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Macha decided that she hated lifts.
As they were slowly, very slowly, lowered into the Deep Roads, thoughts swarmed her.
The Breach was finally sealed, and Corypheus was dead – for good this time, she hoped – but the Inquisition’s work wasn’t done. The countryside was still in ruins, and they needed soldiers to help pick up the pieces. They’d sent troops to Emprise du Lion to clear out the remaining Red Templars, who stuck around like roaches. Leliana’s spies pinpointed several worshippers of Corypheus across Thedas, either demanding vengeance against the so-called “Herald,” or turning to mindless violence and looting.
For Macha, these issues didn’t compare to the many Orlesian nobles “requesting” her presence; if these requests were not met, Josephine advised, they would certainly take it as a personal insult, and disparage the Inquisitor’s name – or worse. “Likely worse,” Josephine had corrected herself, sighing softly. “These banquets are thinly-veiled offers of alliance. If you were to choose one over the other, you may as well be sending death threats to the rejected party. It would have the same effect.”
So, of course, the nobles scheduled their little parties at overlapping times, demanding that the Inquisitor choose.
And she did. After a moment’s thought, Macha declared she would be busy hunting the remaining Venatori along the Western Approach, and promptly left the War Room, leaving Josephine sputtering in her wake. Dorian only needed to hear the word “Venatori” before he was happy enough to join her, and they left before the Ambassador could convince Macha to stay.
During Celene’s ball, Macha had bitten her tongue enough times to leave an indent. She could hardly stomach the fluffy, lavish nature of the whole thing, was simply not programmed to second-guess every word that left her mouth. She wasn’t planning on reliving the experience anytime soon, but she couldn’t just sit still, either. Couldn’t let her mind wander. No, Macha was perfectly content unleashing her frustrations on the Venatori and listening to Dorian’s idle talk; it was just enough to fill her mind without actually meaning anything. Empty words and jokes were far more valuable to her right now. After about a week, she almost felt like she would be okay.
Then a missive arrived from Skyhold. Macha had winced when she saw it was Josephine’s careful handwriting, but it held nothing to do with Val Royeaux. It seemed Orzammar had halved their lyrium supplies, and was urgently requesting her assistance.
Dorian had groaned aloud, reading over Macha’s shoulder. “Oh, please say you won’t need me. The Deep Roads don’t agree with me. Too much Darkspawn, too few sources of clean, running water. Please, Macha.”
“Do you expect Vivienne to go?”
Dorian went quiet after that. She needed another mage, and they both knew there was no other option.
So here they were, moving down the world’s slowest lift. Macha hoped they wouldn’t all be like this, but even she knew better. A researcher – Valta – was going on about vibrations “singing” to her, while Macha idly wondered if the dwarf had somehow contracted the Taint and survived, and was experiencing some form of the Calling. That, or she’d simply lost her mind. And wouldn’t that be just wonderful. Cole and the Iron Bull had offered to come along, and both were marveling at the view below. Cole had wanted to help so badly, and Bull… well, Bull knew how much Dorian hated the Deep Roads.
Macha’s chest ached, and she shredded a new, swelling thought before it could burst.
“I can lead us to the source of the tremors, but I have no clue what we’ll find there –”
“Probably Darkspawn,” Renn grumbled.
“– so we must be cautious.” Valta shot him a glare, barely hiding her smirk. “The sooner we can figure this out, the sooner we get your shipments back to normal.”
Macha nodded, gaze drifting, focusing on nothing. “How long have you been hearing this… ‘singing?’”
She didn’t listen to Valta’s reply, was too preoccupied with how unoccupied her body was. The lift was far too small for her to pace, so she kept to tapping her foot and clenching her jaw. Macha hadn’t exactly been keen on entering the Deep Roads, but she’d been relieved to have some actually intensive labour on her hands. She hadn’t realized half her trip would be spent on fucking lifts.
Valta was looking at her expectantly. Macha realized the lift had finally stopped and shook her head. “I’m sorry? I was… thinking.” She moved into step with Valta as they were led through the cavern.
“Have you had any reports of Darkspawn on the Storm Coast lately?” Valta repeated. “The Legion had to seal an exit there a little while back, I’m just worried the tremors might have reopened it.”
“Probably.”
“Southwest end?” Bull took over, shooting Macha a quick look. She hadn’t answered Valta’s question, not really. “Near some veins of the red stuff. We sealed it back up.”
Valta let out a soft groan. “Thank you. But… well, we’ll need to find a more permanent solution.”
“I’ve got one,” Renn rumbled, “we kill all the Darkspawn, and nothing will come up.”
Macha decided that she liked Renn.
The place was infested. Not just with the usual Darkspawn – that would be too easy – but with types Macha had never encountered on the surface. Some were more animalistic, and others more… conscious. The emissaries fixed her with stares that felt too knowing, making her skin crawl. She tried to make quick work of them. Their group pushed through the hordes, and Macha found comfort in the familiar rhythm of combat, in the way she swept her staff around her body, in the hum of strong magic. For the first time in her life, she was disappointed when they stopped to camp.
Macha hadn’t slept much since… since Corypheus’ death. She’d finally passed out late one night about a week later, and promptly found herself wandering the Fade. She’d tried to tell herself she wasn’t looking for anything, that she was just whittling time away till morning, but she knew it was a lie. Every subtle movement drew Macha’s attention, and with every plain she wandered, she felt her heart sink lower. Eventually, it’d rooted her to the ground.
It was Haven she’d landed in, standing at the edge of the frozen lake.
This was where he’d first kissed her.
At the edge of the dock, she dropped down, letting her bare feet slide across the ice, focusing on the chill against her toes. This was where she’d realized that she could love him – maybe had already started to. He’d kissed her in the waking world, too, but in the Fade… in the Fade, somehow, every moment spent with him had felt more real. He’d been more passionate, warmer towards her, just extremely… present.
And now he was gone.
She’d tried to stop it, tried to keep her shoulders from shaking, but once she started crying it was already too late. Macha had slept through the whole night, spent sobbing at that pier, alone.
She hadn’t slept since.
Now, she laid awake on top of her bedroll, listening to Renn’s heavy snores from the other side of the fire. He’d passed out almost instantly, and sounded like an overfed dathrasi wheezing through its teeth. Strangely enough, Macha was grateful for the sound. Anything over silence. Her eyes traces the lines of the stalactites overhead, trying to find shapes in the cracks. Of course they’d camped in the only room with no murals, no carvings. Nothing for her to really look at as she steadfastly refused to sleep. The questions crept up on her before she’d realized she was asking them.
Why had he left? And without so much as a word to her? Was she that meaningless to him, a fling, some distraction to keep him occupied till Corypheus had been dealt with? He’d told her in the first place that the Breach was his reason for staying, but she’d hoped for more. She was sure they’d meant more. That she’d meant more. Foolish. He’d gone before the wretched magister’s body was cold, if it was ever warm to begin with. At first she’d thought something was wrong, that he’d been hurt, kidnapped, something–
But if he’d wanted to be found, he would have found her in the Fade.
Quietly, Macha pushed herself up on her elbows. This not-thinking thing wasn’t working. Not here, not now, not where there was nothing to do. Carefully, she plucked her staff from the ground and headed back where they’d come from. Macha was no Warden, but she did know that Darkspawn were a neverending font of work.
Sure enough, they’d started trickling back in – not too many, just the odd wanderer. She could handle that. As she struck the first flash of lightning, leaving a few genlocks convulsing and scrambling for their weapons, Macha let out a feral yell. This was where she belonged. The passages were cluttered with weak beasts, crawling up from some depths of the Deep Roads that she preferred not to think about. It was blissful, enveloping herself in the battlefield, even as her arms ached in protest. Macha practically skipped between weapons, slinging fire and lightning in all directions, making sure to cause more damage than was necessary. It was just what she needed.
She hadn’t expected to find an Ogre, but there it was, suddenly a mere few feet behind her, snuffling heavily as it stomped forward. At one point, Macha might have pissed herself on the spot and ran. But now? She was the damned Inquisitor. If she couldn’t handle an ogre, what was she good for? What were legends good for?
Macha centred a static cage on it, hopping backwards as bolts began pelting against the monster’s bulk. It screeched, thrashing, and she began focusing on the ground around him. Fire and lightning, the perfect combination – if you liked blowing half your targets in two and leaving the other half horrifically charred. Macha did. Just as she lit the ground beneath its feet, the ogre bellow again, leaping forward.
She couldn’t move in time. Its fingers closed around Macha’s ribcage as it lifted her off the ground, cutting her breath short. Her staff toppled to the ground, and with her concentration broken, the fire began to lap at her own calves, white-hot against her skin. The ogre squeezed tight around her chest till she couldn’t breathe. Macha could almost hear her ribs creaking, ready to break under its iron grip – when suddenly, it froze, grunting. Its grip loosened, and Macha spotted a wide blade protruding through its abdomen, then sweeping straight out the ogre’s side. Blood exploded from its stomach, and the beast moved to scream, but no sound escaped. Instead, it dropped, sending Macha tumbling away.
“Boss!”
Footsteps pounded towards her. She managed to prop herself up on one arm before Bull was holding her, checking her over for injuries.
“Following me, huh?” Macha rasped, a small smile on her face. She was grateful to feel air creeping back into her lungs.
“Someone’s got to. Your ribs okay?”
She nodded, her eyes following Bull’s. Her legs were covered in splotches of raw skin. The odd blister rose around them, and Macha swore she could see the skin still bubbling in places.
“Let’s get Dorian,” Bull said, ready to lift her, but Macha braced her arms on his.
“Let him sleep. I’ve got it.”
Bull watched uncertainly as her hands hovered over the tender skin. She’d never been great with healing magic, but she could usually handle the small stuff. Macha pulled at the last of her mana reserves, letting out a small sigh as the skin finally began to cool. The area was still raw, but the pain was more of a background noise now. It was enough. Bull grunted, before lowering himself beside her, facing where the rough stone flooring dropped off into a dark chasm.
“All right,” he sighed, propping his elbows on his knees, “let’s talk.”
Macha stiffened. “Talk about what?”
“You know what.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“You have to. You’re killing yourself.”
Something in her snapped. “What does it matter? The Breach is closed. My part’s done.” She thought she felt Bull stiffen, but he was still fixated on the darkness ahead. His expression was neutral, almost dreamlike. As the silence stretched, Macha worried her lip. At least he had the decency to look away.
“What do you want me to say?” Her voice was quiet. “He’s gone, and I don’t know why.”
“He didn’t say anything to you?”
Slowly, she shook her head.
Bull’s chest rumbled. “Must’ve been pretty important for him to take off like that.”
Macha didn’t dare open her mouth, not with tears brimming in her eyes. She’d always hated crying around other people. It made her feel so damn weak, and the last thing she needed right now was pity.
Bull’s hand found her opposite shoulder and, his grip gentle but firm, he pulled her till she was leaning against his side. At that, she finally broke. Tears streaked down her face, and her shoulders shook. So long as she kept her mouth shut, she wouldn’t make a sound.
“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Bull said. Macha could feel his voice reverberating against her now, and she found it soothing. “He’s not exactly the impulsive type. But you don’t need me to tell you that.”
They sat in silence for a bit, Bull still gazing straight ahead, his thumb rubbing small circled on her shoulder, and Macha slowly trying to control her breathing.
“You know, you could ask Cullen to send out a search party. Hell, I’ll send the Chargers; just say the word.”
Macha swallowed, hands swiping at her wet cheeks. “Leliana’s been looking,” she murmured. “I didn’t even ask her to. But I saw the reports on her desk.”
Bull hummed, nodding. “Then you’ve got the best girl for the job. Red’s a talented spymaster – if she can’t find him…” He stopped himself, shoulders stiffening almost imperceptibly. “She’ll find him.”
Macha frowned at the rock walls around them, spattered with black blood, feeling the tears sticking to her face as it moved. The ache in her chest receded just enough to leave her feeling profoundly useless. She took a deep breath. “Red, huh?” Bull finally turned to look at her, and she forced a playful smile to her lips. “Varric’s rubbing off on you.”
Bull laughed, the vibrations from his chest making her relax against him. “What can I say? I like the little dwarf. He’s charming. Conniving as hell, too, but that just makes him more fun.”
“So he’s the conniving one? Not the former Ben-Hassrath who followed me here, just so he could play hero at the last second?”
“There’s a reason I volunteered to come here, y’know,” Bull chuckled. “A good one.”
“What in the devil are you two doing?”
Macha turned her head to see Dorian behind them, clad in armour and thin robes, shaking in the cool, musty air.
“Therapy,” Bull said, grinning. “Want in?”
“Oh, absolutely.” In an instant, Dorian was settled on Bull’s other side, his head resting on Bull’s thigh and his hands clasped in front of him. “It all started when I was ten. I realized I was better looking than everyone else and worried that was all I was to them, looks. They were so focused on my beauty, that they began ignoring my alluring wit and charm.” Bull grabbed Dorian, pulling him further into his lap, and Macha couldn’t help chuckling. Bull kept his grip firm on her – presumably so she couldn’t excuse herself and run, but she had no intention of moving. She felt comfortable with the two of them, with Dorian’s easy banter and Bull’s calm rumbles. As they went back and forth, falling easily into beat with each other, Macha’s eyes drifted closed, and she found herself laying in a snowbank. The snow was strangely warm around her, encompassing her like the duvet back in her quarters at Skyhold. Cool snowflakes peppered her face, balancing out the heat. Buried in snow, she felt she couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. So, she didn’t even try.
Renn was shaken awake. Eyes refusing to open, he pawed at his assailant, murmuring, “Let off, let off, just a few more…”
“They’re gone, Renn.” Valta’s wide eyes were fixed above him, gaze flitting across his face. Nervous. “The Inquisitor. Something must have happened.”
Groaning, Renn raised himself to a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Once his vision cleared, he looked back to Valta – and the shock of blonde hair that appeared behind her.
“Should be cold, like always, but… no. Warm. Together.” Valta jumped, letting out an adorable squeak, turning to face him. The boy – Cole, he thought, the kid’s name is Cole – stood stock-still, his eyes boring a hole in the cavern wall. Renn opened his mouth to ask what the hell he meant, when Cole turned his gaze to them, a soft smile on his face. “She’ll be fine,” he said softly. “Please don’t worry.”
Then Cole was gone. Valta blinked, staring at the spot where he’d stood, mouth slightly agape.
“You heard him,” Renn mumbled, letting his body fall back against the bedroll. “Quit worrying.”
Valta let out a quiet sigh before standing. Strange or not, the Inquisitor clearly trusted the frail-looking boy. Valta settled back into her own bedroll. They had a long road ahead of them; she might as well rest for now.