realize it was genuine. She looked so thoroughly defeated and exhausted that I felt a pang of sympathy despite myself.

“What do you mean?” Cassandra was apprehensive, leaning forward in her seat, eyes narrow and probing.

“If you thought to help mend the divide between the arms of the Chantry, you are only just too late.”

“I mend rifts in the Fade, Mother,” I said. “That does not mean I am capable of solving the many problems within your authority.”

“Does this have to do with the templars in the courtyard?” Cassandra asked, sparing me a warning glance.

Mother Hevara shifted her attention to her. “So you have noticed. They arrived only days ago, and already they are spreading fear and misinformation, claiming that the Chantry has lost its way, that it failed to prevent the Divine’s death, and that we are to blame for the current state of things.”

Well that is something, I thought. I never thought I’d find myself agreeing with templars.

I had the good sense to say nothing aloud, but my mask must have slipped momentarily, because her face turned sour and her hands clenched each other tightly as she looked back to me.

“Whatever our mistakes in the past may have been, surely you cannot think this a worthy punishment?” Her eyes flitted upward, where the ever-present threat of the Breach was hidden from view beneath the maze of gothic spires and gilded altars. “We each know that the first who will pay for it are those furthest from our protection.”

“They have already paid,” I said coolly.

“But not you, conveniently.”

I lifted my left palm so the green light of the mark cast a ghastly pallor across her face. “You don’t think so?”

She leaned back in her chair and gave a warding gesture, reflexively seeking protection. I sighed, lowering my hand. Perhaps my next question was unwise, but I found the ache to know too urgent to ignore.

“You’re obviously skeptical. What do you think I am?”

She merely shook her head and sighed, shrugging with great effort, as if a terrible weight held her shoulders down.

“Our Divine, Her Holiness, is dead. I have seen evidence for everything, except what would comfort me.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“For you to be true, a great many things must be false. And if you are false, a great many things must have failed. Chaos lies ahead for all of Thedas, no matter your intentions.”

“Then what now?” Cassandra asked. “Will the Chantry stop denouncing the Herald and the Inquisition?”

Mother Hevara chuckled. “We have already done so, and you can see what good it has done us.” She straightened then, lowering her hands to brace them against the desk. “Our task now is to elect a new Divine, and leave the next steps to her.”

“Is such a selection even possible?”

“I truly don’t know, Seeker. Anyone who could have followed in her footsteps died with her at the Conclave.” Her eyes flitted briefly over to me, and I repressed another wave of defensive anger. “Perhaps if you had arrived before the Lord Seeker, we might have had time to agree on a common cause, but---”

“Lord Seeker Lucius?” Cassandra almost rose from her chair, and I heard a responding shift of metal plates from each of the room’s four corners as the templars reached for their hilts warily. I tensed, and heard Iron Bull behind me shift subtly, but Cassandra regained her control quickly and settled back down. “There must be some mistake.”

“I assure you, whatever his method, his actions are quite deliberate. He has been decrying us as having led the Order astray, calling on all ‘true’ templars to reaffirm their purpose and leave with him. Now, too many frightened believers have heard his tirades and are too eager to find someone to blame in all this. As it stands, what happens to us now is in the Maker’s hands.”

“Where is he planning to take them?”

“I can’t begin to guess his mind.” Hevara shook her head sadly. “He could not have abandoned his intended role more completely.”

“How many templars are listening to him?” I asked.

“They are rebelling across Thedas. What few remain loyal can hardly be called an Order. The White Spire here in Val Royeaux was their largest garrison, and it now stands empty.”

Cassandra frowned, shaking her head in confusion, as if trying to solve an equation and coming up with the wrong solution.

“There must be some sense to it that we can’t see.”

“Must there?” Hevara raised her brows. “Rebellion seems popular in certain quarters, doesn’t it, Seeker?”

It took Cassandra a moment to parse the meaning behind that pointed question, but I grasped it immediately.

“What were you hoping the Lord Seeker would do to me, exactly?”

“To you? Nothing.” She brushed aside my skeptical scoff with a wave of her hand. “Believe what you wish, but my true hope was for him to put aside his losing war with the mages and find common purpose with us against something far more dire. Obviously, he has other plans. And with the Knights-Vigilant slain at the Conclave, there is nothing more we can do.”

“Perhaps there is something we can do.” Cassandra had recovered from her bewilderment.

“I’d like to believe that, Seeker,” Hevara answered. “I truly would. I expect only more division and more chaos in the days to come. If you truly wish to help, then I would start with reuniting the Order with its original purpose.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, and Cassandra’s resulting glare was sharp enough to slice through my guard and send me shrinking before her. When she was satisfied I would remain silent, she turned back to Hevara.

“Thank you, Revered Mother. We will take your advice into consideration.”

It was the most diplomatic she had sounded since the day I met her. I was not surprised that she reserved such patience for the Chantry, but I was disheartened. And somewhere deep down, though I would not come to understand the feeling for what it was until much later, a twinge of jealousy sounded; a sour note out of key with the carefully controlled chorus of resentment I’d composed against the Order she still clearly felt some modicum of allegiance to.

“I think that leaves us with nothing more to say,” Hevara said. “Come, I will see you out.”

True to her word, she led us to the exit without incident, the four templars surrounding us as before. I was more than grateful when our weapons were returned, feeling moderately more steady with staff in hand. My relief was short-lived, however, as I noticed the silence of the inner wings was here overcome by the harrowing sound of many angry voices raised in passion.

Outside, the tension had finally broken, and the two lines of templars were converging. Swords were not yet drawn, but there was much shouting and flailing, raised fists pumping to emphasize hurled insults that flew back and forth. A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle, staring agape with little to bar their way. All it would take would be one weapon, one drop of blood, to turn this into a riot. Or a massacre.

I shrank back even as Iron Bull stepped forward, situating himself between me and the crowd. I readied my staff, feeling it come to life with pulsing energy. I sorely missed Solas’s barrier, and lamented once more that he was not here.

Cassandra gasped as she took in the scene, her face a riot of dismay, disbelief, and anger. Then, she seemed to spot someone she recognized.

“Lord Seeker Lucius!”

I followed her gaze and saw a man with short, greying hair and a strong jaw, his black armor bearing the flaming eye of the Seekers, a match for Cassandra’s. He was drawing all attention to himself, speaking in grand tones and pointing up to the Grand Cathedral towering over us all. As his voice rose, the din began to fade as the others all turned to listen.

“The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! They are the ones who have failed! They would leash our righteous words with doubt and fear!” Turning, he noticed us standing to the side, and his scowl spread into a grim smile of satisfaction, now that he had a target at which to direct his rhetoric. When his eyes slid over me, I felt an involuntary shudder pass down my spine. “And now they consort with the very puppet raised by a heretical movement as Andraste’s prophet.” He made sure the crowd all saw me then, and I felt their collective hatred focused on me as he continued. “You should be ashamed, all of you!”

Grumblings of agreement passed through those listening, followed by gasps and exclamations as a great number of the templars assembled began taking up positions behind the Lord Seeker. I gripped my staff tighter, but conflicting wills pulled hard against me, and I could feel my connection to the Fade dwindling. They weren’t about to let me defend myself, it seemed. And there were far too many of them for me to overcome alone. A line of loyal templars spread between us and the Lord Seeker’s company, but I had little faith they were willing to fight and die defending a mage and a heretic. Grimly, I set my shoulders and prepared for battle.

By the time I realized Mother Hevara had moved, she was already well out in front, crossing the distance to the opposing line in silent confidence. The loyal templars hesitated, but one look from her moved them to step aside and allow her to pass. She walked right up to the Lord Seeker, her back rigid and her shoulders squared. Even I had to admire her courage. Then again, she had spent her life with the Order in service to her, so what had she to fear from them, even now?

Cassandra moved as if to go after her, but Iron Bull grabbed her by the elbow, shaking his head.

“Bad idea,” he said.

She pulled free with a disgusted grunt, but at a pleading glance from me, she remained where she stood, watching with tense apprehension. Before us, Mother Hevara let her shrewd gaze pass over the line of templars facing her, opposing her, and called out to them.

“You have forgotten your purpose!” she lectured them. “Return to the Chantry, help stop this madness and return the wayward mages and Inquisition into our fold! Help keep the people safe once more.”

“So much for that truce,” Iron Bull muttered.

I shook my head, unsurprised. “She never cared about restoring order, only regaining the power she’s lost.”

Cassandra said nothing. The look on her face was hard to place, but it looked uncomfortably similar to the mixture of sadness and exasperation she usually reserved for when I was being particularly obstinate.

The Lord Seeker sneered at Mother Hevara, shaking his head in a mockery of the same sadness Cassandra was showing, though it was clear he felt only disgust.

“Your words are hollow and impotent. You are too late. Look!” He spread one arm to encompass the vastly larger line of templars on his side of the courtyard, none of whom so much as twitched in response to the Revered Mother’s plea. “They see you for the empty vessel you are. The only purpose left for them now is mine!”

He nodded to one of them, a tall man freshly into adulthood with an impassioned face who, without hesitation, marched forward and laid Mother Hevara low with a swift punch across the face. The crowd’s reaction was mixed - some laughed, some jeered, some gasped. Cassandra cried out in protest. Iron Bull clicked his tongue in disapproval.

And I propelled myself forward.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was crouched beside her, holding my staff protectively overhead and using my free hand to ward away any who might take advantage of a weak old woman unable to fight back.

To my surprise, Ser Barris had followed me, and was fiercely pushing the one who had assaulted Hevara back before the Lord Seeker inserted himself between them and stopped what was sure to grow into a full on fight had it been left to boil over.

“Still yourself,” he said to Ser Barris. “She is beneath us.” Whether he referred to Mother Hevara or me was unclear.

Around me, the crowd - and indeed, some of the templars on both sides - murmured in surprise, unsure what to make of a heretic stooping to defend the very Chantry that disavowed her. The confusion spread like a ripple through those present, and I felt the tone begin to split.

Before I could think of what to say or do, however, Cassandra had come to stand between me and the crowd.

“Lord Seeker, it is imperative that we speak with y---”

“---You will not address me,” he responded, already recovering from my disruption and directing those who followed him to depart.

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra sounded lost, like a child cruelly rebuffed by a parent.

“You have stirred this pot, flying in the face of the very authority you come here to beseech for aid. You beg for scraps of power then smack down the plate when it is offered you. You are as lost in your purpose as this aging priest.” He spat, the spittle falling onto the stones next to where I remained sheltering Hevara from further harm. I glared up at him, feeling another involuntary shudder pass through me. Something about him repulsed me, but I couldn’t place what.

“If you’re not here for the Chantry, then what is your purpose?” I demanded.

“I came to see what frightens old women so,” he scoffed. “And to laugh.”

“But Lord Seeker.” This came from Barris, who tentatively stepped forward, turning his gaze between him and Hevara, caught between the two figureheads of his allegiance. He hesitated when his eyes met mine, and I saw the conflict there as he frowned. “What if she really was sent by the Maker?”

“Do not question!” Lucius answered. “You are called to a higher purpose. I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void. We deserve recognition! Independence!” He raised his fist at this declaration, playing to the crowd, who responded with agreeing shouts and raised fists of their own. Several of the templars who stood guarding the Grand Cathedral shifted and murmured amongst themselves. The split was growing deeper.

Lucius looked down to the Revered Mother, smirking insufferably in his victory.

“You have shown me nothing. And the Inquisition… less than nothing. Soldiers! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!”

With that, he departed, not sparing any of us another glance, confident in the growing numbers of the disillusioned templars that turned to follow him. Several of those previously standing guard at the chantry passed us to join them. Mother Hevara watched them go with resigned despair.

Barris lingered, caught on the edge of dual loyalty, but I could see the hurt pride in his features as he looked sadly back at us, and was not surprised when he too turned to follow the others.

V: So, why’d you do it?
T: Do what?
V: You tried to protect the Mother even though she just publicly denounced you. Again.
T: *sigh* I honestly don’t know. I didn’t think, I just… moved.
V: Well, do you regret it?
T: ...No. No, I will never regret trying to help. Even if that help ultimately backfires.
V: We’re not talking about the Chantry now, are we?
T: You tell me.

“Has he gone mad?” Cassandra asked later when we were reunited with the others and safely behind closed doors.

“Sounds like a real charmer,” Varric muttered.

We were all gathered in the common room of our suite on an upper floor of a comfortable but modest - by Orlesian standards - lodging house located just off the main market square. Outside, the evening bells were tolling and the scents and sounds of merchants selling their wares had been replaced with the enticing aroma of restaurants serving dinner, mingled with night-blooming flowers and the oil of newly lit lanterns.

Varric, it seemed, had done quite well with the limited funds we’d been granted by Josephine, managing to procure a suite with two adjoining rooms that was well-furnished but not overcrowded. The decor was meant to be reminiscent of a vineyard estate, with dark woods and murals of rolling country hills, with rich and intricate colors for the upholstery; a nice change from the eye-searing brightness that occupied the rest of the city.

It was rather quickly decided that I would share a room with Solas and Iron Bull, while Cassandra and Varric would take the other. I held no complaints; after all, I’d spent years sleeping in communal quarters shared with dozens of my peers. The recent acquisition of my own private cabin at Haven had not spoiled me to the point that I now expected similar treatment everywhere. For their parts, Iron Bull and Solas made little of it, though both insisted I be given the bed. Iron Bull was comfortable enough on the couch, while Solas preferred to sleep on the balcony where he could see the night sky.

How Varric and Cassandra made do, I didn’t dare ask.

V: In case you were wondering, I got the bed.
T: I wasn’t, but now I’m curious how you worked that out?
V: Coin toss.
T: She actually let you use your own coin?
V: That’s what I love about Cassandra. Always so gullible.

Once our belongings were deposited to the rooms and we had a chance to clean some of the grime from our faces, we met in the common room to update Varric and Solas on the evening’s events over dinner. We had just finished our plates of marinated grouse and cooked greens by the time Cassandra had gotten to the end of her recounting of what had occurred in the courtyard with the Lord Seeker.

“Just how well do you know this Lucius?” I asked her, allowing Varric to refill my glass of dry red wine.

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago,” Cassandra said. “After Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man,” she added, still unable to make sense of things. “Never given to ambition or grandstanding. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been any news of the Seekers since the Conclave. This is very bizarre.”

“He certainly loved the sound of his own voice in the courtyard,” I remarked, tongue loosened by the wine. It was too dry for my taste, but after today I needed the disconnecting calm it promised.

“All that talk about purpose was definitely a big red flag,” Iron Bull added, picking the remains of his food from his teeth with his nails. He was lounging in one of the plush armchairs, slouched with one leg sprawled across one of the arms, somehow managing to fill the whole corner despite only taking up a single seat. “Men like that hang their whole ego on whatever they’ve decided is their destiny. He won’t stop at much to get what he wants out of this.”

“Indeed,” Solas agreed, leaning against the doorway to the balcony that looked out over the city streets below. “And the number of innocents he steps over to achieve it will lose him little sleep at night.”

“It doesn’t look like you’ll be getting the templars to join us after all,” I said, receiving another glare from Cassandra.

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly,” she said. “There must be others still faithful who see what the Order’s become. Just as Cullen did.”

“Cullen’s different,” I said after another drink. Varric moved to refill it again, but I shook my head, already dizzy and not wishing to feel the effects of excess in the morning.

“In any case,” Cassandra sighed, “we should return to Haven and inform the others of what’s happened.”

We were all in agreement on that, at least, but as we began making our ways to our respective sleeping arrangements, a knock sounded at the door. Cassandra answered, and was greeted by a bowing man dressed in, of all things, Circle robes, though of a decidedly more elaborate and finer make than those provided in Ostwick.

“Am I correct in understanding that the Herald of Andraste is staying in this room?” he asked.

Curious, I stepped forward to get a closer look at him, noticing he was holding aloft a sealed envelope embossed with a scrawling flourish across the front. He immediately noticed the glow emanating from my left palm and nodded with a smile, bowing once more and offering me the envelope.

“What is it?” I asked.

“An invitation from milady Vivienne. She cordially begs your attendance to her salon tomorrow evening at the Chateau of the Duke Bastien de Ghislain.”

“Who?” I took the envelope and opened it to see that it did indeed contain an invitation, inscribed in a delicate, graceful script, signed by a Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and… “She’s the Imperial Enchanter to Empress Celene?” I asked, almost ready to believe this was a joke of some kind.

But the mage merely smiled and nodded once more, saying, “She sincerely hopes you will do her the honor of your attendance.” And with that, he turned to take his leave, his task done.

Cassandra grabbed the invitation from my hands as I stood, mouth agape and unsure what to think of this turn of events.

“The Imperial Enchanter herself wants an audience with you?” Varric sounded impressed, and Iron Bull gave a low whistle from his chair. “Sounds like we’ll be staying an extra night.”

“Excuse me?” Cassandra asked, tossing the envelope and invitation down onto the table between them.

“Well, we can’t very well turn down an invitation that juicy, can we?” Varric replied, an all-too-smooth smile spreading across his face. I could already see the various machinations he was conjuring, no doubt fodder for whatever latest chapter he was working on.

“He’s right,” Solas said to my surprise, coming back inside. “With the Inquisition still as vulnerable as it is, we cannot afford to turn away potential allies of this caliber. Much as we may detest it.”

I swallowed, knowing his disgust was for the Circle as well as the nobility, and tried to forget that in my past I had been a part of both.

“It would be foolish to ignore this,” I said.

Cassandra, apparently deciding this wasn’t a fight worth having, sighed and nodded.

“I suppose one day’s delay won’t make a difference,” she said.

“Excellent!” Varric reached up and clapped her on the back, ignoring the resulting glare. “Then first thing tomorrow, we’ll head down to the market.”

“The market?” I asked.

“Obviously!” He looked me up and down in mock-dismay. “You can’t wear that to a fancy-ass party thrown by Orlesian nobles. If you’re gonna fit in, we need to get you some fancy-ass clothes!”

Chapter Text

It was Solas’s cry of alarm that woke me the next morning.

Sunlight was pouring through the open balcony doors, unpleasantly bright to my sleep-dreary eyes and making it difficult to see anything for several blinking moments. Thus, it took some time to understand what had caused his alarm in the first place.

The arrow shaft was still shuddering from the impact that had embedded it deep within the bedpost nearest the balcony. Iron Bull was already moving, marching out onto the terrace to scan the distance for the most likely origin point, closing the doors behind him. Solas was hurriedly scanning over my form for any injuries, sighing with relief upon finding none.

Now fully alert, I threw the covers off and circled the bed to examine the arrow.

“There’s a message!” I reached out to tentatively pull at a slender red ribbon holding a piece of parchment wrapped around the shaft. Unrolling the parchment, I read aloud as Solas crowded behind me:

“People say you’re special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone. There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and ‘round the cafe, and maybe you’ll meet him first. Bring swords.
---Friends of Red Jenny.”

In a gesture that I assumed was meant to be helpful, a crude sketching of the market was included on the back, with several key locations marked in red. The handwriting was difficult to read, both because of the poor quality of the words themselves as well as the scrawling, disjointed script in which it was written, as if the author had written it with several different tools over several different sessions.

I frowned, trying to parse out the meaning. The literal meaning was clear enough - someone in the city wanted to hurt me.

Well, that doesn’t exactly narrow it down, I thought grimly.

What I couldn’t understand was how someone could claim to want to help while resorting to clear threats to get my attention.

“‘Friends of Red Jenny’ huh?” Iron Bull read over my shoulder, having returned from the balcony after finding no evidence of the arrow’s owner.

“You’ve heard of them?” I asked.

“Here and there. They always seemed pretty small-time. Mostly stick to petty pranks and smuggling. If they shot that arrow, it probably wasn’t an assassination attempt.”

“‘Probably’?” Solas sounded unconvinced.

“Why would they want to help the Inquisition?” I asked. “What’s their mission?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Iron Bull said. “The note says they want to help you. I don’t know if they have a ‘mission’, but if they ever did have a philosophy it was ‘look out for the little guy’. They must think you’re doing the same, but bigger.”

“Then perhaps we are doing at least some things right,” Solas said.

“Why not just tell us where this person is who wants to harm me?” I asked. “Or who they are, at least?”

“Shit if I know,” Iron Bull shrugged. “I never had to cross paths with them more than once or twice. Near as I can figure, they’re disjointed and random. Hard to see any method to the way they do things. Makes ‘em hard to predict, and even harder to track down.”

“It also makes them hard to trust,” I said. “We should tell Cassandra about this. She might know more about them.”

“Given what the Iron Bull has already said about them, it seems unlikely she would be familiar with this organization,” Solas said, taking the letter to examine it more closely. “If she finds out, she’s likely to use it as an excuse to skip the salon tonight and depart early.”

“You want us to lie to Cassandra?” I asked, incredulous.

“Only by omission.”

Iron Bull shifted behind me, and his warning from yesterday came to mind. Hiding the truth from her might work for a time, but she was no one’s fool. It would come to light eventually, and I did not relish the wrath that would ensue once it did.

Still, Solas was right; she would likely use this as an excuse to leave without attending the salon, and we couldn’t afford to dismiss possible allies at such a critical juncture, especially not a mage of such caliber. The Chantry had just publicly lost face to the crumbling Templar Order, and the people were left without a leading faction to guide them. That power vacuum wasn’t likely to last long. We needed to gain influence, and fast, if we ever hoped to get to the bottom of the Breach and the explosion at the Conclave.

If I ever hoped to prove my innocence.

“We will say nothing,” I said. “For now.”

Iron Bull and Solas both nodded their agreement, and I took care to fold the message into an inner pocket of my travel pouch; the arrow, I tossed over the balcony, and hoped no one looked too closely at the new notch in the bedpost.

V: Heh.
T: Really?
V: Hey, you said it.
T: Maker’s breath…

Finding suitable clothing for the evening proved to be rather more complicated than we initially thought. With so little time before the salon - set to take place at sundown that very day - it was clear from the start we would either have to pay exorbitant fees for a rush job or try to convince a seamstress to “reallocate” another client’s less urgent project for my own use - again, with an exorbitant fee.

If that weren’t enough, we soon realized many of the shops in the clothing district refused to work with us at all once they knew who I was. It was a rare shop owner who would risk the wrath of the Chantry by serving heretics, even after the disastrous display the day before.

Things were becoming desperate around midday when we stumbled upon a tiny, out-of-the-way shop hidden in an alley behind some decorative shrubbery. From the way the owner all but fell over himself when he saw customers walking in, it was plain he could not afford to turn away any customers, controversial or not.

Varric managed the negotiations, and they settled on a price both parties found agreeable; though to my ears it still sounded high. As luck would have it, he had no other pressing deadlines that day, and so could devote all his working hours to completing a simple vest and breeches for me. That with the addition of a finely woven linen undershirt that had been abandoned by a previous client would make for a passable first impression at an Orlesian salon. Once my measurements were taken and arrangements were made to return in two hours’ time for the first fitting, we departed to determine how best to spend our afternoon.

Cassandra decided to return to the room in order to compose a letter informing the Trio back at Haven of our delay. It was clear she was eager for any excuse to leave the details of fashion to us, having little patience for such endeavors.

For my part, I was still caught up in the novelty of it all. I was a little unsettled by the attention lavished on me, both by the couturier and by Varric, who seemed to have made me a pet project, now he was invested in the evening - figuratively and literally.

“You’re very generous,” I said to him later, as we were taking luncheon in a nearby eatery. This one, like many others in the market sector, had an outdoor seating area, and as the day was pleasant and mild, with spring’s warmth finally settling in, everyone was taking advantage. Varric had just offered to cover our food, over my brief protests, which ceased when I caught sight of the costs of some of the items. “I hesitate to ask where your fortune comes from.”

“I hope you’re not implying any unsavory associations,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I’ve had enough run ins with those thugs in the Carta that if they ever did accept money from me I would insist on a full refund.”

“You are conspicuously vague about your holdings,” Solas observed. He was picking lightly at a plate of greens and berries, apparently wanting little part in the veritable feast of fis, bread, and potatoes laid out before us.

“Hey, if you want a detailed accounting of my books, I could always oblige,” Varric said around a mouthful of potatoes. “Fair warning, though, we’d need more than a few hours set aside for it, and I doubt you’d still be awake by the end.”

I held up my hands in surrender, laughing. “Fair enough. It won’t be mentioned again. Except to thank you, and ask how I could repay you in the future.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “Get me in on that salon and we’ll call it even.”

“You want to come?” I was surprised.

“Are you kidding? That many nobles in close proximity, plus someone as controversial as you thrown into the mix? There’s bound to be some entertaining conflict coming out of this.”

“The invitation did not specify she could bring a guest,” Solas said.

“You say that like you’re not already plotting a way to get her to take you too.” Varric threw him a wry glance over the rim of his glass.

Solas merely lifted his brows innocently. “How can you expect one so important as the Herald of Andraste to go anywhere without her servant?”

“What?” I was aghast at the notion. “I can’t behave like you’re my manservant!”

“Why not?” Solas shrugged. “Everyone else will already be making that assumption. Why not take advantage of their ignorance? None of these nobles would look twice at an elven servant. Think of what they might reveal without intending to.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Nightingale’s scouts,” Varric mumbled.

“I suppose you’ll be insisting on going as well?” I asked, turning to Iron Bull.

But he wasn’t paying attention. His gaze was drawn to a shadowed corner of the ironwork lattice that marked the perimeter of the seating area. Following where he was looking, I watched a teenaged boy in drab clothes walk toward it, pause by a row of hedges, then reach down as if to tie his shoes - an odd gesture, considering he wore none. When he stood and walked off, a piece of red fabric remained behind, tucked into the roots of the hedges.

“Red things,” I muttered, remembering the odd note from this morning.

“I’ll get it.”

Solas stood and strolled over to the corner, pretending to examine a mounted dracolisk head on the wall nearby, hands clasped casually behind him. With a quick glance around to ensure no one was looking, he reached out with one foot - also bare of any coverings, as was his wont - and plucked the piece of fabric from the roots. Then, with a quick flick, the fabric jumped upward into his hands. He didn’t even need to look down.

His task accomplished, he walked back over to our table and sat down, the fabric tucked into a tight roll in one hand.

“Nice work,” Iron Bull said, nodding his approval. “You’re more devious than you look.”

“Coming from you, I shall take that as a compliment,” Solas replied as he unfurled his prize onto the table between us.

The fabric itself was an old kerchief, its pattern faded to almost nothing and threadbare in places. It appeared to be merely a wrapping for the real prize within - a small brass key. On the kerchief scribbled in charcoal was a short message.

I read the words aloud with some difficulty, taking care not be overheard:

“Key from drunk swering abt Herald. Dont know what door. Im out, det payd.”

“That doesn’t explain much,” Varric said.

“Don’t tell me all this is over some drunkard making empty threats while too deep in his cups?” I asked, reading over the note again.

“If it were that simple,” Iron Bull said, “This note wouldn’t be here.”

Solas took the key and buried it in his bag. “Even so, this message hardly gives us anything to go off of. No location, no name, no time…”

“The original note did say there would be multiple messages.” I frowned, trying to remember the wording. “In the cafe, the docks, and the markets?”

“You mean these Friends of Red Jenny want us to go on a damn scavenger hunt across half of Val Royeaux?” Varric laughed. “Well, points for originality, I suppose.”

“We don’t have time for all that,” I said, but my mind was still working through the problem. “But the docks are just down that street, right?”

“Are we really doing this?” Solas asked. “How many do you intend to find?”

I shrugged. “We needn’t find every hint. Just enough to parse out a time and place, right?”

“And you’re okay blindly walking into an ambush?” Iron Bull asked. “The message said bring swords.”

“You’ve got a sword,” I pointed out, earning a loud guffaw from him, making several of the other patrons around us jump and cast glares over their shoulders - or I assumed they were glares at any rate; the masks made it difficult to tell.

With all of us apparently in agreement, Varric settled the bill and we marched off in the direction of the docks, wandering up and down the quay, admiring the sites and sounds of the busy trade hub and taking in the sea air.

The docks were a world altogether different from the rest of the city. As both the capital of Orlais and a port city, Val Royeaux’s docks were thriving with business, even in the midst of a civil war, a natural disaster, and the loss of one of their most powerful public figureheads. It was humbling and a little terrifying to be surrounded by so many moving bodies, everyone rushing to and fro, hurriedly trying to load or unload, hocking their wares far more aggressively than at the market proper. The salty scent of seawater permeated the air, mingling with fish and mildew from the ships, and dung and hay from the many stables lining the streets. Almost no one wore masks here, nobility having no reason to be here personally and workers being far too preoccupied to spare a thought to such impracticalities.

In all that commotion, it seemed finding one small red token would be nearly impossible, but with nothing else to occupy our time until my next fitting, we tried anyway. We wandered up and down the quay, the midday sun beating down on us, eliciting a sheen of sweat and making me miss the cooling shade of the market’s gardens. At long last, as we were about to give up, a young elven woman with neat braids trailing behind her ran up to us and handed me a folded piece of paper with a splotch of red paint across the back of it, before scampering off into the crowd before I could so much as thank her. Eagerly, I unfolded the paper as the others gathered once more, and read the message:

“Thank you Friends for helping good Lady Keris. Saw those who asked about Herald enter third passage. Could not stay to see them exit.”

It still wasn’t much to go off, but when Iron Bull noticed that the message was written on the back of a stable’s inventory report, it was easy enough to ask around about nearby stables, and before long we had our location.

By then, it was nearly time to return to the shop for my fitting, so we made our way back to the clothing district. The fitting was relatively painless - aside from a few slipped pins - and we settled on the final design and trim. Varric submitted the final payment, with an arrangement to pick up the completed set at three bells. That would give me just enough time to return to the lodging to change and clean up before we had to depart for the chateau just north of the city where the salon was being held.

As luck would have it, the very stable that we’d identified earlier as the meeting place of this “enemy of the Herald”, had an available carriage that night, and so we made a reservation to have it take us to the chateau and back.

With a little time left to kill before we had to pick up the completed commission, we took to browsing the market some more. I managed to find a stall selling books and delighted in perusing through the various titles. I had a little spending coin of my own thanks to a few random baubles scavenged from past battles, and managed to barter the seller down enough to purchase three items - a blue ink well for Josephine, a tome on Avarran warfare strategy for Cullen, and an herbalist’s reference for myself.

As I was searching for a suitable gift for Varric, I felt someone approach from behind, coming up next to me as if looking over the items in the stall. However, when she spoke in hushed tones, I realized she was there for me.

“If it’s help with the Breach you seek,” she whispered in Orlesian-accented Common, “perhaps you should look among your fellow mages.”

I turned, already defensive at such a presumptuous comment. However, one look at her sharp elven features and her famed bright green eyes caused all pretense to fail me, and I gasped.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

“I’ll ask you to keep your voice down, if you please,” she said, glancing briefly around us to check whether anyone had taken notice. The merchant seemed curious, but one look from Iron Bull, suddenly at my elbow, and he quickly became very interested in reorganizing a row of books behind him instead.

I could hardly believe my eyes, but there was no mistaking her; a portrait of her had hung in the mess hall at Faxhold after her election. That face had stared benevolently down over me and my peers at every meal, and now it was staring up at me in the middle of Val Royeaux’s market district.

I took a moment to glance around as well, to check for my companions. Iron Bull had moved a few paces back to grant us privacy, apparently not seeing the Grand Enchanter as an immediate threat. Varric was engaged in a lively negotiation with a jewelry seller across the street. Solas was watching a juggler, but as we made eye contact, a silent understanding passed between us and he approached, managing a nonchalance that was most convincing.

When I quietly explained who she was, he blinked in surprise.

“Leader of the mage rebellion. Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

“I heard of a meeting between the Inquisition and the Chantry,” she said. “And I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes.”

“Where have you been?” I asked. “I was relieved to learn you weren’t at the Conclave, but no one has known of your whereabouts since the explosion.”

“I have been in hiding, attempting to discern friend from foe.” Her voice broke slightly at that, but she otherwise gave no indication of the meaning behind her ominous words. “It disgusts me that the templars could get away with such a heinous act. I am hoping you won’t let them.” When she looked up at me, her bright eyes burned with a hate I knew all too well.

“You think the templars are responsible?” I asked. It was not difficult to believe them capable of such atrocities, but I could not fathom how they could have accomplished it without help.

“Lord Seeker Lucius hardly seems broken up over his losses,” she sneered. “You saw him yesterday. You think he wouldn’t happily kill the Divine to turn people against us?”

“You were there?” My mind cycled back to the day before and the disastrous end to our meeting with Revered Mother Hevara, but there had been so many people in the crowd, it would have been impossible to detect the Grand Enchanter among them, even if I had known to look for her.

Still, her logic made a horrifying sense. What better way to ensure eternal public hatred of mages than to kill the Divine and make it look as though mages were responsible? I reeled, wondering how I hadn’t seen it before.

“At any rate, I believe him responsible more than I do you,” Grand Enchanter Fiona said after a group of young women passed by, giggling into their hands at the juggler’s antics.

“Does that mean you’re willing to help us?” I asked, unable to hide my eagerness.

“We’re willing to discuss it with the Inquisition, at least. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe.”

“Redcliffe?” Solas asked. “You’ve been hiding right under everyone’s noses in one of the strongholds of Ferelden power.” He sounded impressed.

“Come meet with the mages,” she said. “An alliance could help us both, after all.”

Behind us, Iron Bull called a greeting to Varric, who had concluded his haggling and looked rather pleased with himself, but his broad smile was turning to wary curiosity as he approached. The Grand Enchanter turned surreptitiously to take her leave.

“I hope to see you there, Lady Herald.”

“Who was that?” Varric asked, coming up behind us just as she was departing. I watched as she deftly maneuvered through the crowd, waiting until she disappeared around a corner before replying.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona. She wants to meet with the Inquisition.”

“How fortunate for us,” Solas commented. “The former Circle finds itself twisting in the wind with few allies, much like the Inquisition. It would behoove both organizations to combine their strengths.”

I said nothing, chewing the inside of my lip as I stared at the path she’d taken through the streets, still unable to fully believe what had just happened. I felt Varric’s eyes on me, and lowered my gaze to meet his. The cautious look he gave told me he had already guessed at my thoughts.

“You have to tell Cassandra about this.”

“I know,” I said reluctantly, locking eyes briefly with Solas. “Just… not until after we’re on our way back to Haven.”

Varric sighed, shaking his head, but said nothing.

“Remember what I said, Boss,” Iron Bull warned.

“We have more pressing matters for the moment at any rate,” I said, deflecting. “We should head back to the couturier.”

The clothes, to my astonishment, were magnificent. The trousers were silk in the colour of rich cream, with deep blue velvet trim running up the side seams. The vest matched the trim, the colour of sapphires and so soft to the touch that I couldn’t help but run my hands along it. The seam lines were tailored to cinch in at the waist and held boning to support and shape my bust, with black silk cord lacing up the back for a closer fit. The undershirt we’d acquired from an abandoned commission was light and airy, its colour a bright, pale yellow, with much room in the sleeves and eyelet lace extending the cuffs.

Altogether, the outfit was stunning. When I tried it all on to ensure the fit, however, there appeared to be a problem.

“It’s a little… snug,” I said as I stepped out of the fitting room in the back of the shop, self-consciously ensuring that I was facing forward, keeping my back to the wall as much as possible.

“That is kind of the point of Orlesian breeches,” Varric said with an unconcerned shrug.

Iron Bull, who had been boredly picking at his nails with a rather large knife, looked up from his seat and gave out a low whistle. “Lookin’ good, Boss.”

“That’s quite enough out of you.” I turned on him, glaring through the flush creeping up my neck. He grinned and blithely returned his attention to his nails.

I glanced pleadingly over to Solas, hoping for reassurance that I didn’t look as ridiculous as I felt, but he was leaning against the far wall with arms crossed, paying little mind to any of us.

“I assure you, madame, this is cut in the latest fashion,” said the couturier in his heavy, Orlesian-accented Common. Messere Lucien was currently pulling at the vest and making small adjustments to the lacing. He was a tall, slender man of middling age with deft hands and sharp eyes. We had gathered through several comments that his business had been on the verge of failing ever since his wife passed several years ago. She had apparently been the more business-minded one; we were his first customers all week.

“I’m inclined to believe him,” Solas finally said, looking over to me with a disinterested air. “If the nobles flouncing about the market are any indication, you’ll fit right in.”

The warmth around my neck spread upward, and I took a steadying breath to fight off the panic beginning to set in. I tugged at the back of the undershirt, pulling it further downward.

“Oh no,” Lucien tsked, gently pulling my hands away and straightening the hem. “This will be tucked in when you are dressing for the salon tonight.”

“But then there will be nothing covering my…” It was beginning to feel uncomfortably warm in this shop. “...Covering me.”

“Trust me, madame, compared to many others likely to attend this event, you will be leaving far more to the imagination.” I balked, and he caught sight of my expression. He paused in his fussing, giving me a kind, almost paternal smile. “Please understand, I mean no disrespect. You have a lovely form, and I want only to help you better showcase your… assets.”

Varric and Iron Bull snickered, and another glare from me only increased their mirth as they collapsed into all-out laughter.

“I apologize if the work is not to your liking,” Lucien said, and the fear in his eyes made me soften instantly.

“No, this is more than subtable, thank you,” I said, meaning it. The work truly was stunning, and it was the finest clothing I remembered wearing since my youth at the Trevelyan estate. “You have helped us out of quite a bind, you’ve no idea.”

“Oh, I have some idea,” he replied with a chuckle. “You are bound for Madame Vivienne’s salon, yes?”

“I guess word travels just as fast in Orlesian cities as it does in the Marches,” Varric said, still recovering from his amusement.

“Indeed,” Lucien said. “If I may offer advice?” I nodded. “Be confident. And if you cannot? Appear confident.”

Make it look easy.

I smiled. “Thank you, I will do my best.”

“It is my hope that my clothing helps you do so.” He returned my smile warmly. “And, if my work pleases you, may I ask a humble favor?”

“Of course.”

“Allow me to use my skills to aid your Inquisition.”

“As a tailor?” Solas asked from his corner dismissively.

“My business here in Val Royeaux is, comment dites-vous? Shit?” Lucien gestured around him, emphasizing the shop’s profound lack of customers apart from us. “My wife always loved this city, so I tried to stay for her memory, but I have failed. I want to start over, and how better to do that than to help the only ones willing to close the Breach.”

His sincerity was plain to see, and his words stirred my own emotions. I recalled the refugee camp outside Haven; tents planted for well over a mile across the field, wedged between defensive walls and the frozen lake, hemmed in by soldiers running drills and forced to subsist on cauldrons of boiled gruel and hard bread and whatever threadbare blankets the Chantry sisters could scrounge up. Most of them likely had nothing more than the clothes on their backs and whatever essentials they were able to carry as they fled for their lives.

The decision was easy.

“We would be happy to have someone of your skill,” I said. “Do you have connections with other clothiers and suppliers who might be of the same mind as you?”

He nodded emphatically. “Yes, of course! Not as many as some other couturiers here, but enough to help at least. And I’m sure many of them would welcome the extra business.”

“In that case, I will personally write a letter of recommendation to our chief advisors about your offer. I’m sure they would agree we could use all the help we can get.”

I recorded all pertinent information I might need from him while Varric settled the bill, and included an added note for my later reference to find some other way to repay Varric for all his generosity these last two days.

V: You really don’t have to keep mentioning that, you know.
T: What’s this? I thought you said I was the one with false modesty.
V: Eh, nevermind. Let’s just move on.

We gathered up the carefully folded clothing and returned to the lodging. Cassandra, to our surprise, was not there, and though we all wondered what could have become of her, there seemed to be no evidence of danger or foul play. With no way to reach her or know where she might be, I shrugged it off and turned my mind toward preparing for the night ahead.

It was past five bells and the sun was already setting, casting a red haze over the cityscape outside our rooms. I cleaned myself as best I could and dressed quickly before turning my attention to my hair, staring at it in the mirror, struck senseless at the notion of actually styling it.

I normally pulled it into a simple braid and ignored it, but there were always wisps and tendrils that escaped and blew about my face, no doubt giving me a bedraggled, disorganized look. Tonight I could not afford to seem careless about my appearance, but I was at a loss as to how to achieve such a look.

Frantic, I called upon the others waiting out in the common room, all of whom unhelpfully shrugged in response. Ultimately, I settled on brushing it through until it shone, then braiding it as normal before pulling it into a high bun, a paltry attempt at emulating Josephine’s carefully coiffed updos.

My efforts complete, I took a last look at the woman staring back at me through the full length mirror. I was pleased that the updo appeared to be staying in place, for the moment at least - and given the amount of hairpins I’d had to use, it had better remain that way through the night. I was also mildly surprised to note that pulling my hair away from my face had emphasized the outline of my cheekbones, giving my face an air of authority I did not feel.

The raven black of my hair matched my eyes, but the golden hues of the breeches and bright undershirt brought out golden flecks in my irises I’d never noticed before, like the sparks of a fire floating against the night sky. The warm yellow of the undershirt also accentuated the golden undertones of my deep bronze skin, and the billowing sleeves contrasted with the tight fit of the trousers, standing out all the more cheerily against the rich blue of the vest.

I was still uncomfortable with the snug fit, used to hiding under cumbersome Circle robes or bulky travel leathers, but I had to admit that it did favor the dips and lines of my body nicely. Something I hadn’t noticed in the shop, as well, was that my figure had changed considerably. All that traipsing about Thedas had removed much of the evidence of my years of a sedentary lifestyle, flattening my stomach and trimming my waistline. All the fighting and exertion had added tone and tightness to my musculature. Yes, I was a far cry from the studious bookworm of the Circle; a fact that helped me carry my head slightly higher as I nodded to myself and finally made my way back out to the common room where the others were all waiting.

Cassandra had returned at some point during my preparations. She now stood framed against the door, arms folded as she listened to Varric explaining about Messere Lucien’s offer to join the Inquisition, nodding in surprised approval. As I stepped out, however, she turned to look me up and down, brows lifted and mouth slightly agape.

“Theresa, you look…”

“She does clean up nicely, doesn’t she?” Varric nodded to me with a wink and smile, proud of the results of his project.

Unable to help my self-conscious fidgeting, wanting very badly to pull down the tails of the shirt that were currently tucked into my waistline, I sought out Solas, who was lounging in one of the chairs.

When he met my pleading gaze he nodded, saying simply, “You look lovely.”

I took a deep breath, settling my nerves as best I could, then forced a polite smile, hoping it appeared genuine.

“Will you be coming, Cassandra?” I asked.

Her hesitation was filled with all that was yet unsaid between us. Again, I saw a hint of sadness about her, and wondered where it came from.

“No, I think not,” she said at last. “I will leave consorting with the pampered nobility to you. I wish you the joy of it.”

“Not much joy to be had, if I recall well enough from my childhood.”

She smirked - the first such in many days, and I was glad to see a hint of the bond we used to have. It gave me hope that it might be reforged.

“I wish you luck then, instead,” she said.

“I think I’ll stick around here too,” Varric said, surprising all of us.

“Didn’t you want to be there for all the juicy gossip?” I asked.

He waved me off dismissively. “Eh, you can tell me all about it when you get back. Besides, I think I’ve got more than enough just from haggling with merchants all day.”

“Do not do me any favors, Dwarf,” Cassandra sneered, but Varric laughed.

“Everything’s not about you, Seeker. Maybe I’m just tired, okay?”

She glared at him for another moment before shrugging and announcing she may not be there when we return, apparently having arranged a meeting with someone later that night.

“Why Seeker,” Varric said, eyes narrowed and grinning conspiratorially. “Have you arranged a tryst? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Me either,” Iron Bull commented.

She scoffed at them both, but nonetheless did not deny it, before retreating to the bedroom for some “peace and quiet”.

That left Solas, Iron Bull, and myself, as Varric settled down to scribble frantic notes into his journal. Outside, the bells tolled the hour, and I knew our carriage reservation would be pulling up in short order.

“Well then,” I said. “I suppose we had best be off.”

Chapter Text

My dearest Viscount,

I was thrilled to pieces to receive your latest letter. Sitting in the heart of Marcher commerce and trade as you are, you always send the best pieces of gossip. I thank you for your update on the latest spending habits of our mutual acquaintance in Starkhaven. Rest assured, the information will be put to good use.

Of course, I am dying of curiosity with regard to your inquiries. Surely such a line of questioning can only point to evidence of a new book in the works from the esteemed author? Though I must say I am skeptical of your chosen subject. Not that I doubt your intentions, but don’t you think it’s a bit… expected?

In answer to your question, my first encounter with the Lady Trevelyan revealed much. Her arrival in Val Royeaux was timely, for it allowed me to turn a previously scheduled salon into an opportunity. The fledgling Inquisition was all the talk in Orlais; I wished to confirm for myself whether their intentions were for the good of Thedas, as they claimed.

From the start, it was clear to see she had the poise of nobility - the kind that comes from breeding, not training. Even had I not looked into her family’s history I would have known her for a peer of the realm, such as it stands in the Marches.

Ancestry notwithstanding, it was clear she was out of practice in courtly life; her amazement at my dear Bastien’s humble estate was obvious. She was shaking like a leaf, poor thing, blundering through conversations. She even managed to provoke one of my guests into a challenge, though I was able to stop things escalating. It would not do to have blood spilled at one of my soirees, after all.

Overall, my first impressions of the Lady Trevelyan made it apparent she was exactly as she appeared - a woman with more luck than sense, and with a tragic distaste for the machinations of the Great Game. That was why I extended my offer to join the Inquisition. It was clear she would need assistance in setting things on the right path, and I was more than happy to help her find her feet.

Her true character showed through in those early days, before the mantle of authority began to weigh too heavily on her. We are not all of us able to bear the force of our own destiny. For some, it whittles us down to a fine edge; for others, it slowly erodes them away to a hollow shell of who they once were.

Please write me soon, darling. I eagerly await your next chapters.

Sincerely,

Vivienne, Madame de Fer
Grand Enchanter of the Circle of Magi

V: Heh, she really lays it on thick, doesn’t she?
T: She’s just annoyed you’re delaying the next installment of her series for this.
V: Who’s delaying? I just sent the latest manuscript to my editor. The machinations of the Iron Maiden are finally coming to fruition. Nothing else to do while I wait for the notes back.
T: I see she still insists on flaunting that title for all it’s worth.
V: Yeah, from what I hear she’s got quite the set up at Montsimmard.
T: Indeed. Even Divine Victoria is having trouble ousting her. It seems more of my former colleagues were of a mind with her than I care to admit.
V: Anyway, what’s all this about a challenge? Does she mean you dueled someone?
T: Oh that…

The carriage ride was uncomfortable, and not just from the awkwardness of our departure. The boning of the vest was already beginning to dig into my sides, and I felt as though it was cutting off my air supply. Our mad dash downstairs had left me feeling suffocated, and it took some time before my breaths shortened. Solas sat beside me, watching the streets pass by through the small window. Iron Bull splayed out across the opposite bench, arms folded and eye shut as if in slumber.

The temperature was dropping fast with the setting sun, and I hugged my arms close, already regretting leaving my cloak. The city’s daytime bustle had lulled into evening; songbirds and crickets replaced lutes and violins. In short order, we left the city and were ambling down a carefully rustic country road. Outside the windows, stone and structure morphed into sprawling green hills. Grapevines wound through sturdy latticework, their bounties like small gemstones amidst the vines.

Within the hour we pulled up a circular stone entryway before a pale-stoned and picturesque estate. Blooming wisteria crawled up the walls, reminiscent of the vineyards we’d passed on our way. Fountains babbled into parallel reflecting ponds, straddling an impressive staircase that led up to the main entrance. A pair of wooden doors were stained dark in contrast to the bright blooms, making it the focal point of the estate’s face.

I struggled emerging from the carriage, as much thanks to my fraught nerves as the constrictive vest, forcing me to accept the waiting hand of a footman. The cool blue undertones of his silverite half-mask reflected the last of the sun’s light when he bowed his head in greeting. Then, he stood aside, silent, for us to pass.

With one last look to Solas and Bull, I took a steadying breath and endeavored to not stare down at my feet as we ascended the stairs. A slight breeze caught at the wisteria, sending petals dancing across our path, spreading over the cobblestones like a lace coverlet. It tugged at the wisps of my hair that were already struggling free of their unwanted bindings. Two more footmen guarded the door, and as we approached, one of them held out a hand expectantly. I paused in confusion, and for a beat neither of us moved.

“Invitation?” he prompted in Orlesian.

“Oh! Yes, of course.” I fumbled for the invitation tucked into my vest and handed it over. Satisfied, he and his partner pulled the doors open in perfect symmetry to reveal a brightly lit foyer with polished floors and sparse but artful furniture. Yet another servant waited inside - a man of middling age and thinning dark hair. His mask was similar to those worn by the footmen, though with added etching detail theirs lacked. He bowed low and precise before us, introducing himself as the seneschal. In formal tones, he welcomed us to the home of Duke Bastien de Ghislain and his mistress Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard.

Mistress? I wondered at the ready admittance. Such indiscretions were common enough, to be sure, but only ever behind closed doors. They were certainly not included in formal introductions. I surmised it must be a difference in Orlesian sensibilities, keeping my face neutral as the seneschal straightened. His eyes flicked across all three of us, and I tried not to fidget beneath his scrutiny, acutely aware of Cassandra’s absence. Even with things so tumultuous between us, I missed her solid confidence. Would the seneschal might protest my companions’ presence? The invitation hadn’t included room for guests of my own, after all.

Instead he directed us to a side door off the foyer, opening it with a key on a long chain pulled from his waistcoat. Therein was a veritable armory of handheld weaponry hung from hooks or lain across velvet cloths; everything from daggers to longbows to broadswords, even mage staves. We each handed over our own weapons, and the seneschal stored them each with careful precision. Then, we were ushered out and the door closed and locked behind him, before directing us toward the inner door.

We followed him through the doorway and down a short hall, where a pair of darkly stained wooden doors waited. “How will you wish to be announced?” he asked, turning back to us.

The question took me by surprise, and I found myself stumbling over an answer. I detested the title of Herald, but was such a moniker expected here? Was it the only reason I had been invited? Would it be insulting to insist on denouncing it? If I went only by my own name, would he question what right I had to attend? Should I give my Circle’s name, or was such a connection moot now that they were all disbanded? Should I say only that I represented the Inquisition? Did I even have the right to such a claim?

Fortunately, Solas stepped forward to answer. There was a new, imperious air to the way his hands clasped behind his back and the lift of his chin.

“This is Mistress Theresa Trevelyan, here on behalf of the Inquisition, along with her manservant and bodyguard.”

I blinked, barely managing to contain my surprise. The ease with which he delivered the words, his sudden demeanor change, was jarring. He looked for all the world as though he belonged among such elite company. The seneschal, satisfied, turned and opened the door, stepping through to announce us as requested in a loud, clear voice. I could hear the activity of the room beyond pause for just a moment before resuming.

Manservant? I mouthed, annoyed, to Solas as we stepped through. He winked and I caught the upward tick of the corners of his mouth, but otherwise he said nothing.

I smirked in kind, but amusement soon faded to awe as I took in the salon itself. The room we entered was larger than the whole chantry back at Haven. The word “opulence” came to mind as I took in the marbled floor, the stained glass windows set high into the walls, the artfully arranged bouquets and detailed sculptures wherever I looked. Intricate area rugs were laid at regular intervals throughout the room, deadening the sharp clicks of boots and heeled slippers. Everything about this place spoke of careful planning and expensive taste; I wondered if the Duke Bastien was behind such choices, or the First Enchanter.

How does a mage have all this? I wondered to myself as I gawked.

The other guests were as impeccably prepared as the decor. All wore masks of such intricate skill and varied material that my head spun to think of wealth held on their faces alone. Many of them seemed to be in costume, though it was difficult to tell if that was intentional or simply dedication to a particular aesthetic. Accents of feathers and sharp angles on one guest suggested a bird, while another wore spotted fur and her hair was styled to mimic the look of animalistic ears flung back in threat. Still another’s garment was so brightly colored it hurt to look at, and he carried a lute strung across his back, though when asked he was reluctant to play it.

I had no clue who among them might be the Duke or First Enchanter.

Iron Bull took up position against a pillar at the far end of the room, allowing a sweeping view of the space without having to move. If the blatant gawking or the unabashedly rude comments bothered him, he did not show it, though some of what I overheard caused me to flush in anger on his behalf. He only crossed his arms, glowering at nothing in particular, at once threatening and nonchalant.

Solas, meanwhile, kept himself in my shadow, dodging the other guests with ease when they neglected to make space for him. For their part, they alternated between pretending he didn’t exist and attempting to make food orders or hand him their discarded leftovers. I cringed, but he seemed to bear it all with only mild annoyance and a great deal of private amusement. More than once, he was handed half empty champagne flutes, which he set on the nearest surface before walking away. He would have dropped them out of spite to shatter upon the floor, except I caught his first attempt - and the champagne flute - and reminded him we were there to gain an ally, not an enemy. He responded by muttering somewhat about turnabout and fair play, but did not attempt it again.

Trying my best to ignore the whispers and glances directed at me, I grabbed a canape from the next tray to pass by. I contemplated taking a flute of champagne as well, but did not trust my nerves, and the risk of lowering my inhibitions or dulling my senses was too great.

Of course, no sooner was my mouth full of brittle bread and salmon than a pair of nobles cornered me and began peppering me with questions. Did I hail from Ostwick like the rest of the Trevelyans? Was I aware of the Wycombe branch of the family? Did I have acquaintances in Orlais? Did I favor the empress or the grand duke in the civil war? Was it true the Inquisition was in command of a demon army summoned forth from the Breach?

It was difficult to keep up with the barrage of questions through the muddled veil of their thick accents. To my chagrin, it soon became apparent that my mastery of Orlesian was not quite what I had thought it to be. Without fail, once they heard me speak, they would switch to Common, no matter my attempts to smooth over my accent and pronunciation. It was quite frustrating.

Despite my bungling, soon a minor crowd had gathered. They all wanted to know more about the Inquisition, and, to my surprise, about me. Whether due to the proximity of the White Spire or a difference in how Orlesians viewed magic, my mage status was of less interest to them than my heritage. For the first time in years, I was forced to recall the exact meaning and shape of the Trevelyan coat of arms, the family motto, and any prominent marriage ties I could recall that might relate to any of them. It seemed to be fashionable to find oneself connected to the Herald of Andraste, nevermind how distant the connection.

The only topic more fascinating than my background seemed to be their gracious hostess’s apparent interest in me. Did I share any family with her? Was I aware of her staunch support for the empress, despite her recently reduced status at court? Did I know anything of the empress’s new magical envoy? Was it true she was a hedge witch? What was her connection to the First Enchanter?

“Is it true Madame de Fer is courting alliance with the Inquisition?” one woman wearing cloth-of-gold and too much perfume asked me. She sipped from a champagne flute, one hand resting light as a feather on her companion’s arm. He was a tall, aging duke of Somewhere-or-Other. His jade mask held an amused expression, as if in on a joke no one else seemed to understand.

“She was kind enough to extend an invitation to me for this evening. I was grateful for the opportunity to meet the First Enchanter,” I answered, cautious. “Pardon if this is an impertinent question, but why do you refer to her as ‘Madame de Fer’?”

The pair shared a chuckle, and the duke explained, “It is a … fond nickname the court has given Lady Vivienne.”

“I’ve heard she finds it amusing,” the woman added.

I answered with a bland smile. It was doubtful a mage among nobility had the luxury of protesting a mildly insulting pet name. What condescending nicknames might I be burdened with, I wondered, if I chose to overstay my welcome there?

The pair appeared to be gearing up another round of questions when a young man approached. He wore a beige suede doublet and breeches of the purest white linen. His mask was bronze, polished to a high sheen, covering only the top half of his face, and hammered into the shape of a permanent scowl.

“The Inquisition is nothing but a load of pig shit!” He said it loud enough that most of those gathered took notice, and the hum of conversation dimmed.

I cast my gaze about the room, marking Iron Bull still at his post against the column, but Solas was nowhere to be seen. Lamenting the loss of my staff, I prepared myself as the nobleman continued his tirade.

“Washed-up sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

He continued toward me as he spoke, deliberately checking me in the shoulder as he passed too close. The full attention of the room was on him now, which seemed to be exactly what he wanted. I recognized in his elevated tone and grand gesticulating the arrogance of one used to being listened to. There was bitterness as well, however, and that was more alarming, though I couldn’t guess where it came from.

He paused his rhetoric, turning back to me, and in dismay I felt the attention of the room follow his direction. I needed to respond, and it needed to be good; I was representing the Inquisition, after all, and its honor had just been challenged.

Channeling Cassandra with set shoulders and a steady glare, I said, “The Inquisition is working to restore order and peace to Thedas.”

“Here comes the outsider,” the nobleman spat. “To restore peace with an army. We know what your ‘Inquisition’ truly is!” He approached me again, coming threateningly close, and the smell of wine nearly overwhelmed my senses. “If you were a woman of honor, you would step outside and answer the charges!”

And then many things happened at once.

He reached behind his head where his sword hilt jutted from its baldric. While I wondered how he’d made it past the entrance with a weapon, Iron Bull was already moving, covering half the hall in a few lengthy strides, his hand reaching instinctively for the sword that was no longer hanging from his own back. The familiar aura that I recognized as Solas’s spellcasting permeated the air around me, and my field of vision shimmered blue with the energy of a barrier, making my skin tingle. I braced myself for the impact I expected from the nobleman's sword.

Except it never fell.

A beat passed, and he did not move a muscle. Confused, I nodded to Solas, who had moved to my side, and he released the barrier. Once my vision returned to normal I realized what had happened. His own coloration had become pale, as if a sheen of white was thrown over him. He wasn’t completely immobilized, either; I heard a cracking, as if a sheet of ice were breaking apart, as he struggled to move, grunting futilely in his efforts. He was literally frozen to the spot; someone had cast an immobilization spell. But who?

I looked to Solas, but he shrugged and shook his head.

“My dear Marquis.”

A sultry voice drifted down from the stairwell behind him, and I saw the flutter of movement as a form emerged at the top, slow and deliberate. Every eye in the room turned to watch as an elegant woman in an elaborate gown of silver and white brocade made her descent. I could only assume this was the First Enchanter Vivienne, and her next words confirmed it.

“How unkind of you to use such language in my house. To my guests.” She reached the base of the steps and continued toward her frozen victim, whose vain struggle was growing more frantic as she neared.

It was hard to blame him. She was maintaining the spell with little exertion. Everything about her posture and tone exuded confident authority. Even the way she pulled at the Fade, drawing the energy for her spell through the Veil, felt like an order rather than a request. Her aura had the feel of velvet concealing the strongest steel; suddenly her nickname felt overwhelmingly appropriate.

She reached the poor frozen noble, but when she next spoke her eyes met mine, and I saw the danger alight in that gaze, hidden behind a soft smile and ivory mask.

“You know such rudeness is … intolerable.” She wrapped her tongue around that last word, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

Evidently, it had the same effect on the marquis, who was quaking in his boots, as much from the woman immediately behind him as from the icy spell still holding him in place.

“M-Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon!” He could barely get the words out through his clenched jaw, his voice hoarse.

“You should.” A simple statement, given as if to a pupil who just answered correctly for the first time. The First Enchanter stepped around him to come between us, then turned, getting exactly as close to him as he’d been to me only a moment ago. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” she asked, almost to herself. When she received no response from him, she turned to me. “My lady, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

The question was asked with all the gravity of a raven in flight, as though his greatest offense had been to use the wrong fork at the dinner table. But I heard the deadly talons beneath the wings in her voice, and I’d heard some warning from Josephine as to the true dangers of the Grand Game Orlesian nobles loved to play. This question was anything but innocent.

Would any answer be acceptable, I wondered? Was there one above others that was expected? Or was all this merely a test, a gambit laid out simply to see what I would do?

I decided the best move was not to play.

“The marquis doesn’t interest me,” I said with a shrug. “Do whatever you like with him.”

Though her smile did not change, I felt the tone of it shift, and hoped I had not signed the poor lad’s death warrant. I wanted to take back my words, but I took comfort from Solas beside me, knowing he would back me up if I had to interfere.

Instead, Madame Vivienne turned back to her victim, holding out one graceful hand to hold up his chin, appraising him. Not a sound was uttered in the rest of the grand hall, as we waited on her next move. She held us all aloft with that delicate hand.

“Poor boy, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Fereldan dog lord.”

She lowered her hand and stepped back, snapping her fingers once to break the spell. A collective exhale was heard about the room, some covering it with waving fans or clearing throats. Others laughed. Still, no one spoke.

The marquis nearly collapsed to the floor, but managed to maintain his stance as he coughed. I winced in sympathy, knowing from experience that his lungs must ache from the cold. He looked for the exit, but Vivienne was not done with him yet.

“And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet. Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think, all the brave chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning … and you’re still here.” A low chuckle rumbled through the hall, as the marquis lowered his head. “Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or did you think her sword would end the shame of your failure?”

His fists clenched, but when he made a move, it was to run for the exit, spurred on by the growing laughter as his form retreated from view.

“Do give my regards to your aunt,” Vivienne called after him, causing further jeers and laughter to follow him out. Without missing a beat, she turned on her heel and held out a hand to me, her smile widening in welcome. “I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering. I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

Beckoning, she began moving across the floor, expecting me to follow. I managed to catch up with her, having more difficulty navigating the crowd than she - the bodies did not part before me as effortlessly as they did for her. For Solas, they moved not at all, and so it wasn’t long before we were separated once again as I struggled to keep up with my hostess.

She took us through an archway to an empty alcove with windows that took up the entire wall. Through them, a small garden bloomed with more wisteria hanging from trellises and crawling up the outer walls of a courtyard. One of the windows was open, and a cool breeze wafted in, a sweet scented relief from the overheated press of people. I breathed a little easier, glad to be out of the rabble at last.

“Now that we have some peace,” she said, not waiting for me to catch my breath. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

The introduction was hardly necessary, and we both knew it, but formalities served a function, and so I gave a stilted bow and responded in kind.

“And I am Theresa, formerly of the Circle of Ostwick and … here on behalf of the Inquisition.” I stumbled over whether to claim the title of Herald of Andraste, deciding to leave it unsaid. Denying it may be a futile endeavor, but that didn’t mean I had to relinquish the fight. Vivienne inclined her head, a play of amusement in the light smile she still carried. What she thought of my status, I could not say, but she did not remark on it.

“Is that marquis going to pose a problem?” I asked before she could say anything more. I still had no clue what that whole display had been about, though I was more worried about a dagger in the back as we left than any true danger he might have posed the Inquisition. It was clear from his complacent acceptance of her dressing-down that Vivienne held higher social status than he did, but that did not mean he was above desperate actions to repair his damaged honor.

But Vivienne appeared unconcerned. “His aunt is the vicomtesse of Mont-de-Glace,” she explained with a wave of her hand. “Not a powerful family, but well respected. And very devout.” The moonlight reflected off the ivory of her mask and played at the dappled gems affixed below her eyes, forming an ethereal halo. “Alphonse will be disowned for this. It’s not the first time he’s brought his aunt disgrace, but I’m sure it’ll be the last. And after such a public humiliation, I’m sure he’ll run off to the Dales to join the empress’s war effort. Either to make a good end or win back a modicum of self-respect.”

All this was delivered with such certainty I had little doubts that she must be correct.

“Your salon has certainly exceeded my expectations, thus far,” I said, endeavoring to keep my tone as airy as hers, unsure whether I was succeeding. It had been years since I’d been expected to perform any kind of public fraternization, and even then the rules imposed on noble children involved only being seen and not heard, meant to serve as ornamental set pieces to showcase the power and authority of their parents.

“I’m glad to keep you entertained, my dear,” Vivienne responded. The gems beneath her eyes twinkled as her smile rose to her cheeks, before she turned serious once more. “I wanted to meet face to face. It is important to consider one’s connections carefully. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore order and sanity to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

I paused, carefully considering my response. I had not missed her deliberate emphasis on the phrase “loyal mages”, nor did I miss that she considered herself their leader. That placed her in direct opposition to Grand Enchanter Fiona, who had led the rebellion from the moment the vote was cast during the last assembly of the College of Magi. I knew a Loyalist when I saw one, and I wasn’t sure I liked that she felt aligned with our cause.

“You’re aware the Chantry hasn’t sanctioned the Inquisition?” I asked pointedly.

“The Chantry is leaderless. They’re in no position to sanction anything. Besides, my dear, if there is one virtue the Chant of Light teaches us, it is forgiveness. Once the Inquisition has sealed the Breach, I’m sure the new Divine will not care in the slightest about official permission.”

I said nothing, allowing my silence to speak to my doubt on that statement. Of course, all such speculation was moot until we did, in fact, seal the Breach, and we would need allies to do so.

“What exactly can you do for the Inquisition?” I asked.

“I am well versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial Court personally. I also have all the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal, and I am a mage of no small talent. Will that do?” The question was rhetorical, as if any argument or further question would only stand to prove my own ignorance.

“So you would be helping the Inquisition from inside the Imperial Palace?”

The amusement left Vivienne’s eyes, and her smile seemed to tighten, but when she replied, her tone was just as convivial as before.

“Ordinarily, I would be happy to serve as liaison to the court, but these are not ordinary times.”

She looked outward, to the garden. Not a wrinkle nor a blemish marred her rich ochre skin. The powders she used to color above her eyes and over her cheeks gave her an overall color palette reminiscent of Val Royeaux’s skyline in the deepest moment of twilight, when the last rays of the setting sun would paint the sky in purples and reds, accenting and reflecting off the smooth stone beneath. Taken in altogether with her pale brocade and intricate metalwork accents, it was as if she intended to represent the city of Val Royeaux itself, all on her own.

“The Veil has been ripped apart, and there is a hole in the sky. It is now the duty of every mage to work toward sealing the Breach, and so I would join the Inquisition on the field of battle.”

As she spoke, her voice grew harder, and her tapered fingers closed into tight fists. The impression of velvet covering steel came to mind again. Until that moment, I had thought her no more than a pampered woman of leisure, who honed her magical talent as a means to an end and no more. But that hardened edge I saw now made me think twice.

“What do you get out of this?” I asked.

“The same thing anyone gets by fighting this chaos - the chance to meet my enemy, to decide my fate. I won’t wait quietly for destruction.”

I will admit, I hadn’t expected that answer, though I cannot say I did not understand it, to some extent. I flexed my left hand, remembering my choice - the first choice in all this I had been granted - on the bridge at the forward camp, on my way to seal the Breach. I could have taken the mountain pass; it would have been safer. But it would have been slower too, and the thought of prolonging my fate any further had felt unbearable at the time.

Yes, I knew something of the catharsis that came from choosing one’s own fate, even if that fate was doomed. It was for this reason, more than anything, that I extended my right hand to the First Enchanter.

“The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.”

She turned away from the window at last, taking my offered hand firmly.

“Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that.” Without another word, she whirled and with a grace I marveled at navigated her way back through the crowd.

“I believe you,” I said, watching her go.

After that, the salon continued around us, the results of a monumental new alliance having little effect on the mood of the evening. My nerves were shot from the earlier tension, and so I decided at last to indulge in some of the champagne that seemed to flow without cease from the many trays carried about. That, combined with my stomach too bunched up for the hors d'oeuvres, meant it took very little before the lights grew hazy and the room began to tilt on its axis.

To my dismay, the assorted nobles’ curiosity had not abated. In fact, their efforts redoubled as the addition of alcohol made them bolder. To make matters worse, Orlesians in general seemed to have little regard for personal space. More than one reached out to caress the fine material of my vest, and many moved to grab at my left hand to examine the mark, shrieking in delight at its sickly glow. Though none were so crass as to grasp at my more private areas, the unwanted touching was still disturbing. It wasn’t long before I had to seek respite, hands trembling and chest heaving against the restrictive vest.

I made my way out to a balcony in the back, grateful for the cool night breeze to ground me. It reminded me of the air back in Haven, and I felt a pang of homesickness. I wondered what the advisors would make of the First Enchanter, particularly Cullen. He rarely had kind words for nobility, especially Orlesians, but he respected strength where he saw it, in all its many forms. I imagined he would be quite confounded by her, and smiled, amused at the thought of her talking circles around him whilst he rolled his eyes in exasperation at her antics.

“Are you the Herald?”

A small but demanding voice pulled me from my thoughts. I started, only just then noticing a young elf boy dressed in the finery of a footman, although not matching those worn by the other servants of the house. He must have come with one of the guests.

I nodded in response to his question. Without saying anything more, he reached into his cuff and pulled forth a red cloth, stuffing it into my hand before turning stiffly on his heel and walking back inside.

It took a moment before I recalled the significance of the color red, but when I did I gasped, recalling our abandoned scavenger hunt from this afternoon. Opening the cloth, I saw it contained a crumpled piece of parchment torn from an ornate and official looking document. I hastily read its contents, my eyes widening, and rushed back into the party to track down Solas and Iron Bull.

The other pieces we’d found contained a key and a location.

Now, we had the time. And if we didn’t hurry, we would miss it.

Chapter Text

V: Another round?
S: What’re you even askin’ for? This’s a pub, innit?
V: Fair enough. *pours*
S: *gulps* Ah, good shite!
V: So, what you were getting at before…
S: Right, right. So, this Herald business. When you hear about someone real high-up, then you think you know them already, right? Except you don’t. You can’t, not really, not even after you meet ‘em. ‘Cause no matter what, they always know you think you know them, yeah? So there’s no way to know if that’s how they always were, or if the knowing makes them different. D’you follow?
V: I… think so?
S: Ugh. It’s like… a mirror, but the reflection’s off, cause the glass is bent, or maybe there’s a crack. Or no, scratch that. It’s like a portrait. Y’know, those real fancy ones with the dull colours by overpaid artists for rich gits. They never turn out like what they’re paintings of, but people who’ve never met the person don’t know that. And people who have met ‘em think, “Eh, close enough”. Right?
V: So, you’re saying you don’t really know Theresa that well?
S: No, I’m saying I do know the Herald. Theresa ain’t the Herald, but the Herald is Theresa. They all see the painting, not the person. And she hates that shite.
V: Well, I guess that’s why she wants to do this book. She wants people to see who she is behind the title.
S: Yeah, ‘cept it’ll never happen like she wants. ‘Specially not with you writing it.
V: Hey now, no need to get insulting. Remember who’s paying for those drinks.
S: It’s not insulting. I’m just saying, you write stories, and people’ll love ‘em or hate ‘em, but they’re not real, not really real the way she wants it to be. Because it’s still about the reflection.
V: Painting.
S: Whut?
V: Your metaphor. You changed it to a painting, not a mirror.
S: Oh, whatever. Metterfors, reflections, paintings with shite colors, wells with memories in ‘em, and big giant holes in the sky. It’s all in the wind. It’s all stories.
V: Except, this one’s true.
S: Is it? What she did - and didn’t do - it’ll always paint her. Doesn’t really matter what she wants.
V: Unfortunately, I think I agree with you.

“Please hurry!” I called to the carriage driver, throwing myself into the cramped compartment. Iron Bull and Solas climbed in behind me, and we were off at a brisk, jaunty pace, swaying down the road toward Val Royeaux.

Once I’d shown the note to the others, we made our apologies and a quick exit from the salon.

“We meet at three bells to discuss how best to serve the new way.”

And beneath that, in different and less polished handwriting:

“Herald go at time. Praise Adrast.”

Combined with the other two messages we’d found that afternoon, it meant a meeting would take place tonight at three o’clock, in a pathway off the stables where our carriage had been rented, with a key to allow us entry.

I would have to make a note in the morning to send to Vivienne with instructions to return to Haven. I could only hope she was not offended at our sudden departure, but there hadn’t been time to track her down amidst the throng once we’d realized the time. The second bell had already rung, and it would be a close call to make it to the stables before the appointed time.

“This is probably a trap,” Bull pointed out once more.

“Agreed,” Solas nodded. “If nothing else, we should return to the lodging first and alert the others. The two of us may not be enough to protect you.”

“And who says I need protecting?” I bristled. “Besides, we don’t have the time. Once we’d have returned and explained everything to Cassandra, the meeting would be half over.”

“Why are you so set on this meeting anyway?” Bull asked. “You already got one ally out of tonight. Not sure it’s worth running headlong into an ambush for the sake of some shady operation with murky motives.”

“Murkier than yours?” I returned pointedly.

“Hey, I was honest with you from the start. But these ‘Friends of Red Jenny’?” He shook his head. “Even I can’t figure out what they want out of this deal. And that’s dangerous.”

“Then doesn’t it make sense to find out?”

He grunted, but didn’t argue further. The rest of our ride was quiet, excluding the sharp trots of the horses’ hooves as they pulled the carriage over the hills and back into the stone pathways of the city. Along the way, I tried to make sense of the awkward delivery system of these messages, but the only conclusion I came to was that they were random on purpose to ensure confusion.

Which, of course, made no sense whatsoever.

When at last we arrived at the stables, I paid the coachman with the last of my coin - overtipping in my haste, judging from the way his eyes widened - and we hurried to the passage indicated in the notes. I gripped my staff with purpose, as much for protection as to steady myself from the lingering effects of the champagne. My chest fought against the vest’s boning, making breathing difficult. With an irritated grunt, I reached behind me and tugged at the laces, pulling the knot free, heaving a deep sigh of relief as their hold loosened.

The passage behind the stables was easy enough to find; an inconspicuous alley that led to a storage warehouse with a locked gate at its entrance. Solas pulled the key forth from his pouch, and with a single turn, the gate opened.

We stepped through to be greeted by a trio of - until that moment - very bored looking knights. The remnants of a card game were upended as they rose in surprise at our entrance. A beat passed during which no one moved, each side blinking at the other in confusion. Finally, one of the knights took a cautious step forward.

“Um, this area is off limits to---”

But a burst of flame engulfed him before he could finish, and his attention turned to putting himself out, frantic and shrieking. I looked over to Solas, furious, but he was already summoning a protective barrier for the lot of us. It was too late to back down now. The other two knights were on the move. One launched herself at Solas with an enraged cry, while the other made a beeline for me.

Instinctively, I unleashed a blast of frigid air, slowing his movements and giving me a moment to position myself against the wall. Before I could gauge his next move, however, a blur of grey muscle swept past me and nearly cut the poor man in two with one stroke of a greatsword.

Beside me, Solas had succeeded in encasing his attacker in ice, a morbid sculpture where the knight had once stood. The first man had by then stomped out the flames and was making a run for it. Solas moved to finish him off, but I stepped into his path, striking his staff with a sweep of mine and knocking it off balance.

“No!” I shouted.

Behind me, the knight turned a corner and was out of sight. Solas watched him go in dismay, then turned to me, dismay turning to anger.

“Why did you stop me? He’ll raise the alarm!”

“You didn’t have to attack! We might have talked our way past them!”

He scoffed. “They clearly had orders to prevent anyone entering. We already knew this would be an ambush. Did you seriously think we would get through tonight without bloodshed?”

“He’s right, Boss,” Iron Bull said from behind us. He reached down and tore a piece of fabric from the man he’d killed, using it to wipe the blood from his blade. “We caught ‘em by surprise, but they would’ve attacked regardless.”

“How do you know?” I demanded, whirling to face him.

“Look at their armor.” He nodded down to the corpse beneath him. I looked, and saw polished steel full plate, engraved with a crest I didn’t recognize. The colorful tunic beneath was bulky and impractical, and embroidered with smaller versions of the same crest, trimmed along the sleeves’ hemlines.

“Private house guards?” I asked.

Iron Bull nodded. “Looks like that tip from the Red Jennys was right on the money. I’m willing to bet that whoever was plotting against you is right around that corner, pissing his pants at the sounds of his best knights getting slaughtered.” He smirked.

I swept a hand across my eyes, brushing the troublesome wisps of hair aside in annoyance. All of this suddenly felt wrong; perhaps I should have heeded their advice after all. But we were committed now, and there was nothing for it but to press on. Nodding to the other two, I walked through the only other door in the alley.

As I stepped through, a knife launched straight at my head, but I was prepared. With a swipe of my staff, it was tossed aside to land with a harmless clang against the cobblestones behind me. The man who threw it stood his ground, though he gasped as he saw me.

“The Herald of Andraste!” His accent was thick, and I recognized the familiar slurring of too much drink. He was dressed for nobility, wearing milk-white breeches and a matching doublet, trimmed in elaborate embroidery. His mask was gold, and even for Orlais it appeared overwrought and dramatic, with swoops of layered cloth that made my neck ache to imagine the weight. He looked for all the world as though he expected a grand ball, not a clandestine meeting to plot my demise.

I needn’t have asked how he knew me by sight alone; my mark emitted a steady glow in the moonlight, with no gloves to stifle it.

“How much did you expend to discover me?” he asked. “It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!”

What?

I looked back to where Solas and Iron Bull stood ready, but they both shrugged, as confused as I was. I turned back to my would-be attacker.

“Um, who are you?”

He gave a short, derisive guffaw. “You don’t fool me! I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!”

I blinked, unsure what to say. Was he serious?

Before either of us could make a move, however, a gurgling sound came from the statue above us. An archer I hadn’t noticed before perched on its base, clutching at an arrow protruding from his neck. With a final wet gasp, he dropped his bow and collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

From around the statue came a young elf girl, barely past her teens. She was dressed in ragged linen; its garish colors combined with her blonde hair were a strange beacon in the night. She stood poised with a bow in her hands, arrow already knocked and drawn, the string twitching, eager to be loosed.

“Just say, ‘what’,” she said.

Before I could even begin to make sense of this new strangeness, the nobleman stepped forward, blustering with indignance at this interruption.

“What is the---”

An arrow through the exact center of his face ceased all sounds, except for the sickening crunch as it split his mask and pierced his skull.

“Eugh!” The girl wrinkled up her nose in disgust, but her smirk betrayed her amusement. None of us moved as she took a cautious step forward to examine her work, then let out a light giggle. When she next spoke, it was to us. “Squishy one, but you heard me right? ‘Just say what’. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.” She crouched over the body and reached out, continuing her nonsensical commentary. “‘Blah, blah, blah! Obey me! Arrow in my face!’”

With a quick yank, she wrenched the arrow free of its bed, pulling bone and brain matter out with it. I swallowed hard against the rising bile in my throat at the horrendous sound it made. Again, I looked back to my companions, but Iron Bull had already sheathed his sword and was watching the whole scene with an amused grin. Solas stepped forward, coming between me and this new arrival.

“Do you represent the Friends of Red Jenny?” he asked.

“So you followed the notes well enough,” the girl replied, breezing past his question. “Let’s see your…” But as she finally looked up and her gaze settled on Solas, her nose wrinkled up once again, as if he too had an arrow sticking out from the center of his forehead. “Annnd… you’re an elf. ‘Course you are. Well. Hope you’re not too… elfy.”

Solas’s mouth gaped in a brief and uncharacteristic moment of genuine surprise, before he regained control and cleared his throat, settling his features into a very unamused countenance, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, but Iron Bull had no such compunction, letting out a loud bark of laughter.

“I like her,” he declared.

She waved off Solas’s dour expression as if it were a fly buzzing about her face. “It’s all good, innit? The important thing is, you glow. You’re the Herald thingy.”

I stepped forward, holding aloft my left palm to catch her attention, no longer able to hide my amusement.

“Um, I think you’re actually looking for me.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widened as she took in the aforementioned glow, but she recovered quickly, sizing me up with a tilt of her head. “Brilliant! You… well you’re rather normal aren’t you?” She might have sounded disappointed, except her face was brighter, with none of the disdain she’d had a moment ago. Solas retreated a step back, still looking quite affronted.

“And what about him?” I asked, nodding to the now unfortunately faceless nobleman crumpled on the ground between us. I endeavored not to look at the gaping wound still spilling deep red all over the flagstones, necessitating a step back to avoid the growing puddle.

She shrugged, unconcerned. “No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“You killed him before he could even say who he worked for!” I was aghast; her complete lack of regard for the severity of the situation was disturbing.

“And before he could toss more sharps at your face!” she returned, defensive. “What? My people said the Inquisition would want him dead. So he’s dead.”

I rubbed at my temples against the growing tension between them, trying to make sense of all that had transpired.

“Your people? Does that mean you are with the Friends of Red Jenny?”

She nodded, brightening in a blink. “Right, that’s me! Name’s Sera.” With no preamble, she gestured to the statue again. “This is cover. Get ‘round it. Got reinforcements coming, ‘specially since you let one go. Don’t worry, someone tipped me off to their equipment shed.” She smiled, looking amused with herself. She could barely get the next words out around her giggling. “They’ve got no breeches!”

An exasperated groan escaped Solas, and another amused chuckle from Iron Bull, before the sounds of clamouring and angry voices began to emerge from the other side of the courtyard. To my dismay, I heard the unmistakable clanging of metal scraping as swords were unsheathed.

“Why didn’t you take their weapons?” I demanded, rounding on the girl - Sera.

“Because! No breeches!” She was still laughing, already drawing another arrow forth from the quiver on her back.

“Oh no.” I shook my head and grabbed her roughly by the sleeve. I shouted for the others to follow over her indignant protests, dragging her behind me toward what looked to be a back way out.

For what seemed like a long while afterward, we twisted and turned down meandering back alleys and pathways, running desperate and aimless through Val Royeaux’s underbelly as we were pursued by half-naked knights determined to avenge their lord and their dignity.

It seemed impossible to shake them, until I caught sight of a narrow alley hidden behind a fountain, and I shoved Sera and myself into it. Solas and Iron Bull followed; Bull had to scrape and pull himself through the cramped opening with some effort. The angle of the moonlight cast a shadow across us, and it was my hope that the sound of the fountain would disguise any movements. Even so, I clamped a hand over Sera’s mouth, stifling another of her protests, as we heard the angry shouting grow close, pass by, and at last begin to recede. I caught a quick glimpse through a curtain of trickling water of half a dozen men in jerkins and smallclothes, bare legs pale in the moonlight, propelling them down the street and out of sight.

I waited until long after the noise stopped before allowing myself a sigh of relief, and we spilled forward out of the alley. Iron Bull walked a little ways down the street to ensure they had really gone, while the rest of us panted from the exertion. Well, while I panted from the exertion. To my everlasting consternation, no one else seemed so much as winded.

“Argh, you ruined the fun!” Sera whirled on me, fists clenched and stomping one foot. “Friends really came through with that tip! I wanted to see!”

“There’s been enough senseless killing tonight,” I answered between gasping breaths. I aimed a pointed look at Solas, who was watching Sera and pointedly ignoring my glare.

Sera, apparently deciding not to take offense to that comment or my interference, shrugged and dusted herself off.

“Herald of Andraste, eh? You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

“I’m sorry?” Solas gave a derisive laugh.

“Hold on a moment, why don’t we start simple?” I shook my head, still trying to keep up with her rapid changes in mood. She was worse than Bull. “You said your name was Sera.” She nodded. “And do you represent the Friends of Red Jenny, or not?”

“It’s like this,” she said. “I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me. Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall, there were three in Starkhaven - brothers or something.” She shrugged. “It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people - friends - be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. The Friends of Red Jenny is all out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows.” As if to punctuate her point, she held aloft the arrow she still hadn’t sheathed from before our desperate flight.

“Back up.” I held aloft one hand to forestall further ramblings. “So, the ones who were leaving the notes for us to find were part of your group. Friends? And that makes you… Red Jenny?”

She sighed, as if it was obvious.

“Here’s how it is,” she tried again, slowing her speech only marginally. “You ‘important people’ are up here shoving your cords around, with your cloaks and spy-kings. Like that tit back there. Or he was maybe one of the little knives, all serious with his… little knife. All those secrets and what gave him up? Some houseboy who don’t know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I’m not Knifey Shivdark, all hidden. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards? I stole their…” She collapsed into another round of giggles while I endeavored to maintain my ever loosening grip on my own sanity.

“Utter nonsense,” Solas muttered, throwing me a withering look. “We’ve wasted our time on this.”

But I wasn’t so sure. Through all her rambling half-statements and random euphemisms, I had managed to get at her main point. Or, at least part of it.

“How far do you think your… friends… could go?” I asked.

“Oh, all over. Anywhere you got rich tits, I’ve got Friends. Better hope you’re not one of ‘em.” She grinned. “You’ve got a big name, yeah? Your family’s in good with the Chantry and all that lot.”

“Your Friends know a lot,” I said, mouth tight. “I guess they missed the part where my family tossed me into a Circle without a second thought?”

“Didn’t miss it. Just didn’t wanna touch it.” She shuddered, eyeing my staff like it was a snake that might leap out and strike her at any moment. “Bad enough you got the glowy part, but the rest of you’s gotta be all sparkly-scary too, yeah? Look, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you.”

I eyed her up and down. She was young, too young, reminding me of the new recruits back at Haven. From the mismatched colours of her clothes to their threadbare state, from her waifish thin figure to her unevenly chopped hair, it was plain she’d been on her own a long time, maybe all her life. Though she seemed not in the least bit saddened by it. If anything, she seemed to revel in the freedom. I tried to ignore the small gnaw of jealousy that realization awoke within me.

Her network was useful in itself, but the way she had outplayed that noble’s schemes was brilliant too, in a way. It reminded me of Micah, one of my fellow Enchanters from Faxhold. I’d always fancied myself a skilled chess player, but I never could beat him. Not because he was a better player than me, but because he was worse. Every move he made was random, eschewing every known tactic and maneuver. All my machinations were inevitably foiled, because there was no way to counter random chance.

Here, in Orlais, where every important player thought themselves master tacticians in a deadly game, this girl had managed to change the rules, using chaos and impulse to cut through every move and counter-move they could think of. That nobleman clearly had vast plans in mind for me, yet all it had taken to undo them was one abused servant that he no doubt had never even considered a player.

Through all of Sera’s barely comprehensible babbling, she was not wrong. We were doing our best to restore order, and for who else if not the very people she claimed as friends? I remembered my answer to Solas in our earliest days at Haven, when he had asked me what kind of hero I wanted to be.

I want to be a shield.

With a great heave of my shoulders, already bracing myself for the reaction I was expecting from Solas, I nodded.

“Alright, Sera. I think we can use you and your friends.”

“Yes!” She threw up a victorious punch to the air. “Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be!”

Let’s hope so, I thought, grimly wondering what Cassandra would have to say about this evening’s events. I was not optimistic.

“What now, Boss?” Iron Bull rejoined us, sauntering over with his sword draped across his shoulders. “You wanna head back to the lodging?”

“Yes, it’s well past time we got some rest.” I stifled a yawn. Somewhere in the distance, bells struck once, twice, thrice… four times in total. Soon it would be dawn, and we were meant to begin our return journey to Haven in the morning.

Unfortunately, I took stock of our surroundings and realized I had no idea where we were.

“Um…”

“Back to your fancy beds, yeah?” Sera gestured and pointed down one street that looked indistinguishable from the others, at least to me. “I know the way. Get you back in no time.”

With no other options, we followed her through the streets at a light jog, stopping periodically so I could catch my breath. Between the corset and the prolonged exertion, I was easily winded, though with each stop I recovered my breath quicker.

“Cassandra’s not going to like this,” Solas muttered to me at one such stop.

“Let me worry about Cassandra,” I said with a confidence I did not feel. “Who knows, she might even be happy we’ve managed to acquire two new allies for the Inquisition tonight.”

His dubious expression spoke as to how likely he found that to be, but there was nothing for it. The decisions had been made, and in her absence, I’d had to be the one to make them, underqualified though I was. If she or the Trio had a problem with that, they could take it up with me. Maker knew I was used to their displeasure by now, after all.

With Sera’s guidance, we made it back to the lodging just as the sky was beginning to pale. A nearby bakery was already hard at work on its daily wares, and an enticing scent filled the street. My stomach growled as we made our weary way up the stairs to our suite, and it was hard to decide if I was more tired or hungry.

But first things first. I needed to get Cassandra up to speed on all that had transpired. And despite my earlier statement, I was not looking forward to the inevitable confrontation.

Sera joined us in the room, and no sooner had we come through the door than I heard her utter a curse, followed by the groan of her bow string being pulled back.

“Wait!” I reached out and pulled at Cassandra’s outstretched arm, where it was holding the sword tip pointed directly at Sera’s throat. Sera had an arrow already knocked and was pointing it right back at Cassandra.

Already, this was not going well.

“She’s with us,” I said, still trying to get Cassandra to stand down.

She didn’t move an inch.

“You were supposed to be back hours ago!” She said to me whilst keeping her fierce eyes fixed on Sera. “Now, you come back with the smell of spellcraft and blood stains on your clothes, with a stranger in tow. What am I to think?”

At her words, I glanced down and uttered a cry of dismay, noticing for the first time the deep red splotches staining my new shirt. Or, technically, Varric’s, as he’d been the one to pay for it. Shoving that aside, I turned back to the task at hand.

“I will explain everything,” I said. “But you need to stand down.”

“Her first,” Cassandra growled through gritted teeth.

I gave Sera a pleading look, but she shook her head, stubborn.

“Yeah, piss on that,” she said. “She’s the one all jumpy, Ser Sword-Up-Her-Arse pointing at me! I’m here for you. If she is, she better prove it!”

“She already has, a great deal more than you,” Solas said. “You’re the untested one here. Prove your own good intentions, if they are in fact as good as you claim.”

I shot him a glare, which he returned in equal measure, defiant. Sera’s grip on her bow tightened, as did Cassandra’s on her hilt.

Shit.

This was going worse than I’d feared.

As if on cue, Varric chose that moment to come out of his side of the suite, uttering a curse of his own as he took in the scene at a glance. He retreated, emerging only a moment later with Bianca, already opened, with a bolt loaded and ready to be unleashed at the newcomer.

“Is this the one who shot that arrow through your bedpost?” he asked, and I cursed again as Cassandra shot us both questioning glances out of the corners of her eyes.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice going up in pitch. “She attacked you, but you say she’s on our side?”

“Oh come off it, I was sending a message!” Sera rolled her eyes. “If I’d wanted to attack her I’d’ve had all day to do it and not get caught!”

“That’s not helping your case, kiddo,” Iron Bull muttered, staying well out of everyone’s way but within arm’s reach of me, just in case.

“Is this what happens when I allow you to roam free?” Cassandra demanded.

“She is not your prisoner!” Solas was brimming with building frustration, about to boil over.

“If everyone could just settle down,” Varric pleaded, not exactly helpful from the other end of Bianca, still held aimed at Sera. And then everyone began talking at once.

“Lower your weapon!”

“You first, scary lady!”

“This is beyond absurd---”

“We don’t need to get all worked up---”

“Boss, this is gonna end badly---”

“Enough!”

I had to shout to be heard, punctuated with a single, bright pulse from my left hand, held aloft to ensure it grabbed everyone’s attention. It wasn’t at its full brightness - it wouldn’t do to alarm anyone outside - but it was more than enough to make everyone pause and blink away the temporary blindness.

“Now then! When I count to three, everyone is going to lower their weapons, or I’ll freeze the lot of you where you stand and take your weapons away myself!”

Every set of eyes was on me, their expressions all the same - mouths agape, eyes wide and blinking in astonishment at my outburst. But I wasn’t about to let it break my rhythm. I needed this to go well, and I refused to allow all my work from today to be undone. I began counting.

“One.” Sera and Cassandra both looked back toward each other, wary still, but I saw a slight loosening in their shoulders in their uncertainty. “Two.” Varric smirked, looking over to Iron Bull with one raised eyebrow. Whatever unasked question was there, Iron Bull shrugged and nodded. I didn’t dare glance toward Solas, too afraid I would see the cold indifference returned, and lose all my remaining resolve. I prepped an ice glyph, just in case, and hoped I wouldn’t need it. “Three.”

Arms lowered, shoulders eased, and a collective breath was released. I uttered a silent prayer of thanks before setting my own staff down against the nearest corner. When I turned back, everyone was watching me, curious for what came next.

“Alright,” I said with a bracing breath. “Cassandra, this is Sera, here on behalf of the Friends of Red Jenny. Sera, this is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, leader of the Inquisition.”

It took some time going over the days’ events in their entirety. I made sure to leave nothing out this time, including my brief meeting with Grand Enchanter Fiona in the market, and especially my offers of alliance with not only Sera but also the couturier and First Enchanter Vivienne. To her credit, Casssandra took it all in without interruptions, except to ask clarifying questions on occasion.

By the time I finished, the sun had risen, bringing bright morning light into the common room through the balcony. My voice was hoarse and my eyelids were drooping. My head felt very heavy with all that had transpired, and I was beginning to feel the lack of sleep. Cassandra was quiet for a long moment after I stopped talking, staring straight ahead, her brow furrowed as she pondered all I had told her.

Her quiet was not a comfort; if anything, it only made me more nervous. I waited for a reaction, any reaction, oscillating between fidgeting in my chair and nodding my head in my exhaustion. Despite my earlier hunger, I was unable to stomach the overly sweet pastries Varric had ordered from the bakery across the street. Sera, having no such issues, reached over and plucked my uneaten breakfast from my plate and finished it in a few enthusiastic bites, chewing with gusto as she sat on the table next to me, her legs swinging in carefree innocence.

Finally, Cassandra nodded, crisp and decisive, and stood to stretch the aches from her shoulders and legs. I did the same. We had all been sitting for a long time by then.

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Sera,” she said, reaching out one hand for her to shake.

“Too right!” Sera slapped her hand away playfully. “You’re all a sour lot, no mistakin’ it! Here’s hoping the rest of you are more fun.” She stood - on the table - and stretched, letting out a loud yawn before scratching at her head and hopping down without a sound, looking idly about the room before plopping down onto the nearest empty couch and waving to the rest of us. “I’m all packed, so just holler when it’s go time, yeah?”

And with that, she shut her eyes, out like a candle and dead to the world within seconds. Varric chuckled, walking with Iron Bull back toward his room.

“Okay, tell me this again, Tiny. Why exactly did she take their breeches, of all things?”

Solas had already retreated to his spot on the balcony, back to us as if above such ridiculousness.

I stifled yet another yawn and wondered how in the Maker’s name I would be able to maintain consciousness while we were on the road. Then, I felt Cassandra’s hand come to rest on my shoulder.

“Well done,” she said. I met her gaze, surprised to find genuine affection there, something I had not seen in weeks. She almost smiled, and for just a moment, things were as they had been. As I had wished for them to be.

But then her face hardened, and the light left her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was flat and hard.

“I’m afraid I have been keeping something from you as well. After our confrontation outside the Grand Cathedral, Lord Seeker Lucius sent me a message. He apologizes for his harsh words and extends an invitation to meet with the Herald of Andraste personally, to discuss a potential alliance. That is where I was tonight, meeting with his messenger.”

I frowned, feeling that knot in my gut tighten again, and I shook my head against the implications. Against the cold sadness hidden deep in her expression, beneath that grim determination.

“I have accepted the invitation on behalf of the Inquisition.”

“No,” I muttered, still shaking my head and backing away. Her hand fell from my shoulder.

“I know you don’t like it, but we have little choice. We cannot put our trust in the mages, and there is no one else who can help us seal the Breach. This is our only option.”

“No,” I said again, futile and desperate.

“We aren’t going back to Haven,” she continued past my protests. “At least not yet.”

“No.” My fists clenched and my shoulders hitched.

“We’re going to Therinfal Redoubt, and we’re bringing the Templars home with us.”

Chapter Text

V: You know, we don’t have to do this today.
T: I’m fine, Varric. I can’t keep running from this.
V: Still, it doesn’t have to be today.
T: But if not today, then when? We’ve reached the point in the story where I either skip it or tell it. And I said from the start I wanted to tell the whole story.
V: Alright. Just let me know if you need to stop at any point, okay?
T: Of course. And thank you.
V: Oh! I brought this too. In case you need to bolster yourself.
T: Ooh, that’s a good year. You really shouldn’t…
V: Eh, don’t mention it. With everyone else so busy, who else have I got to drink with these days?
T: No, I mean… I can’t drink today. I promised.
V: Promised who?
T: … Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Let’s just do this.

Therinfal Redoubt stood empty.

Or at least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.

Not a single guard was posted. No lookouts called out as we approached. Though we arrived well after sundown, no torches were lit, and every window we could see was a portal of darkness. From within, not a sound was heard, matching the supernatural silence that permeated the woods bordering the once mighty fortress. The only sounds were from the delicate rainfall that trickled over its daunting facade, and our own uncomfortable shifting beneath its stern, looming glare.

“I don’t like this, Seeker,” Varric muttered.

The others all nodded their agreement, matching looks of apprehension on their faces. But Cassandra remained stone-faced, gazing up at the grey stone walls with her jaw set and eyes narrowed. I could sense her indecision, but knew her stubbornness would win over. She would not have forced us all this way only to turn back now.

“The Lord Seeker abandoned the White Spire to bring his templars here,” she said after a long moment. “This fortress has stood empty since the Blessed Age. If he relocated the Order here, there must have been a reason.”

“Doesn’t look like anybody’s home.” Iron Bull sounded as dubious as Varric. “Might wanna send a scout in first, scope the place out.”

“I’ll do it!” Sera popped up eagerly from where she’d been crouching.

Cassandra frowned. “I’m not sure you---”

“---Such a task would call for stealth, my dear,” Vivienne interjected. She, more than any of us, looked out of place in this miserable weather. Somehow, the dreary cloud cover and steady drizzle had no effect on her; she stood tall, resplendent in her dyed leathers and thick-spun outer coat. She’d left the masks behind in Val Royeaux, but her face was like a mask all its own, smooth and without flaw or blemish. I never considered myself a vain person, but it was hard not to feel self-conscious beside her effortless beauty.

“What, you think you’ll hide better with that light-up stick, Lady Fancy-Britches?” Sera, by stark contrast, had worn the same clothes for so long they barely held together, though she hardly seemed to mind. As if to emphasize that point, she wiped at the rain in her eyes with one sleeve, heedless that the sleeve was already soaked through.

“Staff, darling. It is called a staff.” Vivienne sounded as though she were correcting a misbehaving toddler. Turning to me, she cut off Sera’s blustering indignation. “If I might be so bold, my Lady Herald, is this the company you would present as the Inquisition?”

“What, you think you’re better than me?” Sera bristled.

“It’s nothing personal, my dear. I am demonstrably better than most. That you so thoroughly prove it is hardly my fault.”

“You wanna go, Vivvy? ‘Cause I’ll---”

“---Enough!”

It was the first word I’d uttered in hours.

The pair silenced, and I felt their offended glares at my back as I stepped forward to appraise the fortress, coming within a pace of Cassandra. She showed no acknowledgement of my approach. I knew she was weighing our options, considering all possibilities but one. Unable to help myself, I had to say it at least once more.

“Please don’t make me do this.”

Her mouth twitched into a quick grimace, the only indication that she’d heard me for a long moment.

“You’ll be fine.” Her eventual response was flat and heavy, a stone sinking into dark waters. Without looking in my direction, she turned to approach Varric and ask about the attachments he had with him for Bianca.

I sighed, shrugging beneath my cloak against the rain, weakening before the relentless doubt within. Cassandra and I were back to barely speaking, ever since the conclusion of our shouting match in Val Royeaux. I had begged and screamed and stomped my feet, telling her flat out that I would refuse any meeting with the Templar Order, no matter what she said. Cassandra had given as good as she got, countering my shouts with bellowing stubbornness, until we were both hoarse and the poor lodging owners had to come to the room and politely insist on our immediate departure. In the end, her will had won out, and I was bereft of any hope of an alliance with the mages.

We’d vacated the lodging as requested with Sera in tow, but not before I sent an urgent notice to Vivienne, alerting her of our departure and our destination. Her runner had returned in all haste, advising us to meet her at the docks, where a boat would be waiting to take us east across the Waking Sea. It seemed having a First Enchanter among us was already demonstrating its usefulness.

Thus, did our increasingly varied group make its way back into Ferelden aboard a mid-sized but swift merchant ship. Any other time, I might have enjoyed the fresh saltiness of the open waters and thrilled at watching the far distant shores slide past as we glided over the waves. But the bitterness of our mission soured any joy, and I spent most of the journey belowdecks, withdrawing into myself and disdaining all company.

We were several days at sea, longer than expected. I’d thought Cassandra meant to dock at Jader and take us south to Haven first, but she instead instructed the captain to deposit us at West Hill, further east. From there, we commissioned horses and followed the northern passage of the Imperial Highway, camping in the shadow of its ancient stone pillars each evening.

All along the way, Grand Enchanter Fiona’s words echoed over and over in my mind. Her suspicion of the templars had been absolute, steadfast. At first, I had dismissed the notion that Cassandra could have known anything about it, but the closer we got to the fortress, the stronger my doubt became. It hurt too much to confront, however, and so instead I turned my fear to resentment, nursing it into a well of bitterness that deepened with each passing moment.

It took half a day to bypass Denerim, capital city and seat of Ferelden’s power. I caught only a brief glimpse of its skyline, all solid, plain stone and sturdy clay-slatted roofs. Sera was unimpressed, and Vivienne dismissive, but Varric spent enough time pondering it for me to suspect a new descriptive prose was being constructed in his mind. When we got to South Reach shortly after, Cassandra turned us aside from the highway and into the mountainous regions to the south.

Until at last here we stood, before a great stone monstrosity once meant to train Seekers, left abandoned for decades. Until Lord Seeker Lucius had claimed it for his own upon leaving Val Royeaux. At least, that was what the note he’d sent Cassandra had said, though the more I thought on it the less sense it made.

The journey had taken us well over a week, with little chance to rest beyond sleep. It seemed unlikely the entire Templar Order had beaten us here. From the looks of things, they hadn’t.

I frowned, still staring up at the imposing stone walls, trying to fight the growing doubt. Could they have been here already, biding their time in secret and waiting for the opportunity to make their split from the Chantry public? Possibly even before the Conclave? It certainly didn’t speak to their innocence with regard to the Breach. What exactly had Cassandra’s message said? Was there ever a message to begin with? I shuddered and shook my head, willing the circular thoughts to cease.

Solas stepped up to lay a comforting hand on my shoulder, leaning in to whisper so only I would hear him.

“Remember what I said to you that night in the Hinterlands.”

I nodded, understanding. Escape had been at the forefront of my thoughts ever since we’d landed in Ferelden. Redcliffe - where the rebel mages lay in hiding - was just at the base of Lake Calenhad. If I stole away in the middle of the night, I might even reach it before I was caught. I could run. And Solas had already vowed to come with me, no matter where I went.

Escape. So tantalizingly close.

I watched Cassandra and Varric argue over the semantics of scaling the walls; Bianca had a grappling hook attachment, it seemed. Sera interjected that she was the best candidate, being the lightest, but Varric flatly refused to allow anyone else to use Bianca. Vivienne and Iron Bull stood back with amusement as the argument escalated, everyone talking over each other.

My left palm pulsed in agitation as above thunder rolled across the sky. A brief flash from the Breach, ever restless, illuminated the scene for a heartbeat before returning us to darkness. The memory of its insatiable hunger made my knees weak and threatened to overwhelm my better sense before I forced it back down.

“No,” I said to Solas, still watching the argument unfold. “The Breach needs to be closed. I can’t do it alone.”

“The templars are not the answer,” he muttered. “This will not go the way she thinks.”

“No,” I agreed. “But she’s our leader. There’s nothing I can do.”

“You can leave.”

But I couldn’t. Maybe before, when I was still too entangled in my own weeds to see the forest for the trees. But now?

“I’m tired of running. I’m in this now, for better or worse.”

We locked eyes, and a storm of thoughts swept across his face as he studied me. All of it came and went in an instant, too fast for me to read. Whatever he saw in mine, it satisfied him, and he nodded.

“Well, I’d say this certainly counts as ‘worse’,” he said. I grunted my agreement.

By then the others had come to a compromise; Varric would launch the grappling hook over one of the lower battlements along the side, which Sera would then scale, have a look around, and report back. It all went well enough to start. Sera ascended the walls quick as a spider, scrambling with nimble fingers and lithe limbs, easily finding purchase with the aid of the rope. In a flash, she was up and over the wall and out of sight.

Below, the rest of us were left to wait.

When an hour passed with no further sign of her, there began murmurs of whether we should go in after her. But then came the groan of aged wood and rusty hinges from around the corner. We followed it to find the front door within the gate now ajar, with Sera beckoning to us and calling out for our attention.

“Keep your voice down!” Cassandra hissed as we approached, only to be met with a raspberry blown by Sera.

“What? There ain’t nobody in there to hear. Well, no people anyway. Lots of bodies.”

“What?”

Cassandra plunged forward, already drawing her sword and pulling her shield into place from over her shoulder. Iron Bull was right behind her, and the rest of us followed… only to come up short, to prevent us crashing right into them both where they had stopped dead in their tracks. It took only a single look around the entrance courtyard for us to learn why.

Bodies were strewn everywhere, here in piles of two or three, there cut down alone, all wearing templar colors. But not all of them looked like normal templars.

Varric uttered a long string of curses as he took in the sight.

“Seeker…”

“I see it,” Cassandra confirmed, her stony resolve cracking at last. We all saw it. Red lyrium. But that wasn’t what drew out Varric’s extended epithets.

“It’s… growing out of them!”

“I see it,” she repeated.

None of us moved as we all took in the horrid scene laid out around us. The narrow entryway opened into an elongated walkway, open to the sky but surrounded by thick stone walls. The rain continued its oppressive tirade, drenching the ground and turning the beaten-down earth to a muddy soup, blighted by swirling crimson tendrils that flowed from the scattered bodies.

Those not infected by the red lyrium had been cut down, with brutal, gaping slashes that cared little for the heavy full plate armor meant to protect them. Some lay face-up, mouths and eyes still open in their last cries of pain, heedless of the rain pouring over them.

The others were an altogether different show of horror.

Their skin was split open, but not from any external weapon; these wounds came from within. Great crystals of red lyrium grew outward, rending through skin and bone and armor alike, like some macabre half-finished sculpture meant to capture the very definition of pain.

The rain seemed almost a mercy now, dampening the scent of decay enough to make it bearable, but only just. Lurking beneath the stench of death was something both metallic and fetid, nearly enough on its own to overturn my stomach. I held a corner of my cloak over my nose and mouth, hoping to filter out the miasma. The cover of night helped as well, hiding some of the gruesome details. Still, I soon had to look away, lest the nausea threatening to claw its way up my throat gain more ground. Or worse, I lost all control and fled, no matter my strong words to Solas a mere moment before.

“We need to leave,” Varric was insisting, already backing out toward the door. But Cassandra caught him roughly by the cuff of his surcoat.

“We cannot leave them like this! Not without finding out who is responsible!”

“So send a scouting patrol then!” Varric jerked back, panic bubbling up in his normally even voice. “This is wrong! We shouldn’t be here! You’re putting us all at risk the longer we stay!”

“Do not let your past blind you, dwarf! Think about it - there was red lyrium at the Temple ruins too. There has to be a link to whoever was responsible for the Breach.”

“That just makes it a worse idea for us to stay!”

They continued back and forth, their voices growing louder until they were shouting, stepping well within the wide radius they usually granted each other, neither willing to forfeit an inch. We all watched in petrified fascination. Even Solas was at a loss. Varric was affable about most things, but this was not ground he was willing to give. And Cassandra, ever willful, always seemed to dig her heels in all the more fiercely when Varric was involved. From the very first, these two seemed to have a knack for getting under each others’ skin, and it looked as though things were finally coming to a head. I half expected Varric to turn and leave then and there, finally washing his hands of us all.

V: Honestly? It’s about as close as I’ve ever gotten.
T: I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.
V: I would have. That’s not the point here, though. Keep going.

Before he had the chance, however, a choice was made for all of us. An unholy shriek penetrated the dark, heavy air, forcing us all to shrink beneath it with our hands over our ears. It dug into my skull, sharper and more insistent than the dull ache of the Breach’s eternal appetite. If the Breach was a hammer, this cry was an arrow. When it passed, the door slammed closed behind us with a thunderous crash. We beat against it, but even Iron Bull’s massive shoulders made not so much as a dent in the soaked wood. We were locked in. But by what?

Solas tensed and shifted his staff into readiness before him, searching through the air around us.

“What is it?” I asked in a whisper. Some instinct told me to keep quiet.

“There is much activity from the Fade here,” he answered, still reaching out with his senses. I felt his aura spreading, searching the unseen forces around us. “The energy is… hungry.”

“Hungry?” Cassandra repeated, dubious.

“A demon?” Vivienne asked. Solas hushed us, still searching for the source.

“Shit.” Iron Bull mumbled a few harsh-sounding phrases in his native tongue as he reaffirmed his grip around his greatsword. “I’m starting to agree with Varric. We shouldn’t be here. This place smells wrong.”

“Right, big one’s scared. We’re dead.” Sera knocked an arrow and began waving the bow around, frantic to find a target.

Varric hadn’t moved from the door, still clinging to the hope of escape.

“I ain’t scared,” Bull insisted. “I just didn’t sign up to fight demons!”

“My dear, did you think it was mercenaries pouring out of the Breach?” Vivienne asked in a mocking tone.

“Everyone quiet!” Cassandra held out her hand, eyes fixed on the archway at the far end of the entry. It stood open, and as we watched, movement swept across it; a flash of metal and a red so bright it was unnatural. After a moment, a loud, rhythmic banging started.

Cassandra was off, not waiting for us, and we were again forced to follow after her. This time it was more than just Varric spewing curses as we went. As we passed beneath a section of scaffolding, I caught in my periphery what seemed to be a figure, crouched and waiting above. However, when I turned to look, staff aloft and readied for an ambush, there was nothing. I paused, unsure if I’d imagined it, but the sounds of fighting ahead forced me to abandon my confusion.

In the courtyard were more of the mutated templars, caught in a fierce battle with Cassandra and the others. The familiar energy of a barrier was thrown over me, and I nodded my thanks to Solas before swinging my staff in a sweeping arc, stretching a branching delta of lightning to strike all of the monsters at once. The spell came too easily; the Veil was thin here. That did not bode well. Solas’s dire comments from earlier made more sense now. I grimaced as I set my will to the fight, wondering what other horrors had been enacted here to draw so much of the Fade’s attention.

Vivienne lay ice glyphs while Iron Bull and Cassandra chipped away at the mutants with steel. Varric managed to herd one into a corner with several well-placed bolts, and Sera hurled a glass jar at its feet. It shattered, exploding in a cloud of bright red flame that clung to the infected templar, climbing his limbs as a starving man toward a buffet. In a heartbeat he was consumed, and his clumsy movements ceased as he crumpled to the ground.

Two more went down at a mighty swing of Iron Bull’s greatsword, bright red shards mixed with the spray of deep crimson. The final one had Cassandra cornered, but just as I was about to launch another bolt of lightning its way, she let out a fierce roar and threw all her weight into her shield, knocking it to the ground. Without hesitation, she shoved her sword straight down, through its heart, shattering one of the crystals in its path. It let out one final, ear-piercing shriek, then the courtyard went silent.

We took a moment to catch our breath and appraise each other. In a small mercy, there were no injuries severe enough to require treatment, though Sera had been caught with a backfist at one point and her right eye was already beginning to swell. By tomorrow, it would bloom into a swathe of deep purple.

Assuming we saw tomorrow.

True to form, she waved off the damage with a laugh, saying only that we should “see the other guy.”

“They were trying to get in there,” Cassandra pointed with her sword to the door the mutants had been pounding on when we’d interrupted them. It barred the entrance to a long, low building that looked like a storage shed. From within came the sound of bodies shuffling, followed by hissing whispers.

Survivors.

“Who is in there?” Cassandra called. “We are from the Inquisition. We’re here to help.”

After an uncertain pause, a deep voice answered from within.

“How can you prove yourselves?”

Cassandra looked to the rest of us in confusion at the question. Solas stepped forward.

“We have just dispatched the infected mutations that would have torn through that door in a matter of minutes,” he said with a slight note of sarcasm. “Does that suffice as proof of our intentions?”

More hissing whispers from the other side, then the sound of a bar being lifted and the creak of hinges as the door opened a crack.

“Come in, and be quick,” said the man behind the door. “Before more come.”

We obeyed, shuffling into the cramped space. None of us were eager to encounter more of those monsters. I was prepared to be pressed against the walls once inside, but even with our added numbers, there were no more than a few dozen bodies all told, huddling within. Only Iron Bull appeared uncomfortable, having to crouch to avoid his horns scraping the low ceiling.

The man who let us in looked familiar, and after a moment I was able to put a name to the face.

“Ser Barris? From Val Royeaux?”

“The Herald of Andraste?” He sounded as surprised as I, shaking his head in wonder. “The Maker truly has a strange sense of timing. Though I will not say I’m not grateful you are here. If there’s any chance of putting things to rights, it is fitting it should be you.”

“What are you talking about?” Cassandra asked. “What has happened here? What are those… things?”

“It’s a new kind of lyrium, or so the Knight-Captain explained.” Ser Barris’s lip curled in disgust. “It was the Lord Seeker’s command. It was meant to grant us greater powers, give us the ability to restore order and reclaim our purpose.”

“Instead it turned all who took it into those abominations!” another of the templars said.

“Why is the Lord Seeker in command?” I asked, looking between Cassandra and Barris. A terrible feeling sat in my gut, making me anxious.

Cassandra shook her head, frowning. “If he fears a holy mandate…”

“That is what the Lord Seeker claims,” Ser Barris nodded, then sighed. “His actions make no sense. He promised he’d restore the Order’s honor, then marched us here to wait, locking himself in his quarters and refusing all calls to action until your arrival. Templars should know their duty, even when being held from it.”

“‘Bout time one of you gobs said that,” Sera muttered from her perch atop one of the tables. I lifted my brows and shared a significant glance with Solas, but neither of us said a word.

“But that makes no sense.” Cassandra’s frown deepened. “Perhaps if he felt there was no other recourse… but his priority should be to restore order.”

“That has never been the templars’ priority,” Solas said, earning offended looks from several of the templars who shared the space with us. I took a step between him and them.

“How did it get this bad?” I demanded. “Those templars out there, they were…”

“Murdered, viciously, by their own comrades,” Barris answered. “Good men and women who refused to accept the Knight-Captain’s mandates.”

“Mandates?”

“We were asked to accept much, after that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Then we arrived here, and were told to do nothing. To sit on our haunches and wait. Then our highest ranking officers began disappearing. It took weeks before we found out what was happening. Knight-Captain Samson was separating those he deemed loyal enough and taking them into the dungeons for… experiments.”

“Wait,” Cassandra interrupted. “Did you say Samson?”

Barris nodded. “You know the man?”

“Not personally. His name came up during my investigation into the events of the disaster in Kirkwall.” Her eyes darted to Varric, who shook his head and sighed. She continued. “He was reprimanded and discharged in disgrace from the Order years ago. How could he be a Knight-Captain here and now?”

“I don’t know,” Barris shrugged. “I’ve not heard of any discharge. We were told by the Lord Seeker that Samson would be placed in charge of our operation here, and no one thought to question it. He seemed capable enough, and certainly appeared devoted to the cause. But then more of us kept disappearing, and any who questioned the Knight-Captain soon joined them. It wasn’t until one escaped that we found out the whole truth.”

Barris had to pause there, and several of the other templars shifted or sniffed. One spat at the ground and uttered a curse. With a bracing sigh, he continued. “They were being fed the red lyrium, and it was… changing them into… well, you saw for yourselves.”

“Too right, we did,” Sera said. “It’s shite, the lot of it.”

Vivienne nodded. “Surprisingly, I find myself in agreement.”

“I’m guessing once you found out, that’s when the fighting started,” Iron Bull said.

Barris nodded. “We few who couldn’t in good conscience abide this took up arms and tried to free those still held below.”

“And instead of grateful prisoners, you found a wave of those creepy fuckers instead?” From Iron Bull’s tone, it might have been a story he’d heard a dozen times before. I recalled his stories of reeducation centers under the Qun, and shuddered.

Ser Barris nodded.

“Andraste’s sacred ass!” Varric pounded one fist on the table next to him. “Just being near the stuff is bad enough. Now you’re eating it? Just when I think things can’t possibly get any worse, someone always has to go and prove me wrong.”

“Hold on, this makes no sense,” I held out a hand, trying to do the math in my head. “All this must have taken time, but how is that possible? You only left Val Royeaux a day before us, and it took us over a week to get here. With a company of your size, we should have beaten you here, by all accounts.”

“No, that’s not right,” Barris shook his head, confused. “We left Val Royeaux over a month ago.”

I looked to Solas for an answer, but he had none, as perplexed as I. The knot in my gut tightened again. I wanted very much to leave this place. The longer we remained, the more aware I became of a sense of distortion beginning to invade my senses. It wasn’t only the thinness of the Veil. Something about the very air around us felt… wrong. As if everything were tilted on its axis, and moment by moment my equilibrium was being eroded away by some malevolent force that I couldn’t focus on. Whenever I tried, it slipped out of reach, fading into the periphery.

“It doesn’t matter.” Cassandra stepped between us, squaring her shoulders to Barris. “Take us to the Lord Seeker. He sent word to me that he was willing to meet with the Inquisition, so long as the Herald was present.”

“What?” I gasped. “You cannot seriously still think an alliance is possible!”

“I have not brought us all this way to give up now,” she said over her shoulder.

I clenched my fists, furious at my own impotence. I should have run, and now it was too late. The templars were corrupted, literally, inside and out. The evidence of it lay outside bleeding into the soil, and still Cassandra insisted on going through with this. And all my shrieking and rage could do nothing to stop it.

“Any alliance is secondary to stopping this monstrosity from continuing,” Vivienne stepped in, speaking in a placating tone, the picture of reason.

“I don’t think this was the intended outcome,” Barris said. “What happened in Val Royeaux… I don’t think the Lord Seeker planned on the Herald being there. Or maybe he didn’t expect you to be quite so persuasive. It sewed too much dissent.”

“So instead of taking his time and spreading it out, he had to accelerate the time table and kill any dissenters?” Iron Bull phrased it as a question, but like his earlier comments, it was as if he already knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“Who is left?” Cassandra asked.

“You’re looking at them.”

We all pondered the weight of that statement, looking about the room at the muffled shifting bodies with us. The mighty and terrible Templar Order, all fit inside a single half-empty storage shed.

“The officers were taken first, then Knight-Captain Samson started moving down the ranks. By the time we decided to make a move, we were outnumbered. “

“Where is the Knight-Captain now?” Cassandra asked.

“Gone.” From the way Barris’s tone soured, I could tell he disliked knowing he’d escaped. “He must have sensed our dissent. Days before we stormed the dungeons he was called away on urgent business.”

“Called away by whom?” Cassandra frowned, her confusion growing. “The Lord Seeker is here, is he not?”

“Best as we can tell, yes. I’ve no idea who sent the message. No one thought to question it at the time. But he took several heavily-laden covered wagons with him.”

Varric scoffed. “You mean he smuggled out more of those monstrosities right under your noses.” Barris nodded, looking guilty.

Bull shook his head. “Shit, there’s discipline and there’s mindless obedience. You had to have known things weren’t right by then.”

Barris said nothing, but his dour expression said he did not disagree.

“Seeker?”

Varric’s question might have been more pleading, but when I saw the look on his face I followed his gaze to see Cassandra, deep in thought, wearing an expression I knew all too well. The gears were turning behind those burning embers in her eyes. She was forming a plan.

“How many more of those… things… are there?” she asked.

Barris looked devoid of hope as he answered. “Hard to be sure. We were almost a thousand strong when we came here. Only a few dozen of us could be persuaded to fight against what was happening.”

“And most of them died in the fighting before now,” one of the others muttered.

“They send patrols to hunt the rest of us down,” another added. “They don’t eat, or sleep. They just…”

“Kill,” a third said.

Cassandra nodded, looking grim. “Where is the best place to fortify and draw their attention?”

Barris considered that for a moment. “Likely the great hall. There are multiple entrances, but there’s a locking mechanism that can be activated on all but the main doors. And it’s a central point to the fortress. If you want to get their attention, that’s the best place.”

“Are we seriously considering this?” Solas asked.

Cassandra looked around her, for the first time really seeing what remained of the Order. They looked beaten already. Several were injured. If we hadn’t been here, this would have certainly been their last stand.

“And the Lord Seeker?” Cassandra prompted.

“We’ve not seen him since the fighting started, though my guess is he’s still in his quarters,” Barris said.

“Then we need to get there.”

“Absolutely not!” I stepped forward now, pulling at her arm so she was forced to face me. “You’ve seen the state of things out there. The templars are lost! We need to leave before the same happens to us.”

She pulled her arm back with a forceful jerk, and gave me a look of disdain. “You would run? I did not think you capable of such cowardice.”

Solas tensed beside me, but I ignored the sting of her words, knowing them for truth.

“You don’t know me as well as you think,” I answered through clenched teeth.

“Clearly.” Her tone was cold and sharp, a sword straight through my defenses. “We can stop this. We cannot leave this evil to spread. You know that as well as I.”

“There’s no way your Lord Seeker wasn’t complicit in all this,” Iron Bull said.

Cassandra huffed, running a hand through her hair. A smear of blood was left behind on her forehead, an unsettling reminder of the danger. It was all collapsing around her, but she held her ground, adamant beyond reason.

“If those monsters are allowed to leave here, they will only cause more death and destruction. Thedas cannot take another disaster. Everything will collapse, all that we’ve been working toward. All those we’ve tried to help. It will all have been for nothing.”

That gave us pause. She was right, though none of us wanted to admit it. I looked down to Varric, who sighed, giving only a small shrug in response. Iron Bull lifted one brow, saying nothing. Everyone - Vivienne, Sera, even Solas - all met my silent question with resigned, dutiful misery. A choking sob escaped me that might have been a deranged laugh as I realized the truth of it.

While we were arguing, Barris had inched closer to the door, opening it a crack to peer through, watching for signs of attack. Now, he cursed and shut the door again.

“It looks like another patrol is coming,” he said, interrupting us. “If you truly wish to help end this, I can take you to the Lord Seeker, but it has to be now.”

Cassandra set her shoulders with grim resolve, waiting for our response. We were all in reluctant agreement, resigned to share the dark fate of the templars, so long as the evil that corrupted them was stopped. She nodded to Ser Barris.

“Yes, Theresa and I will go with you. The rest of you will go to the Great Hall and begin fortifying it against attack. When we have the Lord Seeker, we will meet you there.”

Barris glanced over his fellow templars, and an understanding passed between them. In a flash, they readied their weapons, their expressions a complex mixture of emotions that added up to one word - duty. We followed their cue, hands gripping staff and hilt and bow. I could feel the conflicting energies of Solas and Vivienne reaching out, holding spells at the ready, and tried to calm my own will enough to do the same.

I looked between the faces of those who had come here with me. Vivienne and Sera were new, but nevertheless had taken on this danger without question. I nodded to them in gratitude, then to the others, taking comfort from Bull’s unshakeable calm, from Varric’s ironic smirk, from Solas’s unfathomable wisdom. And Cassandra…

For a fleeting moment our eyes met, and I saw the pain she was trying so hard to hold in. This was her life once, and it was being destroyed before her very eyes. Even through my own bitterness, it hurt to see her look so lost. I hoped whatever we found in the Lord Seeker’s quarters, it brought her closure.

Once we were as prepared as we could be, Barris unsheathed his own sword and opened the door with a shout. Outside, a wall of bright and terrifying mutations waited for us. Their shrieks nearly overcame what little willpower I had left, and I felt my knees buckle beneath me. I would have fallen but for Cassandra’s steady hand gripping my elbow and pulling me alongside her.

“Follow me!” Barris called over his shoulder, veering away from the others toward the greater courtyard on his right. We followed, ignoring the shouts and clash of steel as templar met templar behind us in bloody battle. Shouts of “For the Order!” were called alongside Bull’s fierce roar, the steady whirring of bolts from Bianca, the twang of Sera’s longbow, and the scent and sound of spellcraft as the Inquisition joined the fray.

I uttered a silent prayer that my friends would survive this as it all faded into white noise behind us.

Turning a corner, Barris led Cassandra and me across the open terrain. We were barely halfway across, heading toward a staircase built into the wall that would take us up to a second level, when a thundering voice called out, making me halt in my tracks.

“Herald of Andraste. It’s time we were better acquainted.”

It was deafening, and I fell to the ground in stumbling surprise.

“Theresa!” Cassandra was at my side in an instant, eyes wide with concern. “Are you hurt?”

“What was that?” I gasped.

“What do you mean?”

“That voice!” I rose to my feet, looking all around me but seeing no one else, other than the multitude of bodies strewn over the ground.

“There was no voice,” Barris said. “Could you have heard the fighting?”

“No, something called out to me. It sounded like…” I shook my head. “Nevermind, let’s just keep moving.”

We continued on, though now Cassandra made sure to stay by my side, a cloud of worry darkening her face. We sprinted upstairs to the higher battlements in panting silence, following Ser Barris left, then right, then right again, through twists and turns that he clearly knew well as we came closer to the Lord Seeker’s quarters.

Until we rounded a corner and ran straight into another patrol. A group of three infected templars barred our passage through the hall. I cursed, readying my staff to fight, but Barris stepped forward, blocking my line of sight.

“The Lord Seeker’s room is just ahead.” He did not look back as he stared down the enemies, who had once been his comrades. “Left at the end of this corridor and all the way to the end.”

Cassandra looked to him with concern. “What are you---?”

He let out a great shout and charged forward, plunging his sword deep into the nearest red templar as he bashed at the next one with his tower shield. Pulling his sword free, he sliced through the neck in one clean sweep, and the head toppled to the floor, followed by the body. Turning his attention to the next enemy, he threw his weight into his shield and forced it up against the wall, clearing a narrow path on one side.

“Now!”

Cassandra grabbed my arm and pulled me after her as she charged forward.

“But what about---”

“---Trust him!” she shouted, not breaking stride and throwing her shield up to barricade us both against the clawing hands that reached out to stop our progress.

The fighting continued behind us as we made our way alone down the hall. Once more, another was risking their life on my behalf. I added Barris’s name to my silent prayer. We reached the other side and turned left. A shriek and tearing of claws on wood told us one had made it past Barris. We did not slow. I didn’t dare look back.

The door at the end of the hall stood shut, and Cassandra surged us forward, her grip at my arm like a vice. The clawing sounds behind were growing closer. I gasped for air, trying to keep up. Our boots pounded against the wooden floor as the acrid smell of corrupted lyrium grew stronger.

We reached the end of the hall and Cassandra did not break stride, butting one shoulder against the door with all her gathered momentum. It gave easily, both of us flying through into the small room within. I flung an arm behind me, pointing my staff at the creature and unleashing a freezing blast that went wild and struck stone. I then tripped at the sudden halt and nearly plowed straight into Lord Seeker Lucius.

“Finally!” he said in a voice that was nothing like how he’d sounded in Val Royeaux. But it was a voice I’d heard before.

Cassandra slammed the door shut behind us with a grunt, lowering the bar not a moment before a heavy thud from the other side shook its hinges and left a splintering dent at its center. Lucius moved not an inch, smiling wickedly down his nose to meet my gaze, looking for all the world as though he’d been waiting here for me. Under that malevolent stare, I felt an involuntary shudder spread down my spine - the same I’d felt in Val Royeaux.

In the instant our eyes met, I knew what that feeling meant at last. This was a terrible mistake.

Before any of us could utter a word, he lunged and grabbed me with both hands, wrenching me from Cassandra’s side and lifting me off the ground with little effort. He pulled me backward, and I struggled fruitlessly in his grip, feeling myself falling forward, then down, down, down.

Into darkness.

Chapter Text

When the darkness cleared, I was alone.

I was no longer in Therinfal Redoubt - one glance around told me that clear enough. It was the only thing made clear in that moment; all else was obscured, as hazy as my surroundings. The air pulsed in time with the headache pounding between my temples. It took a moment to reorient to any sense of direction, but presently the pulsing - and the headache - faded. What little I could make out seemed to indicate a corridor, long and narrow, with nothing behind me and nothing ahead.

I still had my staff. I gripped it firmly in one hand, taking first one tentative step forward, then another. Every sense was heightened to perceive any threat, but dulled by the utter lack of sensoria around me. With each step, my surroundings shifted; the walls nearest me came into sharper focus, blurring away into black fog only a few paces ahead. Turning, I saw they did the same behind me, though that spot had been clear only a moment before. I was the eye of the storm. I might have walked for an hour or a minute, but eventually the hall began to shift again, and shapes took form ahead.

My eyes found the light first, desperate for a focal point amidst the void. At first I couldn’t make sense of what I saw - a flickering outline of oddly shaped mounds. But proximity revealed the dancing light for flame, hard to recognize from a distance without the telltale orange and yellow hues. Instead, it was so pale it was nearly white, as if all the color had been burned away. But I felt no heat, even when the first of the burning statues was directly in front of me.

No, not statues.

The bodies smelled exactly as they had at the Temple of Sacred Ashes; sickly sweet and disturbingly reminiscent of cooked meat. Many were kneeling or throwing their arms up in futile attempts to fend off the coming doom, forever frozen in their last moments. Flames danced at their feet, melting them into the ground and turning them into horrifying permanent fixtures. Not all were intact; here was a limb, there a skull, there a torso.

I fought back the wave of nausea, doubled over with hands braced on my knees as I took in deep, gulping breaths. I didn’t dare look too closely at any of the bodies, for fear that I would recognize two of them.

Now the heat came, blazing and dry, and for miles around the land was blackened and laid bare. The walls had disappeared. Wherever I looked, I saw the aftermath of death and destruction. And above it all, the open maw of the Breach growled its insatiable menace, its dark green the only color in all this chaos. It rumbled, and my mark answered, spreading searing pain through my hand and up my arm, until I cried out and collapsed to my knees.

“Please no,” I thought. Or thought I thought. The words echoed aloud around me despite nothing for them to echo off of. Despite me not speaking them. Sweat poured down my brow and my breathing came in ragged gasps. “Don’t bring me back here. I don’t want to die…”

The pain stopped as suddenly as it began, and the Breach quieted. The flames softened to grey embers, and the charred bodies melted into the black fog once more.

A gasp from ahead drew my attention. Two figures stood silent and still at what appeared to be the end of this endless corridor. I rose to my feet and stepped past the field of embers, peering through the haze to see the outline of familiar fur pauldrons and a puffed shirt with a cinched waist.

Cullen and Josephine stood before me, staring blankly forward, neither acknowledging my presence. The bright gold of Josephine’s blouse was here a dull brown, and her rich tawny skin was sapped of all its warmth. Cullen’s wheat-blond hair looked dingy, the light gone from his honeyed eyes. It was as if all brightness was sucked out of them.

“What is this?” I asked them.

They couldn’t possibly be here… Wherever “here” might be. It felt like the Fade, but different somehow. Before I could make sense of it, Leliana stepped into my vision, coming to stand between the other two. Like them, she was the same as I knew her, but… lessened. Dimmed. I glanced around, but could not see where she might have come from.

“Is this form useful?” she asked, but it was not her voice. “Will it let me know you?” It seemed to be an amalgamation of many voices, speaking in unison, all with different tones and inflections, such a cacophony of accents and pitches that I had to concentrate to even make out the words. “Everything tells me about you,” she - it - continued, walking over to Cullen and pulling out a knife. “Even this. Watch.”

She came up behind Cullen and pulled his head back to expose his throat, bringing the knife up to it. He made no move to resist. The apple in his throat didn’t so much as twitch as it might have if he had reflexively swallowed or tensed. He was a mindless puppet in her hands.

“Don’t!” I tensed, holding out my staff, but neither of them moved. Cullen continued to stare blankly ahead, oblivious to the events around him. Leliana peered over his shoulder to watch me with rapt fascination, but her hand made no further move, the knife poised delicately at her captive’s jugular.

All at once, sense righted itself, and I remembered the connection I’d made when standing in the Lord Seeker’s quarters.

“Demon,” I said to the thing with Leliana’s form. “Are you trying to frighten me? What is it you want of me?”

It said nothing for a moment. Cullen’s eyes swiveled to lock with mine, but no other muscle on his body so much as flinched. Those eyes kept watching me as, with one smooth motion, Leliana brought the knife across his throat with a sickening wet sound. A spray of blood gushed forth from the wound. He fell to the ground, limp and expressionless, eyes still open but no longer seeing.

I turned away, breaking contact with that horrible emptiness.

“It isn’t real,” I thought to myself. Once again the words echoed through the air.

“‘Are you trying to frighten me?’” the demon mimicked, imitating my tone and emphasis perfectly, while still lost in the myriad of voices speaking as one. “‘It isn’t real.’” It twisted Leliana’s face into an expression of mockery, one brow lifted in amusement, her mouth quirked just so. I’d seen that expression often over the war table as she and Josephine playfully teased Cullen, and it was perfectly emulated.

A delicate giggle came from the form of Josephine, who held that same mocking expression adapted for her own face. The giggle was exactly as I remembered, strange to hear buried in the swarm of voices. It stepped forward as Josephine, while Leliana walked away, becoming part of the haze from whence she came. It held aloft the same dagger Leliana had used, still stained with Cullen’s blood.

“Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker,” it said.

I made no movements as it paced around me, keeping my gaze straight ahead. It took great effort not to stare at the crumpled heap that looked like Cullen. Maker, even her footsteps sounded right, the characteristic click of her heels on hard stone pulling to mind the image of the chantry’s main hall in Haven. But then the footsteps stopped, and I felt a looming presence behind me.

“Do you know what the Inquisition can become?” Iron Bull’s voice now, speaking directly into my ear. The innate power of his massive form crowded me as I struggled to keep still. “You’ll see. When I am done, the Elder One will kill you, and ascend. Then I will be you.”

Then silence. I turned, and saw nothing.

“‘The Elder One’?” I asked. That was new. “Who is that? Do they have something to do with the Breach?”

“‘Do they have something to do with the Breach?’” Again, the mimicry, nearly perfect inflections in line with my own. It was trying to learn.

“This Elder One wants to become divine?” I tried a new tac. “The oldest conceit of mortals.”

A light chuckle sounded from my left. When the form reappeared it was Varric, still holding the dagger, using it to pick its nails.

“He knows!” it said, amused at my observation. “He was there.”

It came forward to stand before me, now as Cullen, his face coming within an inch of mine. I caught a whiff of something sharp and forestry - Josephine’s healing ointment. Except now it was layered with leather and tobacco, a combination of aromas that was very singularly Cullen. His closeness was unbearably intimate, and I retreated a step.

“Glory is coming,” it said with Cullen’s voice. “And he wants you to serve him like everyone else - by dying in the right way.”

“Keep talking,” I thought, but again my inner mind echoed aloud.

The Cullen form’s expression shifted to a self-satisfied smirk as he retreated. Shifting from behind warned me of a different body. Full plate against leather, movements sure and decisive. A Nevarran accent took priority amid the myriad voices.

“I am not your toy.”

I turned to see Cassandra’s face twisted into her favored scowl.

“I am Envy. And I will know you!” It clenched the same dagger as the others as it resumed its pacing. “Tell me, Herald, in your mind.” It circled around to a shadow that shifted into one of the flaming corpses. As I watched, it rose and…

“No!”

The face was marred and burned, but I recognized my brother. Dear Max, stern Max, who always took his responsibilities so seriously, brow furrowed in concentration over his lessons as Declan and I tried to convince him to come play in the garden…

The dagger found its home in his back, and he uttered a pained grunt as blood poured from the wound, so dark it was almost as black as his charred flesh. I shut my eyes, but the sight was burned into the backs of my lids. Tears came, seeking to wash it away.

“Tell me what you think.”

“Please stop!” I opened my eyes and had to blink away the curtain of tears before I saw the demon was no longer before me. I turned to see it crouched over the war table from Haven, leaning in a way so exacting I had to remind myself it was not the real Cassandra.

“Tell me what you feel.”

Max gasped in pain again, and I turned, intending to catch him as he collapsed. But he crumpled to the ground before me, and as I looked down I saw in my hands the bloodied dagger.

“Tell me what you see.”

I threw it to the ground and backed away, coming up against the table behind me, feeling it dig into my back.

“It isn’t real,” I repeated, summoning every ounce of will I could muster to make the images go away.

And they were gone.

The corridor was empty now, covered again in the dark haze that obscured shapes and made shadows of nothing. To my right was a doorway. More pale firelight guttered, casting frenzied shapes on the ground. I stepped through, and saw myself, centered between a circle of soldiers in unmarked armor, swords all pointed at where I sat, unconscious and chained to the ground. Cassandra stood over me, looking down, an unspoken accusation clouding all reason in her face.

Exactly as I remembered it from when I first awoke in the chantry dungeons of Haven. But no, not quite. Leliana had been there, hadn’t she?

In the same moment I thought this, Leliana appeared beside Cassandra, one hand outstretched to her, holding her back with calm detachment. Her expression was calculated as she looked down at me, studying me.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” Cassandra was saying.

From the form that was me on the ground, no words came. I looked so small, huddled into myself, blinking in terrified confusion up at the angry glares all around me.

“Explain this!” Cassandra reached down, as before, and grabbed my left hand, wrenching it forward with little care for the chains still holding me to the ground.

“I… can’t! I don’t know what that is!” I tried to plead. Now I was chained to the ground myself, no longer watching but part of the memory.

“You’re lying!”

She moved to strike me and I shut my eyes instinctively against the killing blow.

No blow landed.

When I opened my eyes, my surroundings had shifted again. I was in a courtyard, in a garden I had not seen in years. Decades. Rather than guttering torches, bright sun filtered through a canopy of trees, and the dancing shadows were transformed to a patchwork of light over soft grass. My left palm no longer glowed, and as I looked down I saw my hands were smaller, younger. I was smaller too; still just a child.

My hair was shorter, pulled back into a low horsetail, and my clothes were loose fitting but finely woven and intricately embroidered. I tugged at the high collar, hating how it itched. I never liked the color red, either, but Mother insisted it favored me.

Crouched before me was my father, his winning smile belying the sad gravity in his eyes. His high cheekbones and golden-brown skin were a match for my own, as was his dark, thick hair that fell in gentle waves to his shoulders. Between us, lying in a charred ruin on the ground, was the remains of an acorn I’d thrown at my brother, Declan. We were playing “mages and templars”, and as always I’d been relegated to be the mage. The acorn had been a projectile, thrown in play, an imagined flameball.

Until it had burst to flame for real. And Father, who had been watching us play in laughing delight only a moment ago, now was staring in growing horror at the small blackened object, an omen that he was about to lose his youngest daughter.

He reached out, wrapping my tiny hands in his, and he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

“We will keep it between us, won’t we? Our little secret.”

“Demon!” I cried out to the peaceful sunlight above, my childlike voice twisted into fury and pain from wounds long thought closed. “Do you take pleasure in this?”

“‘Do you take pleasure in this?’” My father’s voice, imitating mine.

I ran from the courtyard, my father’s delighted laughter following me as I pushed through the first door I came to. As I did, the air shifted again.

I was still small, maybe a year or two older, dressed in more formal garments that were no more comfortable. Mother’s hand gripped mine as she led me over the gold and red runner toward a giant carved statue of Andraste, her flaming sword held aloft, so high it brushed the rafters far above. Around us, the audience chamber of Val Royeaux’s Grand Cathedral stretched much higher than should have been possible.

The Sunburst Throne sat empty at Her feet. Mother’s grip tightened around mine as she gazed upon it with a hunger that made me fidget. I longed to be anywhere but here. As I watched, the throne grew larger, pulling me toward it as the ground tilted and I scrambled, frantic to find purchase on the smooth marble floor. Somehow, Mother held her position, standing larger than life behind me and glaring down in disappointment as I reached out to her for help.

“You must stop being so selfish, my dear,” she said, shaking her head sadly. I clung to her skirts as the ground became nearly vertical beneath me. Tears stung my eyes and fell down my cheeks as I pleaded with her to let me leave this place, but she ignored me. With one swift motion, she jerked her skirts from my grip and I fell.

My stomach lurched as I looked down to see that the throne had transformed to a pyre engulfed in flames. I screamed.

But then I landed on cold stone, and all around me was darkness again. The shadows morphed into a city in ruins. The flames that had threatened to engulf me a moment before now ate away at buildings in the distance. Inquisition soldiers stood before me, blood-smeared and battle-worn but unhurt. One held a torn flag bearing a golden lion on a blue field - the emblem of Orlais.

“Our enemies surrendered unconditionally,” he said.

“The Inquisition’s strength rivals any nation in Thedas,” added another.

“Our reach begins to match my ambition,” I heard myself say, though the words were not mine. “But we will strive for more.”

Wrenching control of myself back, I shouted into the aether.

“Is this perverse fantasy yours, demon? Are you so simple as to desire mere conquest?”

“Accusing…” the chorus called from everywhere and nowhere. “Confrontational, but studying. Trying to find my weakness. Is that the woman you are?”

More voices floated to the surface, sounding their echoes around me as I tried to find purchase, feeling myself losing balance again. Each soldier stepped forward with a new voice to add to the chorus, in voices I recognized.

“Such wasted potential. You must think of more than just your selfish desires.”

“You cannot continue being selfish with your sense of injustice.”

“I thought you could be more, but clearly you still belong to the Circle.”

“You killed the Divine, and the Maker will hold you responsible, whether it be here or in the darkest depths of the Void!”

“You would run? I did not think you capable of such cowardice.”

“Maybe the templars didn’t need to bother with you at all.”

“Pathetic---”

“Weak---”

“Dangerous---”

“Wasteful---”

“Cowardly---”

I was on the ground now, curled into myself, hugging my legs, trying to drown out the noise, weeping openly, helpless beneath the torrent. Every new voice swarmed around me like a maelstrom, and I was trapped in its center, buffeted by the force of my own self-hatred and doubt until ragged sobs were torn from me, lost amidst the din but feeding it all the same. There was nothing I could do to stop the storm.

And then a new voice cut through it all, calm and sad. A voice I did not recognize.

“You’re hurting, helpless, hasty. What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?”

The storm paused, and I could feel a sense of surprise as attention was directed elsewhere. I had an impression of a fly being swatted away by an annoyed hand. When the demon spoke next, I felt rather than heard that it was not directed at me, but at this new voice.

“What are you? This is my place! Get out!”

All the voices ceased then, and I was left alone once more. Eventually, I summoned the strength to stand, and saw that my surroundings had changed again. I was in a room I recognized all too well. Shelves of books lined ancient stone walls, encircling me and stretching up to a second level, then a third, each level separated by a wooden spiral staircase and plankboard balcony. The familiar scent of parchment and leather and binding glue came back to me in a wave of nostalgia that made my heart ache. Tables with long, low benches that ran their lengths took up space in the center of the grand room, and a stream of warm sunlight stretched down through one of four high, barred windows that hugged the ceiling far above. From beyond came the endless, rhythmic pounding of waves on the rocks surrounding the ancient fortress.

One section of shelving looked newer than the others, and I knew without looking that behind those shelves the stones would still bear the scorch marks of a fire long since doused.

Faxhold’s library. The last place I’d felt safe, and even here there were scars.

Movement behind me drew my attention. I turned, feeling the swirling of cumbersome Circle robes move with me; I was dressed as an Enchanter once again. I saw a young, frail boy dressed in baggy, threadbare linen and patchwork leathers, his face obscured behind messy, straw-blond hair. Or no, was he a man? I squinted, trying to ascertain his age, but he was gaunt and roughshod, making an accurate estimate impossible. Though I couldn’t place him in my memory, I had the odd feeling I’d seen him before.

He did not make eye contact. When I approached, wary, he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“Wait!” I called out, but he was gone. A moment later, however, I heard his voice again, disembodied but nearby.

“Envy is hurting you,” he said. Or it. I hadn’t decided yet whether this was another trick of the demon’s. “Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake. I want to help.” It paused, then added, as if correcting, “You, not Envy.”

That last comment came from directly above me, and I looked up, startled to see him standing upside down along the underside of the second floor balcony, as calmly as if he were upright. It was disorienting, to say the least.

“Who are you?” I asked. “Have I seen you before?”

“I’ve been watching.”

Movement atop a scaffolding, gone before I could turn my head; that had been him.

Sandy blond hair, lying amidst wheat, dried blood and dirt smudged in…

“That’s not me.” His voice cut through my thoughts again, darting and quick as a dagger. “He was lost, too, but not like me. I’m Cole. We’re inside you. Or, I am. You’re… always inside you.”

“Inside me?” I twisted around, craning my neck to get a better view of him. “We’re not in the Fade?”

“You’re frozen. Envy is trying to take your face. I heard it and reached out, and then in, and then I was here. It’s easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you’re hearing. But I’m here, hearing, helping. I hope.”

He paced as he talked, and I followed beneath. Together, we walked the circumference of the library, like an inverted pool reflection. I wasn’t sure which of us was the original and which was the reflection. It was a disconcerting thought, so I stopped and sat down at one of the benches.

“Envy hurt you, is hurting you. I tried to help, then I was here, in the hearing. It’s… it’s not usually like this.”

He sounded as though he himself were confused about the situation, trying to make sense of it by puzzling it aloud. I didn’t blame him; I could barely keep up myself.

“The least I could ask is for things to make sense in my own head,” I thought, forgetting that my thoughts were echoed aloud here. Or maybe they only sounded that way, since I was apparently inside my own mind. So much of this felt reminiscent of my Harrowing that it was easy to forget this was not the Fade as I had originally assumed.

“It doesn’t work like that,” the boy - Cole - said, with a shy half smile that was somehow also sad.

The doorway that was the only way in and out of the library suddenly came alight, and a scream was heard from down the hall. I tensed, half expecting the sound of steel being unsheathed next, but nothing came. Cole heard it too, and seemed to be staring it down, daring it to make another sound. When none came, he turned back.

But now he was upright, sitting atop the table next to me, cross-legged and slouched, hands limp in his lap. I jumped, but he did not make a move toward me, and I relaxed, more curious than nervous. I was now sure this boy was a spirit, though of what nature I had yet to determine. Solas would know; I tried to think of how he might approach this. The spirit seemed benevolent, at least for now, and I wondered what else he might know.

“I was watching,” he continued, distracted, staring at a knot in the wood of the table’s surface, examining it as if it were a painting he found beautiful. “I watch. The templars knew you when you arrived. They were relieved, but not like the Lord Seeker.”

“The Lord Seeker is an Envy demon, trying to possess me.”

“Yes, it twisted the commanders, forced their fury, their fight. They’re red inside.”

“The red lyrium,” I nodded, understanding. “And you’re… what? Just a well-meaning spirit who can enter minds?”

“If it bothers you, I can make you forget.”

He said it so plaintively that I was unsure for a moment if he meant it literally or not. I answered, still not entirely certain, “No, I would prefer not. I think I’ll need all of my faculties to make it out of here.”

“Maybe later,” he said with a small nod.

Something else occurred to me. If he’d meant that literally, then…

“Do you mean my physical body is frozen in time, back in the waking world?”

“Thoughts are fast,” he confirmed, after a manner. “We’re here. Outside, a blade is still falling, hanging in the air like a sunset.”

“Poetic.” I couldn’t help the note of sarcasm, but he looked pleased with the comment all the same. “If no time is passing, then does that mean I’m safe?”

“No. It would be good if you got out.”

I sighed, looking around again, though so far nothing else had changed. “Alright Cole. If you really want to help, how do I get out?”

“It’s your head. I hoped you’d know how to stop it.”

“... Fair enough.”

I rose, caught between laughing and crying at the absurdity of it all. If this were the Fade, I would know how to leave, how to counter the demon’s attacks. I would have my magic. Did I even have magic here? Experimentally, I created a spark of flame in my hand with the same ease as if I were in the waking world. Easier, even.

Hm.

Another thought later, and a great lightning bolt came down through the ceiling and struck one of the other tables, splitting it in two and leaving a scattering of smoke and sparks in its wake. It hadn’t cost even the tiniest bit of energy. Magic here, like everything else, wasn’t real. It was only a matter of thought.

Perhaps I could make that work for me.

“It won’t work.” Cole, knowing what I was thinking, shook his head. “It’s not about fighting. Hurting him only teaches him. He wants to know you, wants to be you.”

“At least one of us does.”

“That won’t work either.” It almost sounded like a reprimand, and I had to smile at the stern look on his face, though he still wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“You’re right.” I sighed again, trying to puzzle through this predicament. “If this is my mind, why can’t I shape it how I please?”

“All of this is Envy.” Cole hopped down from his seat, pacing the circumference of the room again, but from the ground this time. He spoke thoughtfully, pondering aloud just as I was. “People, places, power… If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more. Being one person is hard. Being too many, more and more, and Envy breaks down. You break out.”

“So if we keep moving, keep forcing it to expand, we can tire it out?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I hope it helps. It’s better than sitting here, waiting to lose your face.”

On that, we certainly agreed.

With nothing else for it, I crossed the room and passed through the door. Beyond was a familiar corridor, exactly as I’d expected it to be, though still with the faded color palette that permeated every aspect of this place. Picking a random direction, I turned right and started walking. The path curved slightly as I made my way clockwise around the central tower that was the primary focal point of the converted lighthouse. I passed doors on my right side, which did not fit with my memory. The whole tower was dedicated to the library - at least, all except the very top floor. There should have been only one door, one room, but I could see that within each door was a separate space that did not exist in the real tower. What’s more, they were closer together than they should be to accomodate for the space within, and more of them than should have been possible given the space allowed.

As I passed by the first of these doors, I peered inside and beheld a group of four children of varying ages. I knew them immediately.

Maxwell, tall and straight-backed, black hair grown long and pulled into a neat, low bun at the base of his neck. He was nearly a man, around seventeen, wearing an elaborately embroidered doublet and tunic, as befitting the heir of the Trevelyan line. Evelyn was next, appearing no older than fourteen, dressed comfortably, but with her chestnut hair styled in an elaborate updo; trying to emulate Mother even as a child, keenly aware of her status as the oldest daughter. That would make Declan about ten, I calculated. There he stood, charming and bright, face half hidden beneath his wavy brown locks. He held aloft a stick meant to represent a mighty sword, ready to strike at evildoers. Or mages, as was our favorite game.

And there I was, barely seven, with hose torn from one of my attempts to climb the tree in our courtyard, face smudged with dirt, hair a tangled mass of raven black. In my hand I held an acorn.

All four of them looked out at me from their garden, staring mutely, expressions blank. Cold sunlight streamed from an unknown source above them, casting dappled shadows through the leaves of the tree beneath which they stood. Their eyes followed me as I passed across the open doorway and out of sight.

The second door showed me myself again, still a child, bent over a thick text, wearing clean clothes and a bored expression. I was far less happy, trapped inside with my studies when I’d rather be out playing. An aging scholar bent over me and forced me to recite a passage over and over again until I could say it all perfectly. Mother watched from the edge of the room, arms crossed, chin lifted, words of disapproval quick on her tongue with every mistake. The recitation was a passage from the Chant - Apotheosis, some uncaring part of my memory told me - and my child-voice stumbled over the rhythm as she recited.

“The sky grew dark. And the ground began to tremble as if in mortal dread. / The crowd before the gates, both Tevinter and faithful, fell silent. / The heavens wept, and yet no rain could extinguish the flame / Which was now a funeral pyre…”

I passed by.

The next door showed me much the same scene, and yet altogether different. I was older, a teenager, wearing Circle robes and bent over a scroll. I looked anything but bored, my mouth moving as I recited the incantation on the parchment before me, hands awkwardly going through the motions being described on the page. An enchanter stood over me now, not a scholar, and she was smiling as she watched me. Her hand lay upon my shoulder as she pointed to a particular section of the parchment, pulling my attention to a previously overlooked detail.

Before I could see what she was trying to show me, I passed by the doorway and they were out of sight.

“Family.”

The voice beside me made me jump. I had forgotten Cole was still with me.

“No, not family,” I answered. “Not anymore.”

“Home, hearth, wholesome, happy to learn but hating to be led. Leash forgotten with each new discovery. You had the illusion of freedom, but the bars still cast shadows over your path.”

“Won’t the demon be drawing on these memories?” I asked, feeling uncomfortably exposed.

“Envy is hungry, so we will give him all he wants and more, more, until he bursts open and you are free again.”

“Right,” I nodded slowly, understanding the meaning behind his words for the most part. “More memories then.”

But Cole shook his head. “These are easy. Small. Light. They don’t weigh as much as the others. It’s not enough, he’s too hungry. He needs to weigh more.”

“What are you saying?” I was beginning to grow frustrated. “These aren’t enough to… stretch him?”

“You need the heavier parts. Then he will stretch.”

“I don’t think I want to know what that means…”

I was drawn to the next doorway, where a dull glow emanated, light that swayed and staggered in a menacing rhythm. My heart sank as all at once I understood what Cole meant by “heavy”. Hugging myself, I approached the doorway, knowing what I would see within.

Inside was a raging inferno where the library had been. It was fierce, hungrily consuming the dry fuel it craved as apprentices and mages and enchanters alike all struggled to contain its appetite. One boy’s robes caught fire and he fell to the ground, frantically batting and kicking at it to get it out before it reached his tender flesh. Unnoticed by the others, a small elf boy crouched huddled in one corner, tears streaming down his face as he watched their futile efforts with growing horror. After a long moment, he tore himself from the floor and darted out of the room.

I flinched, but he passed harmlessly through me as if I weren’t there and tore down the hall as fast as his spindly legs could carry him. I gave chase, compelled by some unknown instinct. Soon, he came up against a wall where the hall inexplicably ended, and he stopped dead. When I caught up to him, he was stock still, almost lifeless. With growing dread, I reached out, needing to see…

He turned to face me, expression blank, eyes staring straight up into mine. All pain and fear was gone from him, and his forehead bore an emblazoned disc, burned directly into the flesh.

With a gasp, I tore away from him and threw myself up the flight of steps that had appeared to my left, wanting nothing more than to be free of that unrelenting empty stare.

“THAT THING CAN’T HELP YOU. I WILL SEE MORE.”

The demon’s voice echoed from all directions at once, shouting abuse so loud that I collapsed and had to clap my hands over my ears, trying to drown it out, to no avail.

Then there was Cole beside me, blocking the sounds, making them bearable. When the noises stopped, he held out a hand to me. I took it, rising and resuming my ascent, coming out onto another hallway. It resembled the second floor of the central hall as I remembered, but different. Dark smoke made the edges softer, less solid. The stone was muted grey, the colorful rugs spread over the floor were little more than smudges of different shades of muddled brown. The smell of ash and burning wood and paper hung as heavy as the fog, and I had to pause to fight a wave of nausea before continuing.

More doorways, but this time they were in front of me, so that I had to pass fully through each room before continuing on.

The first room was dark, but not from any supernatural influence. It was night, and a thin sliver of moonlight peeked through a high window. Below, nestled in the narrow space between a statue of some heroic figure and the wall, were two bodies, pressed close against each other, moving rhythmically, pants and moans obscured as much as possible against each others’ shoulders, mindful of any noise while lost in their pleasure. One of them gasped a once-familiar name. The sound of it pulled at my heart in a way I’d not felt in years.

“Taeris.” Cole’s voice next to me, and I realized with horror he was seeing all this too. “He almost felt like home, for a time. His eyes reminded you of storm clouds.”

“This is not for you to see!” I cried, feeling a flush creep up my face as I pulled at his arm and hurried him past this room, my face growing warmer as the sounds behind us built to a muffled crescendo just as we passed beneath another doorway.

The next room was just as dark, but only one body sat here. Alone, crouched against the wall of a small cell, she hugged her knees and hummed softly, lowly, so that she would not catch the ire of the guard on duty that night. The humming was meant to drown out the crashing waves, louder here where the cells jutted out over the rocks. Dampness clung to the walls, and the smell of mold replaced the smoke and ash. Every so often, a cold mist would waft through the open window from an especially large wave. The figure shivered; there was little to defend against the wet cold. Across the wall behind her were hatch marks. I counted twelve.

“There were more, before the end.” Cole again. “You counted much higher than that.”

“Forty,” I said, swallowing, feeling the tremors in my hands starting. “I counted to forty before they let me out.”

Sudden weakness overcame me, and I sank to the floor, my limbs failing. A sharp pain stabbed at my insides. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, all-consuming, piercing my very core, as though I was being eaten from the inside out.

“No!”

The cry was Cole’s. Beside me, he crouched and began rocking on his knees, breathing heavily and hugging himself. I reached out to him but paused, caught between compassion and fear. His distant melancholy was replaced with rising panic; he appeared now so frail and vulnerable that I longed to pull him into a comforting embrace, but didn’t dare risk such a trespass.

“Cole?” I asked gently, trying to comfort with voice where I was afraid to with touch.

“Please, we have to leave,” he begged, his eyes wide with raw fear as he stared at the ground. “It’s too heavy, my weight doesn’t belong here, it’ll drag you down and then Envy will have what he wants!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to understand. “What’s wrong? Let me help you!”

But he only shook his head, mumbling over and over to himself, too low and fast for me to make out. The pain in my stomach spread throughout my entire body. Everything hurt, and even the slightest movement required tremendous effort. I felt my energy eroding away, and I knew that if we remained we would die. It took all of my will, but I somehow managed to pull us both to our feet, steadying us against the wall. Using that as support, I pulled us out of that room, step by agonizing step, and into the next.

Almost the second we crossed the threshold, the pain and weakness left, and my strength returned. Cole’s murmuring stopped, and he looked about frantically for a moment, touching his face, his hands, his chest, as if confirming he was still there. After a moment his eyes shut and he breathed deep. Presently, he grew calmer.

“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly, still looking down at the floor. “That wasn’t Envy.”

“Then what was it?” I asked, but he shook his head.

“Keep going,” was all he would say.

The next room was altogether different, and yet the scene was very much the same. Instead of empty cell walls and cold stone floors, there were tapestries hung, and rugs of intricate design kept bare feet from touching hard, smooth wood. A four-poster bed took up much of one wall, and shelves lined another. A side board held a pitcher and bowl for washing, and I knew the open doorway through which we’d come would normally have held the dressing room, where my childhood clothes were kept. The door at the opposite end led out.

Or it would have, except it was shut. Locked from the outside, I knew. There, hunched on the floor against those shelves, sat my child-self, hugging her knees, hair hanging over her face.

“To hide the tears,” Cole said. “Tears that fell but no one saw, no one cared. You’re ruined now, you ruined everything. Shut her away, give her away, throw her away. But you’re wrong, that’s not why she did it.”

Then a woman stood there, tall and proud, ash-blonde hair pulled up in elaborate swoops and braids in ways hair should not sit. I’d always wondered if it was will alone that kept her styles in place. My mother stared down at the child I’d been, arms crossed, one graceful brow arched ever so slightly, mouth turned down at the corners as it so often was when she looked at me. I’d come to know that disapproving glare well as a child. But this wasn’t how I’d last seen her.

The room shifted, fell out of focus, and when the edges sharpened again the shape had changed to show the great dining hall of the Trevelyan estate. The ceiling stretched high above us, sporting an enormous chandelier with so many candles I never was able to count them all before growing bored.

Mother was still standing, though her position had changed. She had just risen from the table, her chair toppled onto its back behind her. Her arms were held out protectively before her, and her expression…

She looked terrified.

I stood on the other side of the dining table, child-sized fists clenched at my sides, chest heaving in deep, panicking breaths. Around me were my father, Declan, Evelyn, and a number of servants. All of us stared aghast at the table in the center of the room.

It was split in two, a charred canyon cutting through the wood, forced apart by the lightning bolt that had just appeared out of thin air. The lightning bolt I had conjured, summoned unknowingly, so desperate was my fear and rage in that moment. Mother’s plans for me were too awful to comprehend - life as a Chantry Sister? All my days spent trapped indoors muttering ancient songs and having no room to breathe? I wanted nothing to do with it. But in my refusal, I had cemented a prison of another kind as my only future.

“You didn’t mean to break it,” Cole said.

“But I did.”

Taking his hand once more, we passed through that room, but the other side of the next archway held only a wall.

“Keep going up.” Cole pointed at the stairs winding around the curve of the tower and out of sight ahead.

We went up.

I blinked, and found myself surrounded by templars, before and behind, silent and grave. Hands rested on hilts as they escorted me up those tower steps to the room at the very top - the room reserved for important ceremonies and rites. The room dreaded by every mage in Faxhold Circle.

This is it, I remembered thinking at the time. They’re finally sick of me. This is where I lose myself. I’m going to be turned into one of those mindless freaks.

At the top of the stairs was a door, unlocked by the Knight-Commander, who stepped through and held it open. The others escorted me inside, where more templars stood in stiff formation in a circle. They surrounded First Enchanter Geraldine and all of her Senior Enchanters. My mentor, Lydia, was among them, smiling reassuringly despite the worry in her eyes. All focus in the room was on a podium before them, which held a bowl of glowing liquid, a blue so bright it almost hurt to look at - all the more vivid for its contrast with the drab, lusterless surroundings. I’d grown so used to the muted appearance of everything I’d nearly forgotten what beauty was held in color.

But that blue held another significance for me, as a mage. My face grew cold and my heart raced.

“What is this?” I asked in a quivering voice.

“Prepare yourself,” First Enchanter Geraldine said, gesturing to the bowl as I was led to the center of the circle. She nodded to the Knight-Commander, who pulled out a scroll and began reciting from the Chant.

“‘Blessed are they who stand before / The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. / Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just…’”

And then I understood. This was my Harrowing. Cold dread swept over me, freezing me to the spot when I wanted nothing more than to turn and run.

I’m not ready! It’s too soon! This isn’t right!

My mind cried out these protests, but there was nothing I could do. I was only sixteen, barely even past my basic lessons. This couldn’t be right. My whole body began to tremble, and they had to hold me upright by my arms as my legs gave out. The Enchanters moved in sync, arms sweeping in practiced motions as the vapor from the bowl slowly rose and reached out to me. I struggled, but gauntletted hands held me firm as the vapor invaded my senses. It clogged my nostrils and poured down my throat, making me gag and cough. It felt as though I were drowning though no liquid touched me.

“‘Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow’,” the Knight-Commander’s chanting continued as the room spun around me. My head grew heavy, and the ground rushed up to meet me. “‘In their blood the Maker’s will is written’...”

And then I knew no more.

Except I was still there, in the room, kneeling before the bodies frozen in time around me. All stared down at the body that was my younger self, unconscious on the floor as my mind traveled the Fade, bent toward surviving this most critical of tests.

I didn’t see Cole, but I heard his voice speak from somewhere nearby.

“They forced the song on you, in you. The notes turned sour, turned into chains. You were supposed to feel free but instead they made it punishment. ‘Is this because I spoke out?’ You always wondered. They didn’t look happy when you woke up, but you were. Defiant, devious, daring, the dream didn’t drag you down. I liked the rabbit.”

But I wasn’t listening, for one of the templars had become someone I knew. All of them had been faceless, lost behind their helms, save for one with hair combed back and subdued into stern order. When he was stressed, he would run his hands through that hair, and the curls would loosen, stubbornly resuming their natural shape. Fur pauldrons made him stand out from the rest as well, covering the blazing sword emblem on his chest plate.

“You weren’t there.” I frowned in confusion, approaching Cullen, who stood at attention, gaze fixed on the unconscious form before him. As I came near, the familiar forestry-flowery scent of the ointment replaced the burning cold of lyrium. His face was grim, but lacking his usual scowl. When I drew near, his gaze turned to me, both sad and warm. Memory told me those eyes were the color of bright amber, but here they were as drab and opaque as mud.

“I cannot be here,” he said. I half-expected it to be the demon’s voice, but this time it was only him, so morose that my heart broke just a little. “I am not for you.”

“What is this?” I asked, turning to seek out Cole, but it was just me and Cullen in the room now, and above us the black night sky bore down, the stars blotted out by the Breach. Cullen was back in his usual armor, no more templar crest. But he still held his sword, and it gleamed in the dull light of the flames that encompassed it. He held it before him, pointed at me, forcing me back a step.

“I only want to help,” he said, but his expression had twisted into one of suspicion and fear. He stepped forward, forcing me back again. “Why do you seek me out when you still fear me?”

“I don’t!” I shook my head, but I was still backpedaling, hands held out before me. I could feel my breath quickening. “Please…”

I was up against the wall now, the sword so close I could feel the heat from the flames. He sneered in disgust.

“You can’t forget,” he said. His muddy eyes reflected the sword’s flames back at me. “You will never see past this, even if you could admit to yourself that you want to!”

“What? I don’t understand…”

But then he was gone, and the room faded, the edges blurring again.

“Keep going up…” Cole’s voice echoed.

“Keep going up? But this is…”

And as if in answer, there stood another stairwell where one shouldn’t have been. I took it, reaching higher than the tower should have stood, climbing greater heights than were possible in reality.

“I WILL SEE MORE!” The demon’s voice echoed around me, but it was lower than before, weaker. I felt the strain as it spoke, but it didn’t overwhelm me. “I WILL KNOW YOU! SHOW ME MORE!”

Whether it was ignorant to what I was doing or simply too desperate to give up its prize, my path was the same. I continued up, until I reached another floor. The mage’s sleeping quarters. Bunks filled the room in a neat grid, bodies lay asleep in each one. It might have looked peaceful, except I knew why I was here.

I sank to the ground, doubled over in despair. My limbs trembled, and I held tight to myself to stop their shaking. Yes, I knew why I was here.

The demon wanted heavy memories? Let him be crushed beneath the weight of this one.

The first scream stirred us reluctantly from our slumber. It was joined seconds later by more, and soon a chorus of horror echoed through the darkness. I rose from my bunk, shaking off sleep in an instant. The sounds set my blood afire, even as cold sweat broke out on my back, my arms, the back of my neck.

In the bunk next to mine, Micah flung his covers away. The night’s darkness obscured much of his face. Fear made his eyes shine wide in terror through his tangled curtain of ash-blond curls as we both processed what was happening. All our eyes were fixed on the only door in or out of our quarters, still locked from the templars’ nightly lights out check. It was from there the screams emanated. Close enough to be coming from the same floor.

The apprentices’ quarters were right next door; the only other room on this level.

Maker, no, I thought. The children!

I held my hands over my ears, willing myself not to listen, but the sounds tore through me all the same. Children weeping, pleading. The swing of steel blades. The sickening wet spray of thick liquid. Hollow thuds as bodies fell limp to the floor. Worst of all, the deafening silence that followed.

“They’re coming for us next!” someone shouted; I couldn’t see who.

Panic spread. Half of us were already on our feet, scrambling and blind. Some sought hiding places, others reached for staffs, preparing to fight. I was frozen to my bed, eyes fixed on the slim line of light stretching through the crack beneath the door. It was growing brighter. Metal fell against stone as dozens of booted feet marched down the hall, coming closer.

“Tess!”

Firm hands gripped my shoulders, shaking me violently. My mind rattled from the force of a slap, breaking my line of sight to the door. My own hand rose to my cheek, feeling the spot where it stung as I looked up to see Micah staring back at me.

“We have to go!” he said.

I nodded, barely comprehending what he was saying but some instinct within was telling me to obey. I threw my covers off and reached for the first robe I could find. As I was struggling with the folds, however, the door flew open and the templars burst through.

There was no more time.

It was chaos after that. Some of us fought, others fled. I unleashed an arc of lighting, but it was weaker than it should have been, and some of it recoiled painfully back up my arms without the buffer of my staff to absorb it. I couldn’t overcome the templars’ nullification; there were too many. They stormed through our midst, cutting down any within their reach. We were outmatched, struggling to break through the barrier they’d erected against the Veil, scraping every ounce of mana we had and grasping at any scrap of the Fade we could reach.

I knew each of their faces with the intimate familiarity that can only come from long coexistence. Jarett, who never made eye contact with mages but often chatted up the Tranquil. Gavin, who was friendly enough on a good day but quick to anger when on night duty. Thomas, who was too young yet to have acquired the jaded disinterest of the older veterans. I knew them all, just as they knew all of us. Familiarity did not save us from their wrath.

Some sang the Chant as they slaughtered us. Some laughed, others were grim-faced. Mostly, they just kept killing.

Somehow, I managed to sneak into the hall, holding hands with Micah, who was pulling me along behind him. We stumbled and struggled to keep our feet in the darkness as behind us thundered the bootsteps of templars giving chase. Memory guided us through the corridors, down the stairs and into the mess hall.

I tried to turn right, toward the stairs that would lead us down to the lowest level, hoping in blind desperation that we could force our way through the heavy metal doors of the main entrance. But Micah yanked my arm harshly the other direction, toward the kitchen. There was a window in there, wider than most, that looked out over the ocean. The cooks would throw waste and rotted food through it, where the restless water below would carry it away. I knew what he intended.

“Micah, we can’t!” I gasped. “It’s too high! The fall alone would---”

“---You wanna take your chances with those butchers?” he shouted over his shoulder, not breaking stride.

The kitchen was blessedly empty, and the window unbarred save for a simple wood slat to keep out the elements. Micah lifted it free and let it drop. It clattered to the floor in a harsh betrayal, and he let out a curse.

“Hurry! They’ll have heard that.” He held out both hands, fingers laced together for a foothold.

I wanted to argue, but I feared the approaching boots and the ring of steel more than I feared the frigid water or long drop. I let him lift me up and through the window. Outside, the wind buffeted at my hair, obscuring my sight of the waves far too distant below. My hands clung to the windowsill, unable to let go. Above, a bright flair of the ragged edges of Micah’s aura told me the templars had found us. I wanted to shout up to him, to unleash a spell, to do something - anything - to help, but all I could do was cling in terror to the wall, even as my muscles screamed in protest.

Then, Micah’s body shot out of the window, straight as an arrow, before arcing down and behind me, out of sight. Had he jumped, or was he thrown? A helmed head poked out a moment later and enraged eyes met mine. An arm followed, holding a sword dripping red with his evil deeds. He swung it down at my skull.

I let go, feeling its tip graze the top of my head as I fell.

My stomach rose to my throat, and there was barely enough time to process the sensation before I plunged into raging white waves. My breath was forced out of me from the shocking cold, and all sense of direction was lost as my body hurtled over and over itself, helpless against the ebb and flow. My lungs burned, desperate for air, but I resisted the urge to take in the water, refused to surrender.

An eternity later I broke the surface and gasped, choking on salt water. I screamed Micah’s name over the waves, my voice ragged and hoarse, but there was no response. I was alone.

I don’t know how I came to shore. Perhaps the sea took pity on me at last, or perhaps instinct took over and I had managed to defy its currents after all. Either way, I woke to the pale light of dawn, face up and wedged between two large boulders. When I tried to move, pain blossomed from everywhere at once. My body moved of its own volition, depositing me onto my side as I retched up half the Waking Sea onto the shore. My head throbbed and I saw only blotchy impressions of shadows for several long minutes. Eventually, I was able to steady my breathing, and the throbbing receded to a dull ache.

My vision cleared to reveal a coastal forest composed of sturdy trees growing well-distant from each other. There was little shelter to be found here. My feet were bare, and I shivered in my drenched nightgown, thin linen sticking to my legs and torso, doing little to stave off the cold. My hair was a nest of sea-salted tangles plastered to my face and neck, slow to dry in the humidity.

Memory told me of the harsh days and nights of wandering that lay ahead. The brief respites that I would find in sheltered caves or secret nights on haystacks, only to wake and flee at the first sounds of approaching footsteps. Of the long isolation, during which I daren’t make contact with others, lest they discover my past and send me back to my executioners. Necessity would eventually force me to break that isolation. I would find Micah again, and other survivors of that purge as well. I would not be alone forever.

In this moment, however, shivering on the shore and looking out at the flames that consumed Faxhold, I felt only the loss. The despair was heavy enough to force me to my knees, crushed beneath the terrible weight of freedom.

“Keep going up.”

Cole’s voice again, guiding me through the fog, keeping the edges from being wiped away by the darkness. Like a beacon, like a rising sun, a light shone ahead and above, and more stairs came into focus. I forced myself to take one trembling step after another. If I stopped, I was lost. The templars could not kill me. The demon would not have me.

At the top of the stairs was a barred room, held fast by a door of thick stone, all one solid piece. A single window sat high and centered, but no matter how closely I peered through, I could not penetrate the heavy black void within.

“NOTHING I DO CAN PENETRATE THIS BARRIER,” the demon echoed around me. “YOU MUST TRULY FEAR WHATEVER IS CONTAINED WITHIN.”

It meant to mock me; I could hear the taunt in its tone. But I had no idea what that room contained, and so its mockery fell flat.

Until a pair of malevolent, red eyes peered out from within. The eyes from my nightmare. The same ones I saw beneath the Breach, in the crater where the Temple of Sacred Ashes no longer stood.

Frantic, I backed away, feeling the periphery of my memory converging on me, trying to break through, without success. From within the dark stone cell, a low, menacing growl rumbled, sending a thrill of terror through me.

“It’s too dark.” Cole, soft and straining. “I can’t see through it. The blackness is angry, it hates that you were there. It won’t let me see. It hurts to look.”

He did indeed sound pained, and before I allowed myself to become drawn back in, I turned away and resumed my ascension. The stairs turned sharply and continued up, no longer spiraled, no longer twisting around the central tower of the Circle. Now, they were straight, turning at a right angle at every landing. I tried not to look down and behind, knowing without seeing that there was only emptiness there.

“Keep going up. Almost there.”

“SHUT UP! YOU CAN’T SAVE HER!”

I continued up, hopeful, toward where the dawn’s light paled the night sky and drowned out the stars. It created a soft mosaic of pink and orange to replace the colorless drab of my pain. I moved toward the growing brightness, wanting color again. These stairs were beginning to feel familiar, and I realized they were from Therinfal Redoubt. I was getting close to the origin point.

But the demon wasn’t done with me.

The stairs finally flattened out, and I was now in the courtyard of the fortress. Ahead, templars waited, armed and focused on me. They approached with swords brandished. Instinctively, I loosed a web of lightning and realized with elation that my staff had returned to my hand. I was me again, dressed in my travel leathers and my hair in its customary braid. A harrowed mage, a woman grown and in full control of her powers.

With practiced movements, I swept my staff in every direction, pushing back with blunt force when magic failed to keep them at a distance. The magic came easily, spreading destruction and death before me, letting me return some small fraction of the suffering I’d had to endure back to them.

“YESSSS. LET ME KNOW YOU.”

I didn’t know what it was so happy about. I was winning. These templars were no match for me and soon they would be fleeing before me. As the first wave was dispatched, a second approached, and I resumed my extermination. Magic cost me nothing here, and I laughed as I kept up my onslaught without tiring. Yes, I was a grown woman, once a sanctioned mage, now an apostate. Once a prisoner of the Circle, now a free member of the Inquisition.

I refused to allow these shadows of a fallen Order to imprison me anymore.

But I was still alone, still one against many. The fight continued interminably. No matter how many I cut down, more arrived to take their place. They attacked at range from the ramparts, charged me with their shields out in front, tried to flank me until I was backed against the wall with nowhere to go. They couldn’t hurt me; none of their attacks were able to penetrate my barrier. But all the same, they kept attacking.

Somewhere beyond the din of battle, I thought I heard the demon laughing. Slowly, my overconfidence became uncertainty. Why didn’t they stop? I wasn’t tiring, but I was growing frantic. I had to get out of here, had to help my companions, had to wrest my body from the demon’s control before it was too late.

Still they came.

“Leave me!” I cried out, uncertainty turning to rage. I drew a line with my staff, and a wall of flame burst up from the ground between me and them. Still they came, marching through the fire unmarked, unhurt.

I screamed at them, rage giving way to despair. I would never be done fighting them. This was to be my eternal punishment. I would spend the rest of time combating these blighted templars in the Void of my own mind. Forever.

“Stop! Please! I don’t want to fight anymore! I can’t fight this anymore!”

Still they came. Indistinguishable from one another, covered head to toe in the same dull grey armor. Their eyes were black pits of emptiness. They continued to fight, passionless and relentless, oblivious to my distress or their own casualties. I was weeping, and my movements were clumsy. One of the templars managed to get through my guard, my barrier long since forgotten, and his sword sliced a long line in my sleeve, leaving my flesh beneath unharmed. Not so much as a scratch.

I stopped, more out of surprise than exhaustion. And as my own movements ceased, so too did theirs.

A wide swath of them, dozens, maybe hundreds deep, all stopped moving and stared at me. No, not at me; their black bottomless eyes did not allow for focus on any one target. They simply stared, faces as empty as their gazes. It was pointless to fight them, I knew. But that didn’t stop the rage I still felt burning inside me at the mere sight of the emblem on their armor.

“You took everything from me!” I screamed at them. “My life! My dignity! My home! I can’t love because of you! I can’t trust because of you! I have nothing left! It’s not fair! I hate you! I hate you! I wish I could have killed the lot of you! I wish I had caused the explosion! Then at least I would have had my revenge!”

I collapsed to the ground, a heap of shuddering grief, pounding my fists into the stomped and stained earth beneath me. It was all too heavy. I had tried to weigh down the demon, and succeeded only in pulling myself back down into the darkness I feared most. The light dimmed, taking what little hope was left with it. There would be no more brightness, no more colors. All was grey now.

Eventually, I stilled. Above, the Breach grew and spread, taking the sky with it. My Mark, barely distinguishable from the rest of the drab shades of my hand, began to spread up my arm. I watched its progress in passionless fascination, no longer even capable of base fear. The darkness had swallowed everything good about me. Now it would take everything that was left.

A gentle, frail hand came to rest on my shoulder.

“You don’t have to fight them anymore,” said Cole. “They hurt you, but you stayed, stuck in the hurt. You can let it go. You made yourself strong despite them, to spite them. Because you had to. But you don’t have to anymore. They’re gone, and you’re still strong. They never took that away. You’re still you.”

It was like a weight lifted, like chains fell away. This was not the cold, heavy freedom I felt after the purge. There was a lightness in my chest, an easing of tension in the knot of dread in my gut - it wasn’t loosened, not entirely, but one thread at least had worked itself free. The Mark’s progress stalled, then retreated back into my palm. The Breach returned to its usual size above.

I looked up to see Cole crouched over me, and our eyes finally met. There was such a sadness in his, a depth of need and tenderness and vulnerability that it made my heart wrench with an urge to take him protectively into my arms, to give him the affection that had been denied him. But I knew, somehow, he wouldn’t accept it. Couldn’t accept it. And so, instead, I wiped the tears from my eyes and stood, looking out at the empty faces around me. Old wounds still tugged at the sight of them, but that pull was easier to resist now.

“What should I do?” I asked Cole.

“Keep going up.” He pointed to stairs that led up to the ramparts, and I knew where I must go. “Envy will come out soon. It’s very angry, but so are you.”

I moved forward. The templars did not follow, and as I found the next set of stairs, I felt their presence slide into nothing, joining the empty fog that swallowed everything I left behind.

Following the stairs and then the wall, I retraced the path that had taken me to the Lord Seeker’s quarters. And with every step, grey was colored in, replaced by the blue of the sky, the vivid green of the Breach and my Mark, the undertones of cobalt in the stone, the veins of red that stained the ground. Each step forward returned brightness to my world, but the weight was not yet gone entirely.

The demon was pulling me back, trying to hinder my progress. My feet dragged over the stones, too heavy to lift. My shoulders hunched, and I leaned on my staff to keep upright. But I did not stop.

I moved through the space that was occupied by my friends, still engaged in their fierce battle back where time moved forward in the physical realm. I couldn’t see them, but I felt their determination, their defiance, their courage and their fear. The temptation to stay and try to help them pulled against my progress, but I pressed on. The only way to help them was to return, and to do that I had to find myself. More stairs, then the corridor where I’d left Barris. He still fought, I knew. Then I turned the corner and down the long hall, purpose strengthening with every step closer to the end point.

“UNFAIR! UNFAIR!” The demon was most unhappy, almost petulant, but it seemed incapable of stopping me. “That thing kept you whole! Kept you from giving me your shape!”

I opened the door at the end of the hall and saw a frozen moment in time. There I was, held aloft against the wall by the demon in the shape of Lord Seeker Lucius. Cassandra was there too, her sword drawn and extended in a downward sweep, a second away from severing the demon’s arm.

“A blade still falling,” I said, remembering Cole’s words. “Hanging in the air like a sunset.”

“She’s afraid for you.”

“So am I. What will happen when---”

But I didn’t get the words out, for in that moment the demon made itself known. It took my shape, and suddenly I was looking at an exact copy of myself. It gave me no time to process shock, grabbing me by the throat and lifting me off the ground, flinging me against the wall like a sack of wheat.

“We will have to start again, won’t we?” it said in my voice, still mired within the chorus of conflicting accents and tones and pitches. It reached out its free hand to cup my face, and I felt unbearable hunger passing through me. Panic set in as I weakened, as the edges around me shifted and began to fade away once more.

No! I’d come so close!

“More pain this time. The Elder One still approaches.”

“It fears him.”

Cole, interrupting, shifting its focus to him for only a split second. Long enough for me to kick my feet against the wall and thrust forward with every ounce of strength I had.

Then everything became white, and my world shifted again.

Chapter Text

V: Holy shit.
T: …
V: … Hey. Why don’t we take a break?
T: No, I’m fine.
V: You don’t have to keep going. Really, it’s okay.
T: I’m fine.
V: … Okay. I’ll be honest, I was probably the most curious about that part. None of the stories mention it, and before now, you’ve always avoided it. Guess now I know why.
T: Yes, well, it wouldn’t serve the Chantry’s interest to reveal how far the Order fell before the end, would it?
V: But I get the feeling that’s not why you’ve never talked about it.
T: You’ve been tempted by a demon before, right?
V: Yeah… It’s not exactly my favorite memory.
T: Now imagine if instead of tempting, it coveted. Not just your body and mind, but your whole existence. Every last ounce of your past that made you who you are.
V: … You sure you don’t want any of that whiskey?
T: I’m fine.
V: You said that.

The pain when I hit the ground was a relief. It meant I’d escaped.

“Theresa!” Cassandra was beside me, looming protectively as we both turned to face the thing wearing the Lord Seeker’s face.

Enraged at the loss of its prize, it let out a shriek that tore at my skull until I thought it would burst. The face of Lucius melted away and its form stretched into something pale and sinewy, with skeletal limbs and a slavering jaw that hung open impossibly wide. Cassandra let out a foul oath, watching in horror. It considered us for only a moment before dashing through the door and down the hall, bursting through the stone and disappearing into the cold night beyond. Cassandra stood, transfixed. I sat in silence, still processing my escape.

Ser Barris came charging around the corner, shield up and sword ready. When he saw us and no one else, however, he stopped short, panting. Crimson droplets seeped from a chink in his armor, below his left arm. A large gash marred one cheek, and his helm was gone. His rich brown skin carried a reflection of torchlight from the sconce nearby. Such lavish color was hypnotic after the monochromatic hellscape of my mind.

“What happened?” he demanded, taking in the path of destruction and our sorry states. “What in Maker’s name was that?”

“The Lord Seeker,” Cassandra answered, though she sounded doubtful.

“An imposter,” I corrected, rubbing at my neck in a daze, still trying to reconcile the disparity of time between my mind and the waking world. I ignored Cassandra’s offered hand as I rose, looking about, belatedly noticing Cole was gone.

“Where is he?”

“The creature?” Cassandra asked.

“No, there was a young man. Or a boy. He… Nevermind.” Explaining would take too much time, and we had a more pressing problem at hand. I hadn’t escaped yet; not until the demon was killed. I told them of Envy’s plot to steal my form and take over the Inquisition in the name of a mysterious Elder One. I evaded explaining exactly how I’d escaped its clutches, unwilling to lay bare such raw wounds.

“Maker…” Barris stood aghast, caught between despair and disgust.

“A demon!” Cassandra shook her head, still processing all I’d said. “Then that means the Lord Seeker…”

“Is dead, or caged,” Barris finished her half-spoken fear. “And Knight-Captain Samson knew.” He turned toward the hole left by Envy, and after a moment his head lifted and his shoulders squared. He turned back to me, the despair gone, replaced with rage. “That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? To turn us into battle fodder for this Elder One?”

They’re red inside.

I nodded.

He spat blood from his mouth. “The commanders used it first. To show it was harmless, they said. The knights were next. That demon turned our leaders so we wouldn’t question until it was too late!”

By then the numbness had fallen away, replaced by rage, fed by the pain I’d been forced to relive. I sneered. “And you all fell in line like obedient lap dogs.”

“Theresa---” Cassandra started.

“No!” I rounded on her. “I tried to tell you. I warned you! I begged you! Mother Hevara was more right than she knew. As far as I’m concerned, the Order was lost long ago. Now, at least everyone else will know it. Assuming any of us even survive this long enough to tell the world.”

My words struck her like a force, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret them. Not now, maybe not ever. Our standoff was broken by Barris stepping between us, sheathing his sword with resignation and nodding toward the door.

“We need to get to the great hall,” he said. “And do what we can to stop this madness here and now.”

Cassandra hesitated, still watching me, but I ignored her and nodded to Barris. She followed suit, saying nothing further. We followed him outside, jogging across the muddied courtyard toward a massive staircase, atop which rested a thick blocky building, easily three stories tall, with a pair of arched wooden doors propped open at its entrance. It was still night - another reminder that my ordeal had only lasted the blink of an eye - though the rain was beginning to slow. All the while we were moving, I cast my gaze about, looking for signs of Cole but seeing none. I began to wonder if he was only in my own mind, merely a form of self-defense I’d conjured against the demon’s machinations.

To my relief, the others were waiting for us at the top of the stairs; friends and templars alike, looking somewhat worse after their battle, but all whole. Most were resting and cleaning weapons. A few tended to wounds. I was grateful beyond words to see all of them, but I nearly wept when I locked eyes with Solas. His own relief quickly faded once he processed my appearance, and he rushed forward, taking both my shoulders in a firm grip and studying me closely.

“What happened?” he asked.

Cassandra sighed. “We have more pressing matters to---”

“---What happened?” he demanded, louder this time. Behind him, everyone else paused, hearing the concern and growing anger in his voice.

I took a deep breath, and explained it all again. When I was finished, the brief triumph of victory had disappeared from the others, and they all looked at me with a mixture of awe and despair - especially the templars, forced to confront the extent of their Order’s failures even as they stood amidst its poisoned foundations.

Solas was enraged, surprising even me with the fierce glare he fixed on Cassandra.

“They allowed a demon into their midst and could not tell the difference until it was too late.” His disgust was palpable. “I know now that the hunger I sensed earlier was from Envy. Had I been at the Grand Cathedral, I would have known the Lord Seeker for what he truly was from the first. And we could have avoided all this.”

Hearing that, my equilibrium shifted, and the numbness returned.

...could have avoided all this…

The dawning horror as Cassandra realized the full truth of his words was too much to bear, and I turned away, before the scream of rage bubbling up could tear past my lips.

It’s because of her, my darkness whispered to me. All you’ve endured here. She will never see the templars for what they truly are. And you will suffer for it. Again and again and again.

“He’s right.” Barris voiced his agreement, hanging his head. “If we could allow it to come this far…”

It was too much. Pity from a templar of all people was more than I could bear. My vision darkened and I had a dreadful reminder of the fading colors from my mindscape. But a reassuring squeeze of the hand on my shoulder told me Solas had not left my side. It brought little comfort, but it steadied me. Enough to push back against the darkness. We weren’t done here yet; I couldn’t surrender now, and I would not let them do so either.

I turned to Barris. “Don’t think you can hang your head like a kicked dog now! Your zealotry and cowardice all but did the demon’s work for it! Grief is a luxury you don’t deserve just yet. Are you going to keep blaming yourself, or are you going to help end this?”

To his credit, he did not shy from my vitriol, accepting it with stoic dignity. Indeed, he seemed to have gained some new resolve, nodding and setting his jaw before turning to the waiting soldiers behind him.

“Templar!” He called to one woman with a lieutenant's ranking and dark hair. “What is Envy?”

The templar answered sharply, “A coward, brother!”

“It studies, makes less mistakes,” another answered, thinking. “Mostly, it hides.”

Barris nodded, then asked, “How many of us are left?”

“This is it.”

“This…?” But he stopped himself, recovering quickly. “Right. We need to draw out that coward and destroy it! It must not be allowed to escape. Are you with me?”

“Aye!” The shout was impressive, given the pitifully few who contributed.

“What are we?”

“Templars!”

“Are we going to let the Order die like this?”

“No!”

“Let us show all of Thedas what the Order was meant for!”

A great cheer rose as they all took up the cry, rising into the air to echo across the battlements. My heartbeat rose in response to the cacophony, bringing to mind the chanting and singing of those who had slaughtered my peers in their beds on that worst of nights. I shook the image from my mind. Those here were not the ones from back then.

“This is all well and good,” I said, hoping my anger covered the tremor in my voice, “but the demon has fled, and is even now likely plotting its next attack against us. Drawing it out is easier said than done, especially now that it knows we know of its true form.”

There was a pause as the bravado fell from their faces, before Barris responded, looking thoughtful.

“Not necessarily.”

“Meaning?”

He considered, looking between me and Cassandra, waiting on a nod from her before continuing.

“Clearly, it wants you. It’s gone through all this to lead you here. It’s not going to give up now. Especially with it having come so close once already.”

“So I’m bait.” I gripped my staff tighter. “Again.”

“This time, at least, you know.” Barris shrugged, but his expression was not without sympathy.

I looked back to Solas, whose face told a similar tale, combined with a sense of resignation. He shook his head and shrugged, and I took his meaning well enough: there was no other way, but the decision was still mine. The others all looked much the same. They were waiting on me. All except Casssandra, who seemed to have lost her voice entirely, and would not quite meet my eyes. She looked lost without her customary scowl. Any other time, I might have pitied her.

Finally, I looked back to Barris, and nodded.

His mouth twisted into something halfway between a smile and a grimace, and turned to his own company. “Templars, get to work!”

From there, things were a blur of activity. We used the locking mechanism Barris had mentioned before, along with any materials we had on hand, to fortify all exits save the front doors. We wanted to advertise our presence without leaving ourselves too vulnerable; it was a delicate balance, and there was little room for error. I worked alongside the others, keeping busy and focusing on the danger of the present rather than the pain of the past.

Once, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye that made me start, but when I turned, it was gone, leaving the impression of sandy blond hair and dirty leathers. I wondered whether Cole would help in the battle to come, but I was fearful of how the others might react to his involvement. I had left any mention of him out of my recountings to the others for that very reason. Perhaps he feared the same. There was no time to consult Solas about it, however, and soon it was gone from my mind.

When at last the work had gone as far as it could with what we had on hand, I glanced around, assessing my surroundings. The room was wide, with a high ceiling and an open walkway on the second level that would provide ample perches for the ranged fighters. The mages would take that level, along with Varric and Sera with their crossbow and shortbow respectively. None of the templars knew how to work a bow well enough to be of use from there. They, along with Cassandra and Iron Bull, would keep to the ground level.

By then, a clamour was steadily rising outside. One glance out the massive doors revealed its source - more of the red templars were converging on our location. Dozens of them, easily three times our number. My heart sank.

“We need more fighters,” Barris said, marking their approach as well. His gaze swept over the rest of the fortress, searching in vain for allies that did not appear.

“We don’t have more,” I told him, fear and hurt sharpening my reply more than intended.

“I know.” He closed his eyes, breathing in and out, slow and deep. “So we’ll just have to make this work for us.”

“We need a strategy.” Vivienne took us both by surprise, gliding up from behind. “We must keep the demon on this side of the Veil, where it is weaker and can be defeated. Envy will want to run and hide, but we cannot let it escape our sights, especially not now that we know how effectively it can steal another’s form.”

“The Veil is extraordinarily thin here,” Solas remarked as he joined us. “It will be difficult to keep it corporeal. I… do not think I can manage it alone.” The admission irked him, I could tell.

“Naturally, my dear,” Vivienne said with an approving smile. “Between the three of us, I think we shall have little trouble holding it at bay.”

That set me fidgeting, ashamed, and I begrudgingly cleared my throat. “I… don’t know how.”

Both looked mildly surprised, but Solas stepped forward, cutting off whatever Vivienne might have said.

“It is a simple spell,” he said. “I can teach it to you.”

“How long will it take to learn?”

He smiled. “That depends on how fast a learner you are.”

While we retreated to a corner and I received a crash course on spirit magic in the little time left to us, the others began taking up their positions. In truth, the spell involved was not complex, though I would not have gone so far as to call it “simple”. A great deal of concentration was involved, and I wondered at the indomitable focus Solas must possess, to work such magic in the thick of battle. More than that, it required an even temper to be effective; a strength I sorely lacked, especially now. Solas did what he could to guide me through a quick meditation to calm my inner turmoil, but before we could finish, the cacophony outside grew deafening.

We were out of time.

Inside, the fighters heaved the great double doors shut with a thunderous slam and began moving whatever furniture was left in front of it. When they were finished, Vivienne froze everything in place with an ice spell. It was a paltry barricade, but it would have to suffice. She came over to me then, a look of steely determination framing her features. She looked far more battle ready than most of the hardened warriors behind her, showing not an ounce of fear or uncertainty.

“Remember your training,” she said, placing a matronly hand on my shoulder. “Demons will say anything to get what they want. Don’t let this one into your head again. Don’t ever let it see you flinch.”

I nodded, doing my best to maintain my focus and still the trembling in my hands by gripping my staff. Its inner warmth steadied me, but only slightly. The coming battle would not be easy, and already I felt as though I were working with only half my power. Whether I was emotionally spent or the demon managed to drain some of my mana, I knew it would not be long before I was exhausted of magic. I would have to make what I had left count.

Iron Bull approached, preparing to take up his position by the front, giving me a hearty clap across the back as he passed.

“Give ‘em hell, boss.”

I smiled, despite myself. Just as I was moving toward one of the ladders, a hand grabbed at my elbow and I swung around in readiness, only to meet the gaze of Cassandra. She held her hands up peacefully, her expression apologetic. It seemed she’d gotten over her earlier guilt.

“Forgive me, but I think it would be best if you were on the ground level,” she said.

“Excuse me?” I asked, incredulous.

“We want to lure the demon out,” she answered reasonably. “And we know it’s you it wants.”

I frowned, glancing over to Solas for confirmation, but he was already up on the second level, looking down at us in wary curiosity. I needed to stop letting others make my decisions for me. So, I turned back to Cassandra and nodded.

“Don’t worry,” she said, rather more casually than I felt the situation called for. “I’ll be right beside you.”

I grunted with no small amount of reluctance, sure she couldn’t possibly understand how ironic that statement felt to me just then. But perhaps this was her way of making amends. We turned and made our way to the center of the hall, far from the other fighters, where I would be easily spotted from all sides.

“Theresa!” Solas called out from the balcony, but anything else he might have said was interrupted by a great slam from the double doors. Another crash followed, and there was no further time for conversation. My skin prickled as the familiar blue haze of Solas’s barrier covered my vision, despite no enemies yet nearby. I almost smiled, finding comfort in his insistent protectiveness, but when I looked up to thank him, I saw he was still trying to get my attention, and seemed to be gesturing to the front. I frowned, not understanding. Wasn’t the plan to lure the demon to me?

Vivienne reinforced the barrier with more ice, and I heard the clanking of Bianca’s gears as Varric adjusted her into attack formation. The few templars who remained drew their swords and braced their shields. At the forefront, alongside Iron Bull and Barris, stood Cassandra.

Wait.

I frowned, looking again. That couldn’t be right, could it? But it was. I recognized the white sigil of the flaming eye emblazoned across her chest plate, and her tower shield with its many dints, including one great slash across it, received while battling the Blades of Hessarian at the Storm Coast.

But if Cassandra was up front, then who was standing beside me?

A thrill of fear spread throughout my body as I turned to the demon who wore her face. That face was now twisted into an unnatural expression that was at once gloating and ravenous. I started to shout, but before I could she reached out and grabbed me about the throat, slamming me into the ground with tremendous force. All air left my lungs, and her vice like grip at my jugular prevented more from entering. I struggled to get away, but she - it - was inhumanly strong, holding me pinned as I suffocated. My vision swam and blood pulsed in my temples.

Working on instinct, I summoned a great lightning bolt to strike at its back, sending it flying back in surprise and pain. Now free, I rolled, coughing and sucking in gasping breaths. When my vision cleared, I looked up to see Envy engaged in fierce battle with one of the other templars. She called out for help as she was forced on the defensive, Envy unleashing a barrage of strikes with its sword, clanging as it ricocheted again and again off her shield.

Reaching within me, I channeled the waiting mana, shaping it per Solas’s instructions, forcing the demon to remain solid, to keep it on this side of the Veil. It was difficult; I could feel it resisting, pulling away, eager to disappear at the nearest opportunity, but I couldn’t allow it.

“Solas! Vivienne!” I cried out, hoping my voice carried over the repetitive banging on the doors. It must have, for in the next moment I felt my burden ease as two new wills were added to the stream of energy. It pooled about the demon, weakening its bond with the Fade and tying it to our reality.

An enormous grey form charged into it next, sending them both hurtling through a wooden bench with a crash. Bull was on his feet in an instant, which was good, for Envy was easily able to match his speed, and they began trading blows so quick I couldn’t track them. Bull grunted with each impact, his cold focus deepening to a troubled scowl, and I realized he was having difficulty keeping up.

Two more templars flanked it, but before they could strike it leaped straight into the air, high above our heads, coming down with enough force to send all of us sprawling. I fell to my back, cursing as I felt my control of the spell slip. I tried to regain my focus, but now Envy turned to face me, that terrible smile spreading impossibly wide across the features it had stolen from Cassandra.

“I will have your face!” It whispered, but I heard it as clearly as if it were right beside me.

Then the doors burst open, and a small army of red templars poured through. I heard someone shout not to lose sight of the demon, but it was already gone when I turned, and there was no longer any time to seek it out. I unleashed a barrage of attacks against the enemies moving to surround me, thinning their ranks with a web of lightning that zig-zagged among several at once, incapacitating them long enough for two templars nearby to lob off heads or limbs or shatter the enormous glowing red crystals that grew forth from their bodies at horrific angles.

Pained and painful shrieks filled the great hall, mingling with the sounds of battle, and it was all I could do to remain standing against the onslaught to my senses. There was so much movement it was difficult to discern who was friend and who was foe. I daren’t launch any spells that might hit my allies, and so I crouched low and ducked behind a column until I could get my bearings.

Unfortunately, I was not allowed a reprieve, as something struck me from behind and pain blossomed at the base of my skull. I maintained consciousness, but was helpless to do anything but block the unrelenting onslaught as blow after blow rattled my bones and threatened to knock me off my feet. Hard stone pressed into my back, leaving me with nowhere to run. The sickening scent of fetid copper overwhelmed my senses and brought tears to my eyes as the red templar pressed my guard, coming within inches of my face.

For a moment - and an eternity - the darkness inside began creeping back in from the periphery of my awareness. It threatened to pull me back down into its depths, and the fear of it was almost enough to freeze me, before an echo from some distant corner of my mind broke through the haze.

Use it.

My focus returned with stunning clarity. The red templar was still grasping and clawing to get past the flimsy barrier of my staff. One of its eyes was obscured by the cruel edge of a crystal, but the other was deep with hunger. I focused on that eye, that hunger, and felt my own hunger for survival grow. I turned that hunger to focus, that focus to force, and then that hungry eye was put out from an icicle jutting up from below that shattered all its crystals and launched it back several paces, where it collapsed to the ground. It twitched for a moment, then went still.

I rested against the wall, shaking slightly and recovering my center.

“Don’t give up,” a familiar voice murmured in my ear. “It fears you.”

As if guided by a beacon, my focus was drawn to one of the templars who wore a garish grin across his face as he unleashed a barrage of attacks against a confused and panicked comrade.

Finding my center again, I summoned my will forth and directed it at the demon, sending a stonefist to knock it off-balance for good measure. Once I was sure it was grounded, I shouted to any who could hear to direct their efforts against it, and soon it was surrounded, fighting off multiple opponents who slashed and stabbed at it. But when they pierced through the chinks in the armor, there was no blood. When my lighting struck, it barely flinched. Nothing we did seemed to hurt it. Nothing except the spell keeping it solid.

An idea struck me.

“Vivienne!” I shouted. “Hold it still!”

Barely a moment later, an ice glyph glowed pale blue at Envy’s feet, and before it could escape, a wave of ice rose from the sigils to trap it where it stood. It struggled, but the ice held fast. Now for step two.

“Solas! Use your will against it!”

There was an almost overwhelming change of pressure in the air then, and it descended with singular focus over the demon. It groaned, low and guttural, as Solas’s spell compressed around it. The effect was palpable; I felt my ears pop. I held my focus, determined to keep it solid, while Solas unleashed a second barrage against it.

It was working.

But then Envy swiveled its head, too far around for a human neck, seeking me out. Its eyes drilled into me with terrible intimacy. And it spoke in my father’s voice.

“No one knows you like I do, Tessie.”

I gasped, sickened, and my focus faltered, just for a second. The ice shattered, freeing Envy from Vivienne’s grasp, but it still had Solas to contend with. I redoubled my efforts, shouting to the templars not to let it escape.

But it wasn’t trying to escape. Instead, it took a staggering step toward me, slavering jaw hanging open impossibly wide. The deep, sunken pools of its eyes were an unsettling microcosm of the deep black pit of the stone cell from my mind. It spoke again, and this time its words echoed across the hall.

“I know now what was in that dark cell. The one you couldn’t penetrate. The one with the glowing red eyes.”

“Don’t listen to it!” someone shouted from above.

I shut my eyes against its terrible emptiness, but even behind my closed lids I saw it lumber forward, shaking off the templars’ attacks with ease. Solas’s spell increased, only succeeding in slowing its pace.

“Do you want to know what I saw?”

“Stop it!” I pleaded. My shoulders ached from the effort of keeping my staff aloft, my hands trembled as I gripped it all the harder. “You can’t hurt me anymore!”

Still my eyes were shut, but I could feel it crouch before me. When it reached out to lift my chin in one hand, my whole body convulsed. My eyes flew open, and my staff fell to the ground. Tears blurred my vision, but Envy was sharp and clear before me, its face twisted into a gloating smile.

“I saw your dread.”

Movement from my periphery was my only warning before a blur shoved into the demon and sent it tumbling backward. Through my tears, I saw one of the forms stand, and picked out sandy-blond hair and brown leather. Cole stood between me and the demon, crouched low, twin daggers gripped in either hand, muscles tensed and ready to spring. When he spoke, his voice held a steadiness of will and cold fierceness it had lacked before.

“Dark and desperate. Death to make yourself alive. I used to be like you. I’m not anymore. You shouldn’t be either.”

“Cole, be careful!” I shouted, but neither he nor Envy acknowledged me. The opponents moved on each other, and the fight became a blur of blades and limbs that was too fast to track.

“Well that’s new,” Iron Bull muttered, watching them battle while offering a hand to help me up. I took it, standing with some effort. He didn’t look particularly pleased as he watched the spectacle, but soon both of us had to draw our attention away to contend with the ongoing fight around us.

Though I endeavoured to keep Cole and Envy in my sight, they were soon lost amidst the chaos, and I had to hope Cole was a match for it. I tried to work my way up one of the ladders to gain distance, but each time I neared one, another of the red templars attacked, as if they were of one mind that I should remain grounded. Eventually I gave up and set about keeping my back to a wall as I worked my way through the battle, moving in a slow circumference around the hall.

Just as I’d feared, it wasn’t long before I was exhausted, almost depleted by the time I’d completed one full circuit of the room. Bull remained close by my side, a faithful shield against the worst of the attacks as I tried my best to defend and incapacitate with blunt force from my staff. But there was only so much even he could do. The enemies felt endless. My arms were beginning to slacken, the staff becoming too heavy to hold. Sweat beaded my brow and ran down my back, soaking the cloth beneath my coat. And through it all, Envy continued to taunt me, using the voices of my family, my friends, my allies to sap my will to fight.

“You’re the cause of all this!” Mother sneered.

“Your weakness has put everyone here in danger,” Cassandra hissed.

“Your cowardice will be their undoing!” Cullen accused.

“And the Breach will be your doom!” Maxwell crowed.

I don’t know whether anyone else heard the things it whispered into my ear, intimate as a lover, hated as a plague. I no longer cared. I fought, ignoring the tears that fell and drawing on reserves I didn’t know I had, refusing to stop so long as those around me continued on. I would not shame their efforts or allow them to suffer in vain. I was not what Envy said I was.

I’m not! I’m not! I’m not! My mind screamed in defiance, pushing back against the onslaught even as Envy’s cackling echoed back at me.

But I am only mortal, and my will was faltering. I did what I could to conserve my strength, grasping at the few moments of respite allowed by gaps in the fighting as Bull fought on before me, tireless and fierce. He seemed to draw energy from the fighting itself, each new kill invigorating him.

It was during one such moment of rest that Envy found me again.

It lurched into me, slamming me into the ground and knocking what little air I had from my lungs, leaving me stunned. My staff flew from my hand. Desperate, I looked for Bull, but he was trapped against the wall, fending off three red templars, his greatsword a blur of motion before him. One of them landed a blow past his guard, leaving a terrible gash across his flank. He fell to one knee, blocking the next strike with his blade, but the flanking enemy pierced his guard again, its claws digging deep into his side and making him cry out, grimacing against the pain.

No!

I struggled, trying to tear myself loose, but Envy had me by the throat, squeezing the life from me. I was fading, powerless to stop it.

“Give me your face!” it screamed, lifting me up and slamming me back down again.

My world shifted and I saw white, still feeling its clawing hands around my throat. I flailed, frantic, clawing at its face and arms with all that was left in me, but it laughed at the futility of my efforts. Calling out was impossible. No one was nearby to see me. By the time anyone noticed my absence, the demon would have killed me and taken my form, and no one would know the difference. Not until it was too late. Tears fell down my cheeks, mingling with the blood of my injuries as the world around me began to fade.

Then, all at once, the pressure was released and its weight was wrenched away. I rolled to my side, coughing and sputtering, drawing desperate breaths into my aching lungs as my vision slowly restored itself. I turned to see my savior, hoping Bull had been able to free himself from his enemies. Instead, Barris stood firm, interposing himself between me and the demon.

Envy faced him, still grinning with insidious intent. Barris was unperturbed.

“Foul beast!” he spat. “You will pay for those you corrupted!”

He charged, putting his full weight into his shield. Surprise was evident on Envy’s face as it was forced back, but it recovered quickly, digging in its heels and halting them both. Barris twisted, using his own momentum to turn and swing his blade in an arc. It struck home in the demon’s torso, and as it landed I felt a great nullifying force rush outward. Even from my distance, I felt the Fade fall out of reach of the little mana I had left; the effect it had on Envy was far worse.

It staggered back, and surprise turned to rage as it tried to force Barris back with will alone and found no power there to reach for. It shouted its fury and lunged, but Barris was ready, letting his shield take the brunt of the attack and planting his legs, grunting with the effort.

“Why do you waste yourselves?” Envy taunted as the pair remained locked in their struggle. “You have already failed!”

Another templar struck from behind, running it through and sending a second nullifying pulse from her blade. Envy roared again, but now it had the attention of the rest of us. Ice rose from its feet and held it in place. A crushing invisible force pressed down on top of it. And one after another, more templars ran it through with their own blades, adding their power to weaken it.

“Why?” it demanded again, desperate now. Needing to understand. “Your Order has fallen! Nothing can now restore it to what it was! Why then do you still fight?”

Barris sought me out across the hall where I stood. When our eyes locked, he grimaced and strengthened his grip, putting more weight into his sword.

“It was never the Order I had faith in,” he grunted. “It was the people who served it! And the people we served!”

I struggled to my feet, leaning on my staff for support. I did not know if there was enough power left in me to be of use, but I had to try. Even as I stumbled forward, I could see Envy regaining its strength, already recovering and beginning to morph its shape again.

When I was sure my legs would hold me upright, I extended my staff, summoning what will I could to keep Envy corporeal, to stop it escaping yet again. But when I reached, no power responded. The templars’ nullifications had reached me as well. My magic was gone. I watched, helpless, as Envy began shaking loose of the ice. It reached out one arm in a grand sweep, and three templars went flying to land with sickening crunches yards away. Still Barris held his ground.

Maybe it was his faith that drew the demon’s ire. Maybe it was his enduring determination. Or maybe he was simply another enemy to be vanquished, standing in the way of its true prize. Either way, it reached out and lifted Barris off the ground by his throat. It fixed him with a glare of pure hatred before plunging one clawed hand deep into his chest, piercing the chest plate as easily as a knife through bread.

“No!” I heard my own voice echo across the hall.

Envy looked at me, amused at my outburst. Without breaking eye contact, it flung Barris bodily against the nearest wall. Barris shook his head, disoriented, and when he did blood flew from his mouth. A horrified sob wrenched free of my throat as I watched him struggle, coughing and spitting up blood, even as more poured from the punctures in his chest. He looked down with slowly dawning horror, watching his life seep out of him, unable to staunch the flow.

Envy’s power was returning quickly. When two of the templars still standing charged it, a mere fling of one arm was all it took to dispatch them and send them sprawling across the floor. All around the hall were more fallen bodies, with a precious few still fighting desperately against the red templars. Spells and arrows flew down from above, though I could tell even Solas was beginning to weaken as his attacks lacked the crippling willfulness of earlier in the battle.

Yet when Envy’s wicked gaze fell on me again, my world shrank, and all I saw was its hungry grin. I was frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but watch as the rest of him stretched as long as that grin, limbs and torso and neck taken far beyond what was natural for a mortal form, until he was twice as tall as a man, tearing through the armor like parchment.

“I will have your face! The Elder One will have his triumph restored.”

He advanced. I tried to retreat, but my legs would not obey, and with every step closer my terror spread until every inch of me shook in his shadow. He was within a pace of me now, and as he reached out one wiry arm to take me at last, all I could think of was how once again I had failed. Thoroughly, hopelessly, failed. And others would suffer for it.

But from behind, a blur of motion, then the sinking, wet sound of blade entering flesh. Cole hung from the demon’s back like a travel pack, hanging on for dear life to the hilts of both daggers which were planted firmly between its shoulder blades. It roared and reeled back, slamming Cole into the wall behind them. He fell to the ground, still conscious but hurt. This latest distraction dispatched, Envy returned its attention to me, but now something was different. A transference of power had occurred. Somehow, Cole had affected it. I could feel its link to the Fade severed once again, and even as it advanced on me, it shrank back down to mortal proportions.

If ever there was a time to defeat it for good, it was now. But we were all of us spent. Vivienne and Solas had little enough power between them that I could barely feel their auras. No further arrows or bolts flew; Varric and Sera were out of both. None of the templars had energy enough left to further damage the creature. And I was barely standing. The templars’ nullification still kept me from the Fade as well as Envy. I had nothing left with which to attack.

“Theresa!” Solas cried out to me from the balcony. “Pull the thread!”

The Mark, I realized, cursing my own ignorance. Of course!

It was a direct link to the Fade, bypassing the Veil entirely. Even now, I felt it pulsing with power in my palm as I held it above me, closing my eyes to visualize the spider silk thread tying me to the Breach. Its power was unmatched by anything any mage could hope to wield. I prayed it would not consume me.

Envy was rushing toward me now, sensing the danger, still desperate to grasp its prize.

I pulled the thread.

The world flashed green and blinding. My vision swam, but I didn’t need it. I felt now what Solas had described upon our arrival; a grasping, insatiable hunger. Envy crouched, cowering before me.

Pull the thread.

I pulled again, and this time rather than letting the energy spread freely, I gave it direction. Of all the unfathomable power of the Breach, I controlled but the smallest fragment, but it was more than enough. Envy collapsed, crushed beneath the maelstrom, powerless against its raw force.

With a pained shriek that shook the very rafters, it shriveled and collapsed into itself, then was gone. I was left with the maelstrom, and for a brief and terrifying second, I feared it would consume me as well, but when I yanked the leash, it obeyed, retreating back through me to the roiling storm above from whence it came.

Emptiness and silence were left in its wake. I stared, chest heaving, drenched in sweat, half-collapsed onto my hands and knees. My staff lay nearby where it had fallen. Several new notches marred its length.

Cassandra approached, as cautious of me as the demon.

“Is it over?” she asked quietly, studying me with a wary and thoughtful expression.

I nodded, staring at the spot where Envy had been, half expecting it to burst forth once more and launch another attack. I stood with great effort, leaning on my staff, and we both stared, side by side, for a long moment.

When it was clear the demon was not coming back, I turned my attention to Barris, who still lay where Envy had left him, crumpled on the floor. I rushed to his side and rolled him onto his back, relieved to hear his resulting groan of pain; he still lived.

“Hold on!” I told him while I tried to place pressure on the gaping wound, reaching my hands beneath the plates and feeling the warm liquid gushing forth. I alternated between speaking soothingly to him and shouting for help as he stared up at the ceiling far above in confused despair. He must have been in agony, but he did not weep or cry out.

Cassandra and the others rushed over, urgently pushing me aside to get a closer look at the injury. When I saw their grim expressions, I knew there was no hope. The other templars gathered around him and held his hands, reciting the Chant in reverent chorus. Within moments, his face slackened, and the focus left his eyes as they glazed over, looking at nothing until someone reached out and gently shut them.

“Maker, take him into your arms,” Cassandra whispered.

He was gone.

I did not try to hide the tears that fell freely as I stood there, knuckles white around my staff, afraid that if I let go I would collapse to the ground in my exhaustion. It was all too much. I wanted to scream, but barely had the capacity to continue breathing. It all felt so wrong. He’d died protecting me. I couldn’t fathom it. I hated myself for my harsh words to him, hated him for rushing at a far superior opponent. Why would he willingly surrender his life for a mage?

The rest of that day was a blur. Though I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep, there was much work to do. There were other dead besides Barris, and they all deserved proper treatment. A mass pyre was assembled using the shattered furniture about the room as fuel. Solas had to do the honours, as Vivienne eschewed fire spells and my own mana was still depleted and slow in returning. At another time, he might have been annoyed at being forced to participate, but even he seemed reverent as he lit the pyre.

Aside from the dead templars, we were left with the quandary of the red lyrium-infested corpses. It would be irresponsible, even dangerous, to simply leave them for carrion-eaters to peck away at, but it felt too disrespectful to grant them the honor of a pyre of their own. Eventually, we decided it was best to bury them deep within the dungeons and seal them off, and hope no one went looking for them later.

It took another three days to drag every last corpse we could find down into the depths of the ancient fortress. None mentioned it aloud, but all of us knew to count well enough to observe that those we moved fell far short of the thousand or so Barris had given as their number. Where the rest of them were, we couldn’t have guessed, but a blanket of foreboding soon covered the aging fortress. Wherever they had gone, we would certainly be seeing them again. Cassandra vowed to inform the Trio of this problem when we reached Haven. Satisfied with that, I tried to put it out of my mind.

By then my injuries and my mana had recovered, and the others were more or less fit for travel as well; Iron Bull in particular seemed especially proud of the new scars he’d acquired. His recovery was perhaps the most remarkable, given the injuries he’d endured. I’d been so relieved to see him still standing at the end of the battle that I’d flung myself into his arms, heedless of the pain that resulted, until we were both laughing at my sentimentality.

And so we prepared for our return to Haven.

The templars were quick enough to offer their apologies for the atrocities that had gone on within these walls, and Cassandra even quicker to forgive. Too quick. I was unsurprised, but said nothing. It was clear they had no power anymore. Those few that were left barely numbered two dozen, and it was apparent to all of us that their combined power would not weaken the Breach nearly enough to make a difference. The heavy grief and failure in Cassandra’s eyes the few times she dared meet my gaze was so profound I almost felt sympathy for her.

Almost.

The morning of our departure, I lingered apart from the rest of the group, saying little to anyone, even Solas, who seemed to have deduced that I needed solitude to recover. In actuality, I was searching for Cole.

I hadn’t seen any sign of him since the fighting’s end, despite searching each night after the others had gone to sleep. It was as if he’d disappeared. What was stranger, others who had seen him fight seemed not to remember he’d ever been there at all. I wanted to thank him, and to ask him why he’d helped me. Sadly, he seemed to have determined he was better off remaining in the shadows.

It was hard to blame him.

By the morning of our departure, I’d all but given up. Still, I couldn’t resist one last attempt, climbing the battlements to look out over the courtyard below, scanning for any sign of him.

“Herald?”

Cassandra made her tentative approach, but stopped several paces back. I didn’t bother correcting her; she hadn’t used my name once these past few days, and I didn’t expect that to change anytime soon. Especially not after what I planned to say to her now.

I didn’t turn to face her, nor even acknowledge her presence behind me. I merely stood, waiting for her to continue.

“We are ready to leave,” she finally said after a long silence.

“I see that.”

I felt her consternation, knowing without having to look that she wore a worried scowl, uncertain how to proceed. We’d barely spoken since the battle, except to coordinate and plan our departure. This time, however, it was my design rather than hers. The memories dredged up by the demon were still fresh in my mind after years of pushing them deep down, old wounds savagely torn open for all around me to see. And all because of her.

“Will you be coming with us?” she asked.

Surprise made me turn to face her at last, and I saw the fear in her, so raw and vulnerable she barely looked like herself. If I had seen her standing next to the scowling, accusatory Seeker who’d loomed over me in the dungeons of Haven’s chantry, I might not have believed they were the same person.

I shook my head in disbelief. “After all this time, you still ask me that?”

Many emotions crossed her face at that - confusion and hurt at my tone, then relief as she processed my words, then guilt that she’d had to ask at all. She said nothing more, merely nodding, and turned to descend the steps. But I wasn’t done.

“Who do you think caused the Breach?” I asked.

She stopped and turned part way back to me, frowning, likely trying to discern my reason for asking. After a moment, she sighed.

“I’ve already told you, I no longer believe you responsible.”

“That’s not what I asked.” I took a step toward her, rapping my staff once upon the stones, as much for emphasis as to maintain my balance; my energy may have returned, but I was still not at my full strength. I did not relish the thought of our long journey back home, knowing I would spend much of it clinging weakly to Solas in the saddle to keep from falling. Clenching the staff tighter, I lifted my chin and continued my questioning. “It’s been months. Surely you must have some inkling by now as to other suspects?”

Her frown deepened, and she turned to face me fully, arms crossed; I’d put her on the defensive. Good.

“There’s been no further evidence or information regarding the circumstances surrounding the Breach’s creation, or the explosion of the Conclave,” she answered. “You know this as well as I.”

I shook my head. “We both know that’s not true. Most assume the mage rebellion did it, either out of revenge or to prevent peace. Why not pursue the only lead you have?”

She pursed her lips, and I could see the muscles in her jaw working as she struggled to maintain composure. She seemed reluctant to answer, but I refused to give an inch. I lifted my brows and waited, expectant, already knowing the answer.

“Hearsay and superstition are not evidence,” she eventually admitted. “And I will not waste our limited resources pursuing rumors.”

“So, you admit there’s no basis for such accusations? But then where does that leave us? There was only one other organization at the Conclave with something to gain from peace talks never coming to fruition.”

Realization dawned on her face as she finally saw the point I was building to.

“You cannot believe…”

“Of course I do!” I shouted, then drew back to regain my composure. “And either you’re incapable of conceiving of it, or unwilling to admit it. Either way, it proves you’ve learned nothing from what’s happened here. And as long as you continue to deny the obvious truth, I cannot let myself trust in your judgement. It has done nothing but bring me closer to danger and death.”

“I am sorry for what you have suffered---”

“---Sorry doesn’t take away what was done to me! Here and elsewhere. Nor does it make going forward any easier. Sorry doesn’t help me sleep at night, or make the faces of those I’ve failed any easier to bear!” I paused again, hearing my voice rise and not wanting my point to become lost by dissolving into hysterics. “I know you are only doing what you think is right, but I can’t condone the consequences anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

I didn’t want to meet her gaze, but I forced myself. I owed her that much, at least.

“From now on, we are allies by necessity only. Do not look to me for more.”

With that, I gathered myself and walked past her, descending the stairs toward the waiting party below. None of them uttered a word, all lost to their own thoughts. I accepted Solas’s hand and lifted myself into the saddle behind him. Cassandra followed not long after, and neither of us spared another glance toward the other as she gave the command to move out.

No one looked behind to the now empty fortress as we made our way at long last down the muddied path toward home.

Chapter Text

Our first night on the road, I dreamed of the pyre again. The crowd was much the same as before, adoring and worshipful. They ignored my desperate pleas as I was strapped, struggling, to the wood. The scent of oil filled my nostrils, then of smoke, making me gag and cough. I begged for release, but they only bent their heads in supplication. Just before the smoke and flames threatened to take me entirely, I looked up to the sky and beheld a pair of malevolent eyes looking down, watching the scene play out with detached disapproval, but unwilling to do anything to stop it.

“What is it you dread?” it asked in a voice that was everywhere and nowhere, a swarm of sounds coordinated to form the accusation.

I tried to answer, but my voice was lost to the flames.

My eyes opened onto the steepled cloth roof of my tent. My shirt was drenched in sweat and my chest heaved in panicked gasps. Rising, I pried damp tendrils of hair from my face as, slowly, reason reasserted itself. Sunlight peeked through my tent’s flaps, telling me it was already late morning. I frowned. No one had come to wake me. I dressed in a detached rush and rose to take in the fresh air, intending to discuss my dream with Solas before our departure. As an afterthought, I grabbed my staff, feeling too vulnerable without it.

Outside, the camp was bustling with preparations to set out. The fires had long since been doused, leaving piles of blinking embers dotting the landscape. I exchanged nods with Varric and Iron Bull, who both sat to the side, bags already packed, sharing a quick game of cards. Cassandra was giving clipped orders by where the horses were hitched, and the templars surrounding her answered with the stiff professionalism of those trained to obey orders. I gave them a wide berth.

Solas was nowhere to be seen. He always seemed to be absent when I most wanted his council. Just as I was turning back toward my tent, despairing, my ears caught a conversation. It was the tone more than what was said that paused my steps; hoarse and secretive, trying not to carry. Such a conversation amid all the activity of a morning camp was odd enough, but then the word “heretics” pulled my focus, and I deemed it worth the risk of eavesdropping.

Stepping carefully, I approached as close as I dared until I could discern the two templars who were talking. One of them I recognized as the woman who’d held Barris’s head as he died. She’d been among the first to attack Envy to save me from its clutches. She was tall, with chestnut brown hair and a sharp jawline, but kind eyes. The man she was talking to was one of several who deliberately avoided those of us from the Inquisition. He was shorter, burly, with a ragged beard and drawn, pale features. Currently, he was leaning in close to the woman and speaking in emphatic whispers, face tense and frantic.

“See reason, Lysette! We cannot stay here.”

“Why not?” Her response sounded weary, as if this were an old argument.

“Because we’re templars!”

The woman - Lysette - sighed. “What does that even mean anymore? That we let demons tear us down from the inside? That we splinter and fight each other rather than protect the mages?”

“There are no mages anymore!” he hissed. “Only apostates. Better we work to subdue them than remain tied to this ‘Inquisition’.”

“You’re awfully quick to dismiss the people who saved your life, Mattrin.”

The man threw up his hands in exasperation, but whatever they might have said next was interrupted as my boot came up against a stone, dislodging it. It was enough to alert them to my presence, and they both turned to stare at me in guilty surprise. An awkward standoff ensued, all three of us waiting for someone else to break the silence.

It was the man - Mattrin - who spoke first, nodding to my staff.

“Shouldn’t you be with the others, mage?”

Before I could respond, Lysette took a hand upside his head.

“Hush, you idiot! That’s the Herald of Andraste!”

He rubbed the back of his head, looking almost sheepish before remembering his pride and lowering his hand. With one last scathing look at his comrade, he strode past me toward where Cassandra and the rest of his ilk stood waiting. I watched him go, marking all I could about his features. I would be telling Solas about him as well, once he decided to reappear. That was a man who required watching.

“I apologize if we offended you,” Lysette said.

Not turning back, I answered shortly, “You haven’t.”

“Mattrin’s not a bad man,” she said, tentative. “He just…”

“Believes mages should be controlled.” Now I turned, daring her to disagree with an expectant stare. She said nothing, shifting in discomfort. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” I didn’t bother hiding my bitterness. After another moment of silence, I relented and started back toward my tent.

“For what it’s worth,” she called after me, “I am sorry for all you have suffered. I’m sorry that we failed you.”

I paused, but did not stop or turn back, retreating to the modicum of privacy my tent provided to consider what I’d witnessed. So the templars still disagreed on their own basic tenets? It was strange; I was used to thinking of them as a single entity, a unified force to be endured or fought. In all that had happened since the purging of Faxhold, it was easy to forget that it was not demons who trapped us in our misery, but people. People holding up a system of oppression founded on outdated fears.

Barris’s last words came back to me then. He’d had faith not in systems, but in people. People the system was supposed to serve. But what happened when the system served only itself? Sighing, I set about packing up my belongings, unsure what answer was the right one.

As it happened, I didn’t need to seek Solas out. When I was composed and my bags were packed, he found me.

“You’ve been having nightmares again,” he murmured, approaching from behind while I fussed over my mount’s harness. How did he always know? No one else ever seemed to pick up on my private distress.

“Just one,” I answered in the same low tone. “The same one.”

I’d told him of my dream after the third such occurrence, when it was clear the pyre had become something of a terror fixation for me. At the time, Solas had listened with impartial sympathy, offering his ear but little explanation. Not that one was needed - the meaning was clear enough. Even so, it helped to know he understood.

“We will meditate later,” he said decisively. “I also have potions that will help you sleep. You should know you can always come to me about this.” He sounded hurt, but I was too weary to try and suss out what my latest offense might be, and so I nodded in meek agreement.

Changing the topic, I indicated with a subtle gesture toward Mattrin, who was currently sitting against the base of a tree, whetting his blade and pointedly not looking at anyone. I explained what I’d heard between him and his comrade, Lysette.

“We should watch him,” I said. “See how many of the others agree with him.”

Solas nodded. If he wondered that I did not suggest speaking to Cassandra about it, he said nothing.

Much of the rest of the journey continued in that fashion. I was restless each night, and what sleep I did achieve was plagued with nightmares. It got so bad that I began falling asleep in the saddle. It wasn’t long before the others noticed, and Varric started seeking me out in the evenings, insisting I take part in a game of dice or cards. Sometimes he even told stories to whatever crowd had gathered around him that night, always keeping the subject whimsical or humorous. I loved him for it, and hated having to feign amusement. Ever since the demon, I had felt wholly apart from my emotions, as if they were locked away in that impenetrable dark cell with the glowing red eyes.

I saw your dread…

What was it I dreaded?

Iron Bull added his efforts as well, though his care was of a much different fashion. He came to sit beside me one night, after most of the others had gone to sleep and the fire burned down to embers. He spoke in low, rumbling tones full of enticing promise, offering his tent and himself as a distraction, should I desire an outlet.

I almost accepted, but though my blood quickened at the notion, it was not the kind of release I sought just then. The thought of intimacy of that level felt disingenuous while feeling so detached from myself. And so I declined. He took no offense, offering to spar instead, switching from seductive to jovial with a speed only he could manage with affability. That was more agreeable, and what’s more, improving my combat skills helped me feel less useless.

So, in the evenings after our food had digested, we would find a clearing or flat patch of ground well removed from the camp, and he would let me vent my frustrations in mock combat, working out the tangled web of emotions until my muscles ached and I could barely stand. Then he would escort me back to my tent, where sleep would come fast in my exhaustion.

When at last we reached Haven, my detachment only grew more apparent. I should have been glad to see so many friendly faces, but instead my weariness weighed me down, its heavy hand covering my heart. Every expression or greeting cost more effort than a sparring match with Bull, and soon I was ducking my head and longing to become invisible. Cullen was there to greet us, training recruits as usual. As he took in our dour group, however, his face fell and his brow pinched with concern. He moved as if to approach me, but Cassandra intercepted him. I was glad of it, not trusting myself to withstand pity with any grace. They conferred for some time in hushed tones, and I felt their eyes following me as I moved past them toward the stables.

The templars stayed behind on the field to be introduced to Cullen, who would no doubt be in the best position to make the most use of them. I was not sorry to finally be free of them.

Before the rest of us had finished brushing down our wearied mounts, a runner came bounding up to ask if the Herald and Seeker Pentaghast had time for a quick debriefing with the advisors. I told him that Cassandra was conversing with the Commander afield, but that I would not be able to answer any questions until tomorrow. The runner must have noticed my sorry state, for he only nodded and ran off toward the training field.

By that time even standing was enough to take the breath out of me. Somehow, I made it back to my cabin, where I promptly downed one of Solas’s sleep tonics and collapsed in an exhausted heap upon the bed, not even bothering to remove my shoes or turn down the covers before surrendering to blissful sleep.

By the time I woke it was mid-afternoon of the next day and the sounds and scents of Haven’s daily routines were a comfort as I dragged myself back to the waking world. I thought of asking one of the runners - who were ever moving to and fro through the village - if they might have food brought to me, but I knew I would have to face the outside sooner or later.

So, I rose and splashed cold water on my face from the pitcher on the bedside table, wondering who had been thoughtful enough to refill it. I did what I could to brush the tangles from my hair, annoyed with myself for letting it get so disheveled, eventually giving up and pulling it back into a low horsetail rather than my customary braid. Then, armed with the numbness that seemed to have followed me to Haven, I made my way out into the bracing cold.

I briefly considered finding Solas, but the thought of meditation made me fidget, fearful I would lose myself to dark paths in search of peace. Besides, I could feel my hunger begin to insist on my attention, and the noise from the tavern promised distraction, if not peace. So, I made my way there instead.

It was as busy as ever, but the atmosphere had shifted. It felt more somber, lacking its customary liveliness. Judging from the furtive looks from several patrons who tried very hard to look like they weren’t looking at me, it seemed news of the events at the fortress had gotten around. Grabbing the nearest empty seat, I sat heavily and waved for Flissa’s attention, doing my best to resist the urge to lay my head down on the table’s surface.

“You look like shit.” Iron Bull took a seat across from me whose prior occupant had just decided he’d rather be elsewhere at a single look from Bull.

“I do love our talks,” I replied in a sour tone. His response was delayed as Flissa approached and I asked her for whatever was hot to eat, and a mug - no, a pitcher - of her strongest ale. He waited patiently until she retreated back behind the bar to prepare my order.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I know Therinfal was rough, but---”

“---Don’t.”

A few patrons nearby paused their conversation to glance over with wary curiosity and I winced; my interruption had been louder than intended.

“I’d rather not discuss it,” I said, less harsh this time.

“You’ll have to face it sooner or later,” he replied, not unkindly. He paused again as Flissa returned, flashing me her usual sunny smile as she placed a mug and pitcher in front of me, along with a steaming bowl of what smelled like cabbage soup.

“I appreciate your concern,” I said once she’d gone, in a tone that meant very much the opposite. “But I’m quite capable of handling my own emotions, thank you.” I took a large spoonful of soup, sighing as its warmth slid down my throat and began to melt away some of the lingering haze of sleep. “Besides, right now, I just want to feel nothing.”

He shrugged. “There are other options. My bed’s still on offer if you change your mind.” He said it with such nonchalance it took a moment to process his meaning. When I did, I paused, looking up to meet his lurid grin. “I can make sure you’re too distracted to feel anything else for a long while.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied, pretending to sound unimpressed. After another mouthful, I asked, “That’s the second time you’ve propositioned me. Is there something I should know about your intentions?”

He shrugged, an easy chuckle on his lips. “Pretty much what it sounds like, Boss. No strings, no hidden agenda. Just good old-fashioned tension release between two consenting adults. It’s pretty obvious the sparring matches aren’t cutting it.”

“I very much doubt anything is just what it sounds like with you.” That earned me a bark of laughter, but he didn’t press the matter further.

The idea was not without appeal, of course - if I was utterly devoid of interest, he wouldn’t have offered. Even as I contemplated it while spooning more into my hungry belly, a very different heat began to rise in my core, one that owed nothing to the soup. But no, he’d been right in his assessment in Val Royeaux. Though I preferred an emotional connection with any chosen partners, life in the Circle had made lasting relationships… unwise. That’s not to say I hadn’t engaged in casual liaisons from time to time, when the mood suited me - and a willing partner was at hand. But the demon’s lingering visions had brought to light old wounds. And new complications.

Unbidden, my mind conjured a face I hadn’t pictured in many years. Large, liquid eyes that were the deep grey of storm clouds. An elegant face, with the long, sharp angles typical of his people, further accentuated by the tapered points of his ears. His smile always reached that place deep within me that made me want to smile back.

Taeris…

But almost as soon as he came into focus, he morphed and shifted into another face - more squared and less angular, with worry lines at the mouth and across the forehead. Warm eyes that were sometimes a deep amber and sometimes a bright gold, deep-sunken and weary from the burdens he carried. And a smile that was as rare as it was shy, but no less beautiful for it.

Soon the bowl before me was empty. The soothing warmth of the soup was beginning to spread outward from my stomach, bracing me so that I was now able to meet the gazes of the other patrons. I started on the ale.

Bull kept his seat, alternating between conversations with whomever was within earshot. Listening, I realized several of those conversations were with members of his mercenary group, the Chargers. It was plain they admired their leader a great deal, and in kind he treated them as friends and equals. They shared an easy camaraderie that spoke of many years in the field together, and had managed to spread themselves over the tavern like a warm blanket to keep out the chill of dark news. I recalled with fondness they had managed much the same in the Storm Coast, though at the time I’d been too wrapped up in my own misery to notice.

Much like now.

Turning my attention beyond my table, I observed the growing crowd and its myriad vignettes on display. Varric was holding court in his usual corner, playing cards, his custom-made pipe dangling from his mouth as wisps of smoke billowed around him. Sera was a few feet away, listening to some soldiers sharing tales of training mishaps. One got her laughing so hard she nearly fell from her chair. A game of dice was drawing a fair amount of attention in another corner, with jeers and woeful shouts over the latest unfortunate roll. Flissa appeared to be fending off an overly zealous admirer with dignity, under the protective eye of Krem, who was scowling at the end of the bar, ready to jump in if needed.

An emptiness rose in me as I watched them all, wondering how some found it so easy to open up to near-strangers. I envied them their carefree mirth, and my next sip of ale tasted more sour than the last.

Suddenly the press of bodies around was too much, and my head began to throb. I wanted to leave, but remained rooted to my seat, knowing it would only draw more attention. Or perhaps I was simply tired of running, in every sense of the word. I made do instead with downing the rest of the ale in a few large gulps, leading to approving cheers from some of the Chargers.

Bull frowned with growing concern.

“Tell me a story,” I said, cutting him off before he could voice his concern yet again. “I keep hearing you’re full of them, but you’ve never told me any.”

His frown deepened, but rather than argue he waved Krem over, and his demeanor instantly switched from disapproval to jovial, all trace of concern gone.

“That’s just ‘cause Krem here is better at telling the stories than I am,” he said. “Apparently, I get too descriptive.”

“Only about the blood and guts, Chief,” Krem said, setting his mug on the table and taking a seat beside him, keeping one eye on the bar. His quiet glare had deterred Flissa’s irksome admirer, but it wouldn’t be long before another one thought to try. “Not everyone wants to hear that shite.”

“I do!” shouted one of the soldiers, and a short round of laughter spread through the room.

“Like I said.” Bull shrugged, then shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got a better idea.”

He beckoned to have Flissa bring over another pitcher and nodded to my own, indicating I should refill my mug. I did and waited, curious.

“Drinking game,” he said, placing his own mug before us like an ante in a card game. The smile that split his face was pure mayhem, and I felt my own grin spreading in response.

“I’m listening,” I said.

The rules were simple - one of us would call out a past experience, and if any of us had ever done it, we had to drink. The winner, if one could call it that, was determined by proposing a scenario no others present could truthfully drink to.

“And no trying to get out of drinking if you’ve done whatever it is,” Bull warned, fixing all around him with a false glare. “Or drinking if you haven’t. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

A few laughed nervously, unsure how seriously to take him, but when Krem and I shared exasperated grins and shook our heads, the mood lightened again.

“Krem, you go first,” Bull prodded his lieutenant again, who scoffed, but thought a moment, looking about the small crowd that had gathered at the mention of the words “drinking” and “game” in a sentence.

“Ever been arrested?”

Several of the patrons drank, including Iron Bull. I drank as well, figuring my rude awakening in the Chantry dungeons after the Breach’s creation counted. Bull went next.

“Woke up in someone else’s clothes, but you don’t remember why.”

I didn’t drink at that one, but I was surprised by how many did. This of course caused several of the drinkers to talk over each other in an effort to explain themselves, resulting in a raucous cacophony and almost none of anyone’s stories being heard.

“Oh! Lemme play!” Sera interjected, wandering over from her spot by the door, drawn by our rowdiness. Someone refilled her mug, and we all waited, curious what she would come up with. When one occurred to her, she grinned wickedly. “Ever piss fire?”

That caused many outcries of disbelieving laughter, but to my horrified shock, several drank - most of them mages. I held in a private smile, knowing several likely causes, but one brave soul asked how such a thing was even possible.

“Antivan fire!” Sera replied proudly. “Drank it once on a bet!”

“Actually,” a brown-skinned man of middling age interjected with a knowing tone. I recognized him for one of Bull’s Chargers, the medic. “What Antivan Fire actually does is convert your urine to a highly volatile substance that---”

“---Blahblahblah.” Sera rolled her eyes. “I know what happened to my own piss, old man!”

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Stitches,” Krem said. “Unless you wanna wake up clean-shaven… everywhere.”

Stitches looked bewildered, while Sera cackled. “This one gets it!”

Krem grinned. “I came across one of your ‘victims’ in the armory yesterday. Poor lad’s head looked barer than a baby’s arse.”

“I saw him,” the dwarven Charger, Rocky, spoke up in a rare moment of participation, fingering his meticulously braided beard. “What’d the poor sod do to deserve that?”

“Got handsy with one o’ the cooks.” Sera shrugged, showing no remorse. “Now everyone knows he’s a creeper.”

That earned Sera salutes and toasts from several others, myself included - no one seemed to object to a harasser getting his due humiliation. Flissa’s admirer from earlier beat a hasty retreat, and Rocky barked loudly with amusement, watching him rush out.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, girly!”

Sera sneered. “Calling me ‘girly’ is a good way to get bald, Beardy.”

An uncertain standoff occurred as Rocky tried to determine whether she was joking. Then he erupted into more laughter, clapping her on the back and the moment passed. The game resumed, with the next participant offering up spending an entire night doubled over with vomiting, leading to pretty much all the Chargers and half the rest of the room drinking.

“Does it count if the food was off?” another of the Chargers - the Dalish woman whose name I couldn’t place - asked, sparking a lively discussion.

“If you’re talking about those fish biscuits from the market in Antiva City, then that was your own stupid fault,” Bull said, effectively ending the debate.

“Still better than Flissa’s bread! Harder than the dwarf’s head!” a villager called out, eliciting an offended challenge from Flissa and Varric both.

The rounds moved faster then. Varric submitted winning a hand of cards by bluffing. Most everyone had done as much, but when Bull raised it to winning with his very life as the bet, only two others drank - both of them Chargers. One soldier bet no one else had placed in a Grand Tourney, but a tall woman with a thick frame and Starkhaven brogue downed her drink and asked mockingly whether he’d only won in archery or if he’d competed in, as she put it, “a real fight”. His muttered response of winning the joust was still impressive enough to earn many pats and claps. Even the Starkhaven woman nodded her approval, but soon had an admirer of her own in the form of Sera, who was making eyes at her and leaving little doubt as to her intentions. This led to more good-natured jabs and whoops of encouragement from the crowd as the woman allowed Sera to take up residence beside her.

Rocky then stepped forward with a confident swagger and bet no one else had burnt their own eyebrows off in an explosion. Everyone looked aghast, and he grinned smugly, thinking himself the victor. But his grin faded when he saw me take a drink.

“Storm magic can have powerful blowback if you’re not careful,” I answered flatly. After a shocked pause, the room erupted into laughter once more.

“Your turn, Herald!” Krem nodded to me when things had quieted enough to be heard.

“Me?” My laughter died.

“Sky-holes and your glowy hand are off limits!” Sera shouted with a raised mug, leaning on her new acquaintance with drunken swagger. It was a comical sight - the woman was easily two full heads taller than her, even sitting down. She didn’t seem to mind the attention, however, and indeed had thrown one bare, well-muscled arm around the diminutive elf while wearing a cock-eyed smile.

I considered it, unsure if I even had anything worth bringing up. There was a brief moment of panic as I feared either embarrassing myself or dragging the mood back down to the abyss I’d been in when this all started. Sera frowned over at me from beneath her support’s arm. I had the unsettling feeling her expression was mocking my own.

“Real sourpuss, you are!” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Too right! You frown too much!”

“I… didn’t realize I was frowning.”

“That’s just how her face is,” Varric chuckled. “She’s a lot nicer than that dour expression would have you believe!”

I shot him an exasperated look without much ire, not really offended. This apparently amused the rest enough to raise the din in another uproarious round of laughter.

“Eh leave her,” Bull said with a dismissive wave. “Spent most of her life either among pampered nobles or in a cushy Circle. I doubt she’d have any stories worth sharing.”

It was a friendly challenge, no real bite to the words. Yet, I couldn’t resist the bristling defensiveness that rose in response, and he knew it. I thought more carefully, then smirked, meeting his gaze with steady confidence.

“Did you know, you can effectively disable an entire squadron of templars simply by slipping deep mushroom extract into their evening stew? Guarantees they won’t move from the privy for at least a whole night, and the evidence is easily discarded.”

There was a pause about the room as everyone pictured the image I’d just conjured, followed by an eruption of hysterical laughter. One or two of the other mages shared knowing looks with me; one lamented he’d never thought to try it. Bull laughed as loudly as any of them, booming and filling the room from his seat, but he did not drink. No one drank.

It seemed I had won.

After that the game dissolved and I lost much of the thread of conversation, listening with half an ear while the ale did its job. I worked my way through one pitcher and ordered another when that was empty. The sun pushed shadows across the floor as the rhythm of merriment rose and fell in melodies I recognized but could not feel. Bull’s drinking game had worked to lift the somber mood that had dominated the room when I’d entered, but all I could do was watch from my lonely corner, adrift and unmoored in a sea of faces.

“So,” Sera slurred as she took a seat on the corner of the table next to me. Her titanic new companion was engaged in an arm-wrestling battle with Rocky across the room, and seemed well-matched as both vied for the advantage. Sera eyed her appreciatively for a moment, then spread her gaze about the room and squinted, either in thought or confusion.

“Thissit? The Inquisition, yeah? I thought it’d be bigger.” I gave her a questioning look, but before I could think of how to respond, she snickered. “Oh man, that’d have been hilarious if you were a man. Wasted!” She continued laughing at her own joke, swaying precariously until I reached out a steadying hand to her shoulder. She withdrew from the touch with a shudder.

“Oooooh it’s tingly!” she exclaimed. I’d reached out with my left hand. I withdrew it with a murmured apology, but that only caused another snicker from her. “You apologize a lot, d’you notice? Anyway, it’s not bad. A good start, but stopping wars should earn more sovereigns than this.”

“We’re not doing this for coin,” I replied, offended.

“You maybe, but what you think the rest of those out there are gonna start over with? Songs and dreams?” Sera raised a pale eyebrow. “They need things to go back to normal so coin starts flowing again. Too bad the big meet for mages and templars went up in smoke.” Another snicker. “Get it? Up in…”

“That’s not funny.”

She rolled her eyes, undeterred. “Oh pish! You really are a sourpuss, no matter what Short-and-Hairy says. Still,” she tilted her head, considering me through her uneven bangs. “You care, and that’s better than worse. Don’t lose that.” A light punch to my shoulder showed she meant it kindly, and I took another sip from my mug to hide my smile.

“It’s not the mages or templars keeping things from being normal,” I said after a moment. I spoke slowly, needing to concentrate on the words to get them out coherently.

Sera rolled her eyes. “Well yeah, there’s a giant hole in the sky! But I can’t put arrows through that. Well… I have. But they don’t come back down. That’s the weird bit! It’s… weird. And it’s right there. But most people still care about punching each other ‘stead of fixing it!”

“Most people are too … invessssted to stop fighting now.” Hm. Since when were “s” sounds so hard to say?

“Most people are stupid.”

“And what side’re you on then?” I demanded, my voice rising. The ale was swimming through my veins, casting halos around all the flickering lights and putting Sera into a soft focus. She looked down at me in patient annoyance, like this was an old argument we’d had a dozen times before.

“I’m in the middle, with everyone else,” she said. “You know what I hear about mages? Nuthin’. Until one goes all demon-y. Know what I hear about templars? Nuthin’. Until they take maybe-mages. They’re too wrapped up in each other to care about the real problems!”

“Right, they should know it’s jus’ that simple!” I declared with dripping sarcasm and not a little slurring. “Jusstop fighting! Forget about the ages and ages of syssstemic oppression! End all wars! Stitch the giant hole in the sky! I’ll start right now! Easy part first, of course.”

I rose from my seat as I finished, meaning to make a grand gesture, but then the room went sideways and I had to sit back down, spilling the last of the ale from my mug as I did. More than a little landed on my tunic. Sera looked surprised for a moment, then burst into laughter, clutching her belly with one hand while steadying herself on the table with the other.

“You’re daft!” she declared when she settled again. She considered me again, this time more seriously, though still with an undercurrent of warmth in her scrutiny. “Didn’t think you had any smirk in you. Good. I think I like you, Lady Herald.”

“Ugh, I wish people would stop calling me that.”

“Which part? Lady or Herald?” But she waved dismissively before I could respond. “Don’t matter. Not supposed to like it either way. But it’ll keep you honest, yeah? Unless the ‘Lady’ bit’s the truth and you’re just like those rich tarts from back home. If you’re rich enough that I’ve heard of you, chances are you’re a tart. And I’ve heard of Trevelyan.”

“Call me whatever you like,” I growled around the mug. “So long as you don’t lump me in with my ridiculous family.”

She laughed again at that, clearly approving of my response. Then she hopped down from the table, light and steady on her feet. She beckoned to me with a cock of her head, indicating toward the arm wrestling match that was fast approaching its conclusion as Rocky’s arm began bending steadily back toward the table.

“C’mon! Bridget heard there’s secret tunnels under Haven, and I wanna see if they’re for true. You wanna come?”

I shook my head, leery of another attempt at standing. Even that slight motion was a mistake, as the room kept shaking even after I’d stopped. I had to hold my head in my hands to make it still, only to withdraw my left hand before its tingling made the dizziness worse.

“I’m no good for exploring right now. Besides,” I nodded toward Bridget, who’d just slammed Rocky’s hand down with a flourish and was now standing with fists pumped skyward in triumph. “I get the feeling I’d be a third wheel.”

Sera gave a positively demonic smirk and jaunted off out the door under the arm of her new partner in crime, while I held a cool glass to my head to soothe the pounding.

At some point, I must have stumbled back to my cabin, for the bright morning sunlight pierced through the window, boring into my skull past my tightly shut eyelids. I retreated beneath the flimsy protection of my covers, groaning in protest.

“Ah, she lives,” came a disdainful voice beside my bed.

Lowering the covers with great reluctance, I was met with Solas’s disparaging gaze. It hurt worse than the sunlight, but I couldn’t hide from him. Rising sheepishly - and mildly surprised I’d had the presence of mind to strip down to my leggings and undershirt the night before - I stepped around him to get to the pitcher of blessedly cold water. After a few splashes, the worst of the sleep and headache eased, and I ignored the remaining protests of my body, knowing I had brought such discomfort upon myself.

“Why are you here?” I managed to ask, reaching for my hairbrush as I sat back on the bed to tease through the tangles.

“The advisors asked me to check on your wellbeing,” he said, pointedly lifting one brow. “When you didn’t show for the debriefing they were concerned.”

“Shit!”

A wave of shame passed over me as I remembered I was supposed to meet with them last evening. I could only imagine what they would think of me when they realized why I hadn’t shown. With another groan, I let the brush fall to my side and lowered my head into my hands.

“This is hardly productive,” Solas sighed.

I lifted my head only enough to shoot him a glare, but I knew enough not to argue. He was right, of course. He was always right.

“What did you tell them?” I almost didn’t want to hear his answer, but I needed to prepare myself for how bad the inevitable confrontation would be.

“Well, there would hardly be any purpose in disparaging you to them, would there?”

I frowned, not sure I understood. “So, you didn’t....?”

“I told them only that you were still in no shape to face a line of severe questioning just yet.” One side of his mouth twitched. “It was true enough, after all.”

“Thank you.”

His amusement faded. “Don’t thank me. Your meeting was moved to this morning, in just under an hour. It’s fortunate you woke when you did.”

Chapter Text

V: Herald? What’s up? Have I missed an appointment?
T: No, no. We weren’t scheduled to meet today. I just… felt like a change. Is this a bad time?
V: Are you kidding? I have a schedule so full it’s practically bursting at the seams!
T: Right, sorry. I’ll leave you to it then.
V: Don’t you dare. I’ve been dying for an excuse to blow it off. This is great!
T: ...But, what about---
V: ---I’ll get my notes! Just wait here.
T: Hmm. Bran’s going to have my head over this.
V: More like my head. But it’ll be totally worth it. Now, let’s go somewhere he can’t find us for a while.

“Cullen!”

Josephine’s sharp tone shattered my focus, snapping my head up from the notes I was perusing to see Cullen jump as well. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, eyes skirting briefly about the room before settling on Josephine beside him.

“I, um… I’m sorry, you were saying?” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Josephine sighed in annoyance. “I was saying that Chancellor Roderick came to speak to me. Again. Could you try not to antagonize him?”

Cullen rolled his eyes, even as the corners of his mouth ticked upward. “If I offend the man so easily, perhaps he should try leaving me alone.”

Leliana shot a knowing smirk across the map table to me, and I ducked back down to my notes lest my own smile show. One of the favorite rumors among the soldiers in the tavern last night was of an ongoing feud between Cullen and the Chancellor, with many and varied guesses as to its cause. Only I knew its true origin - that it had begun in defense of me, after Roderick’s cruel rebuff before my departure for Val Royeaux. When I’d heard of the numerous inconveniences and slights Cullen had set in the Chancellor’s way while I’d been gone, a complicated mixture of exasperation and gratitude had stirred within me.

Gratitude won out after a chance encounter with Roderick this morning. I had been rushing to the meeting with the advisors, and nearly collided straight into him just inside the chantry. Where I expected vitriol, he instead offered a professional - if strained - greeting, followed by a swift retreat as he pleaded urgent business elsewhere. My smile carried me all the way to the war room, where my unusually bright greeting at Cullen’s entrance evoked a surprised smile from him in return. Apparently, either of us smiling was enough of a rarity to deserve teasing remarks from the others. Such an observation should have shamed me, but I felt only a private thrill that I’d managed such a response from the gruff Commander in the first place.

He must have been in a good mood as well; he didn’t even bother objecting to my staff remaining at my side, especially after I claimed lingering exhaustion from the journey. It wasn’t entirely a lie; I was still fatigued, and this debrief would be taxing at best. The pulsing energy from the staff helped steady me. What I didn’t say, however, was part of me stubbornly insisted on bringing it so long as Cullen insisted on wearing his sword. It had become an unspoken contest of wills between us, and my resolve was bolstered every time I saw his grimace of disapproval when his eyes flitted over my staff’s height.

Another new development was the unsteady camaraderie that had blossomed between the Trio during my long absence. Leliana praised the renewed enthusiasm of Cullen’s troops since the templars’ arrival, and his responding pride was infectious enough that I could not resent him for it. Josephine was solicitous, asking after their accommodations. He dismissed her concern, saying that the Circle’s quarters weren’t quite as grand as she must have been imagining.

By the time pleasantries had run their course, we noticed that Cassandra had not yet arrived. Just as Josephine was about to summon a runner to locate her, however, she stormed through the doors like an ill omen. Sparing not a single glance in my direction, she crossed the room to stand at the far end of the table with arms crossed and shoulders tighter than a pulled bow. The atmosphere of the room sank, and no one dared question her mood.

It seemed she had decided to take my parting words at Therinfal Redoubt personally after all. Stifling a weary sigh, I braced myself for the hours of questioning ahead.

To my relief, they began gently, with the events in Val Royeaux. I left out no details, patiently clarifying when requested, though for the most part there was little interruption. Today was exclusively for updates; any planning - and the inevitable debates along with it - would wait for another time.

I expected criticism about the public fallout between the Chantry and the Templar Order, but Josephine praised my intervention. Word of my efforts to protect Mother Hevara had swayed many who were previously uncertain of the Inquisition’s intentions. Cullen lamented the madness of the Templars’ departure from the Chantry, but he did not sound surprised.

For once, all three were in agreement as to the wisdom of my acquisition of Vivienne and Sera and her Friends. Indeed, Vivienne was already proving her worth by sending letters to contacts in the Orlesian court, begging supplies to supplement our increasingly strained resources. Sera had offered help as well, though hers was a good deal less… conventional.

“Is that what I think it is?” Cullen peered at the parchment Josephine was holding. It was from Sera, an outline for some concoction that weaponized bees, of all things. It also contained a rather colorful sketch that had little to do with bees, and served only to evoke a light blush from Josephine. Leliana gave a girlish giggle that sharply contrasted with her usual guile.

“Yes, it seems Sera is… quite the artist,” Josephine said diplomatically. “I’m sure we can… find a use for her information.”

V: Ahh, Buttercup’s famous anatomical sketches.
T: I’ve always meant to ask, why “Buttercup”?
V: Because of her hair.
T: Really?
V: Yeah, why?
T: No reason. I just… always assumed there was more to it than that.
V: Sometimes, Herald, brevity is the soul of wit.
T: And why do you insist on still calling me that?
V: Sometimes, you call a spade a spade.
T: … Do you have an idiom for everything?
V: Hey, there’s method to my madness.
T: *sigh*

Their reactions were more mixed when I recounted Grand Enchanter Fiona’s invitation to meet with the rebel mages in Redcliffe. Cullen was immediately suspicious, looking to Cassandra with an incredulous shake of his head. She remained taciturn, however, and would not meet his eyes, though I could see the muscles of her jaw clenching. Leliana, on the other hand, was enthusiastic, while Josephine oscillated. There would be an epic disagreement over this, but before that could happen there was still much ground to cover.

Unfortunately, there was no way to avoid what I dreaded most. Cassandra broke her long silence to take over the recounting of the events at Therinfal Redoubt. I was grateful that specifics of my time battling Envy alone were not requested. Whether that was out of courtesy or ignorance, I couldn’t have said. It felt strange to think they might not know, but I had to remind myself all that time trapped in my own mind had been only the blink of an eye to those around me.

When the red templars and their escape from the fortress just before our arrival was brought up, Cullen interrupted in surprise.

“Samson is a Knight-Captain? How is that possible?”

“You know him?” Cassandra asked.

“We served together, for a time,” he admitted with some reluctance, giving her a significant look. “In Kirkwall.”

I closed my mouth on a shocked exclamation before it could escape. In all the time I’d been in Haven, Cullen had never willingly spoken of Kirkwall. It was an unsettling reminder of the unspoken connection between him and Cassandra - if rumors were true, it was where they met, and where she had recruited him for the Inquisition. The look that passed between them spoke of the kind of bond forged from shared grief. Not for the first time, I wondered if there was more than grief behind that look, and hated myself a little for caring either way.

But then Cullen looked away, and the moment passed. “But he was discharged from the Order for… unbecoming behavior. I doubt he was reinstated, and with a promotion no less.”

“Is that jealousy I hear, Commander?” Leliana teased.

“Hardly. It only goes to prove this demon has successfully manipulated events to suit itself.”

“I didn’t even know Envy demons existed,” Josephine said, eyes wide in fearful wonder.

“Nor I.” Leliana sounded less enthralled, possibly disliking the notion of being ill-informed. She stood with arms crossed and lips pursed in thought. “Hiding in plain sight. Some must be impossible to find.”

“Not entirely,” Cullen answered in a heavy voice. His eyes darted toward me for a heartbeat. “Envy is never satisfied with a single face for long.”

Was that concern I saw? Or suspicion? I steeled myself and lifted my chin.

“Is there something you’d like to ask me, Cullen?”

He frowned, blinked, then shook his head in a gesture that seemed to be meant for himself more than me.

“Of course not. Let us proceed, shall we?” But he now was deliberately avoiding my gaze. I sighed.

Once a templar, always a templar.

Cassandra continued. It went on long enough that lunch was brought to us on trays laiden with hard bread and cheese. I forced myself to eat, but my appetite had long since soured. To my shame, Envy’s taunts had indeed been heard by the others in the battle, even if they lacked the context to understand their devastating effect on me. I felt the curious glances of the Trio, but none were so brash as to press for details. For my part, I kept my gaze firmly on the map we surrounded, keeping my focus fixed on Redcliffe.

There was a pause when Cassandra described Envy’s defeat at my hands. The short beat of silence was heavy with accusation, but when I broke away from the map to glance sidelong at her, she was looking directly ahead and continued without further delay.

When all was said and done, everyone looked thoroughly horrified at the tale.

“We need to find out who this ‘Elder One’ is,” Leliana said, one finger to her chin, determination hardening her expression. It was a lead, the first true lead since this all began. “Did the demon say anything else that might indicate who is orchestrating all this?”

I shook my head. Envy had given nothing away. Or had it?

“One of the things it showed me when it was… when I was fighting to break free, was a vision of the Inquisition conquering Orlais. It wasn’t connected to any of my past memories, and I didn’t recognize anyone there. That must have come from Envy.”

“It could be an indication of what its master has planned.” Leliana took hold of the implication quickly, eyes ablaze with new information.

Josephine looked uneasy. “If this ‘Elder One’ is planning to target Orlais, he could not have picked a better time. Empress Celene is still mired in civil war with the Grand Duke Gaspard, and her forces are spread thin. The court is divided in their support, and even the elves are rising up in rebellion. One push is all it could take to plunge the empire into chaos.”

“Yes, but what would that accomplish?” Cullen asked. “We still don’t have enough information to act.”

The questions piled up quickly, but the morning had already waned into afternoon, and was now stretching into evening. So, a second meeting was set for the next day. Leliana would gather intelligence on any reference to our mysterious puppet master, and Josephine would review her notes on Orlais’s current status. Cullen, meanwhile, would fortify our defenses, in case of a direct assault.

Thus did we adjourn. Cassandra took her leave without another word to anyone, nearly bowling me over as she passed by. I felt Leliana’s furtive frown and Cullen’s concerned gaze on my back as I took my own leave. No doubt they were wondering at the recent rift between us, but I was not about to wait for more questions. The meeting had exhausted what fortitude I’d managed to reclaim from yesterday’s revels, only now I had shed the protection of numbness that kept my memories at a distance.

Out in the great hall, the sun’s light had moved past the eastern-facing doors, casting elongated shadows across the stone floor. I had to squint to readjust my eyes after the brightness of the myriad candles Josephine kept lit in the war room. It seemed others were of the same mind; several Sisters were beginning to light the torches perched on the columns that lined either side of the hall.

As I passed one, the Sister lighting it slipped her hand on the striking stone. She jolted with a cry of pain, and the torch crashed to the ground, flames and sparks flaring up from the fall. It rolled and came to rest at my feet. It was innocent - an accident, nothing more. Yet, the shock of it broke through the last modicum of control I had left. The room began to spin, my lungs constricted, and my throat closed up as the smoke seemed to surround me and become thick, stopping any air from entering. The room spun and blood pounded in my ears.

No, no, no!

But the world continued to blur. My breaths were short and ragged. Eyes watered. Head throbbed.

Not now! Please, not now!

Frantic, I dashed through the nearest doorway and descended the steps two and three at a time until I reached the bottom, hurling myself against the stone wall at the base.

“Herald?” a voice from above called out.

I couldn’t let anyone see me thus. I ran, boots pounding against stone and arms flung ahead of me in the darkness until the walls opened and I crashed against a gate of cold, rusted iron. For a brief moment confusion broke through the panic, and my awareness spread outward. The room was square, with a low ceiling and damp floors. Water dripped from some unseen corner, and the smell of mildew seeped into my nostrils. Instead of walls, the perimeter was marked by metal bars that looked in on darkened cells. A single torch guttered behind me, casting patchwork shadows from the bars where the light fell, bobbing with the pace of its carrier - my pursuer.

In my panic, I’d run into the dungeon.

Memories overwhelmed sense. Chains and accusations and a pallid green glow I couldn’t explain, even as it was draining my life out through my palm. I turned to flee, but in my blind panic I ran straight into an obstruction; something hard and metal, that strangely gave as I pressed into it. A hand reached up to grasp my shoulder, and I realized it was a person - the torch’s carrier.

“Theresa?” a familiar voice asked. “What are you…Maker’s breath!” The voice halted, and I looked up into Cullen’s wide-eyed concern. “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t answer, only shook my head, not trusting my voice. His grip on my shoulder felt like shackles. I backed away, and he released me instantly, searching my face for answers.

“What happened?” he asked. “You’ve been unsettled all morning. Is it Envy? What did it do to you?”

It was too much; the wariness, the suspicion writ in the deepening lines of his scowl. My weakness as a source of fear for another. It broke through my defenses, undoing all my carefully built walls, leaving me terrifyingly exposed. Hot tears obscured his face, and I was helpless to stop the torrent. Still trying to hide, I backpedaled until I came up against one of the cells and slid down to a crouch. There, I could only bury my head in my arms as sobs wracked my body and echoed against the suffocating space.

The torchlight shifted, coming to rest beside me as Cullen lowered himself to the ground. He said nothing, made no move to touch me, only sat; a silent guardian as I poured my grief onto the cold stone. I wanted him to leave, hated that he could see this part of me, but I had no voice for anything but choking sobs.

I don’t know how long I lay there, but when at last the tears stopped, my body ached with the effort of holding myself together. My throat was raw, and I could feel the tenderness where I’d been gripping my arms. There would be bruises there tomorrow. Yet through all the soreness and grief, the numbness returned, settling over me like a protective cloak.

Cullen remained unobtrusive beside me, mirroring my position with arms wrapped around his knees, gloved hands clasped before him. The angle was clearly awkward for him in his armor, but he offered no complaint. The torch had burnt out by then; the only light came from my mark. It cast a ghastly shadow across his features, making him look drawn and haggard.

“I’m sorry,” I said. My voice croaked from the strain.

He looked over to me then, dark shadows emphasizing the already deep worry lines across his forehead.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m weak.”

He blinked, then scoffed, almost laughing in disbelief. “You cannot believe that.”

“I’m a coward,” I insisted. “I’m afraid all the time. It feels like all I do is run away. I’m so tired of running. I’m tired of being afraid.” I hugged myself tighter, feeling the tears threatening to return, feeling the panic bubbling up once again. “I just want this to be over. I want this fucking thing out of me!”

I slammed my left fist and its cursed mark into the floor, then again, and again, until Cullen grabbed my hand in both of his to stop me.

“You’ll hurt yourself!”

“I don’t care!”

“I care!”

The confession was enough to stop my tirade. For a moment, I stared at him open-mouthed, seeing the naked fear in his eyes, and I realized with cold shock that it wasn’t fear of me, but for me. Then he cleared his throat and looked away, closing himself off and leaving me with a strange sense of loss. I retreated back beneath the cover of numbness, staring at a jagged crack in the stone, following its path until it was swallowed by the dark.

“You give yourself too little credit,” he said. “What you’ve been through? Anyone else would have---”

“---Collapsed into hysterics in the corner?”

He paused, unsure how to respond, until we both burst into a brief fit of laughter. It didn’t last, but it felt cathartic; a banishment of the despair still vying for purchase against my slowly rebuilding defenses.

“I was going to say given up,” he continued. “You’ve never given up. I ado… admire that about you.”

I scoffed, but his grip tightened on my hand, which I belatedly realized he was still holding. Our eyes locked again, and the sincerity in his took my breath away.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” he said, swallowing. “But please know, if there’s anything I can do…”

I almost acquiesced. For a single heartbeat I contemplated giving in, telling him everything. But Envy’s vision of him in Templar arms and brandishing a flaming sword quashed the notion quickly, and I withdrew my hand, using it to push myself upright with a groan. He stood with me, grabbing the extinguished torch, still watching me with concern.

“Thank you,” I said as kindly as I could, “but unless you know what it’s like to be trapped inside your own mind and tortured with your darkest thoughts---”

His breath hitched, and I stopped in shock. He tried to recover, but I couldn’t unsee it - a haunted expression, fearful and distant, seeing something terrible beyond the Veil of the present. I knew what that look meant.

“You do know, don’t you? Is that why you left the Order?” I shouldn’t have asked, and I quickly relented. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it, but… would I seem callous if I said it helps, just knowing that?”

“Not at all.” Cullen’s expression softened. One corner of his mouth pulled slightly; the beginnings of a smile, weighed down by those ghosts only he could see. “I’ve never spoken about it to anyone, but in a way it’s… a comfort. Knowing I’m not alone.”

“Yes.”

I couldn’t have pulled away from his gaze if I’d wanted to. Something new arose in my chest, an ache so sweet it burned.

“Theresa?”

That ache was compelling me forward, into his arms. He must have sensed it, leaning in only a fraction, careful not to reach out, ever conscious to maintain a respectful barrier between us. Had his eyes always been so golden warm? But the fear had returned, darkening them to cool amber, and I was reminded that his concern came from a sense of duty, nothing deeper. I looked away at last, stepping back until I had enough space to breathe once more.

“I’m alright,” I said with a bracing sigh.

“You’re certain?” He sounded unconvinced.

“You needn’t worry about my resolve. My demons are only of my own making, not the Fade’s.” It was an attempt at humor, but the bitterness pushed through, morphing into an accusation instead.

He studied me, still doubtful, as I endeavored to keep my hands still, now very conscious of the urge to fidget beneath his regard. After a long moment, he shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said eventually, seeming to come to a decision. A new glint brightened his eyes, making me curious despite myself. “Come with me.”

“Where to?” I crossed my arms and didn’t move.

“I think after this morning, we could both use a distraction.”

I frowned, unsure what he could mean, but he was already starting back down the hall toward the stairs. I had to scurry to catch up to him; the man was clearly on a mission. His shoulders were set, and his stride was full of purpose.

“I appreciate the thought,” I said carefully as we walked, “but I’m truly alright.”

“Be that as it may, I require your attention in an urgent matter.” He set his frown in an unconvincing show of seriousness. “It can’t be helped.”

“I see.” My uncertainty melted as I caught the mischievous twitch of his mouth, and I couldn’t help my own growing smirk. Subterfuge was most certainly not one of his strengths. “And what is this matter that requires my sudden and urgent attention?”

“Well you see,” and there he paused, one foot on the bottom stair as he turned back to me with an excited grin, all pretense abandoned. “The trebuchets are ready for testing.”

Without waiting for a response, he marched up the stairs and outside toward the stables, with me in tow. Perhaps I should have argued, spent my time more productively, gone to seek out Solas for a meditation or training. But Cullen’s newfound enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself unable to refuse him.

By the time we were mounted and on our way to the inner wall, the beauty of our surroundings had banished all doubt from my mind. The spectacle of the evening sun over the frozen lake, the brisk mountain breeze rustling through the trees, the villagers shouting greetings as we passed, the sounds and smells endemic to Haven - all of it filled my heart until it felt as light as a bird on an upwind. As the wind pulled at the stray wisps of my hair, my grief evaporated and the knot at the pit of my stomach loosened. Under the vastness of the sky, my fears no longer felt as heavy.

My many long weeks of travel had given me enough confidence in the saddle to keep up easily with Cullen, and we set our steeds to a soft trot over the hillside. Before long, we reached the first of several stations where trebuchets had been erected. The soldiers rose with straight backs and crisp salutes when they saw our approach, and I chuckled at their nervous stiffness as they scurried to obey when Cullen explained we were there to witness a demonstration.

I listened, fascinated, as he explained the various cranks the men were working; one horizontal for aiming, one vertical for readying the sling for the payload, and one lever to launch. For all the complexity of the moving parts, the actual process of it was relatively simple. When I remarked on this, he admitted that was by design, for it would be impractical to have every footsoldier undergo rigorous training for a more complicated device. This way, anyone could use it in the heat of battle with the same rate of success. The lieutenant pulled the last lever with a great heave, and a shout of triumph went up from the soldiers as the net of empty barrels flew over the lake, shattering nothing but the ice in a spectacular splash.

“Its maximum range is much farther, of course,” Cullen explained. “This was only a small percentage of the total tension it’s capable of.”

“Most impressive,” I said, unable to keep the smile from my face at his puffed chest from the compliment.

While Cullen discussed adjustments with the lieutenant, I became transfixed by how differently he carried himself out among his soldiers. Here, he was in his element, altogether lacking the stumbling sentences and uncertainties he carried into the war room. His posture relaxed, and the lines on his forehead smoothed out. His mouth turned upward, pulling at the scar that marred one corner, and I wondered not for the first time how he’d gotten it. The sun caught the bright tones of his hair, making it shine like spun gold. Even his voice was different - the hard edges of command softened as he traded casual quips with the soldiers.

Before long, he was finished and turned his mount further down the path, looking back to me.

“Shall we check on the others?”

“How many are there?” I asked, bringing my horse up to match pace with his.

“Only three in total, I’m afraid. There weren’t enough raw resources for more when construction began. We might be able to muster more now, except…”

“More refugees are pouring in,” I finished. He nodded, frowning. “Surely this will be more than enough for any threats we have to face?”

“Let us hope so,” was all he said. For a time we rode in silence until, in an effort to brighten the mood, I regaled him with the antics of Iron Bull and Varric in Val Royeaux, particularly during my misadventure with the couturier. Such details hadn’t been necessary during the meeting, but Cullen found them entertaining nonetheless. The story soon had him relaxed enough to let out a light chuckle, a sight so rare and infectious that I forgot my lingering embarrassment from the ordeal.

“I would have liked to see you amidst all those pampered nobles,” he said when I’d gotten to our announcement at the salon. “Your bluntness must have been quite offensive to their delicate sensibilities.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the impractically tight breeches you would have liked to see?” I prodded, managing to keep a straight face as I glanced sidelong at him.

“I… beg your pardon?” He blustered, and a telltale flush crept up his neck past the line of his armor. “I would never… I mean, not that I wouldn’t… no that-that’s not what I....”

Unable to hold the laughter in any longer, I relented.

“Relax, Cullen, I only meant it in jest.”

“I---Right, of course.” He heaved a sigh and smiled, rubbing at the back of his neck before endeavoring to cover his embarrassment with a light pat on his horse’s neck. “I hope you would never think I could be so…”

“Mortal? Male?”

“Disrespectful.” He shot me a recriminatory look so serious that it set me laughing again.

“I am grateful for your immense respect for my arse.”

“Maker’s breath!” He heaved a beleaguered sigh, thoroughly unable to meet my gaze now. The flush had reached his ears. “You’re worse than Leliana and Josephine! Can we please talk about something else?”

“Does Cassandra never join in the fun?”

“Now that would be a sight,” he balked. “Cassandra, having fun?”

“Good point.” I sobered, remembering that I was the main cause of her current temperament. “It must be hard being apart from her for so long when she travels.”

Cullen frowned. “Why should it be hard?”

“Because… well, aren’t you two…?” I hesitated to vocalize the full question, but I didn’t need to. His eyes widened with sudden understanding and he stumbled over his words before coughing into one fist - a poor attempt at covering his laughter. When he finally managed to get words out, they were halting, as he struggled still to contain his amusement.

“Wherever did you get that idea?”

Now feeling a flush rising to my own face, I ducked my head in shame and gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’m sorry, I suppose I just assumed… I mean, you both seem close, and she’s rather protective of you…”

“Ah.” A wealth of unspoken past was contained in that single syllable. Peaking out of the corner of my eyes, I caught an ironic twist to the slight smile he bore. “She is a fine woman, to be sure. But we’ve never… Our relationship is purely professional. I admire Seeker Cassandra a great deal. And I am grateful for the opportunity she gave me here, and for the trust she showed in offering it. Most would have - quite rightly - looked at the disaster in Kirkwall and judged me incompetant at best. For whatever reason, she saw fit to grant me a chance.”

“A chance for what?” I asked, my embarrassment forgotten. This was the most he’d ever spoken of his past.

He didn’t answer at first, and his expression turned inward. Perhaps I had crossed into territory too personal for casual afternoon rides. But eventually he answered, speaking quietly.

“Redemption, perhaps. Or at least the hope for it.”

I chewed my inner lip as I contemplated that. “Is that why you left the Order?”

“Is that what Cassandra told you?”

“She said I should ask you.”

“Mm.” Another single syllable that said far too much and nothing at all. I retreated back within my mask of shallow civility.

“Forgive me. We can talk about something else.”

“Thank you.” He sounded grateful, but I could tell I’d soured the mood again.

Since he offered no new topic, I floundered to think of one likely to be safe. “So… where in Ferelden are you from?”

“Honnleath, originally. Until the Blight tore through much of that region. My family was forced to flee. My parents did not survive the journey.”

“Oh.” Shit.

“... You’re from Ostwick’s Circle, correct? I’d heard they remained neutral in the rebellion.”

My grip on the reins tightened. How to put this diplomatically?

“Yes, for a time. Until the choice was made for us.”

“By whom?”

“Templars.”

“I… see.” Another beat of heavy silence. Then, with an exasperated huff, he looked up and declared, almost desperately, “It’s… a nice day.”

I looked over at him, incredulous, but then I caught the gleam in his eyes, and a surprised laugh burst past my defenses before I could stop it. He joined, and together we laughed at our own ridiculousness. And just like that the mood was flipped again.

“Maker, we’re bad at this,” I uttered through gasped breaths.

He nodded agreement, lamenting with a self-deprecating grin, “When did we become such miserable company?”

“Probably around the time a hole tore the sky open and unleashed a voidscape of nightmares upon the world.”

“In that case, I suppose we can be forgiven for finding casual conversation difficult.”

“To be fair, I was probably like this before the Breach. Or so others have insinuated.” I huffed, then shook my head. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

He smiled - a true smile that reached his eyes and brought back the sweet ache in my chest. “Gladly.”

Despite our initial stumblings, things progressed smoothly after that. Cullen showed enthusiasm for a great many topics. He was well-read, to my surprise, which led to a listing of our preferred historians and a healthy debate over their varying credentials. From there, we progressed to favorite authors. He loved myths and tales of heroics, while I preferred philosophy and poetry.

V: Oh! That reminds me, I’ve always wanted to ask if that bard---
T: ---Yes. Philliam, a Bard! is a relative. A distant relative.
V: No shit?
T: And before you ask, no, I’ve never met the man.

“Of course, you would have a preoccupation with the legends of King Calenhad,” I teased when he listed them among his favorites. “How very Ferelden of you.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’d prefer a bottomless poetry book dedicated exclusively to the joys and beauties of agriculture?” Cullen returned with equal cheek.

I feigned offense, lifting my brows and widening my eyes. “I’ll thank you not to confuse Ostwick with Markham, ser! We would prefer to go on at length about Andrastian philosophy until your ears bleed, like cultured people.”

“And I suppose you could carry your own in such conversations?”

I rose to the bait, eager for a chance to flaunt my intellect for once. “I’ll have you know, I have researched and written a great deal about the Chant’s historical origins. Though the controversial nature of some of those writings would never be permitted to see the light of day. Especially not my treatise on Shartan.”

“You’ve read the Canticle of Shartan?” he asked, surprised. “How did you even find a copy?”

“You don’t get a library as extensive as Faxhold’s without contacts, not all of which are entirely… upstanding. And I knew a few ways to get around the proscriptions.”

He shook his head. “Leave it to you to use underground contacts for the sake of a book.”

“Yes, I am quite the rebellious bookworm,” I announced with all the weight of an oath of honor. “My reach is great. Fear my power.”

His laughter forced his head back, sending his mirth upward in defiance of the Breach’s malevolent gaze. “Don’t let the Chantry know you hold such dangerous contacts. Their collective habits would fly off in shame from the scandal.”

“Of all the crimes they have listed under my name, I think ownership of banned books is among the least of them.”

“True enough. They’re far too fixated on declaring you anathema for an honorary title you never claimed in the first place.”

My laughter faded, and I studied his profile. We had reached the final site by then, and our conversation paused as we put the last trebuchet through its paces, much like the other two. Once that was done to Cullen’s satisfaction, we turned our mounts back toward the village, riding in easy silence while I wrestled with an unspoken question.

“What do you think?” I asked when I could no longer resist the urge to know.

“Of what?” He lifted one brow, concerned at my shift in mood.

“Do you believe I’m the Herald of Andraste?”

He halted his horse, turning it to face me as I pulled at my own reins, keeping my face neutral while he searched my gaze.

“Why do you ask?” His guard was back up, face hooded, and I hated myself a little for forcing him out of his relaxed state.

I shrugged, hoping to appear unconcerned. “I’m only curious. Most people are skeptical, but you and Cassandra took to calling me that from the first. Until I asked you to stop, at least. So,” I braced myself, unsure which answer I feared more. “Do you believe it? Or not?”

He looked out over the lake, considering his response carefully. The wind had pulled some of his curls loose from the slicked back style he kept, and he ran a gloved hand through them, dislodging even more. I began to wonder if he would refuse to answer, but then he turned to me with a deep breath.

“I think that you---”

But whatever he might have said was cut short when we both noticed a runner hurrying up to us down the path. She looked panicked, clearly on an urgent errand, and Cullen’s focus shifted to her, the uncertainty in his face replaced with the stern mien of command.

“Commander!” she said when she was close enough. “Come quick! One of the templars is…”

“Is what?” Cullen demanded when she hesitated, authority hardening his tone. “Out with it!”

“He’s… having some sort of breakdown, Commander.”

I couldn’t help my surprised exclamation. Breakdown? What on earth could that mean? Cullen, however, uttered a harsh curse under his breath, looking not at all shocked.

“Where is he?”

“At the edge of the training field, ser.” She pointed behind her down the path. “On the western side, near the mages’ tents.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before Cullen and I both put heels to our mounts and set off down the path. I was uncertain whether it was my place or what I could even do to help, but with a crazed templar loose near mages, I was not about to stay behind.

By the time we reached the training field, it was obvious where the templar in question was, even through the throng of onlookers, for all of them were giving the spectacle a wide berth. Whatever he had done to draw their attention, it had frightened them enough to keep well clear of any collateral damage.

That thought was almost enough to send me fleeing the other direction, but after Therinfal Redoubt, I refused to run from my specters any longer. Cullen, quicker to act than I, had already forced his way through the crowd. I followed in his wake, my heart in my throat, toward the shouting and weeping that grew louder with each step.

When the last pair of shoulders parted before me, I caught sight of a man, half in and half out of templar armor, holding a sword between himself and Cullen, whose arms were spread out in front of him in a gesture of peace. The templar’s face was streaked with tears and contorted in fear and rage, but I recognized him. It was Mattrin, the one I’d caught arguing with one of his comrades, Lysette. She was standing to the side, her own sword drawn and braced protectively over a small figure I recognized for a mage from the staff laying shattered at his side on the ground. He had a large gash running down one arm, and was holding a firm hand over it to stop the bleeding.

All this I took in within seconds, and cursed my carelessness. I knew I should have kept a closer eye on Mattrin, but I’d allowed my own grief to distract me. And once again, someone else had suffered for my weakness.

Cullen was calm in the face of Mattrin’s panic. He was speaking in soothing tones, urging him to drop his sword and surrender to the care of the waiting Sisters who were crouched not far off, afraid to come any closer while the man was still armed. With his attention on Cullen, I started edging toward Lysette and the injured mage with slow, cautious steps, eyes fixed on Mattrin.

“I can’t!” He was shaking his head furiously, voice high-pitched with fear.

“You can,” Cullen responded evenly.

“They’re everywhere!” Mattrin swung his sword wildly, causing many nearby - myself included - to flinch as it arced through the air. I froze, but he paid none of us any mind, stuck inside whatever horrors his addled mind was showing him. With his back to me once more, I resumed my side-step, as Mattrin continued ranting. “They killed the Divine! They’ll kill us all given the chance! I have to stop them!”

“You are a templar.” Now Cullen’s voice held just a hint of his hardened Commander voice, though not enough to sound threatening. “Your sworn duty is to protect mages, not slaughter them.” At those last words, his eyes darted unerringly to where I stood, for only a brief moment, before returning to the threat before him.

“No, no, no, nonononono…” Mattrin was furiously shaking his head again, as if unable to stop. One hand released from the sword’s grip to press against his head. He winced. “I can’t… I-it won’t stop. The screaming, it’s---”

“Focus, templar!” Now the hardness was in full force in Cullen’s voice. Its effect was immediate. Mattrin snapped to attention, sword clanging off the cuisse covering his legs as his hands leapt to his sides and his back straightened. Cullen straightened as well, addressing him now as if he were running drills. “Tell me where you are!”

Mattrin blinked, glancing around as if just noticing the field and the swarm of people. He looked behind him to Lysette, who attempted a comforting smile. To the mage still bleeding behind her, where his gaze lingered, confused. By then I had reached the pair and I tensed, unsure if seeing my staff would trigger another violent outburst. He locked eyes with me and I began prepping a barrier spell, almost on instinct.

In that brief moment of distraction, Cullen advanced to within three paces, but Mattrin whipped back around and the sword came up again. It would have skewered Cullen had he not stopped in time. A collective gasp sounded through the crowd, and murmurs of fear rippled through the sea of people.

My heart stuttered seeing how near a thing it had been, and for a terrifying moment I was reminded of another of Envy’s visions - a jagged, bloody gash across Cullen’s throat, his dead eyes staring up at nothing from the floor. I pushed the image back down with a long, shuddering breath, and centered my focus on Mattrin. Slowly, subtly, I maneuvered the staff in the beginning gestures of an ice glyph summon. But Cullen’s eyes met mine again and he gave an imperceptible shake of his head.

No magic.

I frowned, darting my eyes back toward the injured mage, but he repeated the gesture. Reluctantly, I lowered the staff, releasing my hold on the corner of the Fade I’d begun to shape. I settled instead on coming to stand beside Lysette in a protective stance, giving the mage a nod I hoped was reassuring.

“This isn’t the fortress...?” Mattrin’s question was meant for Cullen, but he was again casting his gaze about in confusion. He looked utterly lost.

Cullen was searching his eyes, watching his movements with intense focus. Many thoughts played over his face, but I couldn’t discern them. After a moment, he must have found an answer.

“How long have you been without?” he asked, too quietly for the crowd to hear.

Hands around the sword tensed, loosened, tensed again. Mattrin licked his dry, cracked lips, and he began trembling.

“I don’t know… I can’t remember.”

Cullen nodded. He’d expected that answer. “You must be tired.”

Mattrin nodded. The sword lowered a fraction. “I’m thirsty.” His voice began to break. “So thirsty…”

“I know.” Slowly, carefully, Cullen extended one hand, palm open. “Let me carry that for you, and we’ll take you to get some water.”

Mattrin looked down to the sword, as if wondering why he was even holding it. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded, handing the sword over. A collective sigh of relief spread through the crowd, and I released a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. His shoulders slumped, and he looked thoroughly exhausted.

“Thank y---”

But Cullen’s swift strike to the back of his skull with the sword’s pommel stopped him short, and he crumpled to the ground like a dropped sack.

“Take him to the healers,” Cullen said to the Sisters behind him. They hesitated, looking between Mattrin and the mage, but then he barked, “Now!” and they hurried to obey, coming forward to arrange the unconscious man across the litter and carry him off. He then directed his attention to the lingering crowd.

“Alright, nothing further to see here!” His voice was deafening at such close range, pitched to carry over the sea of heads for yards around. I understood a little better why his soldiers jumped so readily when he gave a command. The crowd was no different, dispersing in groups to trickle back into the forest of tents behind.

I turned and offered a hand to the mage, who was getting gingerly to his feet.

“Are you alright?” I asked him, pointedly making my voice loud enough for Cullen to hear. He nodded, offering a meek smile before examining the damage to his arm. Lysette hung back, sword sheathed now the danger was passed. “Thank you,” I said to her, meaning it.

“It was my duty,” she said, her voice breaking just a little. Her attention shifted behind me and her posture straightened as Cullen approached.

“Let’s see that,” he said in clipped tones, holding out one hand to the mage expectantly. He extended his injured arm, which Cullen gave barely a glance before dismissing. “Just a superficial scratch. You’re lucky. Any other injuries?” He shook his head, and Cullen released his arm. “Right. Back to your quarters then. I think you’ve had enough training for today.”

The mage didn’t argue, scampering off after the rest of the crowd. Lysette gave a crisp salute when Cullen thanked her for her intervention, and left when he dismissed her as well. I lingered, torn between conflicting emotions as I studied the new weariness that pulled at Cullen’s features. All trace of the relaxed mirth from our ride was gone; the weight of duty had settled once more over his shoulders. It made me hesitate, uncertain, but indignance made me fight the urge to stay quiet.

“You should have imprisoned him,” I said. “He attacked---”

“---I know what happened.”

The sharpness of his reply surprised me, but I pressed on. “He’s a danger to those around him. And he clearly despises mages.”

“I know.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” I moved to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at me. “Would you be so unconcerned if the two had been reversed?”

“That’s---”

“---Unfair?”

He opened his mouth, shut it again. His eyes blazed. He wanted to argue, but for a long moment said nothing. Finally, he let out another defeated sigh, and shifted his gaze to watch the progress of the two Sisters still making their way across the field with their charge. I followed his gaze, thinking over the scene again.

“He acted like he couldn’t remember where he was or why he was here,” I said, puzzling over what happened.

“Lyrium withdrawal.” Cullen ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Our supplies are running low, and most templars have been relying on their own private stashes. We won’t have more until the next shipment comes a week from now.”

“Is it always like that?” I asked quietly.

“It varies. Some of the younger recruits fare better. Fewer years with it, smaller doses. But the veterans?” That haunted look was back again. “For them, it can get far worse.”

I heard it. The slight hitch in his breathing, the subtle break in his voice. I think, in that moment, some part of me knew, but I didn’t dare to ask. It felt too personal, and I was still reeling from all that had occurred.

Staring at his drawn features, shoulders taut and eyes glazed over in remembrance of… something, I yearned to provide comfort, as he had done for me in the dungeons. But I didn’t know how, or whether he would accept it. And another part of me couldn’t forget his harsh dismissal of the mage. He hadn’t even paused to consider there might have been more damage than just physical. What if there’d been a nullification? Such an experience can be traumatizing for mages if unprepared. Not to mention lingering fears from past dealings with templars who were harsher than needed. Every mage had dealt with that. I recognized the all too familiar flinch from the injured boy - really, barely more than a child - when Cullen had reached out a hand, demanding to see his cut.

“It’s not that simple”, he’d said. But it should be, my thoughts argued back.

And yet, Cullen himself was hurting. He’d been in Kirkwall during the uprising. Even Varric, for all his stories, was reluctant to speak of that time. Even if he’d been careless, I could see the compassion behind his brashness. If only he’d had the same patience as he’d had for one of his own.

I settled for silent company in lieu of comfort, standing next to him as we both watched the sun sink low over the mountain peaks, dappling the frozen lake with fiery light. During our ride, the sight had been beautiful. Now, it reminded me unsettlingly of a funeral pyre.

That ride felt like a lifetime ago. And before that…

In the dungeons, he’d been patient and kind. But he’d also been withdrawn, and wary. During our ride, there’d been an easy companionship I hadn’t expected. All our past awkwardness had been forgotten. It was comfortable. Safe. For a few fleeting hours, I’d seen the man behind the Commander. But then duty came crashing down, sweeping us both back into our roles, at odds with each other despite the undertow that kept pulling us back together.

We were a deep sea of contradictions.

I’d been fooling myself, to presume a change between us. The tenderness he’d shown me, his concern and empathy. All of that was forgotten when he was reminded of his duty. And no matter his insistence to the contrary, he still saw controlling mages as part of his duty. No matter how my feelings for him had changed - and I could not deny that they had changed - I could never change the fact that I was a mage.

You can never look past it, even if you could admit to yourself that you want him.

Envy had told me as much, hadn’t it? I hugged my coat closer, seeking comfort from the cold truth.

Eventually Cullen made his excuses, leaving for some official task or other while I remained behind, staring into the pyre the sunset made of the frozen lake. By the time it was full dark, I retreated back to the village to escape the night’s chill. When I spotted Iron Bull by the stables, however, I impulsively veered my path toward him.

He didn’t look over, though he must have heard my approach. When I was close enough for talking, he spoke first, idly patting the side of one of the horse’s necks.

“Another sparring match, Boss?”

I nodded.

V: This is great stuff.
T: Which part?
V: Whaddya think? You and Curly! We’re finally getting to the juicy stuff.
T: “Juicy”?
V: I mean, the other stuff is important too, I guess. But this is what the people wanna know. The deep, intimate secrets of the Herald of Andraste’s love life.
T: … I don’t know why I’m surprised. Actually, that reminds me. We’re going to have to have a probably uncomfortable conversation about which “intimate details” are off-limits.
V: What? But I thought you wanted to tell the whole truth!
T: About my role for the Inquisition, yes. Not my sex life.
V: So there is sex, then!
T: ...We have a daughter. Whom you’ve met. She calls you “Uncle Varric”.
V: It was a joke, Herald. Sheesh. I would’a thought you’d be in a better mood by now.
T: Meaning?
V: Don’t think I didn’t notice the state you were in when you showed up at my office.
T: I’m fine.
V: Yeah, yeah. I know how that song goes. It’s an old favorite of yours.
T: *sigh*
V: … It was the part about the drinking game, wasn’t it? From our last session. You got real tense while you were describing it, and then we stopped so abruptly---
T: ---I’m fine.
V: Right. Look, sorry I even brought it up. Now, why don’t we keep going? I wanna hear more about you and---
B: There you are!
V: Oh, hey Bran. Took you longer than usual. What kept you?
B: None of that, now, my lord. You’re very badly extremely late, and if you don’t get to this next meeting, we may well have a diplomatic catastrophe on our hands! You don’t want a repeat of last time, do you?
V: Which time? With Choir Boy? Or that mix-up with the chevalier? Because, I promise you, that wasn’t my fault. It’s just ridiculously easy to insult Orlesians.
B: Not another word. I insist you come with me. My lord. Please.
V: *sigh* I hate that it’s actually hard to say no when you’re this desperate.
B: Thank you.
T: Nice to see you, Bran.
B: And you, Your Worship.

Chapter Text

“I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t choose alcohol this time.”

I ignored Solas’s recrimination, keeping my attention on the task in my lap. My staff had taken quite the beating, and needed repairs. Such things couldn’t simply be polished or buffed away, either. Magical weapons required magical fixes. A particularly rough touch at the bruise on my shoulder blade, however, disrupted my focus.

“Ow!”

“Hold still,” Solas scolded. “It’s not that bad.”

“Your bedside manner is lacking.”

“Only when injuries could have been avoided with common sense.” He rustled through his bag, pulling out a vial that elicited the familiar bitter mintiness of elfroot when he removed the stopper. He dabbed a small amount onto his palm, rubbed it to activate the healing quality, and spread it in small circles over the bruise. I sighed, letting the coolness spread, feeling my muscles easing beneath his expert touch.

“It’s not like I deliberately ran into the flat of Bull’s greatsword.”

“But you didn’t have to ask him for another match, either.”

I didn’t argue. Partly because I lacked the energy, and partly because he was not wrong. If I explained my reasons for requesting the sparring session, if I told him why I needed Bull’s peculiar brand of therapy, he would only further disapprove. So, I returned my concentration to repairing my staff as Solas continued repairing my injuries.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering with that,” he said. “It’s been damaged so many times already, you’d be better off just replacing it.”

“I don’t want to be any more of a drain on our resources than I already am.”

“Please.” I could hear the eye roll as he said that, and was glad to be facing away from him as my face grew warm. “Ignoring that their mission is all but futile without your Mark, isn’t that the same staff Cassandra gave you while escorting you to the Breach for the first time?”

“She didn’t give it to me. I found it laying by an overturned cart, I think.”

“That was months ago. You should have a weapon better suited to your casting style. You prefer attack spells, but this one was forged to emphasize defensive postures. Haven’t you ever noticed its resistance?”

“You can tell all that?” I turned, a bit incredulous. “Just by looking at it?”

“No, I can feel its energy. Can’t you?”

I bit back a sarcastic reply, shifting my focus to the staff, examining it more closely. All staffs - at least those crafted by the Circle - were imbued with magical auras during their creation. We were taught one was more or less the same as another. No thought was ever given to a specific purpose or casting style. They were weapons, like swords or bows; their purpose was what we gave them.

Although, now I thought on it, bows and swords were often built for different specializations. There was a great difference, for instance, between the longbows Sera preferred and Varric’s Bianca. Or the broadswords Cassandra wielded and the massive, two-handed monstrosities Iron Bull preferred.

Examining the aura in this staff, I felt a sort of… quietude I hadn’t noticed before. Wanting to test this new discovery, I summoned a small storm cloud - not the full spell; just enough to feel the crackling energy that made the little hairs on my arms stand on end. Now I was watching for it, I immediately felt the resistance, the conflict of wills between my mana and the staff’s aura. There was a… tangle in the air around us, almost imperceptible if one wasn’t looking for it.

“There, you see?” Solas hadn’t even bothered to pause his task, and was wrapping the bandage around my shoulder to hold the healing poultice in place. “Finished. I’ll leave you to it then, unless you require me for anything else?”

There were those fangs again, hidden beneath the neutral veneer and blank face, but no less venomous. I’d done something to offend him again. Sparring with Bull? My drunken escapades? Or something else? I almost asked, but a direct confrontation would only lead to evasion and denial. So, I sighed and thanked him as sincerely as I could, and asked if we could practice more with the Mark later tonight.

“Certainly.” He brightened a bit at that. That had been the right response, it seemed. “Come find me when you’ve finished with the council.”

I cursed under my breath after he’d taken his leave. I’d almost forgotten about tonight’s meeting. Yesterday had been exclusively about going over the events since our departure for Val Royeaux. Tonight, the Trio would decide what our next move was. And based on their reactions yesterday, they would not be receptive to the proposal I had in mind.

I was not looking forward to it.

I pulled my tunic down over the bandage and undershirt and laced my boots up over my leggings. It was surprisingly warm outside, so I left off the overcoat for once and, as an afterthought, grabbed the still-damaged staff before heading out the door. It was an easy enough matter to explain what I needed to Harritt. He grunted with his usual reticence and handed my staff off to a Tranquil assistant, who informed me in a flat tones that it would be ready in three days’ time.

With the weather so pleasant, I was tempted to spend the day out in the training field with the few mages who remained. Several had left in disgust when it was clear the templars were here to stay, and I didn’t blame them. It would behoove us to ensure the comfort of the few that remained. However, I was still unsettled by yesterday’s events and didn’t want to run the risk of encountering Cullen.

Instead, I spent the morning in Adan’s apothecary, allowing him to grouse instructions over my shoulder as I crushed herbs into potions for the healers. His gruff manner reminded me of the hours I used to spend drying and grinding herbs for the Senior Enchanters. Josephine would have been appalled at his imprudence, but I didn’t mind. Indeed, I welcomed the mundanity for its distraction from the circular arguments winding around in my head.

It was there that one of the runners found me to pass along a message. Guilt turned in my stomach as I frowned over the parchment he handed me. Apparently, Cullen would be presiding over a special service that evening to honor the fallen templars from Therinfal Redoubt, and Mother Giselle wished to ensure I would be there. I almost refused, but the memory of Barris’s eyes glazing over, looking to his comrades for comfort in his dying moments, forced all bitterness from me. I assured the runner I would be in attendance. As I watched the runner depart to deliver my reply, however, the guilt turned over again. I would have to delay my promised training session with Solas.

Eventually, Adan sent me on an errand to deliver fresh poultices to the healers. They were nearly run ragged in the early days of the Breach, but things had settled down since then as the string of refugees coming in had evened out. Now however, as I approached the elongated tent erected on the side wall of the chantry, there was a great rush of activity as several healers and Sisters hurried about the cramped space. I entered and saw the commotion was over a single young man - an elf dressed in ragged leathers stained dark with blood. His pale hair was matted with it as well. There was so much I could not see where the wound was. He thrashed and kicked against the healers trying to hold him down onto a cot, shouting that he couldn’t stay. One of the Sisters saw me enter and came over to take the poultices, thanking me distractedly as she set them aside on one of the nearby chests.

“Who is he?” I asked her.

“One of Sister Leliana’s,” she replied, leaving bright red smudges against her white cotton apron as she wiped her hands. “Just came stumbling in past the guards, keeps shoutin’ that he’s got urgent business. Won’t let us help him. We can’t even get him still long enough to see how bad his injuries are.”

“Herald!” The injured elf spotted me - or more accurately my Mark - and with a determined heave he forced the two mages off him. “Please, tell them to let me go! I have urgent news for the Nightingale!”

“You need to let these people help you,” I said. “Whatever news you have can wait.”

He shook his head furiously. “It can’t! Every second wasted puts her entire network in danger!”

He rose and crossed the floor, limping badly and leaving dark droplets behind with every step. One of the healers winced, while the other sighed in exasperation and gave me a pleading look. The Sister who had spoken to me moved to block his exit, but he came toward me instead, taking both my hands in his, forcing me to meet the wide-eyed terror in his face. More blood caked his hands, and now mine, but what concerned me was how pale he looked, how clammy and cool his hands felt. His skin was ashen white, his cheeks gaunt. He looked halfway to death’s doorstep just from the effort it took to stand.

“Give me the message,” I said impulsively. “I will see to it Leliana gets it immediately, but only if you agree to stay here and let them help you.”

He searched my face, hesitant, but then nodded. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a piece of parchment, folded tightly, and thrust it into my hands, giving me a grateful smile before swaying on his feet. He nearly fell, but one of the healers rushed over and caught him, leading him back to the cot.

“Thank you, Your Worship,” the Sister muttered to me as she began soaking one of the poultices in warm water to activate it while the healers began their work.

I nodded in response before turning and leaving the tent, following the path further up the hill, intent on keeping my promise with all haste. If that poor man had been willing to die for this message, it deserved all the gravity I could muster.

Though I’d had little cause to go there myself, I knew Leliana often brought her scouts and spies into the lower levels of the Chantry for her more clandestine meetings. One of the larger alcoves had been converted for her purposes, and that was where she held meetings of - as she put it - a more delicate nature.

I descended the stairs and tried not to think about the last time I’d taken this route, following the shuffling and whispers to my right until I came upon a sentry. He moved as if to bar my way until I held aloft the message I carried, deliberately holding it in my left hand so the green light of the Mark fell upon his face. He nodded and stood aside, and I moved past him to duck between two tapestries hung to serve as a make-shift door.

Inside, Leliana was the central point of a tangle of harried scouts, most of them dressed in rugged leathers of forest greens and soil browns. Knives and arrow quivers peeked out from waists and backs. She looked at once at home among them and yet wholly apart, singled out by her grace - her every movement as controlled and smooth as a choreographed dance, calculated down to the smallest detail. But more than her fluid motion, it was her eyes that made her unique. Bright and focused, sharp as an assassin’s blade and alight as the eternal flame of Andraste. Those eyes had often captivated me from across the war table, even while I feared their ferocity ever focusing on me. The distant memory of her silent appraisal while Cassandra hurled interrogations when I’d first awoken in these very halls was enough to make me shudder. With such keen intelligence hiding behind such beauty and poise, it was easy to see how she had amassed a vast network of informants in so short a time.

A quick flit of those eyes in my direction told me she was aware of my presence, and she silently held out one hand to quiet the other occupants.

“My Lady Herald, is there something you need?” Her delicate brows arched in gentle questioning.

I handed her the parchment, explaining the state her man had been in, and his insistence of its urgency. When she read the note’s contents, her eyes narrowed but otherwise she gave nothing away.

“Leave us.” She dismissed the others from the tent, and as one, they turned and made their exits. Just as I was preparing to follow, however, she called to me. “Herald, if you please. I would like your input on this.”

I was skeptical, but stayed.

Leliana held the parchment aloft, her expression grave. “One of my agents, Butler, has turned on us. I had hoped my hunch was wrong.”

“Did you know him well?”

“Not as well as I thought.” The hurt in her voice turned sour, and she crumpled the letter in a rare show of anger. “He’s killed Ferrier. One of my best agents! There were so many questions surrounding his death. Did he think we wouldn’t notice?”

She began pacing, hands clasped behind her, head tucked so that her cowl obscured her face.

“He knows where the others are…” she mumbled.

She stopped and swiveled her head around toward me. The sudden coldness in her gaze reminded me of Bull at his most calculating, and I swallowed against rising apprehension.

“What will you do?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes narrowed, and the hard silence was my answer. I had to swallow again before I could speak. “Is there no other way?”

“It will be clean,” she responded, lifting one quizzical eyebrow in graceful contrast to the harsh reality she was implying. “Quick, painless if possible. Better than what Ferrier got.” She turned away again, releasing me from her shrewd gaze. “We were friends once.”

It was the flat bitterness in her voice, more than anything, that made me speak. A void that was more terrifying than the fate she was invoking against this betrayal. It broke through my compulsion to observe from behind the safety of my neutral mask.

“Don’t do it.”

She turned, pinning me in place once more with her regard.

“You object to my decision?” Her voice dropped, and I recognized the same sharpness of her gaze in the undertones of her question. I considered my words carefully, knowing I walked a narrow path.

“Death shouldn’t be the first answer we come to.”

“Butler’s betrayal put our agents in danger. I condemn one man to save dozens. I may not like what I do, but it has to be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this.”

“Now is exactly the time for ideals!”

Something flashed across her gaze then, though rather than a darkness it was more akin to wistful shock. She recovered quickly, however, and before I had time to react, it was gone, replaced with her usual calculating neutrality.

“You feel very strongly about this. I wonder what she would say.” I frowned, wondering who she could mean, realizing how very little I knew of her. After a long silence, she released a long breath and unclasped her hands to cross them before her. “Very well. I will find another way to deal with this man. Perhaps he can still prove useful somehow.”

“Thank you.” I released my own breath, unsure whether I was grateful or relieved.

Our gazes remained locked for a moment, and for perhaps the first time I truly saw her. Behind the careful sharpness I had always seen, softer edges began to show. It was in the light quirk of her mouth, the distant sadness that made the grey in her eyes more akin to storm clouds. It was in the vulnerability of her movements as she turned her back on me to lean over her desk, tilting her head just so to speak over her shoulder to dismiss me.

“Now, if you are happy, I have other business to attend to. And I think you do as well.”

“Yes,” I admitted with a heavy sigh, turning to leave. “I’ll see you at tonight’s meeting then.”

I was nearly past the tapestries before she spoke again.

“I know what you are planning to propose.”

I paused and turned back. She had turned to face me again, half-sitting on the desk, leaning almost casually.

“I am curious, however, whether you will actually go through with it.” Her eyes flashed, and her edges felt sharper, though this time they lacked any real malice. She was amused over something. What, I could not have said.

“What is it to you either way?” I asked.

“You are a woman of strong convictions. You remind me of someone.” Her smirk widened, almost wistful. “And it may come as a surprise that I agree with you. I’ve known mages. Some were better people than me. And yet I’m free, and they’re not. It’s not right.”

“Forgive me, but those are easy words.”

“No forgiveness necessary. I understand your hesitance.” Her head tilted as she regarded me, seeming to come to a decision. “If you are worried about Cassandra, may I offer a piece of advice?”

I frowned, unsure I liked her familiarity. Still, because she wasn’t wrong, I nodded.

“Stand by your convictions, as you did here, with me,” she answered. “She respects you more than you know, but she feels responsible for you also. If you push back against her assertions that she knows the best course forward, she will not fight you on it.”

“But I couldn’t…” The thought of deliberately pulling at the tangled mass of our relationship felt too manipulative to even contemplate. Too much had passed between us, especially after Therinfal Redoubt. I couldn’t call her my friend any longer, but nor did I regard her an enemy. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are right, at least in this matter. I would see the mages gain their freedom at the end of all this. Helping us close the Breach would go a long way toward that end.”

“Cullen is as likely to object as Cassandra,” I pointed out.

Leliana’s smirk tightened as she held in laughter. “Oh, I don’t think you need worry overmuch about him. He doesn’t seem capable of denying you.”

I felt a light flush creep up my neck, remembering our afternoon ride from yesterday, and I was glad for the low light of the alcove.

“I think you underestimate his strength of conviction,” I answered.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “Or perhaps it is you who underestimates him.”

Recalling the afternoon ride we’d shared yesterday, and the disturbing scene that had ended it prematurely, I was doubtful. Still, I didn’t argue, and she didn’t press the matter. Instead, she inclined her head in a gesture that I took for a dismissal. Turning, I ducked beneath the tapestries and made my way back up toward daylight.

V: Heh, so you weren’t as oblivious as you looked.
T: Should I take that as a compliment?
V: Sure, why not?
T: Of course I was aware of my own feelings. We both were. But at that stage? Neither of us were ready to admit them. There were too many…
V: Demons?
T: For lack of a better word. In those days, what lay between us was little more than a fresh young sapling. Even a stiff breeze might have torn it loose from the soil.
V: So it needed time to grow?
T: It needed stronger roots.

“Reports of Fade rifts keep coming.” Leliana hovered over the cluttered war table, holding aloft a thick stack of pages, all presumably carrying news of the aforementioned reports. All around her, Cullen, Josephine, Cassandra, and I listened in attentive silence that grew heavier as she continued. “The people are terrified, and it’s only getting worse. The only thing that will calm their fears now is the hope that someone out there will save them.”

“And the Inquisition must pick up the pieces that the Chantry and every other established system has allowed to fall apart,” I muttered, shoulders hunched as I wearily calculated the distance between Haven and the farthest marker on the map - the Fallow Mire, far to the south. I did not relish the long weeks on the road that marker implied. I’d spent most of the day in tense apprehension about this meeting, and we already were off to an ominous start.

“Not the Inquisition.” Leliana shook her head and fixed me to the spot with her sharp glare. “You.”

Four pairs of eyes were locked on me, and the expectant silence was overbearing. I would have protested, but my voice utterly failed me.

“Only you have any power over the rifts,” Leliana continued. “Keep sealing them, and your legend will spread. And Thedas will begin to trust the Inquisition.”

“It has to be more than that, I’m afraid.” Josephine shuffled pages of her own, pulling one to the top for reference. “More and more, people are seeing you as the face of the Inquisition. If we are to gain their goodwill, you must foster it on our behalf. Especially with powerful leaders of other factions and noble houses.”

“We should be focusing on increasing the size of our military and working forces,” Cullen said with a scowl. “Why should the fickle opinions of nobility be of any concern to us?”

Josephine returned his scowl with one of her own, uncharacteristically stern. “Make no mistake. Every noble house, every throne across Thedas, is waiting to see what the Inquisition does next. If we are to gain any ground, their support is essential.” She turned to me then, and her face softened. “You did well to gain the support of First Enchanter Vivienne, as well as Messere Lucien’s network of clothiers and tailors. Not to mention the rather… unique… network of the Friends of Red Jenny. But we must continue to aim higher.”

“I disagree,” Cullen declared, to no one’s surprise. “It is through action, not alliances, that we will gain trust. I know what happens when order is lost and action comes too late. With the Chantry having lost control of both mages and templars, and now bickering amongst itself over a new Divine, the Inquisition is in the best position to help mend what’s been broken.”

Beside me, Cassandra said nothing, a silent sentry keeping her gaze fixed upon the map between us. Where she might once have lurched forward with a vehement agreement with Cullen to override Josephine’s plea for cautious diplomacy, there was only a gaping emptiness. Across the table, Leliana met my gaze and lifted her brows expectantly, urging me to speak. It was now or never. I stepped forward.

“Perhaps we can accomplish both at once.”

They paused, a bit put out, but waited for me to continue. Making a conscious effort to appear confident before their skepticism, I uncrossed my arms and leaned my hands on the table to cover their shaking, drawing strength from the steadfast belief that I was right.

“We need help if we’re… if I’m going to close the Breach. Cullen’s idea to depower it using templars might have worked---” I acknowledged with a diplomatic nod, “---but after what happened at Therinfal Redoubt there no longer remain enough of them to so much as make a dent in the Breach’s power.”

“You don’t know that.” Cullen remained stubborn.

“I do.” I fixed him with a confident expression, and he did not argue further. “The only option left to us, if we can’t drain power from the Breach, is to increase power to my Mark using magic. And the only way to gather enough mages to do this is to ally with the free mages in Redcliffe. I want to accept Grand Enchanter Fiona’s invitation, and propose an alliance.”

I counted five heartbeats before Cullen scoffed and crossed his arms.

“It’s a trap, it must be.”

“Why must it?” I demanded to know.

He regarded me with a diminutive look, as though I were too stubborn to realize an unpleasant truth. “You think the rebellion is more united than the templars were? It could be ten times worse. Even with the Circles they were always bickering amongst their fraternities.”

“I think I understand their unity or lack thereof better than you,” I said coolly. He opened his mouth to argue, but Josephine intervened.

“We shouldn’t discount this invitation out of hand,” she said placatingly. “The mages could be worth the risk.”

Then Cassandra broke her silence.

“They are powerful, true. But more desperate than you realize.” She unfolded her arms and looked between all three advisors in turn, before casting her eyes back to the map, pointedly ignoring me. “I don’t suggest it was a united plan, but if even a handful among them were responsible for what happened at the Conclave…”

“The Elder One was responsible for the Breach,” I said, my temper flaring. The energy of the room stirred when I clenched my fists, grinding my knuckles against the hard, smooth wood. I released it with a breath. “Whoever he is, it’s clear he wasn’t allied with the mages. Or have you already forgotten what happened at Therinfal?”

She flinched, but still did not look up. When she spoke again, it was with great effort past her clenched jaw. “I still think it’s unwise to---”

“---To walk blindly into a stronghold of the rebel faction of a once-sanctioned order? At the very least I trust the mages a great deal more than the templars!”

This time she met my gaze with a scathing scowl. She drew herself up to her full height before me, fists clenched at her sides, and her eyes narrowed as she regarded me.

“You dare speak of trust?” she demanded. “Why don’t you tell us all the truth then? The whole truth, about you and Solas.”

“What?” I was at a loss, wondering if her fear of mages and hurt at my dismissal of her friendship had progressed to wild delusions and conspiracy. “I don’t---”

“---Do you think me that much of a fool?” She loomed over me, and there was movement to my right. Leliana appeared by her side, placing a hand on her shoulder, which Cassandra roughly shrugged off. Beside me, Cullen’s broad frame hovered, ready to step between us if necessary.

“Stop lying!” Cassandra shouted. “I know you’ve been meeting in secret with the elf to practice with that Mark! Did you think I wouldn’t notice how easily you summoned its power to defeat Envy? That I was too blind to see you two sneaking off at every opportunity? You want to speak to me of trust? Then prove me wrong!”

The others turned to me in surprise.

“Mistress Trevelyan,” Josephine gasped. “Is this true?”

My fingers tightened around my staff, my left hand clenched and released. Several candles flickered and extinguished at once. Cullen sensed the tensing energy and a hand flew to his sword hilt. Remembering Solas’s quick lesson on centering focus, I again released the energy again with a slow exhale.

“Yes. It’s true.”

What else could I have said? Any further lies would only have proven Cassandra’s accusation correct, would have cemented me forever as unworthy of their trust. But I was not willing to accept the blame cast at me either.

“And it’s a good thing I did,” I insisted, lifting my chin. “Otherwise there would have been no way to defeat Envy, and we all would have perished at that fortress. Or worse, I would have become an abomination, a pawn in this Elder One’s plan to destroy the Inquisition from the inside!”

“That’s not the point!” Cullen looked enraged. “How could you have been so reckless? Have you any idea of the danger you put us all in? The lives you risked?”

I rounded on him. “I risked no one! We were always careful to practice away from others, where it was safe.”

“Safety is not a guarantee you can make,” Leliana said. “None of us understands that thing well enough to make that judgement.”

“Oh, but I do!” I countered. “Better than any of you. Because it is my curse to bear, not yours!”

She pursed her lips and the brightness in her eyes turned cold. Cullen shook his head in disgust. Even Josephine was appalled. I could have laughed at the irony. These four couldn’t agree on anything, it seemed, except their condemnation of me. Tears welled in my eyes, and I hastily brushed them away, furious that they should appear now to undermine my indignance.

“I had to keep it secret. I needed to learn how to use it, and you would have kept me mired in ignorance!”

“We would have agreed to supervised training,” Leliana said, her lips pursed. “If you had only told us.”

Beside her, Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to look at me. “You promised not to keep secrets from us. I thought you were more honourable than this.”

It was too much to bear. I could have countered anger or indignation. But hurt? Disappointment? My shoulders slumped. I held my palm aloft, letting its glow pulse once, gently, before clenching it shut again.

“I wanted to understand it better. It terrifies everyone, even me, because we know so little about it. I wanted to understand it better so you wouldn’t… I hoped… I’m sorry.”

Her accusation laid bare, Cassandra sighed and stepped back. When she looked at me, I was met with the fierce embers of sadness in her eyes. It was a familiar expression, but until this moment I had failed to understand what it meant. Now, I saw it all too clearly - regret.

“Do as you will,” she said quietly. “We both know I am in no position to overrule you.”

And with that, she left, shutting the door behind her with resounding finality and leaving us all stunned.

“Good gracious,” Josephine whispered, the first to recover from her shock. “That was… unexpected.”

“Someone should talk to her,” Cullen muttered, still watching the door, as if he expected her to storm back through it at any moment.

“It will have to wait,” Leliana said, returning to her place at the table. “We are still left with a choice to make.”

“There is no choice.” I spoke the words before I could stop myself. Perhaps pressing my claim now was unwise, but I was committed, and I refused to back down. “You know the mages are our only option left.”

“That may be so,” Josephine allowed. “But Cassandra was not wrong. Your reasons are understandable, but…”

“You lied to us,” Cullen finished for her. “We cannot in good faith send you abroad again, especially not with Solas. Not without supervision.”

“Excuse me?” I looked to Leliana for support, but her face had hardened again. She was in agreement.

“Please understand.” Josephine sighed. “Our situation is precarious, and the reputation of the Inquisition has become intrinsically linked with how the people feel about you.”

Leliana nodded. “If we cannot trust you to act reasonably and wisely, it would be better for all of us if you were to remain here.”

“You allowed me to go to the Hinterlands before you knew you could trust me.”

“Cassandra was with you,” Cullen answered simply.

“This is absurd!” I felt the rage bubbling up within me, and were it not for the memory of Cassandra’s face as she’d turned to leave, I might have unleashed all the thoughts frothing at the forefront of my mind. But I held my tongue. “The mages are our only hope! And who better than me to approach them?”

“Well, when you put it like that, why not go alone?” Cullen challenged. “You seem to think you don’t need our approval.”

“No,” I admitted, only seeing the truth as I said the words that followed. “But I want it.”

The admission brought to light something I hadn’t realized until that moment. Initially, I had agreed to stay with the Inquisition out of a mutual need. They required my ability to close rifts, and I required their protection to shield me from the masses who still thought me guilty. But somewhere along the way, the power balance had shifted in my favor. The Chantry had lost face, and the longer the Breach remained open, the less people cared about who had created it in the first place, so long as it was closed soon. I would have still been in danger if I ventured forth on my own, yes, but no more than I had been before the Conclave.

But their need of my Mark was still as dire as ever.

Their own faces reflected this to varying degrees. From the panic on Josephine and Leliana’s faces, it was clear they’d known this for some time. Cullen, however, looked shocked. His gold-touched gaze carried an added sense of abandonment that would have shattered my composure to pieces if I continued to look, and so I bit the inside of my cheek hard and directed my eyes down to the map.

When I once again trusted myself to look up, Leliana was nodding to him; an agreement had passed between them that they then both confirmed with Josephine. She looked unhappy, but nodded her acquiescence. It was she who turned to me to explain.

“We will not try to stop you,” she said. “But, we will unfortunately have to insist that you bring a guardian of our choosing along.”

“A guardian?” I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Someone who can hold your powers in check if they grow beyond your control,” Leliana explained. “And since it clearly won’t be Cassandra…”

“Absolutely not!” I grasped their meaning in a cold rush. “I’ll not be leashed by a templar as if I were still a dog of the Circle!”

Cullen let out a weary sigh, running one gloved hand through his hair. “You yourself have acknowledged that if they are here, they are no longer templars.”

“By declaration only, it would seem,” I answered with a sneer.

My words cut him to the quick, and all warmth left his eyes, replaced with doubt and something deeper, a hurt unfathomable to me in the brief seconds before his face hardened and his scowl returned.

“Like it or not, you are a mage,” he said with a coldness that he hadn’t held before. “That alone makes you a danger to everyone you come into contact with. Add to that a powerful magic that no one fully understands with heretofore unknown capabilities, and you’re as dangerous as any abomination. We should have done this from the beginning.”

“If I’m such a danger, why not just chain me in darkness and be done with it?”

“If I’d had my way, we would have!” He looked stricken as soon as the words were out, knowing they had been a mistake.

I felt my own breath draw in sharply, hurt forming my response before wisdom could stop it. “With solutions like that, it’s no wonder Kirkwall went up in flames.”

It was a line I should not have crossed. His mouth opened and shut with an audible snap, and his face darkened. We stared at each other as the silence stretched like the tension of a trebuchet ready for launch. His eyes blazed, and I saw in them all the rage and hurt and guilt that was caught in my own throat. With great effort, I unclenched, releasing my grip on the tendril of the Fade I had been unconsciously shaping. When it released, the room itself eased, as if releasing a breath of its own. Josephine stepped forward and placed a solicitous hand on Cullen’s arm. He turned away, aggressively rubbing at his hair while staring at the wall as if it held the magic words that would break the silence. Instead, Josephine broke it for us both.

“We understand your objections,” she said, redrawing the lines of neutrality with courteous tones and a grimace that was trying to be a smile. “But our condition remains. If you wish to remain a part of the Inquisition, this is the price.”

Leliana said nothing, only raised one brow to me in challenge. Would I press my claim further? Would I choose to irreparably break this fragile alliance for the sake of my freedom? Or was their trust worth more to me?

I bowed my head, a gesture that was both defeat and agreement.

“Very well,” I said. “One templar, for one heretic.”

Cullen said not another word as he swept past me, but stopped long enough to shoot me a look that echoed Cassandra’s before slamming the door behind him. This time, I felt the look in my bones. Regret.

V: I always wondered why you stayed after what happened with the templars.
T: Why did you stay?
V: We’ve been over that, haven’t we?
T: I remember the reason you told me at the time. I get the feeling there was more to it than that, though.
V: Yeah? Maybe one day when you write a book about my life’s exploits you’ll get to hear the whole story.
T: Or I could just get you really drunk.
V: Ha! We both know you can’t afford the amount of liquor it would take to get me that drunk.

The night was calm, and the breeze was beginning to lose the harsh bite of winter. The frozen surface of the lake reflected the velvet black of the night sky as a somber grey, and even the trees seemed to watch in reverence as Mother Giselle lit the empty pyre. I stood upwind of the rising flames, with enough space that I felt the growing heat as a comfort rather than a threat. Around me, the watching mourners began humming the Chant as Mother Giselle’s voice rose up, clear and low.

The survivors of Therinfal Redoubt had been offered honorary positions alongside me at the head of the crowd, but every one of them had chosen instead to stand watch as honor guard for the fallen. They would hold their positions all through the night, flanking the pyre long after it burned down to ashes, and when the first rays of the sun came at last over the mountains, they would gather the ashes up and disperse them. It was a solemn duty they felt they owed their fallen comrades. It was all symbolic - the actual bodies’ ashes lay at rest amid the decrepit soil of Therinal Redoubt - but those at Haven deserved a sense of closure. No matter my own feelings about the fall of the Order, I would not begrudge others their grief.

The rest of the crowd had grown larger than I remembered, but I managed to find a few familiar faces among them. Cassandra refused to meet my gaze, even now, but watched in rapt grief as the flames took hold of the dried wood. Josephine and Leliana each gave me brief nods, and Varric flashed a cock-eyed grin meant to be comforting. Vivienne inclined her head only slightly, little more than an acknowledgement; she had made sure to dress impressively for the occasion, and managed an effortless poise that couldn’t help but demand attention.

But it was with Cullen that my gaze halted. He stood with the other templars before the pyre, the rising flames forging a silhouette that emphasized his broad shoulders and stiff posture. He had foregone the bulky fur pauldrons and chest plate, opting instead to wear a simple surcoat of bleached white linen, with the Inquisition’s sigil freshly embroidered in gold across the front. It looked clean but well-worn, and fit him loosely enough that I wondered if it was borrowed off a comrade. His hair outshone the embroidery, combed back and gleaming in the firelight. My heart faltered when his eyes met mine, like hammered bronze in the low light, and I lost my breath as he lingered, the muscles in his jaw working. Then he moved on, leaving me with an ache for the loss of his regard.

Mother Giselle’s singing stopped, and she nodded to Cullen, who stepped forward, hands clasped before him and his shoulders heaved as he drew breath to begin.

“Most of you know that I was once a templar. When Seeker Pentaghast asked me to join her in establishing this Inquisition, I knew that such a post would be incompatible with the vows I took under the Maker and before the Chantry. Nonetheless, I accepted. I will not go into my reasons why, but suffice to say that I saw in the Seeker, and in what she hoped to do, everything that I had once believed of the Order. I saw a promise. A hope that, despite past mistakes, one might correct their course back toward righteousness. I see that same promise in the brave templars standing beside me, and in those who are not able to stand with them. What was lost at Therinfal Redoubt was more than lives, though indeed that is tragic enough. Worse, the Order has lost its way. As I once did.”

Here he paused, and his gaze settled on me once again, this time to remain.

“The path we walk is difficult. It is easy to misstep, to lose our way. Sometimes it is impossible to see where the next step should go. But we must always strive to continue forward, together. Those we lost at Therinfal Redoubt fought to vanquish a terrible evil that would have been unleashed upon our world. An evil that was only possible because the Order faltered in its duty. And for their unwavering bravery and dedication to that duty, they paid the ultimate price. We are all of us the worse for their loss. But from such noble actions, I see again a hope. A promise, that the Order can rise from the ashes and rediscover its true path. I am humbled before such aspirations, and so make a new vow - that going forward, I will seek to learn from my own mistakes, and not only correct them, but make whole what has been broken. I am here to help build a better future, a better world. This I swear. In the name of the Maker, and in honor of the brave souls we’ve lost.”

Silence reigned for several heartbeats when he finished, broken only by the crackle of flames behind him and the brisk mountain breeze sending sparks cascading over the lake. With a final exhale, he stepped back and Mother Giselle resumed the Chant. Her rich voice carried like a bell across the vast sea of faces. From within that sea, Cullen’s gaze never wavered from mine. The sweet ache in my chest returned, compelling me forward. I wanted to go to him, wanted to know what it felt like to have his arms around me with a yearning so fierce it was as if the Mark was consuming me all over again. But I stayed rooted to the spot, afraid that any movement would leave me to the mercy of the mountain winds. Afraid of being cast down and left to wither and die without the solid grounding I had now to protect me.

His sweet voice soon joined the chorus of mourners. For his sake, I lifted my own voice to join them.

Chapter Text

Cullen,

I received your apology letter two days ago, and have only myself to blame for not responding sooner. I was waiting until I found the right words, but they always seem to fail me where you are concerned. Except, of course, in anger. I am ashamed of what I said to you in the war room. We both said regretful things, but I strayed too far, and I am sorry.

You’ll find this note attached to a book I purchased in Val Royeaux. When I bought it, I intended it only as a kind gesture - a way to move past our initial uncertainty around each other. But circumstances being what they are, I fear it must now serve as recompense instead. I hope to return to friendlier terms with you when my business in Redcliffe is concluded.

-- Theresa

T: I can’t believe you kept this all these years.
C: It wasn’t intentional, if I’m being honest. Not at first. It started off as just a way to mark my place in the book. Then I transferred it to the next book, and the next. And after a while it became a reminder for me, in my darker moments.
T: Of what?
C: ...I’ve forgotten.
T: *laughs*
V: You’re kidding, right?
C: No, strangely. It seemed so important once that I keep it close at hand, but thinking on it now, I cannot recall why. Eventually I placed it in a chest and forgot all about it. Until you brought it up this morning.
T: I didn’t intend for you to go digging through all our old junk.
C: Once the thought was planted, I couldn’t help but wonder if I still had it.
V: Not surprising. You always were a romantic, Curly.
C: More like a hoarder.
T: You can be both, it seems.
V: He’s not the only one.
T: Is that directed at me? Because I’ve seen the maelstrom of paperwork that is your office.
V: That’s hardly my fault. I keep trying to trash it all but Bran keeps bringing it back.
C: Then what was your excuse at Skyhold?
V: Okay, I think we’re getting off track here. You wanna give us some privacy, Curly?
C: Right, I’m leaving. Don’t forget, Tess, we’ve got to pack for---
T: ---Yes, yes, don’t remind me.
V: You two going somewhere?
T: Family visit. Among other things.
V: Other things?
T: I can’t tell you. Not yet at least. I’m sorry.
V: I… see. Well, then, let’s pick up where we left off?

Departing Haven was complicated. There was a great deal of disagreement on who would be coming with me - the Trio protested me bringing more than one mage aside from myself, but I refused to hamper anyone’s freedom of movement. Both Vivienne and Solas insisted on being present for the meeting with the Grand Enchanter, and I was not about to deny either of them. When the Trio tried to press the matter, I held my ground, telling them that either we all join freely or not at all. That meant freedom to come and go as we please.

They let the matter drop after that.

Preparations were more harried than previous excursions as well. Supply lines were strained as refugees continued to crowd the camp outside Haven’s walls. Meals were now little more than stale bread so hard it had to be dipped in broth so thin it was scarcely more than water. Even the horses’ meal had to be carefully rationed. Horsemaster Dennett was contemplating selling some of the mounts to the few merchants willing to brave Haven’s altitude and isolation, both to cut down on the burden for the stables and to afford to saddle and feed the rest. He was none too happy about it, either - the rumors of the merchants price gouging everyone they could was well-founded.

It had been brought up more than once in the war room, but the advisors had no solution. We couldn’t afford to send away the few supply lines willing to come this far up the mountain. Even if we ordered the merchants to lower their prices or pay fairly for trades, there were no soldiers to spare to enforce the ruling - Cullen insisted they were already spread thin keeping the peace among the refugee camps. With so many people crowded into so little space, fights and crime were a frequent concern.

The village itself was full to bursting; even my own cabin would have to be loaned out to the healers in my absence. The poor runner who’d delivered the message all but fell over himself in apology, until I insisted it was perfectly understandable. I had few enough possessions that I took all of them with me when I journeyed, and could just as easily have slept in my own tent, though he vowed my cabin would be vacant by my return.

Cullen was hardly ever seen off the training field anymore, bellowing orders, increasing patrols, and accelerating the forging of arms and armor. He strongly disliked the meager protection the village offered - let alone how exposed all those people outside its walls were - but there was little to be done about it with the supplies we had at hand. Josephine was permanently affixed to her desk, with runners coming and going at all hours, as she struggled to keep up with the mountain of paperwork that never seemed to dwindle. And Leliana was hardly ever seen at all, though no one who knew her would dare suggest she was hiding. She spent her days in the darkened lower alcoves of the chantry with her scouts, receiving and sending reports and weaving a network whose breadth was beginning to spread quickly.

My new staff was completed in time, thankfully. Harrit had affixed the head with the design sent by the Blades of Hessarian, and combined with the more conductive metal of the shaft, I found the weapon much more responsive than my old staff. As was his wont, Harrit responded to my gratitude with only a gruff, monosyllabic grunt, but there was a spark of pride in the way he resumed his work as I took my leave.

In all the commotion, I nearly forgot to leave the gifts from Val Royeaux with Josephine and Cullen. Josephine was delighted by the inkwell, fawning over the vivid blue shade as she tested it on the margin of an old report. I had hesitated over how best to approach Cullen; the two of us hadn’t spoken since my outburst in the war room, and I could tell he was avoiding me. When I received a note from him with a reserved but sincere apology over his behavior, I was ashamed that I’d not had the courage to do the same. After several days of fretting, I settled on leaving the book - along with a note of apology of my own - in his cabin and hoped he would see it when he retired for the night.

Another reason for the frenzy of our travel arrangements was an unforeseen consequence of Cassandra’s abrupt decision to stay in Haven - I was now the de facto leader of our expedition. It made sense in hindsight, of course; the plan to ally with the rebel mages was my own, after all. But that made it no less terrifying to suddenly be the one everyone went to for answers to questions I hadn’t even known needed asking.

Varric was indispensable during this time, offering sound advice on gear and routes. He had a stake in many ventures all over Thedas - and even a few in the Deep Roads - and his keen business mind translated well to the logistics of travel. He and I had reached a mutual understanding since Therinfal; both in our disgust with its events and disappointment in Cassandra’s stubborn refusal to withdraw. Despite their frequent bickering, he’d been closer to her than anyone in our group, and I could tell it pained him to keep his distance. I was glad he’d be coming with us to Redcliffe; space to heal was likely the best thing for all of us for now.

Before I knew it, the morning of our departure arrived, and I set out at dawn with our steadily growing travel party following close behind.

Returning to the Hinterlands should have felt like a return to form, but with so much changed since our last excursion there, it was a novel experience. The landscape was familiar, but I could navigate it more easily, and without the constant stream of mucus and phlegm clogging my sinuses I was actually able to enjoy the picturesque hillsides. Blisters no longer covered my feet, and we no longer were forced to take frequent breaks to allow me to recover, making much better time and reaching the first forward camp in mere days.

The biggest difference, of course, was that Cassandra was not with us.

“Good evening, Your Worship.” The scout on duty offered a crisp salute before handing me his report of updated activity in the area. I murmured a return greeting, awkward beneath his solemn regard as I frowned over the report. It was encoded, but Leliana had explained the basics of their system to me before I left - a strange pictographic alphabet of symbols meant to represent the hand signals her spy network used. Apparently it was based around those used by none other than the Hero of Ferelden, whose hearing loss at a young age had necessitated adapting this form of communication among her family. I distantly remembered Mother once remarking on the strangeness of the Couslands hiring a Silent Sister out of Orzammar to tutor their children, and understood its necessity better now.

I picked it up quickly, and most of the scouts were happy to clarify anything that escaped my comprehension. If only I could get used to them reporting to me. It seemed the Mark that marred my palm also granted me additional authority in the eyes of Haven’s residents and our soldiers and scouts abroad. Their ready deference, while useful from a pragmatic standpoint, was nevertheless disquieting.

“Things seem to have calmed since we were here last,” I said after looking through the report.

The scout nodded, face lightening at the praise. “Yes ser. Your victory at the Crossroads and our continued presence in the area seems to have taken most of the fight out of the fanatics on both sides. The locals are even starting to return to their homes.”

“What’s left of them, you mean.” The lingering images of raided huts and razed crops was difficult to forget.

“Er, yes, ser.” He shifted on his feet, but to his credit did not look away. “We’ve been coordinating as best we can with the leaders of those who were displaced. Dispersing food and arranging for shelter. But it is a process, and the bandits raiding supply lines complicates things. Likely most of these folks won’t be rehomed before planting season’s over.”

“Is there anything we can do about that?”

“We’ve already sent a report on projected needs back to Haven. It’s my understanding that resources are being stockpiled as much as possible to account for the disrupted harvest. We’re doing what we can to combat the bandits, but our forces are already stretched thin, I’m afraid. Best we can do is defend when they attack, but we’ve no available scouts left to try and route them out.”

“Right.” Of course they would have this handled far more efficiently than I could ever hope to. Glancing further down the page, I frowned. “And what of this Grey Warden?”

“Ah, him.” The scout’s face twisted into a grimace. “We would very much appreciate you dealing with him as soon as possible. Peacefully, of course.”

His discomfort was not surprising, given what little I knew of this Warden. Before departing Haven, Leliana had cornered me to ask in private whether I could look into reports of Warden activity in the Hinterlands. It had seemed a normal enough request, given her distress over losing the trail of those we’d missed in the Storm Coast. However, her hesitance told me there was something else behind her asking.

“His name is Blackwall,” she had explained in the dim light of her makeshift office beneath the chantry. “According to my agents, he’s been harassing our camps by conscripting supplies, food, maps and reports of the area… More than would be warranted for a solitary fighter in the wilderness. If you can, I would appreciate you finding out what he’s up to.”

“You want me to stop him taking our supplies?” I’d asked.

“Well, technically, if he’s invoked the Rite of Conscription, there’s not much we can do to stop him. But still…”

It was unlike her to be hesitant. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She sighed. “I cannot ignore the strange timing of all this. Some months ago, the Ferelden Wardens vanished. All my contacts within the country went silent. Even… Well, after the Breach’s creation, I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have disappeared as well. Whether they went to ground on their own, or something worse, I cannot say. I don’t want to believe they could be involved in any of this, but for it to just be a coincidence seems… unlikely.” Her eyes were distant while the rest of her features were carefully neutral. “The others have dismissed my concerns, but I cannot ignore it,” she continued. “I would consider it a personal favor.”

That was surprising. Whatever her concerns for the Wardens, they were enough that she was willing to bypass the rest of the Trio entirely. I wanted to ask her more, but knew it would be futile. And so I had parted ways with the promise that I would do my best to make contact with Warden Blackwall.

Though that promise was complicated by my primary mission, my lingering guilt spurred me to make it a priority. Solas, being Solas, insisted I had nothing to apologize for - and what’s more seemed to object on principle to this side errand - but I nevertheless wanted to prove I was still trustworthy.

“It’s not just our equipment he’s been taking,” the scout complained. “Lately, he’s started conscripting some of the refugees. Apparently, he’s using them to fight off the bandits.”

“What?” I felt my outrage growing. “These people have gone through enough already without being forced into a lifetime in service to the Wardens.”

Beside me, Lysette stirred, no longer content to listen in silence. “Not to mention most of them have likely never so much as held a sword before this. We need to stop him before he gets these poor people killed.”

That was the other novelty about this trip; instead of a Seeker, I now traveled with a templar.

Former templar, I corrected myself for the dozenth time.

Ser Lysette, former templar and survivor of Therinfal Redoubt, had volunteered when the call was raised for an escort capable of nullifying magic. According to Cullen, she had considered it a way to repay us for our intervention with Mattrin’s breakdown. While that felt contradictory to me, Cullen considered it more than reasonable, and so he had approved her for our company.

“Where is the Warden now?” I asked the scout.

“Latest reports say he took about a dozen men and women of fighting age from the camp at the Crossroads only two days ago, and headed east with them.”

“That’s not far. Maybe we can still pick up their trail,” Lysette suggested.

I nodded, pondering the map on the table between us. “We should arrive there in a day or so. I think.”

“Maker go with you, Herald,” the scout saluted. “I’m sure you’ll sort him out in no time.”

He gathered up the papers and departed, leaving me with the map. Lysette watched him go, arms crossed and concern knitting her brows together.

“I get the feeling he’s more concerned with the Inquisition’s supplies than those people,” she said.

I grunted noncommittally, still scanning over the sketched terrain. Navigating was a skill that still eluded me, and each evening so far I had been bent over this same map far longer than was likely necessary. It was beginning to leave a strain in my neck. Straightening, I sighed and rubbed at the tense muscles.

“Either way, we still have to confront this Warden. He may know something about the Breach. Or who those other Wardens were chasing after in the Storm Coast.”

“Do you really think it’s connected?”

“I don’t know. Leliana believes there may be a link, but…” I stopped myself from continuing, remembering who I was speaking to. Lysette caught my hesitation anyway.

“You still believe the templars were responsible.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it an accusation. The guilt in her gaze told me she didn’t entirely disbelieve the notion herself.

I gave her an apologetic smile. “We don’t know much of anything yet. Maker knows I’ve jumped to conclusions before, and that was… unworthy of me. For now, I just want to help these people find some peace and get their lives back to normal.”

“What will normal look like, after this?”

“One thing at a time,” I said with a wry grimace. “For now, we solve the problem with this Warden.”

Giving up on the map, I folded it and returned it to my pack. I intended to spend more time studying it in my tent, but a rumbling protest from my stomach reminded me of more pressing concerns, making me pause in momentary awkwardness.

Lysette gave a light chuckle. “You forgot to eat again, didn’t you?”

I nodded, guilty, but her exaggerated sigh of exasperation forced a laugh from me despite myself, and we retired to the campfire for the evening.

Though I was resentful of her necessity, it was hard to dislike Lysette personally. In great contrast to Cassandra’s severity, she was of much more agreeable nature. She was friendly enough toward me and Vivienne, and even Solas found little reason to remain reticent with her - at least no more than he was with anyone else.

Also in contrast, where Cassandra was resentful of any conversation that did not bend toward our mission, Lysette was more than willing to participate in small talk and banter with the others. She’d even joined in on some of Varric and Iron Bull’s bawdier sing-alongs, to their delight and everyone else’s chagrin. Before long, I had learned that she was the daughter of a cobbler out of Denerim and had joined the Order to escape following in his footsteps, an act of independence I respected. She was young, with the tanned skin of one who spent much time out of doors, and long brown hair kept up in a practical bun. Her features still held the softness of youth; she had served only a few short years prior to the Conclave, and had avoided the explosion by virtue of her junior status. Her conflict over that notion was obvious and understandable; guilt was a feeling I knew all too well. Despite this, she was quick to smile, and her ready kindness and clever retorts made her enjoyable company.

If only the others were as affable. Between Vivienne’s steadfast loyalty to the Circles, Sera’s bristling defensiveness, and Solas’s detest for both - as well as his and Varric’s ongoing philosophical disagreements with Bull over the Qun - conversation had become a field of armed glyphs to be navigated with great caution, lest I accidentally step on someone’s insecurity, or unleash a grenade of lectures upon the unwilling.

Of course, mostly they did a fine job of setting themselves off without my help.

Just as I was sitting by the fire with my share of rations for the night - dried druffalo meat and hard cheese that made my jaw ache just to look at - Vivienne turned to Solas with a by now familiar gleam of imperial confidence I had come to dread.

“You’re an apostate, correct?” she asked him.

There was a collective inhale around the fire as we all paused our chewing. I glanced at Solas, wary, but he kept his eyes on the fire, face as neutral as ever. When he replied, his tone was flat.

“That is correct, Enchanter. I did not train in your Circle.”

“Well dear, I hope you can take care of yourself, should we encounter anything outside your experience.” Vivienne replied with all the patient confidence of a mentor to a green apprentice. I hid a smirk in my mug of tea, while Varric watched with quiet fascination. The glyph was primed, and we all waited to see who stepped on it first.

Solas allowed another long moment to pass before responding, the muscles of his jaw working to hold back something. Was it anger, or laughter? His tone remained devoid of any emotion when he finally broke the silence.

“I will try, in my own fumbling way, to learn from how you helped seal the rifts at Haven.” Yes, that was definitely laughter he was holding back. He looked up in mock surprise to meet Vivienne’s narrowed eyes at last. “Ah wait. My memory misleads me. You were not there.”

And in one fluid motion he rose, retreating into the darkness beyond the reach of the fire. Vivienne blinked, but otherwise gave no indication of any reaction. With her favorite target gone, she took a sip of her tea before setting her sights on me.

“I admit to surprise at the Inquisition’s willingness to work with apostates,” she said.

I was ready with a response. “Technically, all mages are apostates now.”

“Unfortunately true,” she allowed with a sad shake of her head. “Is that why you were at the Conclave? To restore our status as sanctioned abiders of Chantry doctrine? Or do you agree with the misguided notion that we should govern ourselves?”

“I…” But I couldn’t answer, unwilling to explain the gaping void where memory should be whenever I tried to think of the events surrounding the Conclave.

“The Conclave was meant to end the fighting,” Lysette cut in. “Not necessarily to restore the mages under Chantry control.”

“And under what other circumstances do you imagine the Templar Order would have agreed to an accord?” Vivienne returned, quick and cutting.

“Maybe this isn’t the best dinner conversation…” Varric sighed, only half-heartedly trying to ease the tension, knowing it for a fool’s errand. He may have enjoyed witty repartee, but it was clear things were about to escalate well beyond that.

“Oh come, now, Master Tethras. If we can’t have a civilized political discussion, we’re no better than barbarians.” Vivienne raised her hands placatingly, the picture of innocent advocacy. Her shrewd eyes settled back on me. “You haven’t answered my question, Lady Herald.”

When I hesitated just a fraction too long, unable to give any kind of answer she would accept, she tsked.

“You truly don’t remember, do you? Such a shame. No doubt that missing piece of memory holds the key to unlocking the mystery of the Breach.”

“Yeah sure, let’s all whinge about it,” Sera sneered from where she lounged, attaching flechettes to a bundle of arrows. “That’ll jog her noggin into rememberin’.”

“The only ‘whingeing’ I hear is your tuneless voice, my dear.” Though she spared little more than a sideways glance in Sera’s direction, a note of irritation soured the elegant chords of her voice. “I am merely attempting to make sense out of chaos.”

“You’re not the only one,” Varric mumbled around a mouthful of food. It was hard to tell whether his grimace was from the conversation or the hardness of the meat.

“That’s right,” Bull said. “Everyone here wants things to get back to normal.” Sera nodded her agreement.

Lysette gave me a significant glance from across the fire.

“No.” I shook my head. “Normal is what got us here in the first place. We need something new. Something better.”

Vivienne gave me a patient smile. “And just what might that be, in your mind, my dear?”

I thought for a long moment, but ultimately had to admit, “I don’t know.”

She sighed. “Perhaps you might have an answer ready before you go destroying the system that has kept us safe for generations.”

“I won’t have to. The system did a fine job of destroying itself.”

My temper was flaring again, as much at myself as at Vivienne. How had I allowed myself to get sucked into another debate with her? I took a moment to calm my nerves, but the damage was done. My appetite was gone. I returned my food to my pack and rose. Before I left, though, I couldn’t resist one last petty barb.

“We were never safe under the old system,” I said to Vivienne. “Only contained.”

“They are one and the same, my dear.” Her voice held an icy edge. “Or have you forgotten the chaos that followed the dreadful attack in Kirkwall? All those innocents, senselessly slaughtered.”

“Careful, Iron Lady,” Varric cut in. He didn’t look up from the fire, but his voice was a quiet warning. “Things in Kirkwall weren’t quite as simple as you’re making them out to be.”

“Oh, but they were,” she insisted, ignoring him in favor of holding me fixed with a frosty glare. “As simple as life and death. And in our case, those numbers will be tenfold the numbers from Kirkwall. I only want to ensure we all understand the stakes.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Trust me, First Enchanter. I know the stakes better than anyone here.”

With an apologetic glance to Varric, I retreated to my tent, having the good sense not to turn back this time.

The rest of our evenings were much the same. Someone would raise a delicate topic rather indelicately, another would snipe at them for no other reason other than their personal disdain, and the conversation would dissolve into circular arguments that grew more and more heated until finally someone stormed off. More than once things nearly came to blows and I was forced to intercede and send everyone to neutral corners.

Eventually, we all settled into awkward side-steps and innocuous salutations, empty of substance. I almost missed the fraught energy that had permeated the atmosphere between Cassandra and me; at least that had depth. Then I would remember her rueful scowl in the war room, and learned to be grateful for the shallow safety of forced politeness.

I should have been glad she wasn’t with us, and yet my thoughts continually strayed to her, and the complicated tangle of emotions tied ever tighter each time they did. Though I was loath to admit it, I missed her. Her steadfast confidence, the authority that settled around her as naturally as breathing. Her unwavering courage, even when things were at their most dire. Without her, I felt exposed and, strangely, alone.

I felt her absence as I poured over maps each morning, trying to determine our path forward. And during the evenings as I received updated reports before I was free to unwind with the others. Before, I’d been too wrapped up in my own misery to notice all the time Cassandra had devoted to these mundane but vital tasks. What had seemed to come so easily to her was draining for me, in every way.

Still, it all needed to be done, and it felt cowardly to leave such things to others. And so I heard reports, and planned routes, and learned the quirks of the area, and did my best to keep the peace between our rogues gallery of allies. And each night I retreated to my tent - usually long after the others - exhausted and lonely.

At last, after several days of fruitless searching, chasing circular rumors of this elusive and troublesome Warden, we got a clear break. His growing militia of conscripts, armed with Inquisition weapons and armor, was last seen heading toward a lake partway up a mountainside that overlooked the Crossroads. What he was planning to do with them was anyone’s guess, but I wasn’t about to allow one man to take every civilian of fighting age in the Hinterlands, Grey Warden or no.

Vivienne and Solas both elected to remain at camp the morning we had planned to finally catch up to him. Solas had been in a foul mood since our departure, and pursuing a Grey Warden did little to help matters. Whatever he found so dispicable about the Order, however, he would not tell me, but I could tell he found the whole notion of their purpose extremely distasteful. Vivienne merely seemed to think this task was less important than planning an approach to Redcliffe, and so I’d allowed her access to our maps until our return. I was unsure if she’d noticed my frustrations and intended it as a peace offering, or if she simply wished to prove her usefulness, but regardless I was grateful for the assistance.

Thus, armed and armored, I set out with just Iron Bull, Varric, Sera, and Lysette to track down the Warden and bring back the farmers.

One of those left behind at the refugee camp - too old to serve as a conscript - helpfully pointed out the path he’d taken. Interestingly, his story differed from that of our soldiers. He told me Blackwall had defended them from demons after the Breach first formed, and later helped fight against bandits who had tried to prey on the resulting chaos. He insisted that, while Blackwall had taken men and women of fighting age from the camps, it was less of a conscription and more of a rallying cry. It seemed he’d become quite the local legend among them, in fact.

The Inquisition cursed him as a nuisance. The locals praised him as a savior. What we found by the lakeshore was not quite either.

A small battle had just concluded there, and we were just in time for the aftermath. The survivors milled about, cleaning gear and picking the pockets of the dead. When we approached Bull realized these were the “conscripted” villagers and farmers, pointing to the Inquisition armor they wore. It was clear they were unused to wielding such gear. The only one among them who carried himself like a real fighter was a man sitting alone on a tree stump, well removed from the others and whetting his sword with methodical patience.

He was hunched and burly, with an unkempt beard and the look of one who hadn’t seen a bed inside actual walls in quite some time. He didn’t wear a Warden’s colours, yet he looked utterly at home holding the blade in his hand and carrying the armor on his back. He spared one glance in our direction before returning to his work, but some of the others were beginning to notice our approach, pausing in their tasks and eyeing our weapons with growing concern.

I nodded to the others to let me approach first, not wishing to frighten anyone or give the wrong impression. Lysette didn’t look especially happy, but agreed to stay back at a reassuring nod from Bull as I carefully continued toward the solitary man by the tree stump.

“Blackwall?” I called tentatively. “Warden Blackwall?”

He turned sharply at the greeting, fixing me with a shrewd stare from behind a nest of hair as unruly as his beard, black as crow’s feathers and wild as the nest of one. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t stand. Everything about him gave me the impression of an animal, cornered and waiting for a reason to spring, either in flight or attack.

“You’re not…” he faltered, then began again. “How do you know that name?”

“I’m from the Inquisition,” I answered, keeping my arms open at my sides as I continued my approach. “We’re trying to find out why the Wardens disappeared, and whether it’s related to the Breach.”

“Disappeared?” He frowned, considering me more closely. “Inquisition… Those flags I’ve seen planted all over are yours then? I don’t know why you’d believe Wardens are involved with the Breach. Who are you?”

“That’s a complicated question.” He stared, expectant and unimpressed. I sighed. “It depends who you ask.”

“Well, I’m asking you. So stop dancing.”

“I suppose that’s fair enough.” I stopped my approach just outside of his reach. “My name is Theresa. I was the only survivor of the explosion that caused the Breach. It left me with this.” I displayed the Mark, and when its glow fell across his face his eyes widened and he stood, still gripping his sword, though he kept it down at his side. Behind me, footsteps rushed forward, but I held out my other hand, and they stopped.

“Maker’s balls… I’ve heard of you.” He regarded me now with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. “But why would you think the Wardens would…? No, you’re asking, so you must not know.” Many thoughts crossed his face, none of them made privy to me. He began pacing back and forth. When he next spoke, he was still contemplative, thinking aloud.

“First, I didn’t know the Wardens had disappeared. But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten. Second, I will tell you that no Warden had anything to do with that.” He looked up, and I followed his gaze, unerringly pointing my eyes at the Breach where it boiled above. “Our purpose is to restore order, not destroy it.”

“I’m not here to accuse,” I said. “Not yet. I just need information. Where have the Wardens gone?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t seen any for months. I travel alone, recruiting.”

“Is that what you’re doing with these people?” I asked, indicating the pack of now curious onlookers. Most had ceased shedding their gear in lieu of listening in on our conversation.

Blackwall spat at the ground near where one of the corpses lay.

“These idiots forced this fight. I ‘conscripted’ their victims. Treaties give Wardens leave to take what we need, who we need. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Take back what was stolen. Next time they won’t need me. Grey Wardens may be controversial since the last Blight, but they can also inspire. Make you better than you think you are.”

“And how many paid the ultimate price for your rather lenient interpretation of the treaties’ jurisdiction?”

I jumped, looking back to where Lysette stood behind me, hand on her hilt and mouth pressed into a thin line. I hadn’t even noticed her approach. No doubt Bull would be lecturing me about that later. Blackwall gave her an appraising look, and a glint of challenge sparked in his eyes.

“I made sure that didn’t happen,” he told her in a low rumble.

I looked to the villagers, who all nodded confirmation. They looked a little worse for wear, but none had any serious injuries I could see. None of the corpses wore Inquisition colours either, all bearing the makeshift and worn gear typical of bandits. I regarded Blackwall again, looking with new eyes at his bedraggled state, his rusting armor, his thinning tunic beneath. The way he stared just a beat too long, as though trying to ascertain if I was real. It spoke to the truth of his assertions that he’d been traveling for months. I wondered how long he’d been on his own before deciding to make a stand for these people.

“You really don’t know where the other Wardens went?” I asked finally.

He shook his head. “Can’t guess why they’d all disappear at once, much less where they’d go. Maybe Weisshaupt Fortress? That’s in the Anderfells, far to the north.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

His eyes narrowed; he didn’t much like that question. “Maybe I was going to,” he rebuffed a bit defensively. “Or maybe there was a new directive, but a runner got lost or… something. My job was to recruit on my own. Planned to stay that way for months. Years.”

I sighed, turning back to the others with a shake of my head. Iron Bull was watching us with a thoughtful expression, arms crossed and posture relaxed. Varric shrugged unhelpfully. Sera was busy looting the corpses, wholly uninterested in us. Lysette kept her watchful gaze on the “conscripts”, eyeing them up and down like a worried mother checking for injuries.

None of them had any ready answers for me.

“Well, this was less than helpful,” I muttered. Then, because that wasn’t Blackwall’s fault, I said politely, “Thank you for answering my questions, at least. But I’m afraid there’s another matter to contend with.”

“Oh?” He sheathed his sword and crossed his arms, waiting.

“You’ve taken supplies from the Inquisition for this ‘conscription’. Since it’s clear you don’t intend to actually take these people with you to join the Wardens, we would appreciate their safe return to the camp at the Crossroads. And the return of our equipment.”

“Is that so?” His tone was amused, though nothing about his countenance had changed. “Inquisition didn’t seem to be making much use of it, from what I saw.”

“You didn’t even give them a chance!” Lysette stepped forward, her voice rising. “You’ve forced these people to fight - to kill - because you had to insert yourself into a situation that doesn’t concern you!”

“If it was the Inquisition’s job to take care of those bandits, they were taking their bloody time,” Blackwall responded. “Bugger concern. I knew I could help those people and I did. I needed no one’s permission, so I didn’t ask. If the Inquisition has a problem with that, it only proves what they really care about, and it’s not those people.”

Lysette took another step forward, hand back on her hilt, but I stepped between them, giving her a pleading look. Behind us, Varric chuckled. Sera, done with her looting, approached, counting coins into a pouch that sagged lower on her belt than it had when we’d arrived.

“He’s not wrong,” she said. “Your lot made big words about helping. Beardy here actually helped. I like him.” She delivered the last statement with an air of decisiveness, as if that were the final word needed on the matter, placing one hand on her hip and leaning back, waiting to see how things would unfold.

Lysette shook her head, still unhappy, but her hand fell away from her weapon and she stepped back. I smiled in silent thanks and turned to face this new problem. Sera had given me an idea.

“How about a compromise?” I asked Blackwall. “You return the gear you took so that we can redistribute it to our soldiers, these people can return to their homes now that the threat has been eliminated, and you will join the Inquisition on behalf of the Grey Wardens.”

Another chuckle from behind - Varric apparently found all this highly amusing. Sera smiled, approving. Blackwall chewed on a corner of his beard thoughtfully before responding.

“A moment ago you sounded ready to arrest me. Now you want me to join you?”

“We still need to know where the Wardens have gone,” I answered. “And if we have one with us, maybe more will be inclined to make contact.”

Blackwall shook his head. “No, I won’t let you use me as a lure. If the Wardens have disappeared, it’s for good reason. I’ll not interfere, nor will I help you track them down if they’d rather not be found.”

“I see.” I sighed. It had been worth a try. “Then I wish you safe travels, Blackwall. But we must be going. I’ll see to it an escort arrives in short order to see these people home. Thank you for helping them.”

I was already mentally composing the letter I would have to send back to Leliana, not relishing the disappointment it was sure to bring her, and lamenting my failure at performing even this simple favor for her sake, when Blackwall called out to me to halt. I waited, hopeful. He approached calmly, seeming to have come to a decision; there was a new air of determination setting his shoulders in a way that reminded me of Cassandra.

“Theresa, did you say?” he asked. I nodded, and he glanced up to the sky, contemplating the Breach, before continuing with a nod to himself. “Times like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me. I make no claims for any Warden but myself,” he cautioned in response to my growing smile. “What I’ve done here was an attempt at setting things right whilst your Inquisition found its feet. I have no answers for you beyond that, but if you find my service alone of any worth, it’s yours, gladly. I want to help.”

“I suppose that’ll have to do,” I said. I held out a hand and he grasped it firmly. “The Inquisition welcomes your help, Warden Blackwall.”

“You won’t regret it,” he affirmed.

“I may not,” I winced. “But I can’t exactly say the same for anyone else.”

Just as I’d feared, it took no small effort to smooth things over with our soldiers when we returned to camp. They nearly drew steel against Blackwall when they saw him among our company. Explaining the full truth of the matter did little to assuage them, though they eventually relented, accepting his awkward apologies and the return of the equipment with reluctance. I realized then that Lysette had been more right than she’d known; it seems they didn’t like a stranger showing up and doing their job for them. When I rather bluntly pointed out that it was more important that the bandits were taken care of than who had done the work, they turned sheepish and let the matter drop.

Once that was settled, I set to work on composing an update for Leliana. After going through several drafts, I finally settled on a version of events that gave Blackwall cautious praise for his actions, but was apologetic for my lack of any substantial answers regarding the Wardens, who remained at large. I handed it off to the escort who would be accompanying Blackwall back to Haven - all parties agreed it was best he be out of the area and introduced to the Trio straight away - and turned my attention to consulting Vivienne on plotting a path toward Redcliffe.

It was many hours past sunset when I was finally ready to retire to my tent. There, I found Solas waiting, wanting my attention.

“So do we count the Wardens among our allies now?” he asked, and I heard the bared fangs beneath the smooth veneer of his voice.

“Just the one,” I answered, barely resisting the impulse to cringe or apologize, unsure why I felt guilty. Hadn’t I done just what Cassandra might have? “It seems he knows nothing of why the others have disappeared.”

“I don’t trust his excuses.”

“You haven’t even spoken to him.”

Despite us being of a height with each other, he had a way of making me feel as though he were looking down his nose at me, usually when he disapproved of something I’d done or said. It reminded me unsettlingly of a particularly strict Revered Mother who used to tutor me in my childhood before the Circle. I resisted the urge to fidget with the hem of my coat, feeling like a chastised little girl who’d flubbed her recitations again.

“I don’t need to,” he said. “His Order, the Grey Wardens… They see themselves as the world’s only defense against the Blight.”

“Yes, everyone knows that.” I frowned. “I don’t understand, you make that sound like a bad thing.”

He paused, examining me, and shook his head. “Nevermind. I only mean that this Blackwall has seen a great deal of battle. He lives and breathes war, as if it is home to him. He wears armor like a second skin, as if it were a barrier to keep others at a distance.”

“How can you possibly know all this for a certainty?” I demanded with a heavy sigh, rubbing at my eyes in my exhaustion. “You haven’t said two words to the man.”

He approached, coming close enough that I could feel the energy around him, vibrating with his agitation. His eyes had gone cold and distant.

“I have seen terrible things,” he said, so quiet it was almost a whisper. “I have watched death and destruction render that which I love unrecognizable. I see something similar in him.”

His hands wavered slightly as he reached out to squeeze both my shoulders. A shudder traveled the length of my spine, even as my heart ached to reach out to comfort him, but he pulled away before I had the chance. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked lost. For all that he kept a distance between the others and himself, he now looked lonely. Then, the moment passed, and he recovered his detached neutrality. Only now, I knew it for a facade.

“Be cautious,” he said as he stepped past me, quickly lost to the darkness.

Whatever loss was hidden behind that warning and within his eyes stayed with me, leaving my sleep restless. When I dreamed, it wasn’t of the pyre. Instead, I saw him standing alone on the other side of a great crevasse, reaching out to me, beckoning. When I tried to jump across the gaping void below, I fell far short of my goal, and as I fell into darkness he watched from the edge above, sad and detached.

“What kind of hero will you be?” he asked as I plummeted to my demise.

I had no answer.

When I woke just before the hard crash of the ground took me, tears came unbidden to my eyes, though I could not tell if they were for me, or Solas.

Chapter Text

“What in Andraste’s name is that?”

The fear and awe in Lysette’s voice was palpable, and it was hard to blame her, given the sight before us.

“That,” I answered after a deep breath, “is a rift in the Veil.”

“Maker… That’s what you’ve been closing this whole time?” She looked aghast, and her eyes darted furtively toward my left palm.

I shook my head, frowning. “The others weren’t like this.”

Indeed, even as I stared, the rift before us shifted, warping the air around it like ripples in a pond. Wherever the ripples spread, the Fade crept through, frenetic energies jabbing at the already dangerously thin barrier that kept them at bay. My head spun from the disorientation, and I had to look away.

“The rift must be closed,” Vivienne said.

“Theresa is perfectly aware of that,” Solas countered by my side. “But this one is clearly different. There’s no sense in charging in recklessly.”

“I suggested no such thing, apostate.”

“Enough.” I grabbed at my head, which had begun to throb, and took several long, slow breaths.

Vivienne was right, of course. It mattered little that this rift was more powerful and vastly different than the ones I’d closed before. It still needed to be closed, and not only to stop the flow of demons pouring through; it also stood between us and the gates of Redcliffe, preventing us from our goal and halting all traffic in and out of the city.

“Whatever your game plan is, Boss, I suggest we get on it.” Iron Bull stepped toward the rift, bare shoulders rippling as he unsheathed his greatsword from his baldric. “Looks like the demons got tired of waiting around for us to make a decision.”

He was right - from the ground below the rift, a pair of shades were clawing toward us, gaining tangibility with each shuddering step. I uttered a curse and readied my staff, but Vivienne was faster, freezing both in place with an ice glyph and sending an arctic blast to slow the rage demon that followed at their heels. More demons were already taking form behind it. Lysette unsheathed her sword and hoisted her shield, uttering a short prayer before launching herself forward into the fray. Bull followed, his own battlecry swallowed by the rift’s distortions despite nearly deafening at close range.

Almost immediately, things went sideways. Sera surged forward while lining up her shot, and was nearly struck by a bolt from Bianca. This prompted Varric to shout an angry warning, receiving only a blown raspberry in response. Ignoring his continued shouts, she darted in and out amongst the crawling shades to land trick shots, making it difficult for the rest of us who fought at range to land any hits, for fear of hitting her as well.

After the third time Lysette or Iron Bull almost tripped over her amidst the fray, a swell of magic rose up and Sera unleashed a torrent of foul oaths. I turned from my own fight long enough to see that Vivienne had encased Sera’s lower limbs in ice up to her knees, freezing her in place in the middle of the battlefield. A worse place could not have been chosen - already three more shades had spotted her and were converging.

I spat a curse of my own, but before I could rush to her aid, a piercing shriek froze my blood and rooted me to the spot. From the ground directly below me, I felt rather than saw a swirl of energy forming. With only a split second to react, I leapt aside immediately before a gangly creature with razor-sharp talons tore up from the whirlpool below. A terror demon. It was on me before I could stand, arms as sharp as blades swinging out in frenzied blows. They glanced off my barrier, but I could feel it fading. I flung the demon back with a lightning strike, giving me precious seconds to regain my feet.

By then the situation with Sera had gone from bad to worse. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Lysette had taken up a defensive posture over her, but she had her hands full against two shades while Sera chipped futilely at the ice with the end of her bow.

“Vivienne!” I shouted even as I ducked another series of blows from the terror. “Free Sera now!”

But whether Vivienne couldn’t hear me or was deliberately ignoring me, the ice remained as solid as ever. Solas was preoccupied on the other side of the fighting, elevated on a rocky outcropping and casting disorientation against any creature who got too close to one of us, occasionally refreshing barriers when they began to weaken. I, meanwhile, was too busy fending off rapid blows from the terror demon with both melee and spellcraft, with no time in between to melt the ice myself.

Iron Bull was cutting a path from one end of the fight to the other, swinging his impractically large greatsword in wide arcs and chopping chunks out of shade and rage alike, though doing little damage for all his efforts. Such creatures were not easily downed by brute force alone, least of all rage demons. As far as I could tell it was feeding off Bull’s enthusiasm, pursuing him with a singular focus.

One of the terror’s grasping claws sliced a long line down my arm, leaving a river of blood in its wake, and I cried out as much from surprise as the pain itself. Solas’s barrier had faded, but he was too busy at the moment to refresh it. I pushed the demon back with a solid strike from my staff, sending another jolt of lighting through it. It reeled and shrieked in pain, granting me precious seconds to summon a more powerful spell.

But a roar from Bull broke my concentration. I turned in time to see him charging full force at the rage demon, only for it to turn away at the last second, leaving Bull on a collision course straight for Lysette and Sera, who both remained trapped in a mire of ice and shadow.

I cried a warning, futile though it was, but a strange sensation came over me and it was as if everything suddenly slowed to a crawl. Bull’s expression changed as he processed what was happening. The muscles in his core were taught, rippling on impact with each long-legged surge forward as he tried to correct his course. His mouth widened as he began to shout a warning. Sera was still frantically chipping tiny shards of ice away from her legs. I watched one fly in a graceful arc into the air, catching the sunlight and blinking a rainbow of color before landing in the dirt several feet away. Lysette was grappling with a shade, her shield braced between them, her face fixed in a grimace, determined not to give an inch, her heels half buried in the dirt and butted against the ice. Her attention slid ponderously to her right as Bull’s warning reached her ears, and her grimace began to warp into shock, then fear as she realized he couldn’t stop himself in time.

But I could. I thrust out my staff and tried to summon the inner calm required of Spirit magic. The terror demon grasped for me but I ignored it, somehow knowing I had enough time. At the last second before impact a familiar blue shimmer blanketed the two women. Bull’s collision was rough, but the damage was minimal. Even better, the force of his impact finally broke Sera free of her icy prison. I exhaled in relief.

Then the strange sensation faded and everything happened in a blink.

Unfortunately, the spectacle had stolen the brief moment I’d needed to summon a spell powerful enough to put down my own opponent. The terror demon launched another volley of attacks at me, tearing at cloth and flesh, leaving a dozen cuts and gashes across my arms as I fought to keep my staff raised between us. There would be no barrier to protect me - Solas had used too much mana already and I’d spent a significant portion of my own to save Lysette and Sera - and there was no one nearby who could help. Varric put bolt after bolt into its thick, bark-like hide, to little avail.

I heard Vivienne shout a word of warning, and a telltale glow of blue came up from below. I dodged out of the way just in time before the glyph activated, but when I turned back my triumph was short-lived, as the glacier had trapped nothing but air. The demon had gone to ground just as I’d jumped out of the way. Before I could locate the dark swirl that indicated where it would reemerge, I was knocked off my feet, landing hard on the ground.

There was a brief impression of the same sensation as before, there and gone by the time I’d rolled away and was back on my feet. Looking back at the spot I’d been, I was met with a strange sight - like before, the demon had slowed, as if moving through water. It was charging toward me, but at such a leaden pace I could easily dodge. Checking around me, I saw that no one else had the same affliction this time, however. That was when I noticed the discoloration in the air around the demon, arcing in a sphere for about one of its own arm lengths all the way around and above.

Before I could fully process this new strangeness, I caught a glint of sunlight off full plate before Lysette collided with the demon, her own motions slowing to match it once inside the sphere.

“Kill it!” Her voice was low and forced, as if she had to fight just to get them out. She was grappling with the demon, holding it at bay on the other side of her shield, keeping it within the sphere. Its blows glanced off her helmet and shoulder plates.

“I’ll hit you too!”

“Do it!” She gritted her teeth and shut her eyes tight in her efforts to hold the demon in place.

I forced my concentration on the spell I needed, pulling ambient energy through the Veil and focusing it into my core, keeping my will steady despite my rapidly increasing heartbeat. This particular spell was dangerous, and not lightly attempted. Holding so much Storm energy still for the length of time needed is no easy task, and because the energy is drawn within the caster rather than the staff, there is no protection from potential blowback. I felt it stirring within me, white-hot and frenetic, vibrating and eager to break free. When I had accrued enough, I uttered a quick prayer that my aim was true and set it free, targeting the demon. Wave after wave of hyper-condensed spheres of electric energy crashed into it, so bright it hurt to look upon. There was a last dying shriek before silence overwhelmed the space around me.

Or, nearly silence. Above us, the rift still crackled.

With a weary sigh, I stepped forward and raised my left hand, bracing myself. The Mark worked quickly, pulling in the energy from the rift, draining it of power and filling me up, so that I felt like the inferno would consume me. When it was over, I stood alone and unburnt, despite what the memory of pain was singin. The air was still, all traces of distortion gone. The turbulent Fade was calmed, and order was restored.

Then Solas was at my side, offering a hand up - when had I fallen to my knees? - which I took, rising with some effort as the overflow of mana within me resettled itself. There was always an adjustment period after closing a rift, where the feedback left me full to bursting with excess energy. Solas patted my shoulder gently and gave an approving nod. I smiled weakly, then gasped.

“Lysette?”

I looked urgently toward the spot where she and the demon had faced off, but she wasn’t there. For a terrifying second, I feared she’d disappeared along with the demon. But then I spotted her, several yards away in a tangled heap with Iron Bull. He must have seen me summoning my spell, and charged into her at the last second to carry her out of range. I breathed a sigh of relief, hearing Lysette’s exhilarated laughter as she looked up to see him grinning confidently down at her.

“Nice save!” she said as they both rose with grunts and moans, dusting themselves off.

“Nice shield wall,” he returned, his grin sliding into a cock-eyed smirk. I was certain he caught the flush that rose in her cheeks in response, but he made no comment of it.

Sera gave an excited squeal, running up and staring at the empty air where the rift had been. “Is it always like that?”

“More or less.” I winced. “That one was more powerful than most.”

“The power here was indeed immense,” Vivienne nodded, examining first the air, then me with a pensive expression. “I shudder to think that there exist more terrible examples than this one.”

“Only one.” I shuddered, remembering the greatest rift, the one directly below the Breach. The one that nearly killed me when I’d tried to close it.

“Are you alright?” Lysette was studying me now, mirth replaced with guarded concern, and I was reminded uncomfortably of her true purpose in being here.

“I’m fine,” I replied curtly. She hesitated only a moment, but accepted my response with a nod and turned to retrieve her sword where it had fallen, flung into the dirt as she’d been.

We all took a moment to tend to our wounds and ensure no other demons remained to wreak havoc. While Solas was trying to convince a petulant Sera to remove her boots so he could check for frostbite, Lysette remained separate, eyes fixed on the charred spot of dirt where the fear demon had been destroyed. A slight tremor was visible in her hands where they hung at her sides.

“Are you alright?” I asked, coming close enough that none of the others could overhear us.

The muscles in her jaw worked as she continued to stare at the ground, but I did not press her to answer. Yards away, Bull spared a curious glance toward us, but at a nod from me he shrugged and returned to cleaning the dark ichor from his blade.

After a long pause, Lysette swallowed, saying simply, “I haven’t fought since Therinfal.”

“Ah.” There was likely any number of more profound or compassionate or helpful things I could have said instead, but in that moment, all that occurred to me was the simple comfort of mutual understanding. And then, because that still felt insufficient, I added, “You did well,” and reached out a hand in offering. Not a handshake, but rather an offering of physical contact; a connection to pull her out of the darkness I knew all too well. She looked from my hand up to my face, searching it with an unspoken question in her deep set eyes. Whatever she saw, some of the tension in her eased and she smiled, reaching out and gripping my hand firmly. After several long breaths, her trembling stopped. Then another bracing sigh, and her usual cheer had returned.

“Well, that was a bit of a cock-up, wasn’t it?” she asked, her sudden tone surprising a laugh from me. “Are they always like that?”

She nodded discretely back toward Sera and Vivienne, who were trading verbal jabs, bickering over an exasperated Solas even as he continued trying to examine Sera’s feet for injury. Varric was unsuccessfully trying to redirect their attention, while Bull simply watched the scene unfold with that privately amused grin of his. I could swear I saw his solitary eye dart from me back to the unfolding chaos, as if to ask whether I planned to interfere. Though that may have been merely a trick of the sun.

I sighed and nodded to Lysette, holding back my exhaustion as I turned to put a stop to their bickering before it escalated.

“It was your icey magic to blame anyway!” Sera was shouting. “If you’d let me be---”

“---I had no choice, my dear,” Vivienne replied. “Your careless showboating put the rest of us at risk, and I was not about to allow your ego to harm any of the more valuable members of the team.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I should think it was obvious, really.”

“Oh! So just because I don’t shoot icicles out my arse, I’m not good enough?” Sera had risen from her crouched position and was drawing up her diminutive frame to within inches of Vivienne’s imperious sneer. “What say we leave the arrows and the magic sticks and see who’s really got it?”

“Ill-mannered street rat.”

“Spoiled bitch!”

“That’s enough!” I pitched my voice to carry over them as I stepped between them, forcing them both a step back. Both women were already opening their mouths to resume their onslaught, but I cut them off. “No! Nothing more from either of you! Your reckless and petty behavior is not what you promised when you offered your services to our cause. I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but if you cannot keep clear heads in battle, then you are worse than useless to the Inquisition - you are dangerous. And I’ll be blighted before I allow you to endanger the lives of others. Better to leave you both at the next forward camp and never look back.”

There was a long pause as both women stared me down in furious incredulity. Vivienne looked a breath away from encasing me in solid ice, and I daresay if Sera’d been within reach of her bow I’d already have an arrow protruding from whatever limb she deemed expendable. Then a delighted guffaw from Varric broke the silence, and I was spared further daggers as the women shifted their hatred to him. He seemed impervious, however, amusement already fizzling out in a low chuckle that carried him all the way to the side of the road where he’d left his bag.

With the moment’s tension now thoroughly broken, Vivienne turned aside with the air of a cat caught stumbling who dared all around in its haughtiness to acknowledge the error. Sera seemed to have decided to take her cue from Varric and was giggling and clutching her belly until Solas in exasperation was forced to give up his task and rise to put away his medicines and poultices.

“Gate’s cleared now,” Iron Bull nodded down the road. “How’sabout we get moving before another one of those things opens up?”

“Well I’ll be,” Varric said, still chuckling. “Tiny is nervous! Do demons get under your skin that much?”

“I’m not nervous. Just don’t like crossing paths with demons if I can help it.”

“Then I think you might be traveling with the wrong crowd, friend.” Varric shook his head, laughter still twinkling in his eyes.

“I’m with the big’un!” Sera said, already moving toward the gate. “Let’s put walls between us and here before it goes all demon-y again!”

“That’s assuming they let us in,” Lysette muttered. On the ramparts above I saw movement, but they didn’t look to be in a hurry to raise the portcullis.

“One way to find out.” I began making my way to them, returning my staff to the sling across my back and holding my hands out in a peaceful gesture. The others followed behind.

It took a fair bit of convincing to get the guards to open the portcullis, but it wasn’t long before I realized their reluctance wasn’t out of fear - it was confusion. When I mentioned I was there to speak with the Grand Enchanter, they looked perplexed and one of them bade us wait while the other ran to fetch her.

I should have been grateful they were letting us in at all, but the longer we waited, the more my discomfort grew. Some unease gnawed at the edge of my awareness, but I couldn’t guess its origin. I dismissed it as lingering adrenaline from the battle and the rift’s unusual qualities, and made a mental note to confer with Solas about it later, in private.

The guard returned maybe an hour later, peering out warily at us through the grating of the portcullis as he beckoned us over. Behind him was an elven man of middling age. He carried no staff, but the Circle robes he wore marked him for a mage. Both looked quite put out over the whole situation, and that unsettled feeling within me grew.

“Our apologies, Herald!” the mage panted, clearly unused to such exertion. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. “We weren’t told of your coming. We’ve sent word to Magister Alexius, but in the meantime you can meet with the former Grand Enchanter if you like?”

“Wait,” I held up a hand, forestalling the myriad questions bubbling up from my companions. “Did you say a magister is here?”

The mage looked to the guard, who nodded, then back to me, still confused. “Yes, of course. Isn’t that who you’re here to meet with?”

“I was asked to come here by Grand Enchanter Fiona,” I said, my concern growing. None of this was making any sense. “She came to me personally in Val Royeaux.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible.” The mage shook his head. Like the Grand Enchanter, he had an Orlesian accent. “We haven’t even been here a fortnight, and Fiona’s not left our company since then.”

“But that’s not…” I sighed, rubbing at my eyes, trying to clear my thoughts. “Nevermind. Please send a message to… whoever is leading the rebel mages and ask if they’re still willing to meet with us.”

The guard conferred privately with the mage, and after a moment retreated to open the portcullis while the mage waited in patient - if wary - attendance. I looked to the others for confirmation, but they only looked further confused at this. Once the portcullis was lifted, we were escorted through, following the mage down a well-worn path lined by buildings that pressed closer and closer around us the further along we went.

“I didn’t sign up to help ‘Vints,” Bull mumbled as we walked, sounding distinctly unhappy.

“I very much doubt that was the original intent.” Vivienne’s staff knocked sharply on the cobblestone path with every other step, echoing off the crowded buildings. It was very quiet for such a prominent trade hub.

“Something’s very wrong here,” Varric muttered. His eyes kept darting all around, as if expecting an ambush to leap out at any moment.

“Agreed. This is most curious.” Solas shot a furtive glance at our guide before leaning in to whisper to me. “Did you feel the distortions coming from the rift?”

I nodded. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I think that rift might have something to do with this.”

Sera cackled from the back of the group, having to trot every few steps to keep up. “Yeah no shite! Magic always confuses normal folks.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I retorted. “I can’t explain it, but something about that rift felt… familiar.”

“In what way?” Solas studied me closely.

“I wish I knew.” I shook my head, frustrated. “It may be nothing. For now, it seems we have no choice but to meet with this magister and hope he has some answers.”

Tightly packed buildings of wood and thatch and stone suddenly opened wide onto a bustling port and market. Even here, though, the crowds were subdued, eyes downcast unless speaking directly to someone. Those we passed gave us only passing glares of wary curiosity before returning to the ground. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I caught an added touch of resentment when their eyes fell across the staffs carried by Vivienne, Solas, and myself. Whether imagined or not, it did little to improve my mood.

Our guide veered right at a fork that took us over a hill and gave a wider view of Lake Calenhad and its far shore. The looming outline of Kinloch Hold was barely visible in the foggy distance, daunting and solitary. It reminded me of the silhouette of Faxhold the last time I’d seen it. Though here it was shrouded in fog instead of flame, a shudder passed through me from the memory.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Vivienne said, noticing my discomfort but mistaking its source. “Even when she was Grand Enchanter, Fiona was not so grand a person as the title indicates. And now she’s no more than an apostate thanks to her own machinations.”

Her tone was more contrite than conciliatory, and I wondered if my earlier rebuke had earned more than just her ire. Pride was intrinsic to her presentation - that much had been clear from the moment I met her - and I’d just compared her behavior to the only member of our party she actively despised. If she truly considered me an enemy, I would have to watch out. She struck me as the type to come at a perceived threat sideways, smiling even as the dagger was shoved in their back. I hoped I was wrong, but slowed my step nonetheless to allow her to pull ahead a pace.

“From what I understand, her hand was forced by the barbarities of the templars,” Solas said. I felt the tension beginning to rise again. The energy of this village was highly responsive. The Veil was thin here. Of course it was. Perhaps that explained the headache that was steadily growing from a dull throb to sharp stab.

Vivienne made as if to pat Solas on the shoulder, thought better of it, smiling instead and replying with a condescending lilt, “That’s alright, no one expects you to fully grasp the nuance of the situation from the outside.”

From his other side, I placed a calming hand on Solas’s shoulder to quiet whatever response he might have made, and replied as flatly as I could, “It matters little in any case. We are all apostates now, remember? Besides, if the rebel mages here still call her by her title, who are we to say otherwise?”

“What a sage observation,” Vivienne remarked, her eyebrows lifting a fraction.

“You needn’t sound so surprised,” I muttered.

“It is to your credit, my dear,” she said as we came up a set of wooden planks set into a hillside, a modest inn rising into view at its top. “Always exceeding expectations.”

I sighed, ignoring Varric’s newest round of chuckles from behind as I stepped through the front door of the inn.

The tavern inside was just as somber as the rest of the town, though it was full to bursting with a sight I hadn’t seen in some time - mages, all wearing Circle robes. Staffs leaned against walls or sat beside tables. Conversations were carried out in low whispers, and here and there I caught words I recognized - blowback, discharge, cleanse - words that spoke of advanced techniques and theoretical methods and philosophical thought experiments. Were it not for the scent of stale beer and moldy wood I might have imagined I was back at Faxhold. The unexpected familiarity made my heart ache with nostalgia.

We managed to find room at a table near the door and sat down, while our guide rushed off to fetch the Grand Enchanter. While the others scanned the room with wariness - save Vivienne, who surveyed her surroundings with disappointment - Varric leaned close to me to murmur low enough that we were not overheard.

“You have an admirer.”

I followed the subtle nod he gave toward one dark corner where a tall, fair-complected woman was glaring over at me with bright, piercing eyes. The hood of her robe was drawn up, obscuring most of her features, but those eyes had the glint of weapons about them.

“Someone you know?” Varric asked. I shook my head.

“Difficult to say. If she is I don’t recognize her.”

As if she’d heard me, she moved from her corner and approached. She moved in the awkward Circle robes with the familiarity that came from years of navigating cramped halls and treacherous steps. When she was within a few paces, she lowered her hood to reveal copper colored hair so bright it might have been a reflection of firelight, and I gasped.

“Linnea.”

“I’m surprised you remember me,” the mage sneered.

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

The rest of the table had grown quiet, their interest now fixed on us.

“You mean you didn’t think I’d survive the Annulment.” The distaste was still plain on Linnea’s face. Yes, I remembered her well. She had always been fond of starting confrontations with most everyone, especially me.

I sighed. “I’m happy you did. And I’m happy you found your way to the rebels. You were always a staunch supporter of the Libertarians, as I recall.” I was doing my best to keep my voice even. From the deepening scowl on Linnea’s face, I was failing.

“You’ve certainly come up in the world yourself. Marked by Andraste?” She laughed. “I thought you didn’t believe in the Maker?”

“I didn’t. I don’t. It’s… complicated.”

“Still, must be nice. Ordering templars about? Must be a dream come true for you.”

I scoffed. My patience was wearing thin. “I see the extent of my role has been grossly exaggerated. I assure you, if there is any ordering about of templars, it’s not by me. This,” I waved the Mark dismissively between us, “is the last thing I wanted.”

Linnea rolled her eyes, a gesture I knew by heart but hadn’t seen in many months. Such a flippant gesture thrown at my feet here of all places was almost surreal.

“Come off it, as if you don’t adore being the center of attention. Always cloying at the First Enchanter’s skirts and soaking in the praise while the rest of us struggled and fought for every inch! You were her star pupil, and I barely passed my Harrowing.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” I was on my feet before I knew what happened, and suddenly every eye in the room was on me. I’d shouted without meaning to. At the table, Iron Bull was watching things unfold with his usual private smirk, while Varric and Sera looked rapt, enjoying the show. Vivienne was giving us both a pitying look that might have wilted the petals off a flower. And Lysette was clutching her sword hilt, eyes darting back and forth between us. Though she tried to maintain a steady calm, I saw panic beginning to rise in her eyes.

Then Linnea laughed, mocking and light. “It’s too easy to get a rise out of you, Tessie.”

“Tessie?” I heard Varric mutter. Sera giggled.

“Do not call me that,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Right, right, you hated that nickname. Unless the right person was using it anyway.” She waved off my offended expression, cutting off my reply. “Don’t worry, I’m going. I only wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“I’m not the only one from Faxhold here.” She smiled, so sweet and pleasant I didn’t trust it. “You might want to prepare yourself.”

And with that she sauntered off, leaving me with a stormcloud of feelings I hadn’t known still dwelled below the surface. Feeling ridiculous, I sat back down and laid my head down in my arms, letting out a low groan.

“What was that all about?” Varric asked.

“Old rivalry,” I answered without lifting my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Success often breeds jealousy,” Vivienne said. “You should endeavor not to let such petty graspers under your skin.”

“She mentioned there are others from Faxhold.” Solas was scanning the room. “Are we likely to encounter more enemies?”

“No. What?” I lifted my head. “Linnea wasn’t an enemy. We just… competed. A lot. And nursed a strong dislike for each other. It was stupid and immature, but I doubt she’s any threat.”

“Then who did she mean to warn you about?” Lysette asked.

“I’ve no idea. I couldn’t even tell you how many of us survived… what happened at Faxhold. Let alone who among them might wish me harm.”

The table grew quiet at the mention of my former Circle. Though none knew the full details - not even Solas - word had gotten around by then of what had become of it. Leliana’s network had been diligently gathering information from all across Thedas since well before the events of the Conclave.

Any further dwelling was cut off, however, with the entrance of Grand Enchanter Fiona. The already somber mood grew even quieter as she stepped through a doorway from upstairs. She still wore her own robes, in the stark white of her rank, but carried no staff. Her compact frame was contrasted by the deference the other occupants granted her. Many bowed their heads or paused conversations or rose from their seats as she passed, and she received their attention with a quiet confidence that was not unlike Vivienne’s. This was a woman who knew her responsibilities, and accepted the mantle of authority simply because she must.

I rose from my seat and made sure to bow to her, wanting it to be known that the Inquisition showed respect to her and her rank.

“Grand Enchanter,” I said as I rose. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she replied with a nod. Her words were courteous enough, but her tone and posture said she was anything but happy to see us here. Such unhappiness only increased when she laid eyes on Vivienne. “First Enchanter.”

Vivienne inclined her head only as much as necessary to serve as a greeting. “Fiona, it’s been too long. I was terribly sorry to have missed your last assembly of the College. A pity you could not have waited. Reason might have prevailed, had I been there to assuage the panic.”

Fiona pursed her lips, but said nothing further. I tried to give Vivienne a warning look, but she kept her gaze locked on the Grand Enchanter, a bland, unconcerned smile plastered on her face that was as stiff as any Orlesian mask. Bringing her may have been a mistake after all. After a beat, however, Fiona turned her attention back to me and the tension lessened.

“I understand you were asking for me specifically. What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

I frowned, choosing my words carefully. “We’re here because you invited us. You sought me out in Val Royeaux and said the Inquisition should consider an alliance with the mages.”

The Grand Enchanter blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. “You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Honestly, I don’t know what answer I’d been expecting. I sighed, frustrated.

“But if it wasn’t you I spoke with in Val Royeaux, then who was it?” A sudden thought spread like a cold wave over me. I turned to Solas. “Could it have been a demon? Like the Lord Seeker?”

But Solas shook his head. “I was there for your meeting with the Grand Enchanter, remember? I did not sense anything untoward or deceitful about her. For all I saw, she sounded and felt genuine.”

“Coming here was a mistake,” Lysette whispered to me, anxious eyes still scanning the room. “Even if it wasn’t a demon, some foul magic is afoot. I can feel it.”

“Every glimpse of the Fade is not the work of malevolent demons bent on possession.” Solas sighed.

“Actually, she may be right,” I said, loud enough to include the others, especially the Grand Enchanter. Solas raised one brow, either in surprise or disdain, but I continued. “That strange feeling I mentioned at the gate? I felt it all through town, and it’s in here too. Something is wrong about this place. It feels…” It was just at the edge of my perception, something I could almost grasp.

“Now that you have said it,” Fiona stepped closer, frowning in concentration. “I feel strange as well. When you mentioned Val Royeaux, it felt… familiar. A sense of deja vu.”

We locked eyes and a shared understanding passed between us. For one brief moment, I almost grasped it. The key to understanding this mess was nearly within reach. But then she sighed and shook her head, breaking eye contact, and the moment was lost.

“Whoever or… whatever… brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already pledged themselves to the Tevinter Imperium. As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

“You must be joking,” Lysette scoffed.

Vivienne shook her head sadly. “My dear, you could not have chosen a worse course. Those you were supposed to protect will now pay the price for your incompetence.”

Even Solas looked disappointed.

All I could do was stare in disbelief as a dozen questions came to mind. Why would Tevinter want to insert itself in the middle of this conflict? How did they find out where the mages were hiding? When did they approach and why did Fiona not mention any of this in Val Royeaux? How could she not even remember being there?

But all the questions fell away, irrelevant before the unfortunate truth. The deed was done. We were too late. Bitter resentment rose like bile in my throat as all hope of sealing the Breach slipped through my fingers. We’d wasted our time at Therinfal Redoubt, and now it had cost us the mages as well. I had failed.

“You don’t know what you have done,” I said to Fiona. My voice was so small, so frail. I was lost little Theresa again, floundering at every attempt to escape my doom. “You’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“All hope of peace died with Justinia,” Fiona answered defensively, her voice breaking. She looked as miserable as I felt. “We had no choice. We are losing this war, and I needed to save as many of my people as I could.”

“But there is no war anymore!” I clenched my fists, willing them to stop shaking. “The Templar Order is all but destroyed. Whatever is left is a disorganized rabble. You’ve thrown away a chance at peace for nothing!”

Solas’s hand on my shoulder stopped me before I started shouting. I released my fists and rubbed at my face, feeling suddenly very tired.

“All is not lost,” Solas whispered. I looked to him in surprise. Surely, this was non-negotiable? The Trio would never accept an alliance with the mages knowing they’d thrown their lot in with Tevinter. But then I saw the suggestion in his eyes, and understood. The Trio was not here. I was.

Stepping forward, I lifted my chin and did my best to sound confident. “If you cannot negotiate with us, then tell me who can.” A chorus of objections rose from my companions, forestalled when I held up a hand and shot a warning glare over my shoulder. “Our needs have not changed,” I said, for their benefit as well as Fiona’s. “The Breach must be sealed, and the mages are the only ones left in Thedas capable of doing it. I’m not leaving until I at least meet with this magister.”

“Well said!”

A cheerful voice sounded from the entrance to the tavern, and all of us turned to see a tall man with olive tan skin and aged features framed against the brightness of the tavern entrance behind him. He dressed in auspicious, brightly colored robes that resembled no Circle’s style I’d ever seen, and it took a moment for me to realize they were cut in the northern style, for a culture more accustomed to consistently warmer weather. This was the Tevinter magister.

“My friends, I apologize for not greeting you sooner.” He approached as he spoke, and any mage in his path quickly skirted away, some casting him reverent glances, others spitting in disgust.

Fiona bowed, then rose and extended an arm toward him. Her jaw was clenched as she spoke with taut professionalism. “Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

Magister Alexius stood before her, flanked by two men; one looked like a younger version of himself, whom I took him to be his son, while the other…

I looked upon the face of the elven man in mage robes, and the floor fell from under me. I knew his face all too well. I had seen it in every conceivable expression, had known those stormy grey eyes to widen in surprise, squint in concentration, close in ecstasy. Now, those eyes were blank, devoid of the vast expressiveness I’d always loved. My throat constricted as I saw the flaming disc emblazoned on his forehead.

“Taeris, you’re…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“Hello Theresa,” he said in the flat voice of a Tranquil. There was recognition there, but no warmth. The man I’d once loved looked into my face and felt nothing, as if I were an old book he’d thought lost and not a lover of more than two years. I couldn’t breathe; it was as if all air had left the room.

“I never knew what happened to you,” I said, distantly aware of how badly my voice trembled. “All they ever told me was that you’d been transferred. They would never tell me where.”

“I was sent to the Gallows in Kirkwall,” he answered simply.

“Ah, an old friend, I see.” Magister Alexius clasped his hands behind him, appraising me with a bland smile as if all this were normal. I couldn’t speak. It was beyond cruel, having to look into the face of a man who once brightened when I entered a room and see only passive indifference. “Well, there will be plenty of time for reminiscing later. I believe you are here because you want something from us, yes?”

Lysette jutted an elbow into my side when I still said nothing, bringing me sharply out of my private horror and reminding me of my purpose. Pushing my grief as far down as it would go, I tore my gaze away from Taeris and back to the magister. Clearing my throat and nodding, I concentrated on keeping my face a perfect mask, crossing my arms and jabbing a thumbnail into my forearm. The pain held my focus, and stopped the tears from spilling.

“The southern mages are under my command,” Magister Alexius continued in a bright tone that belied the darkness behind his meaning. “And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting.”

Though his tone hadn’t changed, its forced lightness was belied by a hunger in his eyes that gave them sharp focus as they bore into me. I had to resist the urge to squirm.

“You are a long way from Tevinter, Magister,” Solas said.

“I understand you wish to acquire our services?” Alexius said to me, not even deigning to acknowledge him. “Let us talk.”

He gestured to a booth in the back of the tavern that had been full a moment before. The young man whom I took to be his son was busy redirecting its previous occupants elsewhere, while Alexius took a seat and glanced back at me expectantly. I followed in a daze, barely aware of my surroundings. All I could see was Taeris’s expressionless face. All I could hear was Linnea’s dire warning. She had intended to prepare me, but how could I have ever prepared for this? Moving with numb detachment, as if in a dream, I walked over to the booth and lowered myself to the bench. My personal history would not stop me from doing what I had come here to do.

“I understand you have reservations about my involvement?” Alexius was saying. Then, to the young man, “Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? Forgive my manners, my friend. Allow me to introduce my son, Felix.”

I inclined my head in automatic greeting, and the young man gave a smooth bow before striding off to fulfill his father’s request. The others moved to follow me to the corner, but Taeris inserted himself between us, clearly meaning to impose as much privacy as the open floor plan allowed. I nodded to them and indicated that they remain there. None looked happy about it - especially not Solas - but they obeyed. I turned my attention back to Alexius, as Fiona came to stand nearby. I was sitting across the table from a magister of Tevinter, about to negotiate on behalf of the Inquisition for the aid of the mages, while my former lover-turned-Tranquil stood guard and my new allies remained out of hearing. Surreal is too kind a word, but I have no others to describe the peculiar strangeness of that moment. If I hadn’t been so distraught over the revelation of Taeris’s fate, I might have gone mad from the absurdity of it all.

I tried to orient my thoughts, uncertain how to proceed. I felt very much out of my depth, but knowing I needed to start somewhere, casting about for the first question that came to mind.

“From the way the Grand Enchanter phrased it, this sounds less like employment and more like forced labor. She used the word ‘indentured’, in fact. Can you explain that?” I made my distaste for the notion plain, but Alexius appeared unconcerned.

“Our southern brethren have no legal status in the Imperium. As they were not born citizens of Tevinter, they must work for a period of ten years before gaining full rights. As their protector, I shall oversee their work for the Imperium.”

“And what does the Imperium gain from taking rebel mages under its wing?”

“For the moment, they are a considerable expense,” he allowed. “After they are properly trained, they will join our legion.”

Fiona balked. “You said all my people would not be military! There are children, elderly! Those not suited…”

“And one day I’m sure they will all be productive members of the Imperium.” Alexius fixed her with a warning glare, and his voice lowered. “When their debts are paid.” Fiona looked grave, but said no more.

“I’m still not clear on when, exactly, this arrangement happened,” I said. My eyes kept drifting toward Taeris’s back despite my efforts. If Alexius noticed, he gave no indication. He did look exceptionally smug, though it was hard to tell if that was my paranoia or simply the confidence that came with the authority of the Magisterium.

“When the Conclave was destroyed,” he said, “these poor souls faced the brutality of the templars, who rushed to attack them. It could only be divine providence that I arrived when I did.”

“It was certainly… very timely,” Fiona agreed, though her teeth were clenched and I saw her looking now on the magister with new suspicion. Something within me fell into place as well, as if another piece of the puzzle had just revealed itself, though I couldn’t yet make out its shape.

“And what does Arl Teagan think of all this?” I asked, remembering Leliana’s reports. “It was he who gave the mages sanctuary here, was it not?”

“The Arl has left the village,” Alexius said plainly.

I scoffed, shaking my head. “I’ve read of the events here during the Blight. The Arl didn’t abandon Redcliffe even when it was under siege.”

Alexius looked at me more sharply then, eyes narrowed, before relenting with a shrug and spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “There were… tensions growing. I did not want an incident.” Whatever was meant by that, I could not have guessed, though I was certain there would be repercussions. My unease grew, even as Alexius’s smile spread. “I’m not surprised you’re seeking our help. Containing the Breach is not a feat many could even attempt. There’s no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. The Inquisition is nothing if not ambitious.”

“You’ll help us? Just like that?”

I should not have been surprised, perhaps. From the hunger still in his eyes, it was becoming clear that all this had been a means to an end, a way to get the Inquisition to the negotiating table. Though for what purpose, I still could not guess. There was something off about his manner - specifically in how he spoke of closing the Breach. As if the notion was comical to him somehow. I pursed my lips and tried to focus, trying to get a better read on his mannerisms. He met my gaze evenly, and I recognized a challenge in his eyes.

Before I could ascertain what that challenge was, however, Alexius turned and his face fell with sudden concern. I followed his gaze and saw Felix returning, but something was off about his gait. He moved stiffly, as if he had little control over his own limbs. He locked eyes with me briefly, then fell forward.

I moved without thinking, catching him with great effort as he grunted and tried to right himself, gripping my hand tightly for support.

“Felix!” Alexius was at his side in a blink, fatherly concern plain on his features.

“My lady,” Felix grunted, still half-crouched and gripping my hand. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

“Are you alright?” Alexius fussed, checking him and rubbing a hand on his back in soothing circles.

“I’m fine, Father.”

“I’ll get your powders,” Alexius murmured, taking him in hand and lifting him upright, gripping his arm tightly to support him. He turned back to us, brusque concern making him sound rushed. “Forgive me, friends, we will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I require your assistance at the castle. Bring the Tranquil.”

I tried to follow, but they were already halfway to the door. “But what about---”

“---I shall send word to the Inquisition,” Alexius called over his shoulder, not breaking stride. “We will continue this at a later date.”

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone,” Felix pleaded weakly as he allowed himself to be led away, followed by Taeris and Fiona.

Then they were gone.

I was left just as confused as when I’d arrived, but with two key differences. The first being the shock and heartache at seeing Taeris so undone, another victim of the ritual that was every mage’s greatest fear.

And the second being the crumpled piece of paper in my hand.

It was left there by Felix after his collapse, though in all the commotion I hadn’t noticed until the second they were out the door. I unfurled it now and read the contents aloud for the others, who were already crowding around me.

“‘Come to the chantry. You are in danger.’”

“It’s a trap,” Iron Bull concluded immediately.

“If ever I heard one,” Varric agreed.

“I’ll be careful,” I said, forestalling further debate. “But I must go regardless. I’m not leaving empty-handed.”

“You’re not going alone.” Solas stepped forward, and the rest with him. None would be dissuaded. I nodded, smiling.

The chantry itself was easy enough to find. As was typical, it was the dominating structure of the small village square. Even in this peaceful area, the solid walls loomed with authority. Chantries always felt vaguely menacing to me, but this felt… moreso.

“Do you feel that?” I asked. Solas nodded, and Vivienne frowned.

“Feel what?” Varric asked.

“That feeling I had near the rift. It’s worse here.”

“And you wanna go in there?” Sera giggled nervously. “Normal people run away from places that give them the oogies.”

“You can wait outside if you prefer.” Without waiting to see if she did or not, I opened the door.

Within, the hall was awash with putrid light. Magical energy crackled, setting my hair on end and making my skin prickle. Distortions in the air rippled outward, and at its epicenter - a rift, hanging low in the air above the altar.

Beneath it, a figure crouched, as if studying it. When he heard me enter, he stood, and I saw the outline of a staff extending from one hand. He looked unsurprised to see us.

“Good, you’re finally here,” he said. “Now help me close this, would you?”

Chapter Text

Closing the rift was easier said than done. All throughout the room were pools of concentrated energy, and it took only walking through one to feel my movements slowed, as if I passed through water rather than air. It felt disturbingly reminiscent of the helplessness I’d felt in the tidal waters around Faxhold, after I’d plunged into its depths in my desperation to escape the templars’ blades.

What’s more, it felt exactly the same as the strange occurrence outside Redcliffe’s gate.

When I found myself mired in one of the distortions, an arm reached in at an unnaturally fast speed and pulled me out before I even had the time to react.

“Be careful, Herald!” Lysette nodded toward the rift, where shadows morphed and shifted; demons, trying to come through. “Close it, quickly!”

Without hesitation, I reached out my left hand… and saw the rest of the room slow down around me, as though our positions had been reversed. They all looked poised for battle, but Bull and Lysette were both staring at me, their expressions slowly changing from determination to surprise and wonder. Bull crept toward me, one arm starting to reach out with agonizing slowness. I watched, fascinated, before a spark of insistence spurred from my palm, reminding me of my duty. I turned back toward the rift and held the Mark aloft. It did its work eagerly, filling me and melting me away to nothing.

With a final crackle of spent energy, the rift closed, leaving my ears ringing in the sudden silence. The distortions stopped as well, and I stumbled from the sudden stagnance.

“Watch yourself, Boss!” Iron Bull grunted, catching my arm to steady me. Then he paused, looked at the space above the altar, then to the spot on the ground I’d been standing a moment before. “The fuck…?”

The others looked just as confused, looking about the room, stances braced for a fight that would not come, though they seemed not to understand why. All except for one.

I turned to face the stranger, who looked not at all put out by the events. In fact, he was studying the air where the rift had been with a kind of giddy fascination. A fascination which was transferred to me - or more specifically, my Mark - when he turned around. He stared with a scholar’s eye, thoughts flying across his face in a whirlwind. Having grown up in a Circle, I knew that look well.

“Fascinating! How does that work exactly?” He chuckled in response to whatever expression was writ on my face, stepping over any response I might have made. “You don’t even know, do you? Just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes!”

“Who are you?” I asked with no small amount of frustration. I was growing tired of things not making sense.

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see.” He executed an elegant bow as he began an introduction that might have suited a salon better than a battlefield. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Watch yourself, Boss,” Iron Bull muttered. “The pretty ones are always the worst.”

He was not wrong, in either respect. This Dorian indeed had a very handsome face, and the air of a man who was well aware of the fact. He possessed the high cheekbones and gently hooked nose favored by his countrymen in Tevinter. A carefully manicured moustache curled over his mouth, giving the impression of a perpetual smirk, and his hair was closely cropped, with shaved side burns - a look that likely took quite a bit of time to maintain. This man came from wealth; that much was obvious even without the formal introduction emphasizing his family name. I might have disliked him for that alone, but coupled with his casual charm and indifferent swagger, I had the feeling I would find him utterly insufferable.

V: Heh!
T: Yes, I seem to have a bad track record when it comes to first impressions, don’t I?

“Suspicious friends you have here.” Dorian looked only mildly put off by the blatant distrust. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

His mentor? That might complicate matters more than help, but I preferred answers over speculation.

“And are you a magister as well?” I asked instead.

Dorian gave an aggrieved sigh. “Alright, let’s say this once: I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium. I know you southerners like to use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

“Interesting to hear a citizen of an empire built on the backs of slaves calling others ‘barbaric’,” Solas muttered. Dorian ignored him. I frowned; that seemed to be a consistent habit with Tevinters.

“I was expecting Felix to be here,” I said.

“Mm, I’m sure he’s on his way,” Dorian answered. His smile tightened, and concern darkened his face. “He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“Is he ill?” I asked delicately. “Alexius couldn’t jump to his side fast enough when he pretended to faint.”

“He’s had some… lingering illness for months. Most likely, Alexius is just being a mother hen. Felix is an only child, you see.”

“Then you’re really the one who sent me that note?”

“I am.” His smile brightened once more. “Someone had to warn you after all.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop talking like you’re waiting for applause and just tell me what’s going on!”

“What? There’s no applause?” Dorian gasped in mocking surprise and offense. Then he grew deadly serious, finally dropping the charade. “Look, you must realize there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic yes? Which is---”

“---That’s it!” I exclaimed as the final puzzle piece fell into place. “That’s why everything has felt so off-putting since we arrived. Alexius must have distorted time itself.”

“Yes, I was just getting to that.” Dorian looked displeased at the interruption.

“He arranged it so he could arrive here just after the Breach’s creation?”

“You catch on quick.” He nodded and shot a charming smirk.

“That is fascinating if true,” Solas said, stepping closer. I could see the gears already turning as he pondered the information. “And almost certainly dangerous.”

Dorian turned back to the space above the altar, a similar expression on his face, studying the air like it was an equation he was processing.

“The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up, slowed others down. Soon there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe.”

“They already have.” I gasped, as another piece of the puzzle became clear. I looked to Solas. “That familiar feeling I had before? I know where it came from.”

“Therinfal Redoubt.” Sudden understanding crossed Solas’s face. He made the connection instantly. “You think this is the work of the Elder One.”

I nodded.

“That’s not possible!” Lysette exclaimed. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Dorian since the rift’s closure, nor her hand off her hilt. Now she faced me, eyes wide with remembered horrors. “Whatever plan the Elder One had, it was with the templars, not the mages! And you stopped them. You defeated Envy!”

“You fought an Envy demon?” Dorian sounded impressed. “That’s no small feat. They’re irascible, conniving little buggers.”

“This one wasn’t so little,” Varric remarked, sparking a short guffaw from Dorian.

“No, I’d expect not. But what’s this about plans for the templars? And who is this Elder One?”

“We don’t know,” I shook my head. “But he was using a corrupted form of lyrium to infect nearly the whole Templar Order and turn them into…”

“Monsters.” Lysette spat.

“Corrupted lyrium?” Dorian looked thoughtful but unsurprised.

“You’ve seen it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Only heard rumors. Some early stories coming out of the Conclave’s destruction mentioned something similar. Well, that’s one theory proved, I suppose. No doubt about it, there’s definitely a link between all this. Which further indicates this is all the work of one single, terrible mastermind. To use lyrium against the templars?” He shook his head, almost admiringly. “That’s just plain cruel. Whoever they are, I’ll wager they kill at chess.”

“We’re getting off track,” Solas said sharply.

“Patience, my friend. All in good time. Ha!” Dorian smirked. Solas groaned. “Make no mistake, I’m here to help stop this. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

Lysette sneered. “You can’t just wander into the middle of this and ask us to take you entirely on faith.”

“I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic.” He paused, and an expression that might have been guilt or resentment crossed his face. “When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. And I’m convinced it has something to do with the Breach.”

“How exactly does a giant hole in the sky link up with wacky time magic?” Iron Bull asked, shifting his grip on his weapon and scanning the room.

“It’s not simply a hole in the sky,” Solas explained. “It’s a tear in the Veil, of a size no one has seen in living memory. That hole links directly with the Fade. There’s no telling how it might affect the behavior or efficacy of magic across Thedas.”

“All the more reason it must be closed, of course,” Vivienne said.

“Yes, there’s been a marked increase in spell power since that thing started rumbling in the sky,” Dorian agreed. “But it’s also making everything a great deal less stable. What I don’t understand is why Alexius is doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them.” Felix entered the room then, looking a far more hale than when I’d last seen him.

“Took you long enough,” Dorian said. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” Felix sighed, then turned to me. “My father has joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves Venatori. And whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“Me?” I should have been terrified, but instead I was furious. “He’s disrupted time, endangered the very fabric of our existence, and indentured the rebel mages! All to get to me?”

Felix looked apologetic, nodding. “They’re obsessed with you, but I don’t know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“You can close the rifts.” Dorian looked thoughtful. “Maybe there’s a connection? Or they see you as a threat?”

“If there’s a link, it would mean these Venatori are behind the Breach,” Vivienne said. “Which would make them very dangerous indeed.”

“Alexius is your father,” Lysette said, eyeing Felix, still determined to distrust our new informants. “Why would you work against him?”

“For the same reason Dorian does,” he replied readily, looking pained, but determined. “I love my father, and I love my country. But this? Cults? Time magic? What he’s doing now is madness. For his own sake, you have to stop him!”

“It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time,” Dorian added. “There’s already a hole in the sky.”

I sighed, rubbing at my eyes as I tried to sort my thoughts. All this was becoming too ridiculous to fathom.

“We’re talking about things only ever conceived of in the wildest fantasy tales! Magic that shouldn’t even be possible, to change the course of events that started when a piece of the Veil was torn to shreds and left me with a direct link to the Fade, all apparently orchestrated by some faceless mastermind with no name and a singular obsession with me!”

“That about sums it up, yes,” Dorian said with a sardonic smirk. “You’ve a real knack for summarizing the absurd.”

“Ugh!” Sera groaned loudly from her perch atop a bench near the door. “Someone make sense, or I’m leaving!”

“We’ve already lingered too long.” Dorian cast his gaze about, spotting an exit behind him before turning back to me. “You know you’re Alexius’s target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage.” I nodded, wheels still turning in my head. He walked backward toward the exit as he continued. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch. Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed?”

And with one last flash of smile aimed at his friend, Dorian ducked through an archway and out of sight.

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” Felix responded with a sad smile in return, almost to himself. He gave us a courteous nod before departing, making for the front door instead of the back exit.

“Just when I think things can’t get any weirder,” Varric muttered into the silence that remained.

“We should get back to camp,” I said, still eyeing the archway where Dorian had gone. “I need to update the Trio on all that’s happened.”

As it turned out, there was no need to send them an update after all. By the time we returned to the forward camp just a day’s travel outside of Redcliffe, a message was waiting for me from Cullen. Like most of his talk, it was brief and to the point.

We’re coming to you. Meet at the Outskirts Camp as soon as you get this. --C.

The Outskirts Camp was just north of the Crossroads, and took us only a day and a half to reach. According to the scouts stationed there, the Trio were still another few days away by then, which left me with plenty of time to fret over the reasoning behind this sudden change in protocol.

Why were the advisors coming to the Hinterlands? Had something happened at Haven? Were we in more danger than we knew? Or were they unaware of the new dangers we’d just uncovered? They couldn’t possibly know about the Venatori, Magister Alexius, or the time-distorting magic. Could this be about Warden Blackwall? Or had they finally determined the risk of allowing me out in the open too great and were sent to take me back into captivity? The thoughts chased themselves in circles until I thought I would go mad.

It wasn’t long before the others noticed. Varric insisted I stop spending so much time alone in my tent. He managed to talk me into a game of wicked grace one afternoon.

“The way you over-analyze everything?” He shook his head. “That much solitude can’t be good for you.”

“I don’t---”

“---Oh yes you do.” Iron Bull grinned as he shuffled the cards. For want of other options we were using Varric’s deck, but none of us were gullible enough to let him shuffle. Or deal. Not anymore, anyway.

“What’ve I been saying?” Sera picked up her cards and gave me a knowing smirk over the top of them as she fanned them out. “Sourpuss.”

“A reasonable reaction, if you ask me,” said Lysette. “But why do I get the impression you were already like that before the Breach?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” I lifted my brows and put on a bland expression, which amused the others enough to send them snickering as they contemplated their hands.

“If you’re worried about what the Trio’s gonna say, don’t be. I need two.” Varric tossed two from his hand back to Bull, who in turn offered him two more from the deck. His expression upon settling the new additions into his hand was unreadable.

“He’s right.” Solas, as usual, was not playing. However, he elected to perch on a folding stool nearby, in a departure from his usual solitary tendencies. He was busy mending a tear in his outer coat, hunched over in concentration while still managing to track our conversation. “Nothing that happened in Redcliffe can be laid at your feet.”

“Indeed,” said Vivienne. “Considering the disastrous situation you were presented with, you could hardly have been expected to perform any better.”

“Why, Iron Lady,” Varric commented with a wry smile. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Vivienne raised her mug in acknowledgement. Also not playing, she was draped across her cot as if it were a chaise lounge. She had covered it in lush blankets and pillows and situated it in front of the fire, where she was currently taking her tea. Lysette shook her head and shot me an aggrieved look, and I covered my answering smile behind my hand of cards. Where Vivienne had found the room in her travel sack for such frivolities I couldn’t fathom, but I had to admire her dedication to the aesthetic.

But then Lysette’s expression turned serious. “You’re not seriously considering listening to that Tevinter, are you?”

“Which one?” I exchanged three from my hand with Bull.

“Well… any of them,” Lysette answered. “You can’t trust a word they say.”

“I don’t intend to take anything that was said at face value. But if we have two informants willing to turn against this magister, then that is worth investigating, at least.”

She lifted a dubious eyebrow. “His own son and former mentee, both agreeing to turn on him? That doesn’t strike you as suspect?”

“It does seem as though someone is herding us into a trap,” Solas agreed from his stool.

“Of course I know it’s suspicious!” I snapped. “I’m not stupid.”

Solas raised his brows and pursed his lips but did not look up. Lysette, however, pressed on.

“I’m not implying anything about your intelligence,” she said with even tones, laying her hand down and meeting my gaze. “But it seems clear that they’re all trying to manipulate you. Your reaction to that Tranquil the magister had with him is proof---”

“---Don’t.”

She shook her head and sighed. “This is precisely what I mean. What are the odds that two mages from your Circle wound up---”

“---Hey.” A cold voiced warning from Bull made her pause and turn to him. He fixed her with the same steady stare he gave me when I was being particularly stubborn, and shook his head. “Knock it off.”

The rest of the group went quiet. Indeed, it felt as though the whole camp had stopped to watch the silent contest of wills between the ex-templar and the Qunari. It lasted all of three heartbeats before Lysette relented and muttered a sheepish apology in my direction. I grunted acceptance, fixing my face downward at my cards, but couldn’t see the suits past the blur of tears.

As the others awkwardly returned their attention to their hands, I felt Solas’s studious gaze lingering. The memory of Taeris’s blank eyes intruded, disrupting my focus, and I sighed, laying my worthless cards down face up.

“I fold.”

“Nah, that’s no good.” Varric clicked his tongue. “I keep telling you to bluff. You’ve got a great face for bluffing. You should use it to your advantage.”

“My ‘sourpuss’ you mean?”

Sera snorted, and some of the tension in the air dissipated.

Our game was interrupted, however, by a commotion stirring amongst the soldiers and scouts. They were in such an uproar that I was confident I knew the cause, and with a heavy sigh I bowed out of the game and left to my tent to fetch my notes.

“Don’t rush off too fast,” a familiar, cheerful voice called out to me. “I’ve got a couple folks here who’ll want to speak to you.”

I turned and saw lead scout Lace Harding coming over the ridge at the perimeter of the camp. I smiled and approached, unexpectedly glad to see her after so long.

“What brings you back to the Hinterlands?” I asked once pleasantries were exchanged.

“Special request,” she answered with a shy grin. “When the leaders of the Inquisition asked for me as their personal guide through the area, I couldn’t exactly refuse.”

I winced. “How do they seem?”

“You mean ‘how pissed at you are they’?” Harding’s grin slid into a sly smirk as she looked up at me. “Ask them yourself.”

She nodded behind her where a small company was picking its way on horseback up the beaten path to our camp. The camp itself was well-positioned, surrounded on three sides by sheer rocky slopes. Unfortunately, what made it easy to defend also made it difficult to access on anything but foot.

“They wanted to get here as fast as possible,” Harding explained as I watched their progress. “Apparently there was big news out of Redcliffe and they wanted to get the reports firsthand from you.”

I couldn’t help another wince, knowing what she’d been too polite to say. The Trio was afraid I would screw this up. I tried not to be too hurt by that; this was my first foray unsupervised, after all, if I didn’t count Lysette’s task as glorified nursemaid. And though I was loath to admit it, I was glad for their presence. In truth, I’d been contemplating making the trek back to Haven anyway to update them in person and determine our next course of action. This way, I was saved the trip.

My relief swiftly turned to trepidation, however, when the group got close enough for me to pick out faces. Cullen rode at the head of the group, at ease in the saddle but otherwise tense, eyes casting all about, alert for any threat. Leliana seemed unusually disquieted as well, engaged in terse conversation with a scout riding beside her. What dragged my mood down was the third person, however. It wasn’t Josephine, as I’d expected.

It was Cassandra.

V: I still can’t believe Ruffles stuck around after that. Getting stuck running Haven so the other two could chase after rumors? I’d have left.
T: I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. She has the patience of an exalted saint.
V: Considering what they put you through in those early days, I could say the same about you.
T: What happened to me wasn’t their fault. We were all just reacting to… circumstances. And trying to keep our heads above water.
V: And would you say you succeeded because of their efforts? Or despite them?
T: It depends on which circumstance we’re talking about.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister! This cannot be allowed to stand.”

Cassandra paced a cramped line within the confines of the tent that had been commandeered for our meeting. A makeshift table, cobbled together from several smaller surfaces, was covered with a detailed map of Redcliffe and its castle. It looked like a child’s playroom version of the war room back at Haven, though it was missing the dozens of tiny markers showing our agents and troop movements. Those had been left behind, save three: one for the rebel mages, and one each for the Inquisition’s army and its scouts. All were centered around Redcliffe castle, but at the moment we were speaking only in hypotheticals. And, as no one could agree on how best to utilize them, they kept being moved about the outlined borders of the structure in an indecisive dance.

“I don’t disagree,” Cullen said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But we simply don’t have the manpower to take the castle. It’s one of the most defensible fortresses in all of Ferelden. To even consider a frontal assault is madness!”

“What’s more, the letter from Magister Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name.” Leliana shook her head. “It’s an obvious trap.”

Said letter had been the reason why the advisors had insisted on coming to me to have this meeting in person. It had arrived only a day after my departure from Haven, leaving them confused and uneasy, but initially willing to dismiss it as a mere coincidence. When my letter arrived some days later along with Warden Blackwall, but no word of my meeting with the rebel mages, they became concerned. What specifically had caused them such concern, they wouldn’t outright say, but I could see in the guilty aversion of their eyes that they had assumed I’d gone rogue. It wasn’t until they’d arrived at the forward camp and I’d had a chance to explain about Alexius’s time magic that they’d realized the full gravity of the situation. And their misjudgement of my intentions. They were apologetic in their mannerisms afterward, but it was hard not to be hurt by their suspicions.

“We’re getting nowhere arguing.” I rubbed at my eyes. We’d been at this for hours, trying to plot every possible route into the castle by force. The outline on the table was beginning to swim in my vision and the dimming light. We’d gone over every avenue but the most obvious - walk in through the front door. Of course, since that had been my suggestion, the others had scoffed and dismissed it out of hand. “I was invited by Alexius himself, wasn’t I?”

“Not this again.” Cassandra muttered, not breaking her stride.

“Absolutely not!” Cullen nearly shouted his denial, and I could see his knuckles whiten around his sword hilt. He’d been gripping it like a lifeline through much of the evening.

Leliana was slightly more affable. “Alexius was so complimentary in his letter, we are certain he wants to kill you.”

“If you go in there, you’ll die,” Cullen continued his tirade, “and we’d lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it!”

I glared at him through narrowed eyes, exhaling slowly through my nose before speaking as evenly as I could manage. “And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep. Not to mention any hope we have of closing the Breach anyway!”

“It hardly matters,” Leliana said. “The Inquisition is not part of the Chantry, but it is still considered a hostile force by many. We cannot march into Ferelden without risking provoking a war.”

Cassandra whirled on her, fists clenched. “The magister---”

“---Has outplayed us.” Leliana looked as bitter about the notion as any of us. But I was less ready to admit defeat.

“If Felix is right about the Venatori, they’re not likely to graciously accept us going about our business and leave us alone.” I did my best to hold my ground despite Cassandra’s relentless pacing. I could practically hear her teeth grind from where I stood. Between her growing fury and Cullen’s stubborn indignance, it was beginning to feel stifling in the tent. “I will not leave the mages to their mercy, knowing what Alexius has planned for them.”

Leliana gave me a pitying glance. “I dislike leaving such a powerful force in hostile hands, but the fact is most mages are trained in battle magic regardless of speciality or preference. Perhaps things would not go so badly for them as you imagine.”

“I would have thought you’d be glad for such a development,” Cullen said with disdainful venom.

“Then you misunderstand why the mages voted to leave the Circles in the first place,” I returned with equal vitriol.

“That’s enough.” Cassandra interposed herself between us. “Theresa is right. The Venatori will continue to be a threat unless we act. And leaving the rebel mages in their hands will only increase the power they can wield against us. We need to end this here and now, while we still stand a chance to do so.”

“I am not proposing we accept defeat,” Cullen growled. “I am trying to find a solution!”

“As are we all,” Leliana replied. Cullen scoffed and Cassandra resumed her pacing, but with less fervor than she’d had previously.

I eyed the abstract lines of the castle on the map, and a thought occurred.

“Is there a way inside other than the main gate?” I asked, drawing their attention. “A sewer? A water course? Anything?”

Cullen shook his head. “There’s nothing I know of that would work.”

“Wait.” Leliana looked thoughtful. We all turned to her, expectant and surprised. There was renewed light in her eyes, where I saw the beginnings of an idea forming. “There is a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. I used it once before during the Blight, whilst helping Redcliffe purge the possessed dead from the village. It’s too narrow for our troops, but I could send agents through.”

“It’s too risky,” Cullen said, albeit more reluctant than dismissive. “They’d be discovered well before they could reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana replied. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

“Focus their attention on Theresa while the rest of us take out the Tevinters.” Cassandra nodded, grasping the plan. “It’s risky, but it could work.”

Cullen looked as though he might object again, but before he could a figure burst through the tent’s entrance, trailed by a panicking guard trying to impede his progress.

“Fortunately, you’ll have help,” said Dorian.

The others all blinked in stunned indignation, but I could only shake my head in amused astonishment at his bravado. He had threatened to be in touch, but I had no idea he’d planned an entrance quite this dramatic. It seemed to be a favorite method of his, taking up all the air in the room.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Cullen demanded, already moving to unsheathe his sword. Leliana threw a cloak over the map.

“Apologies, Commander,” the guard bowed and saluted. “I tried to stop him, but he insists he has information about the magister and his methods, ser.”

Dorian stood, hands on hips, looking for all the world like he’d just performed an impressive feat and not barged into a confidential council meeting without permission. He shot me a wink, one corner of his curled moustache curving upward in a lopsided grin. Despite myself, I chuckled, and gave Cullen an appeasing look. His scowl deepened, but he released his sword, allowing it to fall back into its sheath. Leliana, arms crossed, looked between the two men, eyes twinkling in private amusement. Cassandra was quite uncertain what to do about this new turn of events, going from crossing her arms to clenching her fists to running a hand through her already mussed hair.

Apparently taking their lack of direct threats as an invitation, Dorian stepped forward.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

“You would be Dorian Pavus, I presume?” Leliana asked. He nodded, executing a graceful bow and turning his charm on full force.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, even if circumstances are, shall we say, less than ideal. It seems my reputation precedes me.” He turned to me. “Your doing?”

I nodded, considering him. Taking a deep breath, I decided to follow my gut and turned back to the others.

“He knows Alexius better than any of us. If this plan is going to have any hope of success, we’ll need him.”

Leliana studied first me, then Dorian for a long moment before nodding and looking to the other two. Cassandra closed her eyes, but nodded her own agreement. Both women looked to Cullen, who looked thoroughly unhappy with the situation. He met my gaze and I saw, to my surprise, concern rather than disdain.

“The plan puts you in the most danger. We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still try to think of another way if you’d rather not play the bait.”

I blinked, not expecting that. I’d thought I would die on this hill, fighting to be allowed to make this choice, and Cullen had just laid it at my feet. Was it a peace offering? No, the worry in his eyes said it was more than that. He wanted me to say no. His stubbornness through this whole meeting was centered around finding a way into the castle that kept me out of it entirely. Was that because he wanted me out of harm’s way, or simply away from the magister? A familiar ache rose in my chest, and I looked away lest my courage fail me.

Instead I studied the map between us, thinking of the distress in Fiona’s voice when she’d grasped the depth of her mistake. It had been a choice made in haste and desperation. A terrible mistake, to be sure, but she was hardly the only mage ever to have done so. History was filled with similar stories; mages backed into a corner, forced to take desperate acts for the sake of their safety, their sanity, or their freedom. Often, the cost was terrible, and more often than not innocents paid just as much as their oppressors. I would not allow that to happen here. When I looked up again, I saw the resignation in Cullen’s face. He knew I’d made my choice. With jaw clenched, he nodded, giving his approval as well.

I immediately set about writing a response to Alexius, accepting his invitation. A runner would take it during the night. In the meantime, troops would be summoned from Haven, and all available scouts would be rallied.

I would free the mages, or die trying.

Chapter Text

The chaotic pattern of my life continued after its usual fashion, in that I was at my most restless the night before we were to depart for Redcliffe Castle. Troops and scouts had been gathered, all was in readiness. All that was needed was the dawn, and yet I could not find sleep. After hours of fruitless tossing and turning, I gave up and stormed into the night, barely seeing where I was going in my sleep-deprived frustration.

That’s where Lysette found me. Or rather, I found her. In my agitated state, I nearly slammed straight into her while wandering the camp, and we both froze.

“Why am I not surprised?” I muttered bitterly when the shock wore off.

“I’m sorry?”

“My faithful shadow. Come to ensure the mage isn’t trying to steal away in the night?”

She flinched before her face settled into a hurt frown. Belatedly, I noticed she was dressed as I was - stripped of arms and armor, wearing only her base layers and her boots - and then I realized she’d come from her tent several paces off.

I winced. “Sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

“It’s alright.” She relaxed a fraction, running a hand through her mussed hair, looking uncomfortable as her eyes flitted back toward her tent. “If you’d rather be alone…”

“No, I wouldn’t mind some company, actually.” Only as I said the words did I realize that was precisely what I’d been seeking.

Her face softened and she came to stand beside me. Both of us looked out over the fertile hillsides of the Hinterlands; almost idyllic if not for the green-tinged darkness of the Breach’s malevolent glare. Evidence of the war had not yet faded from memory, but the landscape at least was beginning to heal itself. I breathed deep, smelling pine and snow and ash and leather, and settled into the sounds of the nightwatch - whispered shufflings of forest creatures and bodies moving and wind rustling - all deliberate in caution and intent, all acutely aware of the shroud of near-silence surrounding them. Life, passing around me as I remained still. The solemnity of being alone with company - like sitting in a dark corner of a crowded library.

For a time, I thought this would be the extent of our unexpected encounter, but then Lysette spoke, penitent and uncertain.

“I’ve been wanting to apologize for bringing up that Tranquil from the tavern.” She paused at my sharp intake of breath, likely waiting to see if I would stop her. When I said nothing, she continued. “I was concerned. You seemed so thrown by his presence, moreso even than the time rifts. But bringing it up in front of the others was insensitive. I’m sorry.”

Before I could gather myself enough to reply, a hissed whisper sounded from the nearby tent, and we both turned to see Bull’s sizeable head poking out from within.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but just a tip: this might be a conversation you wanna have somewhere that’s not within earshot of the camp.” His unconcerned smirk belied the sharp glint in his eye as he looked pointedly at Lysette. I blinked at him, nonplussed at both his interjection and his emergence from what I had assumed - perhaps wrongly - was Lysette’s tent.

“Just a thought.” He shrugged, then reached back and tossed something to Lysette. “Here. Sounds like you two will be a while. You’ll want that.”

Lysette snatched what turned out to be her leather jerkin from the air and looked very much like she wanted to disappear beneath it.

“I’ll be here to help warm you back up when you’re done.” And with a leering grin and suggestive eyebrow waggle, Bull disappeared back within the tent.

A beat of petrified silence passed before we both burst out in laughter. I cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Lysette, whose answering grin was pure hedonistic bliss. She nodded her head down the path, and taking Bull’s advice, we walked a leisurely pace together down the hillside.

“Has that been going on long?” I asked when we were out of earshot.

“Only since Redcliffe.” She shrugged into her jerkin and the smile tightened into a self-conscious wince. “You must think me a complete fool. Or worse.”

I smiled in a most un-innocent way. “And why should I think that? From what I’ve heard of his… skills… you’d be more the fool for turning him down.”

Lysette gave another chuckle, still a little flushed. “Oh believe me, he’s very… skilled.”

There was another beat as I pressed my lips together in an attempt to hold in more laughter. But then our eyes met and the look on her face shattered my self-control and I let out an undignified snort. This set Lysette off, and soon we were laughing so hard we had to lean on each other, wiping our eyes and breathing deeply of the bracing night air.

“It wasn’t exactly intentional,” she explained after regaining her composure. “I only meant to talk with him at first. Ask him what I’d said to offend you that day after Redcliffe. Then things… progressed.” She shrugged, as if that were reason enough. “It’s nice, you know? He makes things… uncomplicated.”

I smiled wistfully.

“If you’re lucky enough to find such easy affection in these times, you would only be a fool to refuse it.”

“Are you okay?” Lysette asked, now fully sober.

My first instinct was to deflect, to lie. To assure her it was only momentary nostalgia, and that I would be fine. But the deep ache in my chest had been growing stronger as more and more memories resurfaced of my time in the Circle. Of my time with him. The quiet looks, the shared jokes, the lingering touches and affectionate whispers. It was becoming too much to keep inside; I felt like it would overflow and pour out of me at any moment. In an effort to control the flow, I answered with the truth.

“His name is Taeris. The Tranquil. We were lovers once, years ago, in the Circle.”

The ground beneath our boots crunched with each step, half-frozen with late season frost. It wasn’t quite cold enough for our breath to fog, but I hugged myself tighter regardless.

“I see.”

There was neither disapproval nor judgement in her reply; merely an acknowledgement, an understanding of all that my words implied. She was a templar once, after all. She knew such things happened, despite being forbidden. She also knew the inevitable consequences. I hadn’t intended to elaborate any further, but now that I’d permitted a tiny trickle, the dam burst open, and the rest of the story poured forth.

“It began when we were young, both of us. Only nineteen or so, barely into adulthood. He was so sweet, and kind. He was the only person who could make me laugh, no matter my mood. I couldn’t help but fall, against my better judgement. He’d leave sketches of me slipped into books, and I would write awful poems and stuff them under his pillow. We even had a private code, of sorts. We knew it was dangerous, but we thought we could keep it hidden.”

I smiled with self-mockery.

“The arrogance of youth, I suppose. It was only a matter of time. During an inspection, one of the templars found the box I’d hidden all our correspondence in. By then it had been two years, so the evidence was quite conclusive.”

Here, I hesitated. I’d never actually spoken aloud what happened next, and I wasn’t sure if I could. But Lysette’s steady, receptive silence was a reassurance. I swallowed, and continued.

“They separated us, of course. Shoved me into solitary confinement for forty days, until they could be certain I wasn’t with child. When I was finally released, Taeris had already been transferred to another Circle. I never saw him again. Until…”

“Until he walked into that tavern at Redcliffe.” Lysette broke her silence with a horrified whisper. I nodded. “Maker’s mercy.”

“I thought I’d made my peace with it.” I looked upward, shutting my eyes and trusting to the path for a few steps to stop the tears from falling. “But I only succeeded in pushing it down.”

She shook her head. “But why would they make him Tranquil? That’s meant for mages who cannot control their powers. It’s not supposed to be a punishment.”

“I’ve seen enough examples to know better,” I said, remembering the boy who’d burned the library. I turned to meet her gaze, liquid dark in the moonlight. “And you’ve heard what happened in Kirkwall. Do you truly still believe it’s anything but a punishment?”

She shook her head again, not in denial or in answer. What I’d just said flew in the face of every assurance the Chantry tried to preach - processing it would take a moment. I gave her that time, turning my face back down toward my feet and trying to remember the last time I’d felt content. Had it been with Taeris? Or with my family? Had I ever known it? Would I even recognize the feeling?

“I’m sorry,” Lysette finally said. “The Circles were meant… Well. I suppose it doesn’t matter what they were meant to do.”

I felt her turmoil with a keen understanding. Her disillusionment with the Templar Order had started and ended with Therinfal. That such corruption was inherent to the system as a whole was a concept not easily rectified with a worldview such as hers. Or Cullen’s. They saw the Chant as a source of comfort, a warm light in dark times. Whereas I had only ever known it as a burden, the weight of the shackles that held me captive. Andraste’s words had condemned me to the Circle, and her specter now fueled the flame of legend others would lay at my feet.

“No, it doesn’t matter,” I answered solemnly. “Not for a long time.”

Lysette released a weary sigh.

“I hope the Inquisition knows where to go from here. There are bound to be many more lost souls out there, waiting for direction.”

“I hope so too.” It was all I could think to say.

We continued in comfortable silence a few moments longer before circling back and wishing each other good night. She left me alone on the hillside to return to her tent and Bull’s warm embrace. I wished her the joy of both. Unable to face my own empty bedroll just yet, I continued my wandering. Better to be alone in public than in isolation with my thoughts.

Eventually, I came upon the tent commandeered for the Trio’s ongoing meetings. Well, two-thirds of the Trio anyway. I did not envy Josephine, forced to stay behind, but it couldn’t be helped; someone had to manage affairs back at Haven. I imagined her buried beneath a pile of paperwork and smiled despite myself, wondering idly if the Maker listened to prayers over bureaucracy.

As I passed the tent’s entrance, however, a flicker of candlelight from within caught my attention. No one was allowed in there except the advisors, Cassandra, and myself. Frowning, I readied a spell in my palm, thinking perhaps someone was stealing plans. Why was there no guard posted here? Cautiously, I lifted the tent flap and stepped through. Inside, it was empty but for a solitary figure kneeling and murmuring, rocking slightly as she spoke. I gasped, recognizing Leliana.

My entrance drew her attention and she stilled to look up at me, for once genuinely startled. There was lingering wetness around her eyes. I let the spell in my palm die, and stepped inside, closing the tent flap behind me. For a long moment, neither of us spoke; we merely stared - me standing, her kneeling.

“Are you alright?” I finally asked.

She nodded, still silent, studying me with a fierce hunger I knew all too well. It was the look in the faces of the crowd after I’d stabilized the Breach. The first who named me an idol and fell to their knees in worship. The ones who thought I had answers. I had known Leliana was devout - as Left Hand of the Divine, how could she not have been? - but I hadn’t known she believed in me.

I drew back toward the entrance, wondering if I should leave. Before I could, however, she rose in one fluid motion.

“Don’t go.” It was less an order than a plea. Still uncertain, I stayed.

When she said nothing further, I prodded, “What were you doing in here?”

“I was going over what we know of Warden Blackwall.” She gestured to a scant stack of papers on the table, nowhere near where she’d been kneeling when I entered. The lie was so smoothly delivered, however, that had I not seen it with my own eyes, I’d have known no better.

“I see.”

“I’ve already spoken to the man.” She clasped her hands behind her back, the hunger replaced with a neutral mask. “He claims he knows nothing of the whereabouts of the rest of his Order. Or the reason for their disappearance. What are your impressions?”

“You already have them,” I answered, wondering where this was coming from. “I wrote you a letter that went with him to Haven. I assume you’ve read it?”

She nodded. I waited. After a moment she sighed and leaned over the table.

“You spoke with him,” she said. “You saw his face when he answered your questions. Do you believe he truly knows nothing?”

I thought back to my encounter with Blackwall in the Hinterlands, recalling his avoidance of eye contact. At the time, I had assumed it was a result of his long isolation, but now I wondered if he might have been withholding something. Still, his defensiveness was mainly of himself, not of the Order. I shook my head.

“I don’t know.”

Leliana scoffed and straightened, wringing her hands before her as her gaze lifted upward.

“Is this what You want from us? To flounder about, blind in the dark, unable to divine Your will? Has all this blood been in Your service?” She spoke in hushed whispers, and I realized her words were directed at a higher power than either of us. I glanced back to the exit, once again wondering if I should leave, but her next words, sharp and accusatory, were clearly directed at me. “You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this? What’s His game?”

I let out a stunned laugh. “How is this a game?”

“Do you see the sky? The temple ruins? The bones in the dust?” All of her focus and fury was bent on me now, the only target in sight. “Even if you didn’t support the Divine’s peace, you wouldn’t call this right. Who could? So many innocent lives, the faithful murdered where the holiest of holies once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game or a cruel joke?”

“I speak for no one but myself,” I answered, voice faltering. “You know I have never claimed more. I have no answers for you.”

“Then we can only guess what He wants.” She closed her eyes and breathed in long and deep, letting it all out in a huff. When her eyes opened, they were calm but weary. “The Chantry would have us believe that the Maker abandoned us. That He demands repentance for our sins. He asks everything of us - our lives, our deaths. Once, I refused to believe that. I thought He had a purpose for us, that He still loved us, in His own way. But Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her die!”

Her voice choked and she stopped, turning away. I was at a loss, unused to seeing unchecked emotion from our spymaster, who always kept her expressions neutral and her words calculated. The Divine’s death had left a deep imprint on all the Chantry, but I had seen firsthand the pall it had left in Cassandra’s outlook. I had not known her before the Breach, it was true, but it was obvious in her grim determination as she’d laid out the Inquisition’s path. From the very start, it colored her every success, and deepened her every failure. It had never occurred to me that Leliana, who had also been one of the Divine’s closest servants, might feel that loss just as keenly.

“I’m sorry,” I said simply. “I didn’t know she meant so much to you.”

“Not just me.” She whirled, hands clenched at her sides. “All of us! She was the Divine. She led the faithful. She was their heart! If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He?”

She moved past me to lift the flap of the tent, gazing out and upward into the roiling abyss looming over us, outshining the stars in a wide swathe around it and bathing the blackness in unearthly light. That light fell on her, turning her fair skin sallow, and for the first time I saw the evidence of years of sadness and turmoil etched in the lines of her face. I’d assumed we were of an age with each other, but now I wondered if she was in fact a good deal older.

“I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are.” She spoke quietly, her furor cooled, keeping her gaze upward. “I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, helping the Grey Wardens stop the Blight. I fought at the Hero of Ferelden’s side during the Battle of Denerim, did you know?”

She cocked her head just enough to see me nod mutely. I recalled vaguely that she had been part of the fighting, though the extent of her role was unknown to me. A ghost of a smile softened her lips.

“She was magnificent. A shining beacon of hope in a very dark time. When the battle was over and she still stood, I thought it was proof of the righteousness of our quest. That the Maker Himself blessed our path. After, when duty drew her away, Divine Justinia offered me a new purpose, helping rebuild what was broken.”

The smile faded and she released the tent flap, letting it fall closed, returning us both to the dull glow of the flickering candle.

“But the Divine is dead. The sky has fallen open. The Wardens have disappeared. And she…”

Her voice broke again and she looked up, seeking answers from the unknown powers that hold our world together. The loss and confusion and despair in her eyes looked very much like the turmoil haunting Cassandra’s every step. Two women of faith, devout and loyal servants, bereft of hope in a time of violence and chaos. It was enough to test anyone’s belief, no matter how steadfast. How long can a single candle be expected to withstand a raging storm?

But there was something else behind the despair, a more private loss that came out when she spoke of the Hero of Ferelden.

“That’s why you’ve been so determined to find the Wardens,” I said. “You’ve been searching for her.”

Leliana looked at me, astonishment quickly giving way to amusement as she let out a breathy chuckle.

“I knew you were skilled at reading body language. A side effect of the environment you were raised in, no doubt.” She took a bracing breath, draping herself in the shroud of Spymaster once again. “I shouldn’t have let you see me like this.”

“You don’t have to give up,” I said, not wanting to see the mask replaced, the cold neutrality returned. It had been months since I first awoke in Haven’s dungeons, but this felt like the first time I was truly seeing her. “Warden Blackwall himself said there may be other leads.”

“No, this is my burden. I regret my weakness. I beg your pardon.” She bowed her head and made as if to leave, but paused. “Have you ever lost a loved one?”

Stormy grey eyes that gleamed at me in the dim candlelight, tears staining his cheeks as he smiled, trying to comfort me even then. My last glimpse of him as they pulled us apart and he disappeared around the corner.

The blank emptiness of that same face when I saw him in Redcliffe again, nearly a decade later.

“Yes,” I answered in a small, broken voice.

She studied me, and a shared understanding weighed down the silence between us.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It is a terrible thing, to lose that which you love. It makes us hold onto what is left all the harder.”

“And what is left?”

The smile she gave felt as warm as any candle’s flame.

“Hope.”

And then she stepped through the tent’s exit and out of sight. I eventually returned to my own tent, where sleep came, grudging, until at last I was pulled back to consciousness, summoned by one of the soldiers. Dawn’s light peeked through the canvass. It was time to depart.

Chapter Text

The journey itself required three days’ travel. Thanks to our greater numbers and mounts, we had to stick to the winding trade road rather than cutting straight through the hillsides. I rode at the head of the company, wedged between Leliana’s serene focus and Cullen’s surly command. Neither were good conversationalists, which would have suited my mood fine, except that Cullen kept throwing furtive glances my way, aggravating my already fraught nerves until I thought I would scream from sheer paranoia.

I’d intended to confront him about it after our first day’s ride, but he found me first, just as I was handing off my horse to an attendant. He came storming over, purposeful and determined, and I repressed a groan.

“---What have I done now?”

“---Can we talk?”

We both spoke as one, coming up short in surprise when we realized the other had spoken. His expression went from shock to offense once he processed my words.

“I--I beg your pardon?” he asked with a frown.

I pursed my lips and lifted my brows. “You’ve been staring at me all day. If you thought I hadn’t noticed you’re either a fool or you think me one.”

“Wh… You noticed?” The color rose in his cheeks and he retreated a pace, rubbing at his neck and collecting his thoughts, while his eyes looked everywhere but at me. “I didn’t intend for you to---”

“---So I assume there must be some new offense I’ve made that I’m not privy to. So? What have I done now?” I crossed my arms, beyond caring if I was being caustic. To bear another day of anxiety was unthinkable. “Is this about how our last meeting went?”

“What? No.” He dropped his hand and looked up in surprise. “I would hope you don’t think me so petty as to hold a grudge over something like that.”

“What then?”

“I… I’ve been… I was trying to…”

He groaned and ran gloved hands over his face. I remained rooted to the ground, arms folded, shoulders set, confident that I could be stubborn longer than he could be evasive.

“Andraste preserve me from stubborn-minded mages…” he muttered, low and absent, as though he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“Excuse me?” I hadn’t believed him capable of something so base as pouting, yet the petulant glare he flashed me only further proved me wrong, and I had to hold back a smirk. “I’m not the one refusing to answer a simple question.”

“I’m trying,” he snarled. “But you’re not making this easy.”

“Is that so?” The smirk was becoming harder to hold back. “And how should I behave so that this reprimand will be easier on you?”

“That’s not what I’m---” He nearly shouted, caught himself, then huffed in frustration. “I’m sorry, alright? That’s what I’ve been trying to… why I’ve been…” He gestured at me with his hand, then slammed his mouth shut so fast there was an audible click.

That had been the last thing I’d expected, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Cullen dropped his hand to his hilt, gaining some of his composure while I wrestled over whether to feel more guilty or less at that revelation. Taking permission from my speechlessness, he continued, a bit bolder.

“I don’t know if we ever explained our reasons for coming here in person when a summons might have done just as well, but when we---”

“---You don’t need to explain,” I interjected, holding up a hand to forestall him.

“Oh, but I do.”

“No,” I repeated firmly, making sure my meaning was clear in my face. “You don’t.”

“But… ah. I see.” He winced, and I looked away. I thought I’d made my peace with their suspicions, but it still hurt that he didn’t deny it. “Once you explained yourself, of course, we knew we were wrong to doubt you. But still…”

“It’s fine, Cullen.”

“No, it’s not.” His vehemence pulled my gaze up to meet his again, raw and bright with sincerity. The amber of his eyes had deepened to cool bronze in the setting sun’s light. “You didn’t deserve that distrust. Not from m--- from us. Not after all you’ve done.”

But I was too cautious to trust his sincerity so easily.

“What about my deception? Lying about training with Solas?”

His expression hardened, and his grip tightened on his hilt; not as a threat - more like an attempt at self-comfort.

“Ah, that. I maintain that you showed a great error in judgement there, but…” He closed his eyes and breathed deep before continuing. “We - I - may have overreacted.”

The admission did not come easily. It was plain in the doubt on his face - his disconcerted frown, his eyes glassy and unfocused with self-doubt. The notion that he could not trust his own judgement deeply troubled him. Or perhaps that was my own projection. In either case, it seemed he’d said his piece, because he nodded, uttered a hurried “good night” and turned on his heel to depart.

“Thank you, Cullen.” My words brought his retreat to a halt, and he turned part way back, eyes narrowed in uncertainty. A twinge of guilt told me that suspicion was fair. “I appreciate your trust.”

I said it because it was true, but it wasn’t until the words were spoken that I realized how much his trust meant to me, how gratifying it was to receive it.

“And I yours.” His face softened, and the scar on his mouth twisted as he smirked. “I give you my word, I will not be so stingy with mine in the future.”

I finally lost control over my own smile, answering in return. “And I will endeavor to allow you to finish your sentences before assuming your intentions.”

He chuckled, tilting his head upward briefly before locking eyes with me again. Maker, those eyes…

“And here I am, already breaking my word.”

With another nod, he departed, already given over to his Commander stance as his orders rang over the camp and soldiers scurried to obey. I was left standing there, watching him with a growing awareness that something had changed between us, though I could not quite grasp what it was. Deciding to let it be for now, I set about my own duties, speaking with Dorian long into the night about disarming wards and how to counter curses most likely to be used by the Venatori.

The journey was more congenial after our confrontation, though externally little changed. Cullen and I made no open acknowledgement about it - both of our attentions being given wholly over to the mission ahead - but there was a new ease in each other’s company. It was subtle, but undeniable. A day outside of Redcliffe, the scouts and soldiers veered off, following Cullen and Leliana toward the windmill and the tunnel hidden beneath. I was told later that Cullen spared several glances in my direction after the separation, but each time I looked back, his gaze was rigidly straight ahead.

I continued forward, together with Cassandra, Dorian, and Solas. That had been quite the argument, as the rest had not liked being left behind - particularly Lysette and Vivienne, though I daresay for very different reasons. In order for this plan to work, we had to convince Magister Alexius I suspected nothing untoward about his invitation. That meant a minimal escort. I tried to insist on arriving alone, unwilling to allow anyone else to walk into the trap with me, but the others all uniformly and resoundly refused this proposal. This was the compromise - the others veered off with Leliana’s company, while three companions remained with me. Dorian would keep his face hidden and quietly disarm any traps he sensed along the way, Cassandra would be the muscle, and Solas would do anything he could to undermine the magical energies of the Venatori.

Their concern for my welfare should have been touching, but any gratitude was overshadowed by a sick feeling that grew stronger the closer we came to our destination.

The morning we reached Redcliffe Village, dawn stained the sky a vivid red. After the corrupted lyrium we’d seen at Therinfal Redoubt, it seemed an ill omen. The journey to the castle proper was tense and quiet. Our path took us around Lake Calenhad, and the early morning fog drifting in from the water did little to lift spirits. Even Dorian was more somber than his usual joviality, hidden beneath his cloak, miserable and shivering in the damp cold. I sympathised. Though he responded with casual bravado and sarcasm when stirred to discussion, his mien settled into grim determination as we made our approach. He almost looked like he belonged among our dour lot.

The guards at the castle gate seemed displeased that I had not come alone, but did not argue the point when I firmly insisted that my escort would accompany me inside, or I would turn around and return home. One guard was sent ahead - no doubt to warn the waiting host - while the other reluctantly escorted us inside. Despite being privately pleased at my success, that sick feeling warned me this was only further evidence of the magister’s malicious intent.

Inside, the air was thick with the same distortion as Therinfal and Redcliffe Village. Shared glances with Dorian and Solas told me they’d sensed it as well. My shoulders inched upward, and I gripped my staff closer. Untapped energy danced with watchful intent and I had to resist the urge to turn my head frantically about, searching for eyes staring back at me. Cassandra must have felt it too, for she kept her hand on her hilt and her gaze darted everywhere, looking for a threat in every alcove and corner we passed. Solas’s eyes were unfocused as he directed his energy toward detecting less corporeal threats. Dorian shrugged his hood lower with the look of a man approaching a gallows. No one said a word.

At the end of the corridor was a set of arched doors as tall as the ceiling, inlaid with elaborate carved knotwork. A pair of Tranquil flanked them, and the guard moved forward to whisper to one of them. He nodded to the guard and stepped closer to examine our group. When the torchlight fell over his face, I caught sight of chestnut brown hair, tapered ears, and stormy grey eyes.

“Hello Taeris.” I swallowed, struggling to keep my voice and face neutral, knowing I was failing.

“Hello again, Theresa.” As before - as with all Tranquil - his recognition contained no satisfaction. Only the flat acknowledgement of a puzzle solved, an equation balanced. He used to call me Tessie, even when I told him I hated it.

The doors opened with a ponderous groan, and he and the other Tranquil led us inside the great hall. My feet carried me forward, but I was barely aware. My vision was centered on the back of Taeris’s head bobbing slightly with each step. My equilibrium had been violently wrenched askew once again, and nothing made any sense. Why was he here? Since when were Tranquil used as escorts? It suggested that Alexius knew of our history together, but how? Taeris would not have volunteered the information, certainly, and there would have been no reason to ask.

A hand gripped mine, squeezing in gentle reassurance, and I held it like a lifeline, grateful once again for Solas’s steady stoicism. Grateful that he felt no fear of the Mark as it pressed against his palm.

The hall opened wide around us, adorned in the Ferelden style - simple and blunt, with themes of nature and wild beasts throughout. Painted beams criss-crossed high above, and late morning sunlight stretched forth from windows cut into the vaulted ceiling. Ahead, at the end of the long walkway, Alexius lounged in a throne atop a dais, watching our approach with confident indifference.

Soldiers flanked us all the way down. Their Tevinter armor with its dramatic lines and sharp edges was a stark contrast to the swirling knotwork of the columns they stood between. There had to be two dozen of them, at least. I looked more closely, careful not to appear obvious about it. They appeared unarmed, but I was not so foolish as to believe they weren’t still dangerous. Several were mages, judging from the conflicting wills I sensed about the room. Perhaps all. They weren’t even trying to hide it.

A fire raged from the massive fireplace behind the dais, built large enough that I felt its heat even from halfway down the hall. It cast Alexius in a daunting silhouette, making him appear to move and writhe on the throne he’d stolen. Despite its heat, I felt a chill sweep over me.

“My lord Magister,” Taeris announced, the volume of his voice doing nothing to counter his flat monotone. “The Herald of Andraste and agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

He bowed, low and precise, with a formality he never once showed in all his years at Faxhold, and stepped aside, coming to stand next to Fiona at the base of the dais. I looked straight ahead, not allowing any further glances aside to him, and ascended the steps with slow, deliberate movements. All I had to do was stall until Leliana’s agents and Cullen’s soldiers were in place. But staring into the eyes of the magister and all his desperate hunger, I felt my resolve begin to wither.

Alexius smirked, seeing the distress that must have been obvious in my hesitation. Yes, he had known. Standing beside him, Felix shot me an apologetic grimace before his eyes flitted briefly to the hooded figure beside me. I tried not to take offense; likely the withholding had been necessary for the deception to work. I did not envy his position in the middle of all this. That still did not answer the question of how Alexius had known how to undermine my confidence so effectively.

“My friend, it’s so good to see you again.” Alexius rose, spreading his arms in a magnanimous gesture, even as his eyes flitted to either side. “And your… associates, of course. I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable for all parties.”

Fiona stepped forward then, her displeasure plain on her face. “Are we mages to have no say in deciding our own fate?”

“You would not have turned your charges over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives,” Alexius replied easily. We all knew it for a lie, but there was little point in calling it out. The facade had to continue only a short while longer.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” I asked, trying not to shrink before Fiona’s betrayed glare.

Alexius inclined his head, sauntering back to the throne, taking his time. One of his hands reached up to fiddle with something at his chest, but with his back turned, I couldn’t be sure what it was. It might have escaped my notice if not for the furtive movement of his eyes when he turned back to resume his seat at his stolen throne. He was checking his guards.

“The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them.” Alexius made a casual gesture with one hand that might have been a wave, except for the shuffling of armor as the guards tensed in response. A slow smile spread across Alexius’s face. “So, what shall you offer in exchange?”

His eyes fell to rest on my palm, where the Mark glowed clear and bright through my glove, and I felt the chill return. It was reacting to the ambient magic in the room, but more than that, it was reacting to Alexius himself. How I knew that, I could not explain, save to say that I could sense the answering hunger of the Mark was a match for Alexius’s own.

If there was doubt before, now I was certain. Taeris and the fire were too much of a coincidence. Somehow, Alexius was privy to my worst memories. It could only mean that he worked for the same malevolent mastermind that had orchestrated the events of Therinfal Redoubt, and had access to the information stolen from my mind by the Envy demon. Alexius was in league with the Elder One.

Behind me, a light tug on my coat caught my attention and stopped me from panicking outright. Dorian’s signal. Whatever traps he had been working to disarm since we entered the castle, he had just finished. The Inquisition’s way through would be clear now. Unfortunately, we had no way of knowing whether they were in position. My only option was to trust that Leliana and Cullen would not fail.

The gambit was set. It was time to make my move.

“Actually,” I said with great effort, “I hoped you could tell me about the Venatori.”

Alexius’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward in his seat. “Now, where would you have heard that name?”

Felix turned to face his father.

“I told her.”

“Felix, what have you done?” Alexius was beginning to tense, but didn’t yet look concerned.

“You wanted me here, Magister,” I said, hoping to divert his attention and extend the conversation as long as possible. “Tell me why.”

For a moment, he looked between me and Felix, as if undecided which problem to address first. He settled on me, and his expression turned from feigned innocence to quiet disgust.

“Do you know what you are? You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark - a gift you don’t even understand - and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake!”

He rose as he talked, coming to stand only paces from me. My companions tensed, but I held out a hand to forestall them, studying his face. This wasn’t anger at his plans being disrupted. His hatred was far more personal, and it was directed at me. Something I had done? Or something I was keeping him from?

“I’m a mistake?” I flexed my left hand, felt the Mark twitch with impatience. “What exactly was the Breach supposed to accomplish?”

“It was to be a triumphant moment for the Elder One, for this world!”

“Father, listen to yourself!” Felix stepped forward and pulled at Alexius’s arm. He had been about to lift it in what was no doubt meant to be the final signal for his guards. “Don’t you know what you sound like?”

Alexius gave him a silencing glare, lifting the other hand. Before he could complete the gesture, however, Dorian stepped past me and lowered his hood.

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be.”

“Dorian.” Recognition dawned on Alexius’s face, and he looked back to his son for confirmation. Whatever he saw there answered his questions, and he heaved a heavy sigh that transformed into a sad laugh as he turned back to face his protege. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.

“More powerful than the ability to alter time itself?” I asked.

He laughed. “You think my meddling trifles are impressive? He will become far more than any mere mage. Soon, he will become a god, and make the world bow to magic once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

Well look at that, I thought with grim satisfaction. Dorian had been right; it took very little to get him grandstanding.

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona shouted.

Dorian stepped forward. “Alexius, this is exactly what you and I used to talk about never wanting to happen! Why would you support this?”

Felix moved to rest a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Stop this, Father! Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”

But Alexius rounded on him, gripping his hand between both of his. “No! It’s the only way! He can save you!”

“Save me?”

“There is a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…”

“‘Undo’?” Solas’s attention piqued and he looked thoughtful beside me.

Felix shook his head as if trying to understand, but he did not pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip, covering his father’s hands with his other one. “I’m going to die, Father. You need to accept that.” His tone was gentle, and sad.

For a moment, no one moved. Father and son stared as if seeing each other for the first time in many years. I held my breath, hoping against hope that Felix had managed to talk his father down. Alexius looked suddenly very tired, and as if he wanted nothing more than to listen to his son’s pleas, taking them both home and away from whatever machinations he’d found himself embroiled in. Maybe we wouldn’t need our soldiers after all.

But then he shook his head and released Felix’s hands.

“Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman’s life!”

And then many things happened at once.

Cassandra cried out “Now!” and from behind us the sickening, wet sounds of throats being slashed and flesh being pierced a dozen times over echoed through the hall. Inquisition uniforms replaced Tevinter armor. Cassandra unsheathed her sword, and Solas gathered the residual energy in the room to him, holding it in a concentrated miasma of potential violence.

Alexius watched as his trap fell apart around him, and the desperate hunger in his eyes grew wilder. He reached to his chest and pulled out the pendant he had been fidgeting with before. As he held it forward, I felt a pull that made my stomach clench.

“You are a mistake!” he cried out. The pendant continued gathering energy, and began to glow with a menacing darkness that I both saw and could not see. It felt like looking into the great Void itself. “You never should have existed!”

The darkness grew larger - or was I moving closer? The pull was too powerful to resist, a great undertow that had me helpless in its clutches as I felt the gaping maw reach out for me. A feeling of emptiness manifested as all color faded from the room.

Someone cried out, and a swathe of energy, sharp as a blade and hot as raw flame, swept past, barely missing me. I didn’t see what it struck - I couldn’t see anything - but the emptiness swallowed me a moment later and I was spiraling through nothing. All notion of direction was gone, along with all sensation and awareness. It was a vast crevasse of Nothing that I had only the vague sense of existence and movement through. One way was shock and loss and disbelief. Another was chaos. And I had no control over which way I hurtled. I was lost, with no hope of escape or survival.

Until at last the void spat me out and I came tumbling head over heels into cold darkness.

It was uncomfortable, but I was so grateful to feel anything at all that I didn’t care. It took a moment to make sense of my surroundings. A splash to my right - ah, directions once again registered - told me I was not alone. I tried to rise from what I now understood was fetid water, but my legs failed me and I collapsed, sputtering and splashing back to my knees until steady hands reached down to pull me up.

I coughed out the remaining water, nearly vomiting from the stench and the taste, leaning my hands on my knees as someone clapped my back to help get it all out. Once I’d recovered enough to breathe, I stood and saw Dorian. He must have followed me through the abyss.

“Well, that was bracing!” he said, somehow managing bravado despite the dingy environment. As he looked around, however, his expression turned thoughtful. “Displacement? Interesting.”

“That wasn’t the Fade,” I said, my voice still ragged from coughing.

“No, but it was a rift of some kind. Just… not the same as what your Mark can close.” He continued examining our surroundings, and for the first time so did I. We were in a cell, surrounded on three sides by mould-encrusted stone walls, with the fourth enclosed by grated iron bars, firmly shut. The water extended beyond the bars, and spread over the whole floor, or at least all the way across the hall beyond. It was difficult to be sure of its breadth, as after only a few feet, it was too dark to see anything.

I frowned, belatedly wondering how we were seeing at all with no lit torches in sight. Then I noticed the sickly quality of the light, and realized it was coming from my Mark. When I held it aloft, studying it, the shadows around the room shifted, moving in tandem with my hand.

“That’s handy, pun intended,” Dorian muttered. “Bit disturbing though. Why couldn’t it have been a nice, soothing pale blue? Or cheery yellow?”

“I’ll be sure to note your complaints to the Breach during our next consultation,” I answered with a cocked brow.

He responded with a short guffaw, showing some of the spirit he’d been missing in the days leading up to our confrontation with his former mentor. Two taps of his staff later, a bright blue light emanated from its head, easily overcoming the Mark’s pallor.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said. “Grim surroundings aside.”

“So, that wasn’t a rift into the Fade, but it definitely took us… somewhere. Any ideas?”

“Yes, several in fact.” He was examining the bars now, tugging at them experimentally. “They’re lovely thoughts. Like little jewels.”

I crossed my arms against the damp chill, searching the rest of the room for anything useful with which to force open the door.

“Well don’t be selfish and keep them all to yourself. I’d very much like to know what in the Void just happened to me. It felt for a moment like Alexius was trying to… erase me?”

“You’re closer to the mark than you know. This doesn’t seem to be what Alexius intended. I believe his original plan was to remove you from time completely.”

Another puzzle piece fell into place as I recalled Alexius’s words in the castle. “So that I would never have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and done… whatever I did to foil the Elder One’s plans?”

“Exactly!” Dorian nodded, liquid dark eyes shining with excitement in the blue-green light. “I think our surprise in the castle hall made him reckless. He cast you into the rift before he was ready. I countered it, the magic went wild, and here we are! Make sense?” He was pacing as he spoke, enthralled with the problem before us, as though all this were merely an obscure bit of magical theory we were debating.

“But if his plan was to undo what happened at the Temple, couldn’t he have just gone back himself and stopped it?” I asked. “Why drag the southern mages into all this? Why try to trick me at all? It just seems so unnecessarily convoluted.”

“This Elder One is who’s pulling the strings, don’t forget. He must have something in mind for them. No doubt diabolical and dastardly.” Dorian was still pacing, leaving sloshes of murky water in his wake. “I don’t even want to think of what this will do to the fabric of the world. We didn’t ‘travel through time’ so much as punch a hole through it and toss it into the privy. But don’t worry.” He stopped then, giving me a surprisingly sincere expression. “I’ll protect you.”

I fixed him with an appeasing smile, arms still crossed.

“Oh I think I can handle myself. Believe it or not this isn’t even the craziest thing to happen to me this month.”

He grinned. “Oh? Do tell! Does it involve hedonistic demons tempting you into possession? Always a classic!”

“Do you always approach dire situations with this much inappropriate charm?”

“‘Inappropriate Charm’ could practically be the title of my memoirs,” he answered, his smile widening with pride, making me laugh despite myself.

“We still need to find our way out of this and figure out who this Elder One even is. Do you know anything about him?”

Dorian shook his head. “Leader of the Venatori I expect. Some magister aspiring to godhood. It’s the same old tune. ‘Let’s play with magic we don’t understand. It will make us incredibly powerful.’ Evidently it doesn’t matter if you rip apart the fabric of time in the process.”

“What about everyone else in the hall?” I remembered with a wave of cold dread that Solas and Cassandra had been standing mere feet away when I’d been pulled into the time rift. “Could they be here too?”

“I doubt it was large enough to bring the whole room through. Alexius wouldn’t risk catching himself or Felix in it. They’re probably still where - when - we left them. In some sense anyway.”

I frowned and chewed on my inner lip, still not quite able to wrap my head around the whole concept of time magic. Mere days ago I would have thought such things the product of only the most feverish scholarly imaginations, pure fantastical theory.

“You have a plan to get us back, I assume?” I asked.

“Yes, about that…” Dorian unfurled his staff with a skilled twirl and turned, aiming it square at the iron bars. An isolated concussion erupted from the head of his staff with a burst so bright it hurt my eyes. When I readjusted to the dim light again, the bars were utterly destroyed.

Dorian turned back to me with a victorious flourish and cocked his head at the newly formed exit.

“Shall we?”

Chapter Text

Dorian’s explosive escape method caught the attention of three guards, who came rushing around the corner as we were exiting the cell. They came up short upon seeing us, crying out in surprise. Before they could recover, I froze them to the spot with a well-timed ice glyph. Dorian, needing no prompting, unleashed a cone of flame at their helpless forms, taking them out before the ice had a chance to melt.

“Not bad,” he said approvingly. “And here I thought all you southern mages were taught never to fight back unless you had the sanctioned, written approval of at least three Revered Mothers.”

“I’ve been expanding my horizons lately,” I said absently.

I was trying to concentrate on the ambient energy. Casting felt… strange. The guards seemed strange as well. Something in their voices when they cried out had sounded off. I held a corner of my coat over my nose as I approached their bodies, glad for the mildew overwhelming the odor of charred flesh. Crouching over one of them, heedless of the ankle-deep water soaking through my boots, I reached out to remove the helmet. Dorian came to peer over my shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

I removed the helmet. Veins of bright red crept across the guard’s face, sapping all color from his skin and leaving his cheeks sagging and his complexion sallow. His eyes, left open in death, glowed faint red, their natural color obscured beneath the menacing light.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian murmured in horrified awe. “Is that…?”

“Red lyrium. Just like the templars at Therinfal Redoubt.” I replaced the helmet with a sinking feeling. The glow remained, however, contrasting with the faint green of my Mark and bright blue of Dorian’s staff. Tracing its source, I gasped and pointed to the waters at our feet. “Look!”

More veins grew up from the very stone beneath, breaking the bricks apart like tree roots through a crumbling foundation. They extended everywhere. A heavy note followed where I looked; a single minor key on an otherwise silent emptiness. I recalled Varric once mentioning a “song” coming from the red lyrium idol he and Hawke had found. Could this be that? It tugged at the periphery of my memory until I formed a connection - this same sound had been the undercurrent at the epicenter of the Breach. I hadn’t been consciously aware of it at the time, but thinking back now, I could hear it.

I turned my focus back to the odd quality of the energy around us. The darkness felt solid, while the light from my Mark felt… anxious? Impatient? Its light spread no more than a few feet around us before the dark slammed down like a castle gate. But that wasn’t the worst part. I stared into that darkness with a growing unease, an irrational fear that the world itself was beyond my sight. That somehow if I couldn’t directly observe it that it simply didn’t exist.

Dorian’s hand on my shoulder made me jump nearly clear of the water.

“Sorry,” he grimaced, “but I don’t think we should remain still for long. I get the feeling time is running short.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked, barely able to speak above a whisper.

He gave a shrug that might have been a shiver. “I can’t put my finger on it, which is probably more disturbing on its face than this pit we find ourselves in. In any case, we’re not accomplishing much just standing around, are we?”

I had to agree, and we began to pick our cautious way through the corridors. We ran into a few more guards, all infected in the same manner as the first group. They were not especially challenging to defeat, but each new battle left us disproportionately winded, requiring longer breaks for recovery before moving on. And all the way, I couldn’t shake the existential dread that pervaded the very stone around us. Nor could I drown out the long, sour note beneath it all.

We seemed to be underground, in the lower levels of some grand structure. Everything felt claustrophobic and enclosed, with not a single window or torchlight in sight. The paths went on long enough that I wondered if we might still be in Redcliffe Castle; its size could have accounted for a dungeon of this magnitude.

Eventually we came to the end of one hall with three paths forward. To our left and right were stairs leading up, and straight ahead was a door, shut and locked. Dorian cocked his head toward the locked door with a mischievous expression.

“What say we poke around a bit, hm?” he suggested. “Maybe we can find information that’ll tell us when in the timeline we ended up.”

“And I suppose you know how to pick locks?”

“Of course not! Do you take me for a common thief?” He looked affronted at the possibility, even in the face of my answering smirk. “When you have magic, my dear, you have better than a lockpick.”

He placed a hand over the lock and concentrated. A muted combustion sounded from his palm, followed by a puff of smoke, then the clanging of the lock dropping out of its place in the door to land in the water with a shallow splash. Dorian pushed open the door with a wink at me while I concealed my amazement and followed him through.

Within was a horrific sight, far more immediate and direct than the vague disquiet of the hall behind. Racks were lined up, four on either side of the room. Some had bodies strapped to them, and I quickly looked away. In the center of the room were several tables, laid out with all manner of tools and instruments. I couldn’t begin to guess at the purpose of most of them; nor did I wish to. The stench of death hung thick, mingling with the fetid water and the corruption and metal of red lyrium, creating a miasma so foul my eyes watered. Beside me, Dorian retched into the shallow pool at our feet, and my own stomach heaved in sympathy. I managed to hold it off with a few deep breaths, remembering Solas’s calming techniques. With one hand covering my nose and mouth, I patted Dorian’s back comfortingly with the other.

“Well, clearly this was a mistake,” he said when he was finished, wiping his mouth and looking ashen. “Let’s go back and take the stairs.”

As we were turning, however, movement in my periphery caught my attention. One of the walls had cells cut into the stone. I hadn’t noticed them before because of the darkness. As I turned, the light from my palm caught a pale patch of color in the blackness. I squinted, trying to determine its source, and nearly jumped out of my skin upon seeing two eyes flashing back at me from one of the cells, reflecting the light. Behind them was a face I recognized.

“Taeris…”

He wore threadbare linens that were so filthy their original color was interminable. His once-soft hair was tangled and matted, and he looked so gaunt as to be half-dead. But he was most certainly alive. When he saw me, his eyes widened in recognition and he darted forward, pressing his forehead against the bars and clinging to them white-knuckled.

“Tessie!”

I rushed forward, heedless of the stench or his fragile state, and cupped his head in my hands. He flinched when the Mark touched him, but he leaned into my right hand like a starving man after food. He closed his eyes with profound relief, and a tear fell down one cheek.

Behind us, Dorian uttered another Tevene curse with an awed tone. “You were the Tranquil from the castle. The one she recognized.”

I pulled back and realized with shock the mark of the Rite of Tranquility was gone from his forehead, and stared at the tiny path his tear had made down his face. It couldn’t be.

“But how…?”

“Nevermind!” Taeris waved our collective astonishment away with an exaggerated gesture. His eyes were wild, stormy grey obscured by angry red, and I saw now that it was emanating from more than just his eyes. There was an unnatural cloud around him that pulsed in time with the veins beneath our feet. When he spoke, there was an undercurrent of otherness about his voice that mimicked the guards’. “You… you went away. Gone.” He made a gesture that indicated an explosion. “Are you real?”

“Yes, I’m real!” I reached out and pulled one of his hands to my face to prove it. His thumb stroked my cheek - a gesture so familiar that it brought me back to our nighttime rendezvous in hidden alcoves, whispering affections to each other in the dark. More tears fell from his face, and he smiled. It was a garish smile, however, one made by a man who had not done so in a long time, and perhaps didn’t quite remember how it was done.

“How was your Tranquility broken?” Dorian asked. Taeris’s smile faded and he turned deadly serious.

“The sky opened up,” he said. “Too bright to make any sense. I couldn’t keep it out. It hurts to think…” I reached out again to comfort him, but he waved me away. “No, no time! You’re here again. You can put it all back. You can make it quiet!”

I frowned, hoping I’d misunderstood him. “Taeris, you can’t possibly want to go back to how you were?”

He was still shaking his head, repeating his last phrase over and over, like a mantra. Like a song. “Make it quiet, make it quiet, make it quiet…”

“He’s gone mad,” Dorian whispered. I shot him a fierce look over my shoulder, and he said nothing more.

I stared at Taeris, trying to memorize every wound and mark, making myself know the shape of his suffering as I had once known his happiness and contentment.

My fault.

It took Dorian wrenching my shoulder back to face him to register that he’d been trying to get my attention, and I finally allowed myself to look away.

“We have to go,” he said.

“I’m not leaving him.”

Dorian studied me, deciding whether it was worth it to argue, before sighing heavily and nodding. He walked over to the cell and placed a hand over the lock.

“Stand back, boy,” he ordered.

Taeris obeyed, lips still moving in the rhythm of his mantra - a rhythm that kept the beat of the lyrium pulses. With a quick gesture and spark of light, Dorian had the lock off and the barred door swung open with a rusty creak.

“I suppose it would be poor form to leave you here, after all,” he said.

Taeris slowly rose, amazed and uncertain, looking to me for confirmation. I reached out a hand and he took it, walking on shaky legs. It took him a few paces, but he soon regained his stride. Aside from tripping over the threshold on the way out - which garnered an impatient click of the tongue from Dorian - our progress was barely slowed.

The air outside the room was as stale as before, but it was a blessed mercy compared to the stench from inside. Mildew and rotting wood was a far cry better than death and torture. We turned to the stairs and made our way up.

Keep going up…

Apart from being dryer than below, the level above was in no better shape. The red lyrium was less prevalent here, away from the roots of the castle, but every so often a crystal would jut out from an alcove or squeeze itself between brick and mortar. The energy was even less still here, if that was possible. There was a frenetic agitation to it that I couldn’t put my finger on. Dorian said little, but judging from his growing nervousness he felt it too. The Mark was beginning to awaken as well, matching the energies around us. A sense of panicked loss was growing within it, as if it were searching for something. Perhaps the displacement was causing it to malfunction.

It was hardest on Taeris, who seemed to hear the song louder than either of us. He clenched his eyes shut and grabbed at his hair until I held his hands down to stop him from hurting himself. He grew calmer as we climbed higher, though once he had a handle on himself he had a new challenge - fielding a near-constant stream of questions from Dorian. Now he had a new puzzle to solve, and seemed glad of the distraction from his unease as he turned his relentless curiosity onto Taeris.

“When did this happen? Was it all at once, or slow and gradual?”

“I don’t know.” Taeris walked with one hand gliding over the wall, eyes darting rapidly to many different points around us, never focusing on any one place for long. “Time here is… everywhere.”

“Er… right.” Dorian frowned, not quite sure what to make of that. “Was the red lyrium involved somehow?”

Taeris shook his head a little too harshly, needing to pause to regain his balance. “No, it was the sky.”

“Uh-huh. Can you cast magic?”

“I try not to.”

“Meaning you have the ability, you just prefer to avoid it?” Dorian pressed, and Taeris nodded reluctantly. “Interesting. Why would you avoid it? Is it painful?”

“It makes the song louder.”

“So the red lyrium is involved somehow. Perhaps just not directly? Hmm…”

“Maybe now isn’t the best time for this,” I suggested with a sigh. I was still winded from the stairs, and walking was growing difficult. It felt like dreams I used to have as a child, shortly after my arrival at Faxhold. I would be running from templars, but my legs were like iron, hardly able to move, while the templars gained speed. I always woke up just before I was caught, left with a sheen of sweat and the lingering feeling of being chased. Here, though, I wasn’t running from anything so tangible as templars.

“Don’t you find this fascinating?” Dorian replied, heedless of my fatigue and Taeris’s growing frustration both, despite looking quite haggard himself. “A way to cure Tranquility! As far as I know, it’s never been done.”

“We don’t know what he’s been through,” I said. “You could try being more compassionate.”

“I don’t think I’m lacking---”

But Taeris shushed us both, holding out a hand for emphasis. “Listen,” he said.

A low sorrowful voice drifted out of the black - rhythmic, like Taeris’s, but flat and practiced. I nodded to Dorian and we moved toward the voice as quietly as we could. I still held Taeris’s hand, leading him behind us. I hoped we would not have to fight anyone else, unsure how his fragile state would tolerate sudden violence.

We came to a door, and Dorian pressed his ear to the damp wood, grimacing in distaste, before nodding to me. The sound came from here. He opened the door even as I prepped another spell, ready to freeze anyone who might be waiting hostile within. But we were met with no guards, only a long room of cells taking up the walls on either side. The red crystals were more concentrated here, growing from nearly every crevice and crack in the stone. The crackling energy was oppressive, and the pulsing light hurt to look at.

Taeris reacted strongly, standing firm at the threshold and refusing to enter. I tried calming him, but nothing would do but that he stay outside the door. I was caught, unsure whether to stay or go, whether he would be alright alone, even if I was just a few feet away, but then a familiar voice called my name and pulled my attention back to the room.

Movement within several of the cells told us they were occupied. It was from one of these the voice came, and I now recognized the rhythmic song we’d been hearing was the Chant. As I approached, a choking gasp escaped me when I saw who was reciting it.

Cassandra, once a powerful Seeker, a battle-hardened warrior, mighty leader of the Inquisition. And there she sat, knees hunched up, rocking back and forth, huddled in a corner like a kicked dog. She wore no armor, only prison rags, soaked through and as filthy as Taeris’s. She had the same red glow as well. If anything, hers had progressed far worse, leaving her whole body with an unholy incandescence. She looked up at me with a face starved for hope, and blinked in disbelief.

“Can it be?” she asked slowly, still rocking on her knees as she processed what she was seeing. “Has Andraste given us another chance?”

Dorian made short work of the lock. No sooner had the cell door opened than Cassandra lurched forward, startling us both. But she only reached out for my hands, gripping them in hers more tightly than I thought her capable of in her weakened state. Maker, I felt her bones through the flesh, she was so emaciated. Tears fell from her glowing eyes.

“Maker forgive me! I failed you, I failed everyone! All I did only hastened our end. In my pride I led us down this path toward doom. It must truly be the end of times if the dead return to life!”

It was too much to bear. To see one so proud brought so low, reduced to this. I knelt, and pulled her into an embrace, desperate to stop her pleas, making soothing sounds as I held back my own tears. She was unnaturally hot, feverish. The red lyrium had completely taken over her body. Bright red incandescence emanated from myriad veins crawling over every inch of her that I could see. I pulled back once her crying stopped, forcing myself to meet her gaze. The flecks of ember in her dark eyes were gone. Only red was left.

“I’m sorry.” It was all I could think to say.

“I’ll be with the Maker soon,” she said, as if it were a comfort. “But how are you here?”

I hesitated, unsure how to even begin explaining. But Dorian stepped in, clearing his throat delicately.

“Can you tell us the year? It’s important.”

Cassandra had to refocus, concentrating on comprehending his words. Ultimately, she shook her head in defeat. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. The last date I remember was when we launched our attack, and that was in Harvestmere. 9:42 Dragon. After our defeat…” Her eyes glazed over briefly before she recovered and continued. “Most of us were killed. I was captured and taken here for Alexius’s experiments. There was no need to track time after that.”

“9:42?” Dorian’s eyes widened. “Then we’ve missed an entire year, at least!”

“What sort of experiments?” I asked Cassandra, placing a hand on her cheek to help her focus on me. Her thoughts seemed to flit back and forth ceaselessly, leaving her disoriented.

A voice behind us pulled our attention to Taeris, who had entered the room and was staring at his hands in hollow horror.

“They put the song inside us,” he said, his words stilted. “Now we hear it. Always.”

Cassandra held up her own red-veined hand, almost smiling as she stared at it. “The strongest of us were taken. He needed us to survive, needed to see how it… affects us. Not all of us lasted this long. It seems my stubbornness does me no favors.” Her smile turned sour, and she lowered her hand.

Dorian looked as if he might say something insensitive, but clamped his mouth shut, looking pensive instead.

“Red lyrium,” he murmured, almost to himself. Thoughts raced over his features in rapid succession as he thought aloud. “Looks like my hunch was correct. But what could have happened in just a year for it to grow so rampant? Doesn’t matter. If we can get back to our own time, we can stop all this from happening.”

Movement from the cell behind us caught our attention, and I turned to see a low figure shuffling toward the cell door, chuckling without a trace of humor.

“Andraste’s sacred knickers,” said Varric, draping one glowing hand through the bars to rest casually. “Time travel? Everything that happens to you is weird.”

“Yes,” I muttered, taking in his emaciated state. “I’m beginning to think I’m cursed.”

He chuckled again. “Or blessed. One way or another, you’ve got someone’s attention. Lucky you.” Varric looked no better than Cassandra. Though his wits at least seemed sharper, his eyes kept darting here and there, and every so often he would wave at the air, as if trying to banish a cloud of smoke or unwanted thought. He shook his head sharply, then forced himself to focus on me again. “So, did you come back just to cry over us? Or are you gonna fix this mess?”

Dorian answered first, already working toward the solution. “If we can get to Alexius, I can use the same amulet he used to cast the spell. I just might be able to send us back in time to the point where we left. Simple, really.”

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘simple’.” Varric shook his head, waving at something over his shoulder again. “Alexius isn’t the one you gotta worry about.”

“His master…” Taeris whispered.

Cassandra rose from her crouched position with great effort. “After you disappeared, we could not stop him from rising. The Breach was nothing compared to what followed.”

“It was a nightmare,” Varric added, his face twitching nervously. “Demons swept across the whole continent. It was like nothing we’d ever seen. Even the Venatori couldn’t stop it.”

“The Venatori?” Dorian sounded shocked. “Does that mean the demons aren’t working for the Elder One?”

Varric blinked, then chuckled again. “Shit, you really have been gone this whole time. It really doesn’t matter. Long story short, everything is fucked. Unless you can pull a miracle, it’s all over. You’re looking at the end of the world, Herald.”

“He’s right.” Cassandra stood fully erect now, some of the authority back in the setting of her shoulders. “All that’s happened, it was a mistake. It should never have been. If you can stop it, then we will do all we can to help you.”

“We need to get to Alexius,” Dorian said again. “I’ll need that pendant to reverse his spell.”

“I know where he is,” Taeris said. His voice was still halting, but it was beginning to regain some of its former strength. “Between experiments, I had to help him with Felix. Even after I had the song… I could work the powders. To hold back the blight.”

“Felix had the blight?” I asked, aghast. I looked to Dorian, who grimaced and looked away.

“There was an attack. His wife and Felix were traveling and a band of Darkspawn set upon them. She died, he lived. Barely. He’s been fighting off the blight ever since.”

“That’s why he needs the mages? To treat Felix?” It seemed illogical.

“He needs the Elder One,” Dorian answered. “He said it himself in the great hall. The Elder One promised a cure, and Alexius would do anything for Felix. He was caught, from the very first.”

“He was a fool,” Taeris spat with profound bitterness. “There is no cure for the blight.”

Dorian glared at him, but said nothing and gripped his staff tighter. Cassandra looked to Varric, and an understanding passed between them. They nodded to each other.

“Right then,” Varric said. “Get me out of this cell. And then, make sure you check out the cell next to me.”

While Dorian freed Varric, I moved to the next cell over. A wall of red crystal met me, and it took a disturbingly long moment before I noticed a face staring out from within. A face I knew, with eyes of such bright green that they showed even through the corruption.

“Grand Enchanter, is that you?”

The face shifted, and some of the crystal gave way, though not enough to allow for true movement. Fiona was being consumed by it. Nearly everything from the neck down was swallowed by the crystal - her chest, one of her arms, both legs, all trapped in the cocoon of red lyrium. The crystal itself grew up from the ground, fused together all the way up from the base. Its glow filled up much of the room with violent crimson that pulsed in time with the song. The long, sour note that persisted at the edge of our hearing was louder here.

“You’re… alive? How?” She spoke with great effort, forcing the words out through a chest barely able to expand. Even breathing looked painful.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“This is my punishment.” She winced, and her breathing came in pained gasps for a moment before she was able to continue. “For opposing Alexius’s master. No one challenges him and lives. When I failed, my followers were cut down before my eyes, and I was given to Alexius.”

“You don’t seem to have the same reaction to the red lyrium as the others,” Dorian observed.

“I have a… unique history.” Fiona’s face twisted into a grimace that might have been a smile. “Alexius thought it might be the secret he needed. I take small comfort that he failed to find what he sought.”

“Unique history, you say? Something to do with the blight, no doubt.” Dorian frowned, very interested now. But Fiona was lost to another gasping fit, unable to answer more questions.

I sank to my knees as my heart fell to my stomach. I could only watch in horror. Such a fate was incomprehensible, and I couldn’t fathom what the purpose of it was, or how anyone could ever justify it, no matter the crime. A body came to crouch beside me. Taeris. He made no move to comfort me, for there was no comfort left in this world. Instead we only sat in morose silence, lost to the nightmare as it played out around us.

“Where are the others?” I asked when I found my voice again. I was certain I wouldn’t be able to bear the truth, but I had to know. Solas, Cullen, Bull… I dreaded seeing their faces here as well. I dreaded not seeing them more.

Cassandra looked away. “With Empress Celene assassinated and the Orlesian Empire in shambles, only the Inquisition’s army was left to stand against what followed. Cullen took charge of Fiona’s mages, hoping to fend off the army of demons. They fought bravely, but…” Her voice choked and she was unable to finish.

Varric continued for her. “Most died fighting. Others scattered. Started resistances or tried to disappear. Vivienne went to Orlais to try to stabilize the region, but we never heard back. The Iron Bull went back to the Qun; wouldn’t be surprised if they were planning on wiping us all out after the mess we’ve made of things. Solas left almost immediately after you disappeared. We never found out what happened to him. Didn’t matter. No one lasts long against an army like that.”

His words fell like heavy stones, punctuated with the occasional twitch of a hand or shaking of his head. I felt numb with despair.

“So it’s hopeless?”

“No!” Cassandra answered, more forceful than I’d thought her capable of. She clenched her fists and looked down at me. “You came back when the world thought you were dead. If you can return now, at the end of all things, then it is never truly hopeless. It is often darkest before the dawn. If anyone can succeed, it’s you!”

“Well, she’s optimistic at least,” Dorian muttered.

She rounded on him, pushing him back against the wall, and pressing her forearm into his sternum. “You haven’t been here. You don’t know what it’s been like. What we’ve suffered. Who we’ve lost.”

“Let it go, Cass.” Varric placed a comforting hand on her waist. “They can’t know. It’s not their fault. We’re going to help them fix it, remember?”

She held her ground a moment longer, then released Dorian with a choked sob. I thought at first it was because of Varric, but then a voice spoke from the doorway behind us.

“Well, well, well.”

We all turned to see a silhouette framed, shadow on darkness, the shape of a drawn bow and arrow barely distinguishable in the distorted light. The voice was familiar. It wasn’t until the bow lowered and I saw the face behind it that I recognized Leliana’s distinctive Orlesian lilt.

“I had not thought to find hope here, of all places,” she said.

“As I barely live and breathe,” Varric muttered. “Nightingale. How’d you find us?”

“In truth, I’m not here for you. But so long as you’re here, you can help.”

“I don’t understand.” Cassandra frowned. “If you’re not here for us, then…”

But Leliana was not in a patient mood.

“We have little time,” she said, coming forward to examine us each in turn. Her gaze settled on me last, and my stomach clenched at the profound difference in her eyes. All brightness was gone from them; only the cold calculation remained. Any trace of compassion was driven away by whatever she had experienced during the time I had lost. She studied me as though appraising my usefulness, as if she barely knew me.

“I have a job to do, and you can either help me or stay here and meet your end in what way seems best to you.”

“Wait a minute,” Dorian stepped forward. “Don’t you want to know where she’s been all this time?”

“No.”

It was as though the wind had been knocked out of him. At any other time, it would have been humorous, but I had no capacity for laughter left.

“We need to find Alexius,” I said. “Dorian thinks he may be able to reverse all this.”

“Yes, I heard much of your conversation.” She turned her calculating gaze on Dorian, who to his credit held steady beneath her cold regard. “Are you certain you can do it?”

He shrugged, a bit of the bravado back in his sideways smirk. “Reasonably. Better than accepting our fate and giving up. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would.” Leliana agreed with a sharp smirk, then turned her focus on Taeris. “And you can lead us to Alexius?”

Taeris only nodded, squeezing my hand for reassurance.

“Good.” Leliana turned back to the door, speaking over her shoulder to us. “I’m here for Alexius as well. It seems our stars are aligned. Perhaps it is a sign…” The hard edge of her voice softened at those last words, and her determination seemed to waver. It lasted only a moment before she shook it off and gestured toward Taeris. “Lead the way.”

“Wait!” I called, causing her to turn back with an impatient quirk of one eyebrow. I looked back to Fiona, still entrapped within the red lyrium. “We can’t just leave her like this.”

Leliana considered first me, then Fiona. Then, without a word, she raised her bow again and aimed, loosing the arrow. I felt the breeze as it passed by my head before finding its home in Fiona’s breast. Cassandra gasped in dismay and I uttered a cry. Fiona looked down in surprise, then lifted her gaze to smile gratefully at Leliana. She let out a final sigh, and then it was as if a light had gone out. Her face slumped and her expression went slack. The pulsing of the crystals weakened, faded, stopped. The glow dimmed, and the overwhelming red tint gave way to the green of my Mark and the blue from Dorian’s staff.

“She lasted longer than any of us,” Varric said quietly.

We all turned to watch Leliana lower her bow, sparing not a second more on any of us as she turned and marched toward the exit.

“We have no time to lose,” she said over her shoulder.

We moved through the halls with as much stealth as we could muster. Between Dorian and I being unfamiliar with our surroundings, Cassandra, Varric, and Taeris weakened from untold time in prison cells, and the overall disrepair of the castle itself, we made a great deal more noise than Leliana liked. For her part, Leliana was silence itself, gracefully moving through space like a dance. More than once, we came across guard patrols, but with our bigger numbers, they were easily dispatched - even with Varric and Cassandra weakened as they were. They grabbed what weapons they could use off the bodies, gripping them with renewed purpose as we followed Taeris through the castle.

As we climbed higher, the change in my Mark was steadily growing more apparent. Its agitation was increasing the further we went, until my whole arm was vibrating. Dorian noticed when I was left gasping from a light brush against the wall. He looked concerned, but I shook him off, intent on getting to our destination without delay. I would not become a distraction.

Our route ascended past the dungeons, and soon we were in what might have once been a galley. The constant dripping of water had ceased at last, only to be replaced with something worse. Air was moving through some unseen crack, emitting a low, ominous hum that in my disoriented state sounded like a growl. Red lyrium’s unique stench was thick and cloying, overpowering the mildew of rotting wood. The distortion of energy was worse here; my head throbbed from the tension. Dorian could barely stand, clinging to the walls to keep himself upright. Still, our party did not slow its pace, and I gritted my teeth and pressed on, until eventually Taeris came to a stop outside a door.

We were at the far side of a pantry that had long since been emptied of its contents. The smell of stale flour and rotted fruit sunk into the wooden shelves stacked from floor to ceiling. Taeris turned around to face us, looking longest at me, and I was shocked to see that some of the dignity and quiet calm had returned to his face. Maker knows what sorry state I must have looked to him, but he said nothing of it, only giving me a sympathetic grimace before addressing all of us with deathly sincerity.

“We must cross the courtyard to reach the main hall. That is where Alexius is. But I warn you, things are not as you knew them.” That last comment was meant for Dorian and me. “Alexius’s barrier keeps the worst of it from penetrating the castle, but its protection cannot extend beyond the stone.”

Leliana put a hand on Cassandra and Varric’s shoulders, adding, “You remember how bad it was when you were taken?” They nodded. “In the months since then, it has gotten far worse.”

“Months…?” Cassandra whispered, horrified. “Has it only been months?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “What’s gotten worse? What happened with the Breach?”

“There is no preparing for what’s out there,” Taeris continued. “Just brace yourselves.”

We all nodded, signalling our readiness, and with one last glance to me, he turned and opened the door, stepping through.

I don’t know what I expected. Sunlight, perhaps. Or stars. Wind that smelled of the lake from the docks, or the sounds of birds flitting from wall to wall. The feel of hard-packed dirt beneath our feet. Winter’s chill, or summer’s heat. All the things you instinctively expect to feel when stepping outside into a world that makes sense.

What was outside Redcliffe Castle was none of those things, for all sense had left the world.

There was no Breach anymore.

There were no stars, no sun, no sky. A great, gaping maw had opened above, to reveal a vortex of color and sound and movement that hurt to look at, even as I found I could not rip my eyes away. The distortion was no longer limited to the periphery. Out here, it spread to encompass everything. The walls of the castle rose around us, at once too high and yet short and squat, an exaggeration of its dimensions that might be what a child draws when it sees a castle. Colors faded and blended together, until all was a murky, ill-defined soup of grey-green-brown-blue. Where the red lyrium crystals jutted out at odd angles every few feet, the glowing red was so bright a contrast that it made my vision swim. Every so often the familiar mixed sound of ice breaking and lighting striking told me the crystals were still growing, and at a much more rapid rate than inside.

There was no Breach, because the Breach was everywhere.

Taeris called to us. He stood only feet ahead but he sounded miles away. I frowned in confusion, not processing his words until Leliana reached back and grabbed me, making me jump; she hadn’t looked close enough to touch me a second ago.

“Just keep walking,” she said.

I steadied myself and reached back to grab Dorian’s hand. His face was ashen, and he looked as though he might retch again, but he swallowed hard and nodded, reaching back to grab Varric, who grabbed Cassandra. Leliana reached forward to grab Taeris, and in this manner, hand in hand, he pulled us through the courtyard.

Entropy followed us where we walked, and every step was worse than the last. Everything around us was moving, but when I turned to look directly at something, it stood still. Objects floated, bobbing gently in mid-air as if riding waves on the sea. Great mountain peaks reached down from above, and whole pieces of ground were missing, making it feel as though we’d gotten it backwards, and were somehow walking across the sky. Equilibrium was so far off balance that I had to shut my eyes and trust Taeris to lead us. Behind me, sounds of heaving came as Dorian lost what little was left of his stomach’s contents. Or was I the one retching? Cassandra was breathing in ragged gasps, her feet dragging across the ground, echoing in circles in the air around us. Varric kept his eyes firmly shut, shaking his head and moving his lips in argument with himself, but he held tight to Cassandra’s hand.

“Almost there!” Taeris called.

My determination redoubled, and I squeezed Dorian’s hand in comfort, in case he hadn’t heard. Almost there. How long had we been out here? Time was losing any meaning amidst the chaos. We had to reach Alexius. We had to undo this. This could not be our legacy. My failure could not be allowed to doom the world.

Then the sky shattered with sound, shards of wordless wrath piercing my skull and leaving me gasping for breath. For an eternity, I was lost to the sharp, crimson rage of noise. When at last it stopped, I found I could breathe again, felt my own body again. Someone was clutching my arm, another was shielding me from above. Dorian. Cassandra. Varric was crouched next to me, just now lowering his hands from his ears as I was. Lingering pain in my knees made me wince as I rose to my feet.

Leliana was watching the sky, a look of pure terror writ on her face. I followed her gaze upward, and saw against the cacophony of color and cloud above an outline of a great beast - long, slender body and misshapen head, with great pointed wings spread wide to either side. A dragon. It was impossible to tell how large it was from the ground; I did not trust my depth perception in this world. But I didn’t need to ask Leliana to know it was more than a mere high dragon.

“They’ve found us…” she whispered, and somehow I heard it as clearly as if she had spoken directly into my ear. Then, she lowered her gaze and looked at me. “We just ran out of time.”

Chapter Text

T: You alright?
V: Heh. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?
T: You’ve been very quiet.
V: It’s just… Gah! It’s so weird. You’re describing me, and I guess it sounds like things I would say and do but…
T: But you don’t remember it.
V: Is “remember” even the right word? Ehhh. None of this makes sense to me, and it’s hurting my head thinking about, so let’s just move on.

“What do you mean we’re out of time?” I demanded between ragged breaths. My voice had gone hoarse at some point, though I did not remember the scream that caused it. “Who’s found us?”

We had finally made it back indoors, and all of us were taking a moment to regain our bearings. I was leaning against a blessedly still stone wall and keeping my eyes fixed on the wooden rafters above to calm my stomach’s anxious flips.

“Was that what I think it was?” Dorian asked in a trembling voice.

“An Archdemon.” Leliana nodded gravely with a haunted expression. “I’ve encountered one before. I’d recognize its like anywhere.”

Cassandra righted herself from her crouched position, aghast. “You mean to tell me it’s awakened?”

“As I said,” Leliana answered with a weary sigh. “We’re out of time.”

Taeris, who had recovered more quickly than the rest of us, pointed down the hall. I recognized the large wooden doors at the end; we were back at the throne room, where all this began.

“If you still wish to confront Alexius, he is just through there,” he said.

Dorian shook his head. “How can you possibly know that?”

“He never leaves there,” Taeris answered. “Not anymore. Not since the Archdemon awoke.”

“Guess that explains why the experiments stopped,” Varric muttered.

“This needs to end,” I said. “Now.”

“I could not agree more.” Leliana marched over to the doors, pushing them open with all her body’s weight. They gave reluctantly, and we walked through to the massive room beyond.

It was a room meant for large congregations. Crowds would gather here to greet foreign dignitaries and receive royal processions. When last I saw it, it had been filled with Tevinter mages and Inquisition soldiers. Now, it was empty, save for a lone figure at the top of the dais, silhouetted against the massive fireplace, as if he too had lost no time between then and now. He did not turn, nor make any acknowledgement of our approach, yet he had to know we were there. At the base of the steps, Dorian called out, fury making his voice quake.

“Look at what you’ve done, Alexius! All this suffering, and for what? For your country? For your son? Answer me!”

Finally, the figure stirred; a barely perceptible lowering of the shoulders, a half-turn of the head. When Alexius spoke, his voice carried such a weight of despair that it was a wonder he was able to speak at all.

“It’s finally over. There is no longer anywhere to run.”

He turned, and I gasped, astonished at how aged he’d become. He was not a young man to begin with, but now he looked ancient. What hair he had left was stark white. His cheeks were sunken, wrinkled, and hollow. And his eyes were the same red as the others, denoting his own surrender to the corruption. His voice didn’t carry the same distortion, however, and he emitted no glow as they did. Whatever he had done to them, he had used the results to make a more stable reaction in himself.

But I had as much room for sympathy as I had for laughter; any suffering he’d endured paled in comparison to what he’d unleashed upon the world. Upon my friends. I closed my heart and clenched my fists.

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done!” I shouted my rage to the rafters.

He chuckled; a hollow sound without humor. “I knew that you would appear again. Not that it would be now. But I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

“Was it worth it?” Dorian sneered. “Everything you did to the world? To yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” He turned back to the fire. “I’ve failed, and he is coming. All we can do is wait for the end.”

Doesn’t matter? I shook my head, unwilling to believe it. It had to matter. It did matter. All that had happened, all I had failed to prevent, all the suffering the world had been made to endure. It mattered.

“Fuck that!” I spat. “We will undo this!”

“How many times have I tried…” he said, turning a melancholy smile up to the ceiling that shielded us against the broken sky. “The past cannot be undone. All that I fought for. All I betrayed. And what have I wrought?” His face dissolved into a shroud of grief, and his whole body trembled. “Ruin and death! There is nothing else! It comes for us all now. You heard it for yourselves, did you not? How fitting that you should return now, of all the possibilities. Just in time to witness the end.”

Movement out of the corner of my eye, swift as an owl swooping to catch its prey. When I turned to look, Leliana was on the dais. She was clutching in her arms a gaunt, decrepit husk of a man that until that moment I had mistaken for a statue crouched in the corner of the fireplace. Alexius turned and reached out, suddenly in a panic as Leliana raised the blade of a dagger to press against the man’s throat.

“Felix!” Alexius cried out.

“That’s Felix?” Dorian’s voice caught as he took in the frail form that was Leliana’s hostage. His horror turned to rage as he rounded on his former mentor. “Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?”

“I saved him! He would have died if not for me! My experiments!”

“This?” Cassandra sounded just as appalled. “All you put us through, it was for this… this… monster!”

“And now you will save others,” Leliana said, her voice ringing like a cracked bell through the hall. “I came here for the cure, and you will give it to me, now.”

She pressed the blade into Felix’s throat hard enough to draw blood, and for a frantic heartbeat it was Cullen standing there in her arms instead - a horrific reminder of Envy’s manipulations. I blinked, and the image reformed into Felix. Unlike the Cullen from my mind, Felix did struggle, albeit weakly, with clumsy movements and feral grunts. He barely looked human. Leliana’s cold indifference, however, was exactly like the image conjured by the demon.

Alexius hardly seemed to hear Leliana’s demands, staring at the blade, petrified. “Please! Don’t hurt my son! I’ll do anything you ask!”

“The cure!” Leliana repeated her demand. “Give it to me.”

“But I can’t!” Alexius fell to his knees, miserable in his helplessness. “You don’t understand. Please!”

“Leliana, this is pointless!” I shouted. “If we can go back to---”

“---No!” she shouted back, turning to me. “You don’t know what I’ve suffered! What the world suffered! All this is just a mistake to you, but to us it was real! I must undo what was done, or there will be nothing left. It will all be in vain!” Her voice broke and she couldn’t continue. She returned her attention to Alexius, pressing the blade closer. “The cure.”

“But I’ve told you,” he said, still pleading from his knees. “I failed! It’s so much worse than anything I could have prepared for. Even with Felix the best I could do was forestall it.”

Leliana stilled. We all watched, waited for her next move.

“No cure?”

She sounded so small. Only a moment ago her voice had echoed through the hall in righteous rage, but now it barely raised above a whisper. The hand holding the blade lowered a fraction. Felix reached out to his father in a pathetic, futile plea for freedom. His sunken eyes were wide with fear.

“Please!” Alexius reached out, trying to reach Felix but not daring to come any closer. “There is nothing I can give you. Nothing will stop this now. Release my son, he’s of no value to you!”

But the blade didn’t lower any further. Leliana stared blankly as she struggled to process the futility of her mission.

I stepped between them. “Leliana…”

“It’s over,” she whispered, so low I almost didn’t hear it. Her eyes looked past me, unseeing and glassy.

“No, it’s not.” I took another step toward her. “I’m still here, and I’m not giving up. We can work together to undo this. Whatever it is you want, I’ll help you.”

Then her eyes met mine, focus returning and making them so cold I shuddered. Her face hardened, her grip on the dagger tightened.

“I want the world back.”

The blade sliced through Felix’s throat in one swift motion. He barely made a sound as he collapsed to the floor, his life draining from him to spread down over the steps in thick rivulets of red so dark it was almost black, unnaturally black.

Alexius watched as his son died before his eyes, and what little strength remained to him drained away with the lifesblood crawling down the steps. He fell forward until his forehead touched the stone. He did not even cry out. All the fight had left him long ago. He made no protest to the sword that charged through his back and struck the ground beneath; only looked up at its wielder - Taeris. Then, with a sigh that sounded like surrender, he died.

The hall was silent in the wake of both unexpected and unnecessary deaths. I stared at the bodies, mouth open, wondering how it had come to this. Could I have stopped them? Should I have stopped them? Then Dorian surged forward and grabbed Taeris by his stained collar with both hands, shaking him fiercely.

“Why?” he demanded. “He wasn’t fighting! He wasn’t a threat!”

“Not to you maybe,” Taeris retorted. He did not fight or try to escape. The liquid red of his large eyes seemed to burn. “For what he’s done to us - to the world - he deserved far worse.”

“It was mercy he did not deserve,” Cassandra spat.

“You go too far!” I cried, finally finding my voice. “We needed him!”

“You need his amulet.” Taeris met my gaze and something in those eyes made me pause. “To escape this future, this… mistake. You can just rearrange the pieces and start again. We have to stay behind.”

My chest constricted at his words. “I… we can take you with us! You don’t have to stay in this place.”

But Taeris only shook his head, turning to Dorian and gesturing. “Tell her.”

Dorian released him with an aggravated sob, the muscles in his jaw working as he turned back to me. The look on his face said it all, really, but he explained anyway.

“Taking them back to our time would risk an irreparable hole in the continuum, possibly in reality altogether. We don’t belong in this time. Quite possibly our very presence has made everything far worse. Going back will reset the board, as he said. For them as well as us, but only we will remember it. As far as they’re concerned, this is their lived reality. Even if I thought I could increase the perimeter of the spell wide enough, we can’t take them with us. This was all just for you and me.”

He spoke plainly but gently, and the sympathy in his eyes told me he did not relish having to say these things. Even so, a wave of resentment washed over me as I looked over the horror played out around us. Leliana had become a merciless killer, Cassandra and Varric were near death, and Taeris…

Taeris walked over to me, reaching out to stroke my cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear I hadn’t known had fallen. He smiled. It wasn’t the smile I remembered, but then, he wasn’t the Taeris I remembered. Not really. We had both grown so different since those days in the Circle.

Dorian walked slowly to Alexius’s corpse, kneeling beside him and placing a hand over the shoulder of the man who had once taught him magic. Taeris nodded toward him, releasing me, and I came to kneel beside him on the dais.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he?” Dorian spoke with quiet grief. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications… He lost Felix long ago, and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

His head bent with the burden of unshed tears, and his shoulders shook with the effort of holding them in. He must have forgotten where he was momentarily, for when I reached out to comfort him, he flinched. I said nothing, for there was nothing to say. What Alexius had done to the world was evil, but he had been just a man once. A man who had shown Dorian guidance, perhaps even kindness. Thanks to his crimes, only one man alive would shed a single tear over him, and I would not begrudge Dorian his grief.

“Once, he was a man to whom I compared all others,” he said with a self-deprecating smirk. “Sad isn’t it?”

With a deep, shaking breath, he reached out and plucked the amulet from around Alexius’s neck. Standing, he held it up to study it. After a moment, he nodded.

“This is the same amulet he used before. I think it may even be the same one we made together in Minrathous. Finally, some luck.” He lowered the amulet, turning to the rest of us, looking a great deal more confident than he had a moment ago. “Give me some time to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“Time?” Leliana came forward, shaking her head. “There is no time! You must go now!”

As if the world heard her urgency, the walls shook around us and the air broke apart again as the Archdemon let out another roar from somewhere above. Rubble fell from already dilapidated stone, and a rafter broke loose, falling with a mighty crash, bringing a good portion of the ceiling with it. Instinctively, I summoned a barrier just in time to prevent our crushing deaths, silently thanking Solas for his lessons. Behind us, the darkness of the hall swarmed with malice and the stone trembled as something powerful and massive began moving toward us. Unholy shrieks and growls could be heard, and the stench of decay thickened the air.

“Darkspawn,” Leliana murmured.

“Shit, this is bad.” Varric’s eyes were fixed on the hall beyond the door. He reached up to Cassandra, who took his hand without a word. A look passed between them of such naked intimacy I felt intrusive, and looked away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Taeris join them with a nod. Their hands released, and Varric let out a huff that might have been a laugh. “We’ll hold the main door. Once they break through, it’s all you, Nightingale.”

Leliana nodded with a sense of finality that made me feel as though the world were already ending, and I knew suddenly what they intended.

“No!” I cried out. “I can’t let you do this! This was my failure!”

Cassandra came forward, calm now that she knew her fate was sealed. Her smile was serene, and the fire in her eyes dimmed as she reached out to lay a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“This failure was all of ours,” she said. “But you are the only one who can fix it. I am sorry that I cannot take that burden from you. But I can at least help you to make things right in the one way I am best suited.”

Hot, angry tears blurred my vision as I shook my head, willing it to not be true. I couldn’t watch them fall, not like this. Not for me.

“Look at us,” Taeris said. “We’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes.”

He was right, and I hated it. Never before had the truth tasted so bitter. Not trusting my own voice, I could only nod. Cassandra and Varric moved to the door and took up stances. Taeris lingered, clutching my hand and studying it as though trying to memorize it, heedless of the tears that fell freely down his cheeks.

“Promise me something, Tessie.”

“Anything.”

“If you make it back, and I’m still there, still…” His voice choked, but I knew what he meant.

“I’ll find a cure,” I promised, raising his hand to cup my face one last time. He smiled and swallowed, hesitant, as if he wanted to say more. His eyes fell to my lips and I imagined dark alcoves and whispered endearments, but before either of us could act on the impulse another shudder shook the stone walls.

“Remember me,” he said. “Remember your promise.”

With a final nod he released his grip and joined the others by the door. Cassandra lacked a shield, Varric was deprived of his beloved Bianca, and Taeris had no staff, but all looked more than ready for whatever came. They gave no further glances behind them as they stepped through the archway. Leliana shut and bolted the doors behind them, and they were out of sight.

“Cast your spell,” Leliana nodded to Dorian. “You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Dorian returned the nod, then took me by the arm and retreated to the top of the dais, where he set about concentrating over the amulet. I felt his aura grow with his focus - an excitable energy that was as eager as he was confident. With nothing for me to do but wait, I began pacing, contemplating all I had seen. Every heartache, every atrocity, every loss; I committed it all to memory. If Dorian’s spell worked, I would make sure this future never came to pass, no matter what the cost to me. And I would keep my promise.

I don’t know how much time passed like that, but it wasn’t enough before the walls shook once more. This time, the source was the door, as a mighty impact trembled its very hinges.

“Dorian…”

“Almost!” He grunted in effort as I felt his aura grow more focused. The amulet began to glow, and he gasped in triumph. But it was short-lived.

The doors flew open, and horrid creatures unlike any I had ever seen burst through. They were human in proportion and shape only, a mockery of joints and structure. Corruption spread across their sallow skin. Their faces were distorted and twisted at cruel angles that was sickening to behold. They growled and shrieked in sounds that were indescribable, that even now haunt my worst nightmares. And the stench… Even at our distance, the smell of rot and filth hung heavy and made my eyes water. Dorian gagged, but he did not lose focus on the spell.

The amulet was glowing brighter now, and it rose between us, taking on an aura of its own that matched the time rifts from my first encounter at Redcliffe. This felt more stable, however. This rift had a purpose.

The foul creatures were advancing into the room. A choking sob escaped as I realized one of them held the limp form of Cassandra. As I watched, her lifeless body was tossed aside, eyes open and unseeing. I did not see Varric or Taeris.

Leliana stood between us and the enemy at the base of the dais steps. She raised her bow, arrow already knocked. Into the evil din, her clear voice rang out as she began reciting the Chant.

“‘Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame.’”

She released her first arrow, and it found its home embedded in the skull of the nearest creature. It fell in a heap, and she knocked her next arrow, loosed, knocked again, aimed, loosed. Each arrow struck true, but for every enemy she felled two more took its place. Leliana was undaunted; a rhythm fell over her, punctuated by the Chant.

“‘Andraste guide me. Maker, take me to your side.’”

The enemies advanced on her, even as their comrades fell around them. One of them had a bow of their own, and in a blink they had drawn and loosed an arrow. It flew true and sunk into Leliana’s shoulder. She cried out in agony, sinking to one knee.

Instinctively, I rushed forward to help her, but Dorian caught my sleeve, stopping me.

“You move, and we both die!” he shouted above the growing cacophony below us.

Leliana stood, and with painful effort knocked another arrow, sending it into the chest of the next creature. By then they had closed the gap, and her bow became a bludgeoning weapon. She pushed the closest pair back, and flung her bow aside in favor of the twin daggers at her back. She was a flurry of movement, blades cutting down enemy after enemy before her, parrying blow after blow. One broke through her guard, leaving a jagged gash in her flank, but she did not slow. She slashed its stomach open, and as it bent forward she hurtled over its back to sink her blades into the chest of the next creature. But she miscalculated, and now found herself flanked on all sides as the horde kept coming. There was no end to them as they poured through the doors. In seconds they would be upon us.

Behind me, the rift opened and I felt it pulling me in. In the last second before the void surrounded me, I met Leliana’s gaze. She watched me disappear into the rift with relief. A blade sunk deep into her gut just as darkness passed over me, and I felt the world move for just a moment before light returned and I was standing in the same place, only as it had been years before.

Leliana and the creatures were gone, replaced with Cassandra, hale and unharmed and looking very perplexed. Inquisition soldiers surrounded her, weapons drawn even as they paused in uncertainty. The ruined castle was once again whole and solid. The distorted energy was more manageable. The ground was still. Behind me, fire crackled merrily in the massive fireplace. And Solas - Solas! - was paused halfway up the steps, staff raised mid-spell, blinking at me in shock.

We were back.

“You’ll have to do better than that.” Dorian’s voice, beside me, the bravado back now we were safe.

His words were for Alexius - no longer wizened and broken - who took in the sight of the two of us. The astonishment on his face slowly gave way to dismay, and he fell to his knees, defeated.

“Maker’s breath,” Cassandra whispered.

She had come rushing up as soon as the second rift had closed, sword drawn, no doubt meant to stand between me and Alexius. However, she only stared wide-eyed at me, as though she were seeing a ghost rather than flesh and blood. It was an echo of what had happened between us at Therinfal, and I did not thank my mind for the reminder.

“What just happened?” she asked.

I watched her speak as one standing outside a home looking in through a window, able to observe but not comment or intrude. Dorian thrust his staff past Cassandra to lift Alexius’s chin where he sat, hunched over in his grief. He offered no resistance, seeming hardly to see any of us. Dorian shook his head in disgust.

“Alexius’s little trap has failed. He has no cards left to play now.”

Cassandra, ever ready, recovered quickly from her confusion, rounding on Alexius and shouting orders to the soldiers.

“Take him to one of the cells here in the castle!” she ordered. “We will take him with us when we return to Haven.”

The soldiers obeyed. As he was being lifted to stand, he called out to Felix, who stepped forward, placing a loving hand on his cheek as he looked upon him with great sadness. He was hale again - or more accurately, had not yet succumbed to his illness - and serene in defeat.

“It’s going to be alright, Father.”

“You’ll die…” Tears welled in Alexius’s eyes, but did not fall. His pride would not allow it, even now.

“Everyone dies,” Felix responded.

Alexius bowed his head, and said no more. He gave no protest nor made any effort to resist as they led him away. Felix moved to follow, but looked back to Dorian once, briefly. An unspoken understanding passed between them, and he smiled and nodded before turning to follow his father out the door. I watched his progress with awe, better understanding Dorian’s admiration for him now. That young man faced death, and knew it. Yet, he walked with head held high, calm and confident. I flexed my left hand, painfully conscious of the restless tingling still present. Truly, he was a remarkable person, well worth knowing. Thedas would be the worse for his loss, when it came.

I doubt anyone but Dorian and I knew how appropriate Alexius’s cell was. Even Alexius himself was ignorant of the disaster he had been prevented from unleashing upon the world. All he knew was that he had failed to save his son from a gruesome end. Leliana would have questions for him, no doubt. I wondered if he would cooperate.

The soldiers moved to arrest the surviving members of Alexius’s entourage, but I stopped them from taking Fiona or anyone from her faction into custody.

“Are you sure that’s wise, Herald?” Cassandra asked.

“They were caught in his trap, just as we were,” I answered. “None of this was their fault.”

Cassandra reluctantly agreed to let the mages remain free to roam the grounds, but insisted they remain confined to the castle for now. Fiona agreed, clearly conflicted but unwilling to press the matter for the moment. My eyes found Taeris in the small crowd, who was watching the activity with calm interest. The Tranquil brand stood out, vivid and cruel, on his forehead. The phantom of his hand caressing my cheek almost drove me to speak to Fiona, but I decided now was not the time.

Later, I told myself.

Then, all at once, the reality of what happened hit me, and the room spun. I must have swayed, for I felt strong arms catch me as my vision swam. Blood pounded in my ears, making it difficult to hear what they were saying, but I recognized the concern in their tone. Turning, I looked up into Cassandra’s face, the deep embers of her eyes glittering in the firelight. I was relieved to detect no trace of red corruption in them. Cullen appeared beside her, worry lines stark across his forehead, his mouth shaping my name.

Others were talking all around us, and breathing became difficult as the press of bodies closed in. I felt myself being lowered to sit on one of the dais steps. Cassandra shouted something and the bodies eased back. I concentrated on steadying my breathing.

“I’ll be alright,” I said when I trusted my voice. “I’m just tired.”

Cassandra reached out a hand and I took it, allowing her to lift me up. I swayed briefly, but held my ground under my own strength. Dorian came forward and placed a hand at my elbow.

“She’s been through it. We both have. Bit of a long story, so I won’t bore you, but if you don’t mind, I think some rest and a good meal would do us wonders. I don’t suppose the old Arl will mind if we borrow some of his quarters for one night?”

Cassandra looked like she might protest, eyeing Dorian with suspicion. Then her gaze returned to me and she nodded her agreement. I vaguely recall being led away through the corridors, to be deposited in a small but opulent room with a window looking out onto the courtyard. One of Fiona’s mages must have come with me, for I remember someone moving their hands over my prone form as I laid down on the large four-poster bed, then unconsciousness took me.

Chapter Text

Redcliffe Castle became our temporary base of operations until arrangements could be finalized for our departure. The second level was set aside for the mages, and soon suitable rooms were found for the Inquisition’s higher ranks as well. Leliana sent word back to Haven while Cullen rode to the forward camp, returning in all haste with the rest of the military escort to secure the castle. Before long, Inquisition soldiers patrolled the halls and guarded the battlements, saluting on sight and hailing me with greetings of “Herald” or “Your Worship” as they passed. In my fugue state, I didn’t bother correcting them.

Things settled into a new routine soon enough. I spent mornings in meetings with Cassandra, Cullen, and Leliana, pouring over maps and arranging for horses, wagons, and other traveling gear. Evenings were spent coordinating with Fiona and her first enchanters, updating them and answering a broad range of concerns - from interpersonal disputes as petty as determining responsibility for a damaged mirror to concerns as vital as prioritizing healers for the ill and enfeebled.

It almost felt familiar, like I was back in the Circle. Mages walked the halls or studied in the library, deferring to me as though I were First Enchanter. More than once I crossed paths with Taeris, who only nodded in acknowledgement and continued about his business. I made great effort to return his greetings neutrally, but every occurrence was a painful reminder of what he - what we - had lost.

Remember your promise.

Dorian, having found only resentful glares from Fiona’s mages and the Inquisition alike, had taken to sticking by my side. He and I alone shared the horrors of the dark future together, and a mutual understanding had settled between us.

In an odd way, he was ideal company. He had a need to fill silence and often peppered me with questions - about the Mark, about the Breach, about my memory loss surrounding it all. From anyone else, such callous curiosity would have felt either invasive or annoying, but from Dorian it felt too genuine to resent. As a fellow scholar, I sympathized with the drive to understand a complex problem, and it was refreshing to speak openly about it with someone unconcerned with the symbolism others had ascribed to it. Together we began to brainstorm about the very nature of the Mark; something even Solas was reluctant to do.

For his part, Solas objected to my newfound companion, though his reasons were vague whenever I asked. He would often appear nearby to glower over our conversations, dispensing cutting remarks on the cruelties of Tevinter and driving me to anxiety over an impending altercation. Thankfully, it never escalated beyond vitriolic banter. Dorian gave as good as he got, but always in good humor, never hesitating on a chance for sarcasm to break a tense moment.

Still, it made focusing on my work all the more difficult with those two trading barbs over my head. Eventually, I persuaded Dorian to turn our attentions toward another problem - Tranquility. Solas had often complained of the barbarity of the Rite to me, and so I doubted he would object. What’s more, the castle’s library was well-stocked - now supplemented with whatever tomes the mages had seen fit to take with them - and I wanted to take advantage of its resources while I could. It seemed to work, for though Solas was determined that I never be alone with the Tevinter mage for long, he ceased his rebukes, allowing us to study in peace.

Dorian and I poured over tomes in companionable silence for hours together, searching for any kernel of information that might point us toward a cure for Tranquility. I was grateful for his help, if surprised at his determination. He seemed to have taken on this new puzzle with a rigor to match my own, though I suspected it had little to do with the problem itself. I did not know the full depth of his relationship with either Alexius or his son, but there seemed to have once been a close bond. To see someone once cherished go through such suffering, even if it was all undone soon after… I knew better than anyone the complicated web of emotions he was grappling with, even if neither of us gave voice to it.

The most he ever spoke of it was to ask after my “Tranquil friend”.

“His name is Taeris,” I answered quietly, not wanting others in the library to overhear. “And he was more than a friend.”

“I thought as much.” He nodded, studying me with a sad smile, seeming to wrestle over what to say next. “I… don’t suppose you know why it happened?”

He didn’t need to clarify. I shook my head, looking down to the open page where my finger marked my progress.

“What a waste,” he lamented, uncharacteristically serious, and I knew he was thinking of someone else. Then his face lifted and he was back to his usual cheer. “If I can help you end this barbaric practice once and for all, I’m happy to lend my expertise. With our heads together, it should take no more than a month or two, yes?”

I took comfort from his self-assurance, even if I doubted his veracity. Such things were more in his area of study, and I suspected he would find a solution long before I did. I almost asked after Felix, but got the sense that wound was still too raw, and let it be.

Despite my determination, I couldn’t shake the experience of the dark future. The horrors replayed in my mind whenever I paused, as constant a companion as my fatigue. It was the worst kind of contradiction - my body longed for rest, yet remaining still was so distasteful I could scarce stay off my feet long enough to slip into unconsciousness. Often it was necessary to work myself to exhaustion before sleep was within reach. Solas was my faithful shadow, ever ready with rebukes that I was overtaxing myself, heedless of my growing restlessness.

Cullen, at least, had more tact. During meetings, he was often the first to notice when my eyelids drooped or my responses slowed. Rather than drawing attention to it, he began to suggest adjourning for unrelated reasons. Only once the others had departed would he gently insist that I return to my quarters. I must have been exhausted, for I didn’t have it in me to argue.

That’s not to say that I listened, however.

Instead, I spent what spare time I had in the library, joined frequently by many of Fiona’s mages. When left to our own devices, it is often true that mages will seek out the nearest book and lose hours to its contents. We are raised to be scholars, of a sort. In a strange way, it was comforting to be surrounded by my peers again.

It was during one of these sessions that I first received the news. A runner came bursting into the calm solitude full of frantic energy, so that I had to help calm the poor lad before he could gather himself enough to deliver the message.

The King and Queen of Ferelden were coming to Redcliffe, and would be here within days.

The castle was in a state of panic as we prepared for our royal guests. Any available hands were instructed to clean the throne room thoroughly - mostly to get the blood stains out, but also for appearances’ sake. Our clothes were cleaned and pressed, and the highest ranking among us were given access to the bathhouse.

I took as much time as I dared during my turn, it being my first proper bath in ages. I savored every moment of the hot water, letting it soak into my skin and feeling it ease some of the long-standing tension in my muscles. Even so, it wasn’t long before the stillness began to grate at me, and I set about scrubbing away months of grime and travel until my skin shone golden-bronze in the torchlight. When at last I stepped out of the bath and toweled myself dry, it felt as though I’d left miles of wear and tear behind in the lukewarm water.

On the morning of their arrival, I dressed in a nervous rush. I left off my outer coat, choosing just my leggings and tunic, cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt borrowed from Leliana. My freshly cleaned hair was more obedient than usual, falling in a smooth, raven-dark plait over one shoulder. My hands twitched for want of my staff as I hurried down the hall. I lamented having to leave it behind, but knew better than to bring a weapon into the presence of royalty.

Cullen, Leliana, Grand Enchanter Fiona, and all the rest were already assembled in the hall. Unlike Alexius, they wisely had not made use of the dais or the throne. Instead, they were arrayed at its base, ready to receive our esteemed guests. Cullen’s amber eyes found mine, and a faint smile curled his lips before his face hardened again and he nodded brusquely to me. Even he had agreed to remove his sword belt, though he looked no happier about it than I, his hands fussing at his sides for something to grip. Leliana gestured that I come stand with them, and I took up position between her and Cassandra.

As we waited, I took the time to gather my wits and settle my nerves. We hadn’t been told the reason for the royals’ visit, though it was no doubt in response to Alexius taking over the castle and ousting Arl Teagan. A foolish move perhaps, but he hadn’t counted on still being here to face any consequences by the time anyone of import found out. Either way, it was unlikely this was a mere social visit.

I glanced furtively down the line I shared, trying to read everyone’s faces. Cullen looked both nervous and proud - unsurprising, given he was born and raised in Ferelden. Leliana was unreadable as always, but I thought I detected a glimmer of excitement in her bright eyes. I tried not to remember how cold those eyes could get. Cassandra was her usual stone-faced self, with confident, squared shoulders and fixed gaze, and little patience for such formalities.

Fiona looked almost ill, and I could hardly fault her. Her position now was more precarious than it had ever been; most likely the blame for all this would be laid at her feet. She had hundreds of mages to account for and protect, her last attempt to do so had landed them all in indentured servitude to a Tevinter magister, and had very likely incurred the wrath of two sitting monarchs in their own country. And once word of that got out…

Fanfare brought me abruptly out of my thoughts, and I had to repress my startlement. I caught Cullen smirking at me out of the corner of my eye and answered him with an unamused glare. Then the hall’s doors were opened with grand ceremony and in stepped a sizable escort, at the head of which walked a man and woman, arm in arm, both blond - though the woman was fairer than the man - both dressed for royalty as only Fereldens saw fit - leather trimmed in fur.

King Alistair Theirin and Queen Anora Theirin n’ee Mac Tir. They looked rather displeased.

They crossed the floor as dozens of soldiers flanked them, coming to stand sharply at attention between the pillars lining the length of the hall, their full plate ringing out with each step into the rafters above. The rest of their escort - most of whom I took to be ladies and gentlemen of the court - joined those already waiting on the sidelines, pointedly behind the soldiers. Those of us at the base of the dais bowed and waited respectfully for the pair to approach.

They came to a stop mere paces before us, and a pregnant pause settled over the hall as the fanfare stopped. Just as I was beginning to wonder whether it was yet acceptable to rise, King Alistair spoke with an impatient wave of his hand.

“That’s quite enough of that. Let’s have a look at you all.”

As one, we all straightened, allowing me to get a good look at the monarchs at last. They were both quite handsome, standing side by side, arms interlocked and heads high. Authority rested across them like a mantle, comfortable but heavy, shoulders stiff and squared. Their gazes at the moment were rather cold, but I saw laugh lines flanking the king’s mouth, and worry lines furrowing the queen’s brow, and took comfort from those small hints of their humanity. How strange, to see figures of such import, both politically and historically, standing before me as flesh and blood. Was this how I seemed to others? I suddenly felt much greater sympathy for the runners, always stammering apologies in my presence, and made a mental note to have more patience with them in the future.

The king’s gaze softened as he settled on Leliana, and a cockeyed smirk pulled at one corner of his mouth, deepening those well-worn laugh lines.

“Leliana, what a complete non-surprise finding you in the midst of all this.”

She smiled and inclined her head. “I shall take that as a compliment, Your Grace.”

“I thought you would.” He grunted, but his smile deepened. “It’s good to see you again, my friend.”

“And you.”

They shared a smile, and Queen Anora nodded to her with an affectionate twinkle in her eye. I tried not to stare in amazement at Leliana, having to remind myself once again of her involvement in the Battle of Denerim. Naturally, she would know the king and queen - and indeed would have known King Alistair even before his coronation, when he was just another Grey Warden combating the Blight. With her usual humble grace, it was easy to forget she was a part of history herself.

Some of the tension had eased with the king’s greeting, but it was redoubled when his face hardened, coming to settle on the Grand Enchanter, who was keeping her eyes downcast.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” he said in a more somber tone. “We’d like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality.”

Fiona stepped forward and executed another low bow. I noticed she was keeping her hands clasped firmly in front of her, in an attempt to cover their trembling.

“Your Majesties.” Her voice shook, but she held her head high.

Queen Anora spoke next, imperious and firm, but with a hint of regret. “When we offered the mages sanctuary, we did not give them the right to drive our people from their homes.”

Fiona swallowed and took her time answering. “My queen, I assure you, we never intended---”

But her response was forestalled with a dismissive wave of the queen’s hand. “In light of your actions, good intentions are no longer enough.”

“You and your followers have worn out your welcome,” King Alistair said. “Leave Ferelden, or we will be forced to make you leave.”

The order fell heavy across the hall. It was as I had feared. Even so, I gritted my teeth and held my tongue, knowing better than to speak out. Fiona took the condemnation with grace, accepting it with little more than a clenching of her jaw and a heavy nod. She had also expected this reaction. Not for the first - nor the last - time, I saw in her composure a small portion of the strength of will that had allowed her to lead a rebellion and tear down the Circles.

“We have hundreds who need protection,” she said. “Where should we go?”

The question was posed to the king and queen, but it was Cassandra who stepped forward, on behalf of the Inquisition. This had been decided ahead of time, at our last meeting, as soon as we’d learned of the impending arrival.

“Grand Enchanter, Your Majesties, the Inquisition would be willing to take in the mages.”

Fiona looked to the Seeker crest emblazoned on Cassandra’s chest plate with suspicion, then met her gaze steadily, eyes narrowed.

“And what would the terms of this alliance be?”

Cassandra sniffed. “Better than the terms Magister Alexius gave you.”

It was a challenge. Fiona was backed into a corner once again. With nowhere else to go and the public knowledge that she had already angered one sovereign nation, no others would take her or her mages in. Ferelden had been left weakened by the Fifth Blight, but was by no means fragile. I had known this was coming, but it still weighed me down, heavy and bitter as regret.

But just then something occurred to me; something that hadn’t occurred to me during the meeting. Before me stood two sovereign rulers and half a court of witnesses. I knew none in the Inquisition would say what should be said. Cullen and Cassandra were both of a mind regarding how the mages should be treated, and Leliana, while sympathetic to their plight, was astute enough to know she was outnumbered, and would not risk speaking out only to be outvoted. Josephine might have helped carry the vote in her favor, but she was still back at Haven. Which left only one person capable of turning the tide.

Before me, Grand Enchanter Fiona was inclining her head with reluctance to Cassandra. “It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer.”

Before Cassandra could state the terms, however, I stepped forward, making my voice ring out clearly and loudly enough for all in the great hall to hear.

“We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side. Without constraint. Without restriction. You would be equal partners in closing the Breach and the efforts of the Inquisition thereafter.”

A surprised hush fell, followed by a ripple of whispers moving through the royal escort. From a far distant corner Dorian’s guffaw rang out and was abruptly silenced. Behind me, Cullen shifted and Leliana coughed delicately into her hand. I was pretty sure I heard the king chuckling before his queen jutted an elbow into his side. Cassandra’s glare burned a hole through my periphery, but I kept my eyes on Fiona, who regarded me with blinking surprise. She recovered quickly.

“A generous offer, but will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?” That was for Cassandra and the others, but I did not give them time to answer. I would not let this chance slip through my fingers.

“The Breach threatens all of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now. We cannot fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support.”

I could sense the mood of the room shifting, and knew my words had pleased some; enough to turn the tide in my favor.

“A generous offer,” King Alistair said to Fiona, eyes still twinkling in private amusement, though a hint of warning lingered in his voice. “I doubt you’ll get better from anyone else.”

Fiona nodded, apparently in agreement. Turning to me, she bowed her head in a gesture that was both gratitude and defeat. “We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and prepare our return to Haven. The Breach will be closed, my Lady Herald. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

And in an instant, it was over. I had successfully recruited the mages into the Inquisition, and what’s more, I had ensured their status as equal partners, rather than the chattel the Chantry or the Tevinter Imperium would have had them become. Or the leashed servants Cassandra and Cullen would have preferred them to remain. It almost beggared belief. I felt the disapproval from my colleagues behind me, but there was nothing to be done about it now. To withdraw my offer, made freely in front of so many prominent witnesses, would hurt our reputation too much to risk.

I held my head high through the rest of the formalities, knowing there would be a terribly unpleasant conversation once we were behind closed doors. Whatever the consequences, it would be worth it.

V: It really is a shame you didn’t actually see their faces. I thought Curly was gonna faint.
T: Yes, Dorian gave me some very vivid descriptions later on. Apparently Leliana was more amused than anything. Vivienne was the most surprising, however.
V: Ah yeah. If looks could kill. I wasn’t there for the aftermath. How did that go?
T: Well…

Cullen, as predicted, rounded on me the second the door shut behind us. “What were you thinking? Turning mages loose with no oversight! The Veil is torn open!”

Hardened by my newfound boldness in the throne room, I drew myself up before him.

“I hardly think they can be considered ‘turned loose’ by any stretch. They’ll still return to Haven with us, only now with the very freedom they left the Circles to fight for.”

Cassandra and Leliana busied themselves with clearing the makeshift war table of its markers and maps. Neither of them seemed keen on interrupting, working in tandem and wearing matching expressions of resignation. Neither had spoken a word since the throne room.

Cullen leveled a finger at me. “There will be abominations among them and we must be prepared!”

“We’re not monsters, Cullen. We can control ourselves without templars or their eager sword hands.” I crossed my arms and dug my heels in.

“This is not a matter for debate!”

“Quite right,” I countered. “It’s already done.”

He blustered, unable to decide what to do with his hands while he found his words.

“You’re being wilfully ignorant of the danger,” he accused.

“And you’re stubbornly fixated on it,” I shot back.

“Well, at least one of us should be!”

He was nearly shouting now, face growing red as he stepped into my personal space, but I wouldn’t budge. I stared him down with the surety of the rightness of my decision - and the knowledge that it was too late to take it back. Seeing no give in my stance, he turned to the other two.

“One of you talk some sense into her!”

Leliana, who was halfway through rolling up a map, shot Cassandra a look full of significance. Cassandra only rolled her eyes and grunted in disgust.

“Far be it for us to interrupt such entertaining posturing,” Leliana replied with a secretive smile.

“Posturing?" Cullen and I both decried with simultaneous outrage, only to stare at each other in blinking, awkward surprise. Taking advantage of our stunned silence, Cassandra stepped between us, forcing us apart.

“Enough! We cannot afford to second-guess each other now. What’s been done is done.” Her eyes flitted to me, and the blame there summoned a responding spark of guilt despite myself.

“And I suppose you approve of her actions?” Cullen sneered.

“No,” Cassandra replied flatly. “But I do support them.”

I was stunned into speechlessness, as was Cullen.

“Arguing is pointless,” Leliana stepped in. “The offer has been made, publicly. And accepted, publicly. It cannot be rescinded now, not without making us appear incompetant or tyrannical.”

“No doubt by design.” Cullen scoffed and turned, though the bite had already left his voice.

“We need the mages to close the Breach,” I said. “I ensured their cooperation, whereas you would be glad enough to have their resentment.”

“It would certainly not be a change.” His retort was weak and we both knew it. When he turned to find me smirking and lifting a sardonic brow, all vitriol left him like wind from a sail, and he released his breath as a light chuckle.

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” Cassandra said. “The sole point of coming here was to gain the mages’ aid, and now we have it.”

The swell of gratitude I felt at her support faded when she turned to me. The hard edge in her gaze told me she had done me no favors.

“You have taken the lead with this,” she said. “Therefore, the consequences are yours as well. You will answer for any damage incurred, respond to every complaint, and do what you can to ensure the safety of all, mages included. That means templar oversight - even if just from a distance---” she held up a hand, preemptively forestalling my objections, “---and only temporary, until the Breach is sealed. After that, we can… revisit the issue.” She turned to Cullen, lifting an imperious brow. “Do you find that acceptable?”

The muscles in Cullen’s jawline worked as he studied first Cassandra, then me before ultimately nodding his agreement. Cassandra turned to me.

“And you?”

I nodded, knowing it was the best way forward. Still, I did not relish having to inform Fiona that not only were there templars at Haven, but they would be supervising the mages for the time being. But Cassandra was right, of course. Only closing the Breach mattered, and to do that we would have to all be of one mind. And if I was in charge of their oversight, at least I could ensure no templar overstepped their bounds.

“Closing the Breach will require a lot of magic,” I said. “And that means lyrium. Cullen has mentioned that our sources are depleted.”

Cassandra looked back to Cullen, who flinched but nodded. There was a significance to the look they shared that would not register with me until much later.

“I have contacts who can help,” Leliana said.

“Contacts meaning smugglers?” Cassandra lifted one brow. Leliana shrugged, and Cassandra sighed. “Send them word. We need every advantage.”

Cullen scowled, crossing his arms. “We have legitimate supply lines already.”

“And they don’t need to hear of this.” Leliana breezed over his disapproval, then turned to me. “For now, I would like to return to the matter of these things you saw in this dark future. The Orlesian Empire in shambles? The rise of demons and darkspawn? A new Blight? Where do we even begin?”

I shifted, looking down at the floor. I had only given them the broad strokes of what I had seen through the time rift, and did not yet have the strength or the will to provide more details. Cullen gave me a hard look that might have seemed cruel, but I knew his moods well enough to see the worry in his eyes.

“One battle at a time,” he said, turning to Leliana. “First, we have to get back to Haven. From there, we can coordinate our troops with the mages. Once the Breach is sealed, we can worry about what comes next.”

Leliana considered it, then nodded. “Agreed.”

With the king and queen electing to stay overnight before returning to Denerim, the master wing and suites were given over to them, as propriety dictated. That meant the rest of us would be sharing bunks for the night, and departing in the morning after officially ceding the castle back to its rightful owner. Arl Teagan had been among the courtly escort, and was more amiable than I’d anticipated, given the circumstances. It was fortunate that much of the necessary arrangements were completed before their arrival; lingering any longer would be unwise. Any further plans could be made at the forward camp above the Crossroads.

And so, we parted ways for the night in surprisingly better moods than I’d anticipated. Cassandra even smiled and told me “Well done” before marching out into the corridor. As I was taking a moment to collect my thoughts, rubbing at the sore muscles in my neck, a familiar voice spoke from the open doorway.

“So the Inquisition supports free mages?” Dorian commented, looking amused. I turned and greeted him with a tired smile, wondering how much of the conversation he’d overheard. “What’s next? Elves running Halamshiral? Cows milking farmers?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something equally impressive.” I spared a furtive glance to the hall and gave private thanks that Solas had not been within earshot for that comment about elves.

“Hah! You might at that.” Dorian sauntered into the room, coming to rest against a wall and crossing one foot over the other. He regarded me with the expression he wore when puzzling out a problem. “I do hope you’re not using my homeland as inspiration.”

“What would be so wrong with that?”

“Nothing… at first.” The amused twinkle in his eyes hardened into a warning. “But you’d be a fool if you don’t see where this could lead.”

I hesitated, unsure how to respond, but then he waved his hand, dismissing his own concerns.

“Ah, enough of my fussing. What you did should be praised, after all. You stepped forward, knowing it was the right thing to do. That is a rare quality.”

“Not so rare,” I answered, shrugging self-consciously. “The Inquisition is full of people doing just that. Even you’ve done the same.”

He sniffed, amused. “My own interests are entirely self-serving, I assure you. But I will happily accept the compliment, nonetheless.” He paused. “I think I’d like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

“Then you’re staying?” I smiled. I’d been hoping he would decide as much, but hadn’t presumed to ask.

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

I laughed. “Well, in that case, welcome to the Inquisition. I hear we’re a dour lot. Perhaps you can help liven things up.”

“Ah, excellent! I do love a challenge.” He gave me a smile and a wink before departing, leaving me once more alone.

I spent the next few hours taking advantage of the library one final time, though with little hope of finding anything useful. Most of the books were on histories or war strategy, and what little there was on magic was nothing more than shallow Chantry propaganda. Finally giving up, I settled on an epic recounting of an ancient Avvar heroine and curled up in a corner beneath the torchlight. Some time later, I was shaken awake by a runner with a note from Cullen. The note, as usual, was blunt:

“Go. To. Sleep.”

Amused, I thanked the runner and scrawled a quick response:

“I’m going, but such excessive punctuation is hardly called for.”

Chuckling to myself as the runner hurried off, I reluctantly acquiesced and retired to my bed for the night.

When I woke, all was quiet. Pale dawn spread over the room. I was startled to see Solas sitting with crossed legs in a chair in one corner, hands folded in his lap, large eyes staring calmly at me. His face was hardened with worry and… anger? My mind began frantically recounting all our recent interactions, searching for any unwitting offense or transgression I might have made.

“When did your Mark start hurting again?” he asked.

I went still. Of course he knew. I’d been a fool to think I could hide it from him.

“Since returning through the time rift,” I answered in a small voice. “How did you know?”

“You’ve been favoring that hand the last few days. And of course there was the restlessness.” He pursed his lips, then rose and crossed the room. “Show me.”

I held out my left hand for him to examine. As he studied it, his concern grew. “I had not counted on things to change so drastically in so short a time.”

“What do you mean?” My heart began to quicken.

He sighed, and his expression was grim. “The Breach seems to be affecting the fundamental laws of magic. My original calculations estimated you had far more time before…”

“Before what?” The Mark pulsed, matching pace with my heartbeat. I withdrew my hand to cradle it against my chest.

He hesitated before answering. “When you stabilized the Breach, you only succeeded in delaying the inevitable. But now it’s catching up with you again, and far more quickly than I anticipated.”

My mouth went dry. “Meaning?”

“If you don’t close the Breach for good, and soon, the Mark will spread, and drain all your life from you as it does. It will kill you.”

Chapter Text

“You’re sure this will work?”

I was dubious, at best, examining the strange artifact before us. It was ancient, far older than any ruins we had yet come across. Far older even than the secluded cavern temple we had found it in. It was spherical, with elaborate carvings all around, and delicate metalwork. It was beautiful, strange, and unknowable - at least to me. Solas, as usual, seemed to have a better idea of what it was.

“If my estimation is correct, this object is powered by the same kind of magic that is contained in your Mark. Therefore, you should be able to activate it.”

“And what will happen to my Mark?” I kept that question low, so Lysette didn’t hear us from her position several yards back, where she’d insisted on standing guard.

She was uncomfortable entering the temple, but didn’t like the idea of us proceeding alone, and so guarding the low entryway was a compromise. I had initially smirked at her discomfort, but the elven corpse we’d found inside, tucked into a corner and still gripping her staff, had proven the caution at least partially warranted.

What’s more, the longer I was inside the more I sensed an unfamiliar energy about the place. There was ancient magic here, and powerful. Given that Solas was unable to determine what had caused the unfortunate mage’s demise, perhaps caution was the best strategy.

Solas gave me a significant side glance, considering my question for a moment before shaking his head. “It shouldn’t have any effect. Or at least no more effect than closing a rift would.”

I frowned, still uncertain. Closing a rift, after all, was unpleasant enough.

“Please,” he said, surprising me enough that I turned to meet his piercing gaze. “I would not ask this of you if I did not believe it was vital. Objects such as this were designed to draw in and stabilize ambient power. With the state of things now, I believe activating them will help strengthen the Veil in this area and allow us to restore order more swiftly if… when the Breach is closed.”

I considered that, weighing the risks before ultimately landing on my trust in him not to guide me toward harm. Reluctantly, I nodded.

“Stand back. There’s always a chance this could backfire on me.”

He retreated several paces, and I held out my left hand, concentrating on the strange artifact before me. I felt its nascent energy stir almost instantly in reaction to the Mark. With no other guidance, I thought of a simple command, as if I were speaking to a wisp.

Open.

A glow emitted from the orb, the same vivid chartreuse of the Mark, almost painful to look at directly. After a moment, the ambient magic around us settled, and like a ripple in a pond I felt the effect spreading further outward. The dark, dank temple felt calmer, and the Mark had hardly stirred at all.

“You were right,” I said, turning to Solas. “I can already feel it working. The Veil is being repaired.”

He smiled in his fashion - barely an upward tic of the corners of his mouth. Lysette looked in, less certain, but I gave her a reassuring nod that all was well. She accepted that readily enough, her expression easing, and all three of us retreated from the temple. As we emerged, I turned my face upward to bask in the bright sunlight. Spring was in full force in the Hinterlands, and I found its cheery blue skies and mild warmth agreed with me far better than Ostwick’s grey, wind-driven seasonal rains.

“Thank you for allowing me to investigate,” Solas was saying.

“It’s nothing.” I returned my attention to the path ahead with a sigh. “The Trio already has ample reason to be displeased with me. What’s one more?”

I’d meant it as a jest, but Lysette frowned and clicked her tongue. “You give them too little credit. They respect you more than you realize.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Solas asked, deceptively casual. “Because of their esteemed respect for her?”

I cringed, but Lysette bore the accusation with dignity, giving him only a stern look before answering.

“I’m not here because they ordered it. Not this time, at least.”

“And we’re to believe you’re following the apostates around out of a sense of camaraderie?” he pressed.

But Lysette didn’t respond; she’d come to a halt, and was peering into the brush by the road. Following her gaze, I saw a pair of boots sticking out from between low branches, and swallowed. The warmth of the sun now felt hollow. Using her sword, Lysette cleared away some of the growth to reveal a body lying face-up in the dirt. It was a man of middling age, wearing unmarked leather armor - cheaply made from the look of it - and though he was armed, his sword was sheathed at his belt. His eyes were shut, and a look of peace had settled over him. He had not died a violent death, at least.

Solas bent over, plucking an empty vial from his hand to examine. He sniffed it tentatively, turning up his nose.

“Poison,” he declared. “He must have taken his own life.”

“What’s that in his other hand?” Lysette reached past Solas and held up the other object, gasping in recognition.

“What is it?” I asked, coming closer. She handed it to me, and in my shock I nearly dropped it. It was a glass vial, no longer or thicker than one of my fingers, filled with a red liquid. It was warm, and a faint light emanated from within. I frowned in confusion. “What was he doing with a phylactery?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Solas scoffed. “He was a templar.”

“Still glowing - the target yet lives.” Lysette frowned. “Why would he still be hunting mages? The Circles are abolished, aren’t they?”

“You are not so naive as that,” Solas answered flatly. “You know why.”

But I had a nagging feeling there was more to it than this. If he was doing this for the Chantry, why not wear their colours? And if he was doing it for his own prejudice, why resort to poison before his task was done?

“Check his pockets,” I said. “Maybe there’s something that will tell us what Circle he was from. If nothing else, I’ll add him to the list of the lost to give Mother Giselle when we reach Haven.”

Lysette searched through the man’s things, eventually finding a neatly folded note in a breast pocket. She opened it, reading, then her eyes widened and her brows lifted.

“I don’t think he was hunting the mage,” she said, handing the note to me.

I scanned its contents, and I’m sure my own shock must have registered on my face because Solas demanded to see it next. Lysette was right. He hadn’t been hunting the mage; he had loved her, and wanted only to reunite. Even stranger - based on his words, she returned his feelings.

A brief silence fell over us, broken abruptly by Solas.

“Destroy it.”

Lysette was aghast. “What about the mage? She deserves to know what happened to him.”

“He took poison to keep her safe from him. You think she will thank a stranger appearing from nowhere, having tracked her with one of the shackles meant to keep her caged, bringing news of her love’s suicide?” Solas turned to me. “Phylacteries are cruel, little better than a leash for a pet. Destroy it.”

I chewed my inner lip as I pondered over the letter, the phylactery still warming my hand. “I don’t disagree that their purpose is cruel,” I said slowly. “But this man wasn’t using it for that purpose. And if I were that mage…” I sighed, not quite believing what I was about to ask as I faced Lysette. “Can you tell me where she is?”

Her eyes widened briefly, and she shook her head. “I don’t have the training for that. I was barely more than a green recruit!”

“Then all this is academic regardless,” Solas said with an impatient sigh.

“Senior officers are trained, however,” Lysette continued, sparing him no more than an annoyed glance. “You should give it to Commander Cullen. I’m sure he can do it.”

She smiled, as if it were decided, and marched up the path where the long parade of the Inquisition trudged past. Some threw her dirty looks, but most ignored her, either knowing she was kinder than most of her ilk or assuming strength in numbers lessened her threat.

Tired mages, Tranquil, and Inquisition soldiers had by now been joined by refugees, steadily growing our numbers as we crossed the countryside. Apparently they’d decided Haven was the safer option for now, seeing as much of the land was still recovering from the prolonged effects of the war. I winced, not wanting to think how this would strain Haven’s already dangerously thin resources. Leliana had already tried to argue that very point soon after our departure from Redcliffe, but Cullen refused to turn anyone away, and I stood in firm agreement with him. Still, it would be a problem to contend with upon our return. Every bit of forward progress only served to remind us of how far yet we had to go.

I pocketed the phylactery and the letter, ignoring Solas’s disapproving scowl, and rejoined the line.

“So?” Dorian said over our shared campfire later that night. “Just ask him. I fail to see the problem.”

I finished chewing my mouthful of smoked meat and swallowed, before replying with incredulity, “You wouldn’t feel conflicted, asking a templar to track down a mage?”

He chuckled, wrapping his blanket closer around his shoulders against the slight breeze. It was actually warmer than usual tonight, but he was used to much hotter and drier climates.

“Truthfully, it would never even occur to me to go to a templar for help with something so trivial. And even if I did, my greatest concern would be ensuring that no one found out I’d been forced to debase myself so. An altus, seeking help from a templar? I’d never live it down!”

“Well, then, why don’t you help me track her?”

He gave an exaggerated sigh, as though this were an old argument. “Contrary to popular belief, not all Tevinter mages practice blood magic.”

“It’s not blood magic.”

“Isn’t it?” He fixed me with a hard stare over the pronounced bridge of his nose, forcing me to give the matter more careful thought. I decided not to press the matter.

He chatted idly while we ate. I pretended to listen and thought over my dilemma. Eventually, Varric, Lysette, and Iron Bull came over to join us - the latter being met with a spiteful glare from Dorian, who pointedly changed seats to sit on Varric’s other side, away from “the great lummox” as he grumbled under his breath. I lifted my brows and checked whether Bull had heard that, only to find him grinning into his mug in private amusement.

“So what did the Commander say?” Lysette asked me conversationally, accepting Varric’s offered flask and taking a drink with far greater ease than I would have.

Dorian heaved another sigh before I could answer. “If you’re referring to the phylactery, she’s refusing to speak to him about it.”

Varric and Bull shared a significant glance, but neither said anything. When they realized I was watching, both put on airs of innocence and returned their gazes to the fire.

“I don’t understand it,” Dorian was saying. “She has the perfect solution right there, and she won’t take it. But she’s going to sit and fret about it all night. That’s right, don’t think I haven’t noticed you ignoring me.”

“Ignoring you sounds like a challenge,” Lysette teased.

“I like a good challenge,” Bull replied, still watching the fire. “Let’s see who wins?”

Varric, however, gave me a sidelong grin that was anything but innocent. I studied him, suddenly wary. This wasn’t going anywhere good for me.

“Oh you haven’t been around long enough to know the dynamic, Sparkler,” he said. It never took him long to come up with nicknames for those he deemed “part of the group”. It had taken all of a day to decide on that one for Dorian.

“Oh?” Dorian was curious now. “Do tell!”

Varric exchanged another glance with Bull, and his grin widened. “Our Herald here doesn’t want to ask Cullen, specifically, for any favors.”

“So you’re saying it’s not because he used to be a templar?” Dorian looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Interesting.”

I felt my face growing warm, and made a show of busying myself with pushing a burning log further into the fire.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I said in what I hoped was a casual tone. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea of invading a fellow mage’s privacy?”

Iron Bull gave a grunt that was also a laugh. “Yeah, pretty sure it’s not a mage’s privates you’re concerned with, Boss.”

“Hey hey!” Varric objected. “Too leading! You’re rigging the bet.”

“What bet?” I demanded, but now no one seemed to want to make eye contact.

“I never heard of any bet!” Lysette remarked, barely able to maintain an affronted look without smirking.

“That’s because you have a terrible poker face, Champion.” It had only taken Varric an hour to decide on that nickname.

“I’d like to know about this bet.” Dorian curled the end of his moustache up, the picture of mischievous intent.

Varric shot me a surreptitious glance and whispered loud enough that he had to know I’d hear, “I’ll fill you in later.”

“Why wait?” I rose from my seat in a huff. “Far be it for me to stand in the way of whatever fun you’re having. At my expense.” I said those last words over my shoulder as I marched off, sure that I heard their laughter following me as I went. When I turned back, however, they were somber and no one looked in my direction.

V: Aw man, I’d almost forgotten about the betting pool.
T: So began the longest running secret joke in the Inquisition’s history.
V: Heh, and coming in at a very close second was the cute fact that you thought it was secret.
T: ...Do I even want to know how large the pool grew?
V: Probably not.
T: Out of curiosity, who did end up winning? Dorian refused to tell me.
V: Eh, we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?

I wandered through the camp until dusk deepened to full dark, relying on peripheral light from the fires and the Mark to find my way. Whether by accident or design, I eventually heard Cullen’s voice, stern and businesslike, speaking to one of his lieutenants. I nearly turned back in spite of Varric’s earlier taunts, but something in his voice urged me forward.

Once I was near enough to see the details on his face, my heart constricted at his haggard appearance. His cheeks were gaunt, and the shadows under his eyes were darker than usual. It may have just been a trick of unflattering light, but past experience told me otherwise. The wind changed, bringing a whiff of tobacco to confirm my suspicions - he hadn’t been sleeping.

It was true that all of us had been on our feet more often than not since Redcliffe, myself included. My duty to the mages pulled me in so many directions I barely knew which way was up. And yet, each night when I would walk the path back to my tent, long after most of the fires had burned low and my eyes could barely remain open, I would always see Cullen - still pacing, still trading reports with his soldiers. I’d heard some of them joking that the Commander slept standing up; looking at him now, I could believe it.

I grasped my hand around the phylactery in my pocket, my purpose wavering in the face of his fatigue, not wishing to add another task to his overcrowded agenda. Just as I was retreating, however, he noticed my movements and turned, locking eyes with me. Suddenly my legs were rooted to the spot.

“Herald?” he asked, pausing the lieutenant mid-sentence.

I cringed inwardly at the title, but the presence of an audience necessitated the formality. Well, too late to back out now. I gave an apologetic smile, and spoke in a professional tone.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Commander, but can I speak to you? It’s a… delicate matter.”

“Of course.” He immediately dismissed the lieutenant with a crisp salute - right fist across his chest. Once we were alone, his surprise turned to concern and the formality melted away, softening his features. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

I had to smile. Only Cullen could look half-dead and still make others’ welfare his chief concern. Afraid I would lose all nerve, I pressed on, now realizing I had intended this from the moment I left the campfire.

“I assume Lysette has already told you what we found today,” I began, but he frowned in confusion.

“Lysette? No, after our… arrival in the Hinterlands, I relieved her of her charge over you. She hasn’t reported to me since.”

“Oh.” I blinked. After my apology, he’d meant to say - I heard the hesitation in his voice. My cheeks warmed with guilt, and I found it hard to meet his gaze. “I was… I wanted to… I just thought we should, well that I should…”

I sighed, rubbing at my eyes in frustration. What was wrong with me? This all sounded much better in my head. Mercifully, Cullen took over, gently clearing his throat past an audible grin.

“I’ve been meaning to patrol the perimeter. Why don’t you walk with me?”

“I… yes, alright.”

The perimeter was a line of trees that marked the edge of a sparse forest, on the outskirts of the fallow field we’d chosen to rest for the night. Camp was quieting down a short distance away. One by one, fires were extinguished only to be replaced by stars blinking to life above. I took comfort in them. The Breach drowned out nearly the whole sky in Haven, so stars had begun to feel like a good omen; a reminder that, regardless of what responsibilities tethered me to the Inquisition, at least I was free of the Circle.

I settled into a leisurely pace beside Cullen, trying to reform my thoughts as the silence stretched and my fickle nerves rapidly abandoned me. Maker, it was warm tonight. And his amused smirk wasn’t helping; I felt it even if I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. Perhaps sensing my unease, he busied himself with packing and re-lighting his pipe, willing to wait me out for the moment.

“That’s becoming a bad habit for you.” I nodded to the pipe, teasing to avoid the real topic.

“I’ve had worse,” he returned with a smirk. He wasn’t fooled, prodding me gently, “So, what was it you found?”

Taking a measure of stability from the warmth of the phylactery, still in its place in my pocket, I explained how we’d found it, along with the body and the letter. Cullen listened, frowning but saying nothing until I was finished. When I mentioned Lysette’s suggestion that he track the mage down, he studied me carefully, wearing that expression that always made me feel like he was waiting for a trap to spring.

“I can do that, yes,” he confirmed slowly. “But surely you would sooner smash it into dust before asking me to?”

I waved off a wisp of smoke, trying to find the words to explain. He noticed, and moved to my other side to keep himself downwind. How? How could I tell him of the anguish I’d once experienced, seeking what had happened to Taeris? The singular torture of not knowing if the person you loved was safe? How could I make him understand that, even though I hated the answer, there was a sense of closure at least in having it?

“She deserves to know what happened to him,” I said simply.

“I see. That’s admirable of you.” From anyone else that might have sounded condescending, but Cullen was far too genuine for that. I doubted he had an imperious bone in his body; even his Commander voice was more assertive than arrogant. “Alright, I’ll see what I can sense. You have the phylactery with you?”

I pulled it from my pocket, reaching out to hand it over. Before he took it, however, he fixed me with a hard stare.

“You do realize,” he said with a warning tone that made me preemptively hold my breath, “that once we’ve tracked down this mage, I’m obligated to take her in?”

It was exactly what I’d feared he’d say. I pulled back, grasping the phylactery tightly out of his reach. Cullen froze, eyes darting from me to the vial and back again, seeing the unspoken threat.

“No,” I replied flatly. “You’re not. The Inquisition is not the Circle, and you’re not a templar.”

“Perhaps not,” he replied, “but it’s a templar’s abilities you need.”

I faltered, unable to think of a rebuttal for that, and tried a different approach.

“You cannot possibly know she’s a danger before even meeting her. Unless you truly believe we’re all monsters.”

“No!” His vehement denial rang into the growing quiet. He paused to compose himself, glancing anxiously back to camp, but no one seemed to have taken notice of us. “Not all. Not you.”

His sincerity caught me off-guard, leaving me speechless. He kept his gaze on the camp, turning his back to me. The leather of his glove creaked as his grip tightened and flexed around his sword hilt.

“You said you trusted me.” I could barely speak above a whisper, as an unbidden swell of emotion rose in my throat.

“I know,” he answered miserably. I know. Not, I do.

His other hand rose to run through his hair. Days on the road had left it disheveled; the natural curls that never stayed tamed for long now hung limp and wiry. A fleeting image of my own hand following his through those curls came and went, swallowed by a tide of despair. As I watched him work at regaining his composure, my heart sank beneath that tide, and my hope of receiving anything but suspicion from him was lost to the depths.

“I want to trust you,” he confessed, finally turning back to face me. The desperation in his eyes tore at me. “But at every new turn… something holds me back. As though my very fate conspires against it!”

He grabbed a handful of curls into a balled fist. I almost went to him then, almost took that hand in mine to pull it gently away. But a twinge from my palm reminded me of myself and held me still. Maker take it all; this was unfair.

“If fate conspires at anything,” I answered with a defeated sigh, “it’s only in making me miserable.”

His hand dropped and he looked up, incredulous, only to be met with my consternation. A surprised laugh escaped him, pulling at the scar on his upper lip as he smiled, making me blink in confusion.

“If it is fate you hold accountable,” he said around the laughter, “then perhaps I might escape some of the blame, at least?”

I was unsure what to say to that, opening my mouth and closing it again. Then the absurdity of it all caught up with me and a bark of laughter forced its way past my defenses to join his. We stood there, giggling idiotically at our own misery, until his posture eased and a hopeful flutter rose in my chest.

“Well, we’ll just have to defy fate, won’t we?” I declared, pressing my position by adjusting my grip on the phylactery, dangling it tauntingly in the air.

“I suppose we must, Maker help us.” He crossed his arms to consider me with exaggerated exasperation. “You’re just going to smash the bloody thing if we don’t do this, aren’t you?”

I shrugged, giving no answer but the dangling vial and my growing grin.

He gave an all-suffering sigh, though the lingering smirk belied his outward annoyance. The hopeful flutter increased, pushing back against the tide.

“Then I suppose I have no choice,” he said. His sobriety returned as he rested his chin on one fist, thinking to himself before finally nodding. “Very well. If we find her, and there are no outward signs of possession or danger, I will… agree to let her remain free.”

I breathed out the air I’d been holding in a long sigh of relief. It was such a small concession, but more than I’d expected; a great deal more.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t thank me yet.” His shy smirk returned, extending his hand for the phylactery. “We still have to find her.”

I handed it over, coming to stand next to him while he examined it. His face grew inward and focused, and the scar over his mouth was highlighted as the warm glow from the vial increased. It looked long-healed. Perhaps he’d acquired it in Kirkwall?

“Can you not stare at me while I do this?” he asked suddenly, gaze still focused downward. “It’s… disconcerting.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I turned my gaze upward instead, watching the stars blink overhead, until I heard a triumphant gasp from him.

“She’s close! A day away, maybe, no more.”

“You sound relieved.” I raised a brow.

“I didn’t know if I could…” But he stopped, correcting himself. “I… didn’t think she’d be nearby. This area has been especially dangerous for mages.” He was still concentrating, eyes glazed over as he reached out. I couldn’t feel any aura - templar abilities didn’t work like that - but he kept his focus on the vial as he turned it first one direction, then the other. “She’s northeast of here,” he said with finality. Though I could detect no great change in its glow, he sounded certain.

I chewed my lip and thought. A day northeast of our current location?

“The Crossroads!” we both exclaimed at once.

I smiled. “We’ll be passing through there tomorrow.”

“Perfect. We can deliver the letter then and not lose any time.”

Warmth returned to brighten his eyes to polished amber as he returned my smile. The sweet ache in my chest intensified, and my breathing halted. For a moment, time stood still, and I was overly aware of how close he was standing. His familiar combination of scents - earth and leather and tobacco, and something more that was uniquely him - overpowered my senses. The distant light of a campfire framed his face, bringing out the gold of his hair, emphasizing the sun-kissed undertones in his fair skin.

Then a branch cracked behind us, and his gaze broke from mine to lock in on the sound. I turned to see a soldier freeze mid-step, both of us staring at each other in mutual surprise. A warm flush crept over my face, and I felt foolish, as though I’d been caught out at something I shouldn’t have been doing.

“Oh! Forgive me, Your Worship, am I interrupting? I can come back.”

My eyes darted back to Cullen, who was now looking everywhere but at me. He cleared his throat.

“Nevermind, soldier. State your business.”

And just like that, the moment was gone, broken just like that branch. I left Cullen to his duty and retreated to my tent, where sleep was yet again elusive. Hoping for a distraction, I pulled out my notes on the local flora I’d been sketching for Adan to review back in Haven. Try as I might, however, Cullen’s face as it had been for just a fraction of a heartbeat - soft and excited in triumph - stubbornly persisted in my mind.

The only intrusion on my solitude came from the soldier I’d left with Cullen. He gave a crisp salute when I poked my head out, and handed me the phylactery. When I looked up at him, puzzled, he said only that “The Commander insisted you hold onto it.”

We made good time the next day, reaching the Crossroads with hours to spare before sunset. We might have kept going, but there were no more convenient stopping points between there and Haven, and the last leg of the journey would be the most difficult as we made the transition from hills to mountains.

Cullen found me soon after the order to halt was given, and we set out together, guided by the phylactery. We found the mage in short order, taking up residence in a small cavern some distance from the nearest farmhouse. Surprisingly, she wasn’t trying to hide; she even still wore the robes of her Circle. I admired her fearlessness.

Ellandra, as she was named, was neither young nor old, with lines etched across her face telling of a life full-lived. Her chestnut brown hair was well on its way to grey, but she moved about the cave with poise, rising from her seat on the ground when she saw us enter, proud but wary. Caution quickly gave way to grief when we explained our visit. She wept quietly as she read the letter.

“Thank you. Martin was… important to me. I feared the worst when he did not join me or send word.” She ran a hand over the words on the parchment tenderly, then her face hardened and her bottom lip trembled. “Maker curse the fools who started this war!”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said with a solemnity he hadn’t shown since delivering his eulogy at Haven. “I know how it feels to lose someone to a war neither of us chose.”

“Was she a mage?” Ellandra challenged.

Cullen hesitated, then nodded. I gaped as if I did not know him, quickly dismissing the notion that he was lying. He was too honorable for that. In the stunned silence that followed, he shifted, clearing his throat gently.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why aren’t you with the rebel mages?”

Ellandra wiped at her eyes and gave a bitter laugh. “It’s safer that way. For everyone.”

“What makes you say that?” Cullen’s hand went to his hilt, and I tensed, but Ellandra was unfazed.

“At first, I used my healing skills to help the refugees. But when the templars saw me, they attacked. Innocent people died. I will endanger no more.” She drew herself up, her considerable pride keeping her posture rigid. “I know my own strength, and have no fear of demons. I wish only to keep to myself, and harm none.”

Cullen studied her intently, and I feared the worst. But then his gaze transferred to me, and his face pinched in shame. His hand moved away from his hilt, and I once again was able to breathe steadily.

“But… you loved one of them?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking; I had to know.

She gave me a knowing smile. “I know, we’re supposed to be enemies. The Chantry would see us divided, claim we have no plight in common, that the abyss is uncrossable. But when you spend enough time confined with a man, you find that behind the armor, he is just that - a man. Martin and I were friends for many years, and lovers for many more. And now he’s gone.”

Her tears returned, and for a moment her weeping was the only sound in the confined stone walls. Wishing to grant her privacy, we offered our condolences once more, but as Cullen turned to leave, I hesitated. It felt wrong to leave her alone with her grief. To intrude on her life and quash her hopes, without even the offer of a new path forward. It was too cruel.

Coming to an impulsive decision, I spoke before my nerves failed me.

“The Inquisition could use your skills.”

“If I wished to kill, I would have joined the rebels.” She scowled, defiant through her grief. “How is the Inquisition any better?”

Cullen was at the mouth of the cave, half-turned, watching me. I didn’t have to turn back to know; I felt his gaze. His words from the eulogy came back to me, as did the promise I’d given Taeris. I clung to those words now, to the strength they had given me at my lowest points, and offered that strength to Ellandra.

“There are countless ways for you to help the Inquisition safely without having to fight. We need wards reinforced, glyphs studied… You’re a healer. That alone could save many lives.”

Ellandra looked between me and Cullen for a long moment, studying us. Whatever she saw there satisfied her. Some of the hardness left her features, and she wiped her eyes dry with the hem of her sleeve.

“True enough.” She inclined her head. “If the Inquisition wants my help, then I will do what I can. My skills are yours. Give me time to gather my things, and I will join your party tonight.”

We thanked her and departed the cave to begin the walk back to the camp. Cullen considered me in what he must have assumed to be subtle glances. I kept my own eyes forward, biting my tongue on a teasing remark regarding the futility of his attempts at subterfuge while he gathered the courage to speak his mind.

“That was well done,” he said eventually. “You’re quite persuasive when you want to be.”

I couldn’t help but notice the slight self-deprecating tone in his voice, and repressed a smile.