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She had forgotten how cold the snow was.
Strange. It wasn’t that long ago that Venara could barely go a day without the soft white stuff dusting the ramparts and courtyards. When she first arrived in Haven, she remembered thinking how fantastical the snow was, like something out of myth and legend. Lavellan territory was far to the north, in lands that were either warm and dry or cold and wet. In the weeks following the Inquisition’s birth, she had stolen away what few private hours she could to walk through the snow, letting its foreign iciness seep into her hands, prickling her skin as it melted in the warmth of her palms.
And then the Battle of Haven had happened, Corypheus tossed her around like a rag-doll, she was almost eaten by a dragon and an avalanche collapsed a mine on her head. Snow became significantly less magical after that.
Thump.
Sera dropped out of a tree, landing in a crouch beside her. Her red cloak fanned out around her and her hood slid off her head, pulled back by the movement of her jump. She clicked her tongue and dusted the snow off her shoulders before pulling her hood back up. “Whatcha doing, slow-poke?”
Venara held out her left hand and let the snow pile up on her palm. “Thinking.”
“About…?”
“The snow. It’s cold.”
“Well, duh. Way to state the obvious.” Sera sniffed and pulled her hood back up. “Wait a second—aren’t you a frost mage? Don’t you get cold when you make things all blue and glowy? How does that make any sense?”
“Frost magic is a little different than natural snowfall, Sera,” Venara pointed out. She turned her hand over and snapped her fingers, conjuring a little glyph in the palm of her hand. Lines of crystalline blue threaded over her skin, glowing softly. “It doesn’t feel cold, it feels… powerful.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It feels like magic.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s hard to explain.”
Sera leaned on Venara’s shoulder. “Has anyone told you what a stiff, boring arse you are sometimes?”
Venara dismissed the glyph. “You have,” she said. “Just now.”
Sera rolled her eyes. “Anyone besides me?”
“Come on,” Venara said, retrieving her glove from her pocket. “It’s getting late. We’ll never make it to Vol Dorma at this rate.”
“And whose fault is that?” Sera remarked.
“Do you really need to ask that?” Venara replied as she set the glove in her mouth. Raising her hand, she stuck it into the supple leather and used her teeth to pull the glove on. The task finished, she took off, striding down the path at a rapid pace.
Sera snorted like a horse. “Are you blaming me? That sounds like you’re blaming me! Don’t blame me—look, if it’s my fault, then it’s Varric’s fault, too! Venara!”
Sera chased after her, red cloak flying up behind her, and caught up quickly. Her long legs covered the same distance in steps as two of Venara’s own.
Venara walked determinedly as Sera babbled on about how she was completely innocent in the loss of their horses and supplies earlier the day before. Just as she reached the high point of her argument, the path wound its way out of the woods and joined the main stretch of the Imperial Highway. Here, the snow had been trampled into mud by the passage of many travellers making their way to Vol Dorma.
As the last way-stop on the way to Minrathous, the road to Vol Dorma was crowded with more people than Venara had seen in the past three months. Travellers, soldiers, merchants and all other sorts passed by on horseback, in carriages and carts. The intent to reach their destination as quickly as possible was palpable. With the unsteady politics in the Imperium, even the Imperial Highway was a dangerous place to be.
Sera fell silent. “I guess this means we’re close,” she murmured.
“Yeah.” Venara tugged on her hood, pulling it as far forwards as she could, casting her face into shadow to hide her vallaslin. The last thing she wanted was to be recognize on the road when she and Sera were alone and outnumbered.
Sera shot her a glance as Venara tightened her cloak around her shoulders, hiding her amputated arm under the coarse green wool. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said. “Just taking precautions. I don’t know how many one-armed Dalish elves come this way, but I’m willing to bet it’s not many.”
Sera nodded, hand drifting to the knife on her hip. Together, they took off down the road, boots squishing in the mud. Snow continued to fall, flying through the air, buffeted by a screeching wind and melting upon contact with the ground. Travellers trampled by them, barely giving them a second glance. They were all but invisible and Venara preferred it that way. She loathed to think what would happen if they knew the former Inquisitor was trudging along in the mud.
Ahead, the sun was setting in spectacular fashion. The horizon was awash in burnished golds, reds and oranges, light reflecting off the clouds in the sky as it slowly disappeared behind the hills. It would have been beautiful—it was beautiful, Venara thought—if it didn’t mean they were in for a long night of walking. Venara had no desire to camp on the side of the road. The Imperial Highway wasn’t safe at the best of times, and these days were hardly the best of times.
They crested one hill and then another. Still, there was no sight of the city—just an endless road, stretching on and on until it disappeared into the horizon. Venara’s face was rubbed raw by the howling wind and she clutched at her scarf, pulling it tight around her chin. Her stomach growled and thirst flickered at the back of her throat.
We can make it. We’ve made it this far, we can make it to the city. It’ll be on the other side of this hill, wait and see…
Venara and Sera reached the top of the hill.
There was no Vol Dorma in sight.
“You’ve got to be frickin’ kidding me!” Sera exclaimed, her cheeks pinched pink by the wind. “Where is this bloody arsing town?”
Venara sighed, staving off exhaustion and the desire to yell at someone. Herself, mostly. It was her fault for having the great idea to split the party. Varric had gone back to the last town in search of replacement supplies and, hopefully, a horse or two while she and Sera had ventured on ahead. By some miracle they hadn’t been attacked yet, but she they had gotten lost. How you got lost on a road that only went straight she had no idea, but of course it had happened.
“Come on,” Venara said, tapping Sera on the shoulder. “It’s a town, it’ll show up eventually.”
“Just admit it, you have no idea where you’re going.”
“Mhm.”
“You’ve gotten us lost.”
“Mhm.”
“You got us lost on a road that only goes one way. That’s impressive.”
“Sera,” Venara said, “has anyone ever told you what an annoying little brat you are?”
“You have,” Sera replied, grinning from ear to ear. “But you’re completely wrong.” She folded her hands and placed them on Venara’s head, then put her chin on her hands. “I’m not little. You’re little.”
Venara swatted Sera’s hands away and opened her mouth to retort. “I—”
“Need a lift?”
Venara spun around at the familiar voice and saw a familiar person at the front of a cart. Varric sat bundled up in a dark brown travelling cloak, a red scarf wrapped around his neck. He clutched the reigns in his hand as he guided the horse and cart towards the two lost elves on the side of the highway. Beside him, in a place of honour, nestled his crossbow, Bianca.
Sera pointed at Varric’s scarf. “Do you think that’s to keep the wind out of his chest hair?” she said.
Venara stifled a laugh. “It’s good to see you, Varric,” she called. “Where did you find this?”
“Oh, you could say I called in a few favours,” Varric said loftily. “Played a few rounds of Wicked Grace, placed a few bets—”
“He got it from me,” another familiar voice said crossly. The cart pulled to a stop and a familiar figure, dressed in Tevinter finery, climbed out the back. “It’s good to see you, Inquisitor.”
“Dorian!” Venara exclaimed.
Dorian strode through the mud, heedless of the muck clinging to the hem of his cloak, and pulled Venara into an embrace. “It’s good to see you, Inquisitor. Welcome to the Imperium.” He caught Sera’s eye and winked at her. “Hello, Sera. I see the red has been suiting you.”
She tossed her hood back. “I’ve always worn red.”
“I was referencing the Jennies,” he said.
Sera’s nose crinkled. “I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or not.”
Dorian blinked. “It’s a compliment, Sera. You’ve done good work since moving into the Imperium—”
“Then why not just say that?” Sera said, flouncing her way over to the cart and pulling herself out of the mud. “This is the problem with rich people—you never say what you mean, you always have to let the words get in the way, like some shitty wordy competition. And you wonder why everyone thinks you’re arseholes.”
Dorian sighed. “Some things never change,” he said under his breath.
“I thought you were going to meet us in Minrathous,” Venara said as she and Dorian climbed into the cart.
“I was,” Dorian said. “I had some business nearby and unexpectedly ran into Varric.”
“Unexpectedly ran into?” Varric guffawed. “Is that how you put that? Sparkler, I saved your butt.”
“Excuse me,” Dorian retorted, “you helped me save my own butt, thank you very much.”
“Tell me that again next time you’re out ten sovereigns.”
“Do I even want to ask?” Venara said.
“No,” Varric and Dorian replied, both a little too forcefully.
Sera snickered and disappeared into her hood.
The wind picked up, blowing fearsomely across the highway. Venara pulled her cloak tighter.
“Bit nippy, isn’t it?” Dorian said. “This is how you know things are going sideways. It never snows this far north and now look what’s happening.”
A snowflake sailed down and landed on Venara’s outreached hand. She blew it away. “Well, that’s why we’re going to Minrathous,” she said.
Silence fell, the weight of Venara’s words missed by none. For a moment, there were only the sounds of the rattling cart, the clomping of the horse’s hooves on the ground, and the bitter wind.
The sun was setting now in earnest and darkness slunk across the sky when the cart crested the last hill. Venara sat up on her haunches and looked down into the valley at a sprawling city below. One by one, sparkling lights came on in windows across the city as lanterns were lit and fires stoked in their hearths.
They had made it at last.
“Welcome to Vol Dorma,” Dorian said, gesturing grandly. “Imperial capital of crime, black market dwarven crafts and, strangely enough, pig farming. Charming place.”
“Sounds exciting,” Venara said.
“As long as I get to put my feet up, I’m comfy,” Sera said.
“Aren’t you doing that already?” Dorian pointed out, eyeing her. She was lying flat on her back, a piece of stray hay stuck between her teeth, her feet resting on the cart’s rail.
Sera rolled her eyes. “I meant in a tavern,” she said. “Duuuuuh.”
Venara chuckled and caught Varric’s eye as he glanced over his shoulder to listen to Dorian and Sera’s bickering. “No regrets, I hope, Inquisitor,” he said.
“What? Travelling towards the Imperial’s capital of crime and pig farming in a rickety cart, having already lost all of our supplies, with the stakes piling up against us every day and no idea what I’m doing?” Venara smiled. “This is just another day in the Inquisition.”
“You disbanded the Inquisition,” Varric pointed out.
“The organization might be gone, but we’re still here,” Venara said. “Doing the same thing we’ve always done—”
“Saving the world on a hope and a dream?” Varric said.
Venara nodded. “And frankly,” she added, glancing around at her friends and smiling brightly, “there really is no other place I’d rather be.”