Chapter Text
Nemaya is like the sun. She is made of gold and warmth. But right now, Nemaya is laying in the snow, and the cold bites, burns her skin. The Anchor burns too, in a different way. If it didn't flicker so painfully, she would think the green of the mark is a pretty color. But she doesn't think that. She thinks, she knows that she is dying because she can't move her body no matter how hard she tries to get up. She struggles to keep her eyes open, because exhaustion hits her. She's so tired. She can't feel the cold anymore, she can't feel anything at all. She forgets about Haven, about Corypheus. The thought of her imminent death escapes her. Finally, she convinces herself to rest her eyes, because it's useless to fight a battle she won't win. Just five minutes, she thinks, just five minutes and then i'll get up and I'll find them, him, again.
When she regains consciousness, she can barely open her eyes because the white pain of a headache blinds her. Her body feels sore and she knows better than to move her left arm. The burning pain is less present but it still lingers. Then she realizes her body is covered in warmth and softness. She can hear voices but they seem so far away. She isn't worried but she doesn't know why.
She feels like she should be dead, and that death should be cold and sensationless. But she feels too much at once. Safe, in pain, protected, hungry, warm. She doesn't know where she is, and she can't call for help because she realizes her throat and her lips are dry. Only hoarse sounds come from her mouth. So she stays silent and she falls back asleep.
The next time she wakes up, it's to the sound of her advisors arguing. They found her, she realizes. She is very much alive. She survived the blizzard and she knows it is because of the mark. She decides to tentatively open her eyes. She wants to know if it's real or if it's a really mediocre joke from the Fade. The headache makes its presence known quickly but it doesn't hurt her as much as it did before. She doesn't try to move her body but her eyes are enough to guess where she is. She is in a tent, it seems. Big enough to have a bed, a table and a chair. On the table, there are plants and potions. She can smell the familiar scent of elfroot and it's almost comforting. The chair is very close to her bed and it's turned to face the bed. Someone has been watching over her while she slept and she hopes she didn't say anything embarrassing in her slumber.
The dispute that woke her up abruptly stops and someone enters the tent. The Commander. Cullen. He looks annoyed and exhausted. She wants to kiss the frown away from his face. A foolish thought. But he doesn't realize she's awake until hes sitting on the chair and their eyes meet. He is surprised, that much is obvious, as it is written all over his face. But he also looks so relieved, and it somehow makes him look younger. The wild curls on top of his head and the absence of his breastplate and the fur he usually wears on his shoulders surely help a great deal too.
" Nem- Herald, " he stops himself, her name burning the tip of his tongue. And it stings. She wishes he'd say her name. Her actual name. Not a stupid meaningless title. She wonders what it would sound like, if he actually said it, if he didn't stop himself from pronouncing it with false politeness. " Herald, you are awake. "
" Indeed, I am. " Her voice sounds rough and saying words is a struggle on itself. At least the Commander is kind enough to help her sit up on the bed so she can drink some water. That's when she realizes why he doesn't wear his fur. It's because she has been the one using it, not consciously of course, as an extra blanket.
“ Aren’t you cold ? “ He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even move. He just looks at her, dumbfounded. At last, he rubs his neck, like he does when he’s nervous.
“ I just- I thought you might need it more than me. “ He offers her a shy smile. His hand is still in the back on his neck, playing nervously with his blond curls.
“ Please, take it back. It wouldn’t be good if you caught a cold. What kind of man leads his troops with a sore throat ? ” And he laughs. It’s a lovely sound, one that warms up her heart, one that makes her smile. He picks up his mantle without a word and Nemaya can’t help but stare. He’s big, she realizes. He’s taller than most of the humans she met, his shoulders are broad and his hands are wide and calloused, and she wonders what it would felt like to hold his hand. But she'd rather not think about it, now. The commander has his coat back on and it feels right. He looks like everything he represents. Strength, determination, focus.
“ I shall leave you to rest, now. “ This time, he doesn’t say her name, he doesn’t call her by her title. But it’s better that way, it doesn’t hurt. She simply nods and she falls asleep before he leaves the tent.
The next time she wakes up, her advisors are arguing. Again. But this time, Mother Giselle is at her side. Nemaya sits up and rubs her eyes.
“ You need to rest. “
“ But they’ve been at it for hours. Screaming at each other doesn’t help… and it certainly doesn’t help my headache. “
“ But they have that luxury, thanks to you. “
Nemaya doesn’t say anything. She just glares at the green, blinding mark on her hand and she remembers. She remembers the fear she felt, the red of the templars and the white of the snow. She remembers feeling worthless when Corypheus picked her up and threw her against a barricade, as if she weighed nothing. She remembers how easily she could have died that day, how fragile she is. She can’t take her eyes off the Anchor. It feels like it’s mocking her. It hurts and it burns her very core. It’s killing her but it’s keeping her alive too.
She decides to get up. It’s hard at first. Her legs are wobbly and she fears she might fall. But she finally makes it out of the tent, with little steps. The cold air caresses her skin. She welcomes it and she takes a minute to breath it in. It feels good, and it makes her feel alive. But she doesn’t have the time to appreciate that feeling, because everyone looks devastated and helpless. And she feels out of place. She should say something, but she doesn’t know what. But before she can think, she feels Mother Giselle’s hand on her shoulder.
And she sings.
The others join her. They march towards them and they kneel in front of Nemaya. She feels overwhelmed, so overwhelmed. She feels her own heart’s pulses in her ears, her mouth and her throat feel dry. She can’t make out the words they’re singing, but it doesn’t matter because they look at her, eyes shining with hope and suddenly, for the very first time, it feels right. Their voices resonate in the mountains and their hearts beat as one. The dawn will come.
Nemaya feels like passing out again, after that. But Solas asks to talk to her, so she follows him, wary.
Solas makes her uneasy.
He knows things that she doesn’t, it feels like he’s too smart, like he knows too much for his own good, for anyone's good. He’s a powerful mage and she is glad he’s not working against her. Against the Inquisition. But if he wanted, he could destroy it from the inside. It’s best not to think about that right now.
He has a solution (again, she thinks) : an old unused fortress that they could use as a shelter.
“ It is almost as if you were the one sent by Andraste. “
“ But I am not the one with the mark, da’len. “
Her hand flickers and she clenches her fist. This is not a blessing, this is a painful curse. And she can't help but hope that someday the people will notice that shes nothing but a charlatan. There is nothing holy about her, and everytime they worship her, she feels her own identity disappear a little.
But at least, they have a place where they can go.
The journey is rough and tiring, for everyone. Nemaya uses her broken staff to help her walk. It’s the only thing that she owned that wasn’t destroyed by the Conclave. But now, it’s broken, and even if she still can use it, it’s not the same as before. She feels like she’s not worthy of her clan anymore.
During their journey, she thinks about her life before. She thinks about the aravels, the hallas, the forests and the plains. She thinks about her clan, her family, her keeper. But it’s when she thinks about Athexth that it's the most painful.
She can't give up now. Because Skyhold is right there, in front of their eyes. It looks majestic and old. She can feel the magic escaping from the place and its making her blood sing. They only need to walk a bit more and they will be safe.
When they arrive at Skyhold, the advisors organize a ceremony. Nemaya becomes the official leader of the inquisition. As if she didn't already have so much to do, she thinks bitterly. But she accepts it nonetheless, branding the heavy sword toward the sky while the people chants her new title. She feels less and less like herself.
Once it's over, she finds a room where no one will find her and she cries and cries and cries. It feels good for a moment, but the tears dry quickly and she has to keep her head up. The people can't see her like this.
Because after all, she is their Leader, their Herald, their Inquisitor.