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Chapter Text

Cassandra hears the flaring of the mark as she and Leliana approach. It echoes the sky, every time. The connection is obvious, and it fuels her. Her rage and grief do the same. Finally, the prisoner is well enough to be questioned. To be held accountable. She wrenches open the door and the human woman looks up, tears tracking clean lines down her dirt streaked face. Cassandra holds no sympathy. The mark on her is her own doing, its pain is the least of what she deserves.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you know,” the Seeker growls. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” The woman’s stare is blank with shock.

“Everyone?” her broken voice barely audible, “What do you mean everyone is dead?” Cassandra ignores it.

“Explain this !” Cassandra demands, pulling up the small woman by her wrist as the mark flares again, as the sky rumbles in return.

“I can’t! I don’t know what that is!” she squeaks.

“You’re lying!” Leliana catches her hand before she can strike.

“We need her Cassandra,” she says, as calm as she can, and she’s right. Cassandra dislikes that, but it’s true.

“Everyone is dead? You’re certain? No one else survived?”

“No, you’re the only one,” Cassandra replied lowly as the prisoner’s breath hitched. “Convenient for you.”

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” Leliana asks after a beat.

“I remember running. Things were chasing me. And then… a woman?”

“A woman?”

“She reached out to me, but then…” When it was clear the prisoner could say no more, Cassandra looked over to her companion.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” With an incline of her head, the woman left.

“What is it that happened?” the prisoner asked in a small voice as Cassandra tied her small, shaking hands together.

“It would be easier to show you.” When they get outside, she inhales a small gasp. “We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?”

“This one did. Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.” The sky cracks again as the mark on the prisoner’s hand opens up to flash its own light in kind. She falls to the ground with a whimper, and Cassandra stands over her.  “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.” 

“So I’m the only one who can do anything?”

“It is our only chance.” The prisoner looks up, the green light reflecting eerily against her pale eyes. Beneath the grime, she looks young. “Fine. I’ll do whatever I can.”

As the prisoner is lead through the town, the villagers look on with hatred in their eyes. She walks with her head down, shoulders hunched as though she is trying to hide.

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.” The Seeker sees the woman’s lips move, but she does not make out the words. As the gate is opened, she does not care. Instead, she continues. “We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the breach is sealed.” When she pulls out her dagger the prisoner flinches, but she goes on to cut through the bindings. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.”

“I don’t think you can even promise that when I could end up dead after all this,” the young woman mutters. The Seeker only nods.

“Come, it’s not far.”

“It looks far,” she replies, staring at the sky with a frown.

“Not there, something smaller than the Breach. The mark must be tested.”

As they make their way Cassandra counts at least thirty dead. Her heart is cold, and she doesn’t realize how distracted she had become until she hears a cry of pain, and the sound of the prisoner falling into the snow behind her. She helps the young woman back to her feet, the prisoner holding her wrist longer than she liked, eyes squeezed shut as she panted. The top of her head hardly passed her shoulder, the Seeker noticed.

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

“How did I even live…”

“They said you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.” 

As the two of them get to the bridge it is hit, sending them down with the rubble to the luckily frozen-solid river. Cassandra hardly has time to thank Andraste for the weather before a Shade forms before her. “Stay behind me,” she yells, armed in an instant. When an arrow flies past her ear and into the last Shade’s face she turns, pointing her sword. “Drop your weapon. Now .” The young woman scowls, but complies. As she begins to remove the quiver Cassandra changes her mind. “Wait. I cannot protect you, I cannot expect you to be defenseless.” The young woman sighed and bent back down to retrieve the bow. “I should remember that you agreed to come willingly.” She heard the prisoner huff a quiet yeah, you should , as she took some health potions from her belt, but she decided to ignore it. “Take these. Maker knows what we will face.” 

“What about your soldiers?”

“They are at the forward camp. We will be on our own until we reach it.” When she looks back the woman has pulled on a helmet. It shields her face, and cassandra does not think she wants to know where it was found.

The prisoner is a skilled archer, the Seeker finds, as the small woman hangs back from the fights, finding high ground on rocks and taking out shades and wraiths, keeping the warrior from becoming overwhelmed. As they climb the steps, they hear fighting.

“Who’s fighting?”

“You will see, we must help them.” When they reach the skirmish she is pleased, if to varied levels, to see Solas and Varric still alive. As she looks up from her kill she sees Solas holding the woman’s hand up to the rift, the Mark seeming to draw it in. She pulls her hand back, when it’s gone, and holds it to her chest. 

“What did you do?” she asks, startled.

“ I did nothing, the credit is yours.” The woman looks down and opens her fist.

“So it’s good for something.”

“Indeed. Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. 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.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra stated.

“Possibly.” He turned to the prisoner. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever,” Varric said crudely, before introducing himself to the young woman. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He winked at Cassandra, and her scowl prompted a small giggle from beneath the visor of the helmet.

“Nice crossbow.” Varric brightened at the observation.

“Ah, isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

“You’ve named her?”

“Of course. And she’ll be great company in the valley.”

 “Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

 “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.” Cassandra made a disgusted noise, and the prisoner glanced between the two men.

“Well, my name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the elf stated when she looked his direction.

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’”

“Well, I’m no use dead,” the prisoner chuckled darkly. “Thank you.”

“Thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process. Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen.Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

“Well, Bianca’s excited!”

As they fought their way to the forward camp, Cassandra was grateful there was more than just the prisoner fighting with her. She heard Varric call himself impressive and snorted. The prisoner stopped short on the steps; leaning against the face of the cliff she gasped in pain as the mark grew bright.

“Shit, you alright?” Varric asked, stopping behind her.

“No,” she answered. Quiet, but honest. Cassandra frowned, walking past her.

“I know it’s difficult, but we must keep moving.” The woman nodded and took a deep breath before pushing onward. Solas fell into pace beside her.

“My magic cannot stop the mark from growing further, Seeker. We must hurry.”

“We are going as fast as we can.”

“So… are you innocent?” Varric asked ahead of them.

“I don’t remember what happened.”

“That’ll get you every time. Should have spun a story.”

“That’s what you would have done,” Cassandra stated, sour.

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

As they made their way through, she worried for her friend. As the prisoner closed the rift that hung between them and the camp, Cassandra wondered, and hoped, that that rift hadn’t opened until Leliana had gone past.

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful,” Varric stated.

“I just hope it’s useful enough,” the woman sighed.

“What about the breach?” the young woman demanded, cutting off the argument, “I think closing that thing needs to be the more pressing issue!”

“ You brought this on us in the first place!” Chancellor Roderick yelled back. The prisoner stood tense, fuming, Cassandra could tell even with her face covered.

“Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” she insisted.

 “How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest,” Leliana pointed out. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.”

“Listen to me. Abandon this now, before more lives are lost.” They looked over at the Prisoner as she tried to suppress the whimper of pain when the mark flared again.

“How do you think we should proceed?” Cassandra asked her.

“Use the mountain path. Work together. You all know what’s at stake.” Cassandra’s face went cold with displeasure.

“Leliana. Bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.”

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” Roderick growled.

When they find what’s left of the missing soldiers, Cassandra is relieved. So is the prisoner, it seems, but they push forward until they reach the temple. 

“That is where you walked out the Fade and our soldiers found you.” Cassandra tells her when she stops short, hand over her mouth. “They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.” The prisoner progresses slowly, seeming to linger on every corpse she sees.

“If you are looking for the entrance it is ahead of us,” Cassandra snapped in her annoyance.

“I’m not,” The prisoner replied harshly. Varric raised his eyebrows.

“May I ask what it is you are looking for?” Solas ventured. For a moment the young woman was silent.

“M-my sister, she…” the prisoner choked back a sob. She suddenly sounded very, very young. Cassandra felt her heart sink against her will, her better judgement. It would be nothing but a tale to make herself sympathetic. “She was meant to be here… I came to see her- it-it was the only way I could-” The prisoner has lain her eyes on something that rendered her speechless, and sank to her knees.

“We do not have time for your stories,” The Seeker growled, grabbing her under the arm and hauling her away. The young woman screamed and twisted, hand digging into the scorched, bloody earth next to a skull. Solas and Varric saw it come away with something round in her palm. She held her right hand to her chest, hiccuping, and they wondered if she could even breathe. Cassandra dragged her down the stairs, and they followed until they overlooked the center of the temple. The Seeker let go, and the woman fell back to her knees as Leliana and her men ran up from behind.

“You’re here! Thank the Maker.”

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple.” The Sister nodded, and went to give directions. As she did, Cassandra went down on one knee to address the prisoner.

“This is your chance to end this. You need to be ready.” The woman nodded, putting the object into one of her pouches and pushing her hands up beneath the ill-fitting helmet to wipe her eyes. “Then let’s find a way down, and be careful.”

As they began to spiral toward the bottom, voices started to echo around them.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked.

“At a guess: The person who created the Breach.” Solas answered. They pushed on.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.”

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what it’s doing here?”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” Solas mused.

“It’s evil. Whatever you do don’t touch it.”

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

“Someone help me!”

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra exclaimed.

“Someone help me!”

“What’s going on here?”

“That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…” Then they saw it, the red energy trapping the Divine, the dark figure, the prisoner, rushing in. “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I, I don’t remember,” the young woman said, her voice still fragile.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place,” Solas told them.  “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons. Stand ready!” Cassandra commanded. The prisoner opened the rift, and the fade broke loose. Disrupting the rift was the only thing that threw off the demons defenses, but doing so opened the prisoner up for attacks, and that stopped the disruption entirely. Whenever Cassandra realized they were no longer doing damage, she ran to the rift to be her guard, to keep the shades occupied while Varric and Solas readied to deal the first hits once the demon was defenseless once more. It was only right, with how she had been guarding her weak points from demons their way up to the temple.

Eventually the demon was slain, and the prisoner raised her left hand to the rift.

When the seconds ticked by, far beyond what it had taken to close any of the others, Cassandra and Solas exchanged fearful glances.

“Come on! You can do this!” Varric yelled, but he was wrong. With a final pulse of green, the prisoner screamed in anguish and collapsed.

The rift remained.

Cassandra carried her to the camp, and she was discomforted by how small the young woman was, and how she herself had acted. If the vision really had been true… this woman had lost someone important to her, just as Cassandra had. She hoped the woman would live so that she could apologize.

It was two days before Josephine had any idea about the identity of their survivor, their Herald, as people had begun to call her. She seemed to be a Trevelyan, as Josephine had guessed from her looks when they had found her, but the only two members of the family sent with the Chantry had been men. That left only one child that could not be accounted for by them: Roselia, who had been taken to a circle when she was 13, 4 years ago. But Solas had not detected their survivor to be a mage, and insisted that he had not hidden her true nature from them if she was.

There was, however, a black sheep or two in the Trevelyan lineage, and Josephine based her assumption on such.

Cienna was several years older than Roselia, and had not been heard from in nearly a year. She was the most likely candidate for their rogue archer, despite her youthful appearance. The only candidate, considering the only other two sisters were married, and still in school.

And so she wrote to the Trevelyan family to share her condolences, and inform them of Cienna's resurfacing.

Chapter Text

“Have you gone completely mad?” Chancellor Roderick exclaimed. “She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.”

 “I do not believe she is guilty,” Cassandra replied.

“The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way.”

“I do not believe that.”

 “That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to the serve the Chantry.”

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours,” she spat. Before the argument could go forward the door to the war room opened to reveal the Herald. The girl, for Cienna Trevelyan was not much beyond her teenage years they had found and nearly half Cassandra’s own age, looked even smaller in armor that fit her. Chancellor Roderick did not let that hinder him.

 “Chain her. I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.” The Herald stepped back, eyes widening.

“Disregard that and leave us,” Cassandra ordered. The guards saluted her, and left them.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick growled.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” she spat. The Herald spoke up, quietly, still at the door as if she were ready to run.

“I-I did everything I could, I almost died from it.”

“Yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.” The girl’s lower lip wobbled.

 “Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face.” 

Leliana spoke up.

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live.”

“ I am a suspect?”

“You, and many others.”

“But not the prisoner.”

“I heard the voices in the temple,” said Cassandra. “The Divine called to her for help.”

“So her survival, that thing on her hand – all a coincidence?”

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

“You...changed your mind?” Cienna asked. The woman looked at her grimly.

 “I was wrong. Perhaps I still am. I will not, however, pretend you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it.” The girl stared at the ground.

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

“This is not for you to decide.” Roderick seethed.

Cassandra slammed a heavy book on the table, regretting the noise as the girl jumped but moving on nonetheless.

“You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.” Roderick, understanding that she was to have the last word, finally left in a huff. 

“This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old,” Leliana said. “Find those who will stand against the chaos.” The woman sighed, turning to her friend. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: We must act now. With you at our side.” The Herald pursed her lips, staring at the book between them.

“If you’re really trying to fix this….”

“That is the plan.”

“Help us fix this before it’s too late,” Cassandra implored. The girl looks at her, finally, and nods.

“Hey,” Varric says by way of greeting when he sees the young Herald jump down the stone ledge to the campfire.

“Hey.”

“So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up all right? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

“None of this should have happened…”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he sighed. “For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“I’m still not sure I believe that any of this is really happening.”

“If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there is a damn good punch line coming. You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

“Whoever killed my sister will need a miracle to save him,” the girl muttered, her hand closing over her pocket. Varric looked at her sadly.

“I’m sorry about her, Cienna.” A flash of confusion crossed her face, and he nearly missed it as she was looking down. “I overheard Josephine saying a couple of your older brothers were there as well.”

"Those two liked me less than Chancellor Roderick does. They aren't exactly a loss to me."

"That's pretty harsh," Varric observed, eyebrows raised.

"That's just the Trevelyan line for you."

"Any other siblings?" The Herald paused.

"A few. I have another older brother, but he was taken to the circle before I could know him. My older sister is married. Rosalia was after me, and we have another brother between her and Ivary."

"Big family."

"It's difficult to notice how many kids you really have when you send them all away to the Chantry for schooling." The Dwarf did not miss the bitterness in her voice. “I’m sorry. I have more important things to do than complain about my family.”

“Take care now, Herald.”

When Lady Trevelyan returned to the Chantry, Cassandra was there to take her back to the war room. When the woman looked over she saw her circling her palm with the thumb of her bandaged hand. Burns, Adan had said. They would scar. Cassandra hadn’t any idea what could have caused it.

“Does it trouble you?” she asked eventually, referring to the mark.

“It didn’t close the Breach.”

“You did everything we asked of you.”

“And that still didn’t work,” the girl replied softly. Cassandra sighed.

“What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed – provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.” They entered the war room. “May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.” The Herald opened her mouth as though to speak, and then decided better of it.

 “This is lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

“I’ve heard much. A pleasure to meet you at last.”

“And of course you know Sister Leliana.”

“My position here involves a degree of…”

“She is our spymaster.”

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

“Pleased to meet you all.”

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.”

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.” Leliana stated.

“And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well.” Cullen replied. The Herald wondered to herself if they had been arguing about this the entire time she was out meeting people in town.

“We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark–”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so–”

“Pure speculation.”

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

“Unfortunately,” Leliana said dismissively, turning away from him entirely, “neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically.”

“That didn’t take long.”

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

“Some are calling you the ‘Herald of Andraste,’” Josephine informed, “and that frightens the Chantry. The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra said.

“It limits our options. Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question.”

“Just how am I the 'Herald of Andraste’?”

“People saw what you did at the temple,” Cassandra told her, “how you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading–” Leliana began.

“Which we have not.”

“The point is, everyone is talking about you.”

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” Cullen asked.

“I’m no herald of anything,” she scowled.

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign.” The Sister said lightly.

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

 “They aren’t more concerned about the Breach? The real threat?”

“They do know that it is a threat, they just don’t think we can stop it.” Cullen replied.

“The Chantry is telling everyone that you’ll make it worse.” said Josephine. The herald frowned.

“Oh, and them doing nothing will make it better ?” Cullen bit back a snicker.

 “There is something you can do,” Leliana assured. “A Chantry Cleric by the name Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“Why would someone from the Chantry help a declared heretic?”

“I understand she is a reasonable sort. Perhaps she doesn’t agree with her sisters?”

“Perhaps….”

“You’ll find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you’re there.”

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them.”

“In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”

“You should take care not to over exert yourself, Herald,” Solas warned when he saw her leave Adan’s cabin. She had dropped off the papers she was carrying, but there was still a bag of iron ore slung over her shoulder.

“I spent three days asleep, and I’d prefer not to be called that.”

“Herald?” he asked curiously. “Is that not what you are?” She sighed sharply through her nose.

“No. I understand why people think that, but. If Andraste chose anyone they should actually follow her.”

“Do you not believe in the Maker?”

“Are you kidding? In this world? With that thing in the sky, especially? No God who cares, or pays any attention to us at all, would allow this. People say hardship is to test us. Why would anyone want to make people suffer and then have the gall to say it helps them? No one like that should be considered a God.”

“You seem to have thought a great deal about this, Lady Trevelyan.” The elf smiled. The girl scowled at the dirt and shifted the bag of ores.

“My family is very religious.”

“Is that why you went missing?” She paused.

“Part of it.”

“Is something else troubling you?”

“I never told anyone my name. How do you all know who I am?”

“Lady Josephine had her suspicions based off of your appearance, and wrote your family. You’re the only daughter of theirs they have lost contact with.” She hummed to herself. “Are you not actually Cienna Trevelyan?”

“If you were wrong, I would have corrected you,” she said finally, turning and walking away.

While they waited for Leliana’s people to scout the Hinterlands, the Herald of Andraste spent her time training with Cullen's archers and scavenging for herbs. Cassandra even caught her carrying a ram back into Haven with Varric for butchering. She had a poor opinion of the Maker, but she did not scoff or start debate when she or Leliana expressed their faith.

“What do you think of being called Herald, then?” She had asked once when they were eating together.

“I think I’m a victim of circumstance, but if people need to see me as sent by Andraste in order to have hope, then that is how I will be seen.”

The energy the young Herald had for scaling the hills and cliffs of the Hinterlands was an exhausting and unwanted reminder to Cassandra and Varric of their age. The skill and speed with which she could climb a tree for a vantage point did nothing to help. Her lack of concern for herself when jumping down heights rather than finding proper paths stressed Cassandra to no end. It was nearly childish.

“She’s from a noble house, Seeker, this is probably the most freedom she’s ever had outside,” Varric said as the three of them watched her slide down a sheer cliff face. 

“I swear to the Maker,” the woman muttered, watching as the Trevelyan’s foot caught on a patch of grass and sent her rolling down to the path they, the proper adults, were taking.

“I’m fine!” the Herald called up to them. 

“Watch that you do not break your bow,” Solas warned.

“I don’t roll on my back.”

“What are you rolling on then, your ass?” Varric laughed.

“And my elbows.”

“Oh. Hm.” Cassandra snorted.

By the end of their first day they had set up four additional campsites and met with Mother Giselle after helping other Inquisition forces clear the town.

"Tomorrow we need to go hunting and find those supply caches," the Herald stated while they ate around the fire.

"You're really working us to the bone, kid," Varric chuckled.

"I'm not a kid."

"You're half my age, Herald. That's kid enough for me ."

"My mother had two children already when she was my age."

"Well that seems like her problem, doesn't it?" 

The Herald snickered. "I guess."

“So, what is it you did after losing touch with your family?” Solas asked after a moment of silence.

“I just kind of… wandered.”

“For a whole year?” Cassandra questioned, eyebrows raised.

“Sometimes I would stay in a village for a couple months, take cutting of herbs for people or hunt for the butcher in the area. Helped with a harvest this past season, too.”

“Huh. Wouldn’t expect an Orlesian Noble to be interested in that kind of work,” Varric said lightly. The Herald shrugged

“More useful than getting stuck into the Chantry. I mean, I’m out here, herbs that our refugees need supplied are all around us; if Mother or Father had ever had their ways I’d be useless out here.”

“Not much love for your parents, huh?” Varric chuckled.

“Their love is conditional. Mine will be as well.”

“You keep a journal?” Cassandra asked after watching the girl scribble away in a thick leather bound book for a moment. She had a slab of wood in her lap, functioning as a makeshift desk. The Herald’s hand paused.

“Yes.”

“You must be sure that no one gets a hold of it.”

“Anything more than field notes is coded. Not even any of you could get information out of it if you tried, unless you were looking for the medical applications for elfroot.” She blew delicately over the page before closing it. The Seeker noticed a fancily scripted letter I embossed in gold on the cover, complementing the purple tinted leather.

“Why and ‘I’ and not a ‘C’?” she asked, frowning.

“If it were a ‘C’ it’d be more obvious it were mine,” she answered simply.

“You put an awful lot of forethought into…” Deception didn’t feel like the right word. “Concealing information,” the woman decided on. “Even before your position in the Inquisition.”

“People like Leliana and those who work for her are always looking for information, and the game is delicate. Just because I don’t play doesn’t mean I have not learned.” The Seeker nodded.

“That knowledge should suit you well then.”

“I hope it will.”

By the time they returned to Haven they had secured Master Dennet’s horses as well as the man himself, closed all the rifts they had found in the region, and gained enough power to address the Chantry. The Inquisition was doing well for itself.

Chapter Text

Their trip to Val Royeaux had not gone well, to say the least. They had made two allies, and gotten a connection with a woman who could supply Haven with food, but the scene put on by the Templars did not bode well.

Lady Trevelyan quickly tired of Leliana and Cullen’s arguing over if they should meet with the Mages or investigate the Templars.

“I am worried about what’s going on with the Templars,” she admitted to Solas as she sat cross-legged on top of the low stone wall by the stairs he always stood near, elbows on her knees and chin in her hands, “but I’d rather get help from the Mages. And help them, too, if we can.”

The Apostate cocked his head. “What is your view on the mage conflict, exactly?” he asked. Cienna furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, looking past him.

“The circles are wrong,” she said finally. “Taking children away from their families is even worse.” Her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath. “I understand the risk of abominations, but there have to be better ways to train mages than locking them away, isolated from the people who care about them, never being able to see them again….”

“This seems very personal to you,” Solas observed.

“I… yes. I guess Varric is the only one of you I’ve talked to about this,” she chuckled quietly. “My oldest brother Themos was taken away before I was old enough to even know him, and no one even spoke about him. I didn’t know he existed until I found an old family portrait from before I was born. Then Roselia…. She was a late bloomer, as far as magic is concerned, I guess. She was 13.”

“Were you close?”

“Closer than anyone in my family, I think.”

“She is who you were at the conclave for.”

“Yes.” The young woman wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand. 

“Is there a possibility she was not there to begin with?” he asked. She shook her head, hand going to one of her pockets.

“When… when we were little… she got an eye infection.” The Apostate frowned, unsure where this was going. “It had to be removed so it wouldn’t spread and kill her.” She held her hand out, palm open. A glass eye peered back at him.

“That is what you grabbed for when Seeker Cassandra pulled you away at the temple,” the man observed. She nodded, sniffling. 

“I am… sorry… for your loss.”

“There’s nothing that any of you could have done to prevent it,” she smiled sadly.

“ I suppose that is true,” Solas agreed through a clenched heart.

“This isn’t right, this isn’t right at all.”

Cassandra frowned. “It is hard to believe how the Tevinter could have beaten us here,” she admitted. “And for Fiona to not have been in Val Royeaux at all….”

“Whatever is going on, Felix seems like he wants to help us,” the girl said, showing the woman the note.

“Couldn’t it be a trap?”

“It’s the best we have. Besides, we bested three bears at once and survived, I’m pretty sure we can make it through whatever Tevinter considers to be a trap.” Varric laughed, and Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. Before they had a chance to leave the tavern someone called out for Lady Trevelyan. 

Not for the Inquisition, not for the Herald of Andraste, but for Trevelyan. 

Cassandra stepped between him and the Herald as he rushed forward, hand on the hilt of her sword.

“Who are you?” the Seeker demanded.

“Themos,” the man said, startled, “Themos Trevelyan, I- I just want to see my sister, please-”

“It’s okay, Cassandra.” The woman looked over her shoulder to meet pleading  green eyes, and nodded solemnly, stepping back. The oldest brother scooped their small Herald up under her arms and held her tight.

“Could we have a moment alone?” the girl asked. Her party obliged, waiting outside the Chantry while the siblings had a quiet reunion behind the tavern.

“You think maybe this is why she wanted to help the Mages?” Varric asked.

“I don’t think she could have known her brother was here,” Solas said. “She was too young when the Circle took him away for her to have any memories of him.”

“She’s doing it in memory of her sister,” Cassandra stated. Solas looked at her.

“She spoke to you about Roselia?”

“I had to apologise for my actions at the temple, did I not?”

“You? Apologizing? The world must be ending after all,” Varric laughed. The Seeker did not dignify him with a response.

“Fascinating,” the stranger exclaimed after the Herald had closed the rift. “How does it work exactly?” She only stared at him. “You don’t even know, do you?” the man chuckled. “You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes!”

“Who are you?”

“Ah- I’m getting ahead of myself again. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently, of Minrathis. How do you do?

“Another Tevinter,” Cassandra scowled, “be cautious with this one.”

“Suspicious friends you have here,” the man grinned. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable. As I am sure you can imagine.

“I was expecting Felix to be here,” The young Herald admitted.

“I’m sure he is on his way. He was to give you the note, and then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“Why Are you helping us?”

“In order to reach Redcliff before you, Alexius distorted time itself. The magic Alexius is using is wildey unstable, and Its unraveling the world. I helped develop this magic, when I was his apprentice it was pure theory. But somehow he’s managed to get it to work, and I don’t understand why. Ripping apart time just to acquire a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them,” Felix said by way of announcing himself.

“Took you long enough! Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card, I thought he’d be fussing over me all day. My Father’s joined a cult, Tevinter supremacists called the Venetori. Whatever it is he’s done, he’s done it to get to you.”

“All this for me? And I didn’t get Alexius anything,” Lady Trevelyan joked, unsure how else to seem calm about all of this.

“Send him a fruit basket,” Dorian chuckled, “Everybody loves those.” The mage became serious again. “You know you’re his target.” She nodded. “Expecting a trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliff, Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way. But, whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there.” He began to walk away before looking back to the other man. “Oh, and Felix? Do try not to get yourself killed.”

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian.”

The Herald had to agree.

“I have to admit, you look a fair bit younger than I expected,” Dorian said, trying to lighten the mood. The Red Lyrium made her golden hair look like fire as she glared at him.

“Does that change anything for you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he responded, watching her dig through a chest.

“The mark doesn’t care how old I am, neither does anyone else. I have to deal with this shit all the same.”

“You seem bitter.”

“Yes, well,” she sighed, gesturing around them, “we aren’t exactly in an environment of positivity.”

She didn't say much after that, single minded determination driving her forward, sweeping through rooms for anything useful and killing guards before anyone knew they were there. They didn't stop until she nearly skidded to a halt at the sight of an imprisoned human mage. She went up to the bars, but he showed no signs of seeing her at all. He prayed with a distorted voice, his body glowing like the Lyrium in his cell.

"Themos?" Dorian heard her ask timidly. She got no response. She heaved a shaky sigh and turned away, wiping her eyes when she thought Dorian wasn't looking.

"Someone you're close with?" He asked.

"An acquaintance."

"You seem a bit emotional to consider him just an acquaintance." She glared at him over her shoulder.

"The Circle took him away before I was born," she replied shortly. "I did not meet him until yesterday in Redcliff."

It wasn't until they found Fiona that true horror settled in. All this had happened, and only a year had passed.

"What are you doing," he asked, watching the girl pull what seemed to be a journal from a pocket somewhere within her armor.

"I'm taking notes on what Fiona said happened," she snapped, scribbling away with something he couldn't see. "We'll need it if we want to prevent this once we get back."

"You have faith in me being able to undo this, despite your barbs?" He asked lightly.

"Yes. Don't let me regret saying it."

Dorian had expected her to become more talkative as she was slowly reunited with her friends, but he was incorrect.

"Come on Goldie, pick your chin up, late is better than never!" Varric said cheerfully as she folded a scrap from Alexius' journal beneath the cover of her own, with all the other notes and letter they had found.

"Especially when we had thought you dead," Cassandra agreed.

" 'Late' caused this world to die."

"And there's nothing you can do except go back to your own time, and not be 'late'," Leliana stated in what Dorian assumed was some form of agreement. A grim pair, those two. He wondered if anyone would notice a change, if they ever made it back, or if Lady Trevelyan had always been like this.

A second tear appeared before the throne, only moments after.

"You'll have to do better than that," the mage cried triumphantly, but Varric wasn't looking at him.

The Herald looked awful, her armor caked in blood, fresh blood, and her quiver was empty. The twin daggers on her hip dripped slow drops of crimson onto the floor as Alexius sank to his knees with defeat.

He was happy for the kid when she was able to offer the Inquisition as an ally to Fiona, he knew she wanted the mages free, but he didn't want congratulations to get in the way of concern.

Dorian took over the discussion about what they had seen as they took the cart ride back to Haven. Every once in a while Varric or Cassandra would glance over at the Herald, but she would not comment, or even give evidence to her listening.

She lay still and silent, a pillow behind her head and a bedroll clutched to her chest, and she stared at the Breach.

Chapter Text

“Our ravens flying in from the Free Marshes have been being attacked. We believe that someone is intercepting messages from your family,” said Lady Josephine. She had caught the Herald as she was preparing for bed, out of her armor and taking down her long hair. “Leliana’s people may have to intervene.” 

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Lady Trevelyan replied curtly. “I doubt they wish to offer help, and if they do it will not be without conditions. There will be better alliances to put effort toward.”

“What would the letters contain if they are not offering help?”

“Declarations of Heresy and demands that I return so they can use me for a political alliance, I would assume.”

“Have you run from marriage before?” the Ambassador asked, eyebrow raised.

“No. And I don’t intend to be put in the position to.” Josephine considered that for a moment.

“We will still have to notify them that their messages are being intercepted.” The Herald pursed her lips.

“Very well then.”

“Does that displease you?”  The young woman sighed.

“I have more important things to concern myself with. I will see you in the morning, have a good night.”

Josephine watched the shorter girl leave. She had not answered her question.

"Lady Vivienne?"

The woman turned, casting her eyes upon the brown haired man. He wrung his hands, looking apologetic.

"Yes?"

"The Herald is… on her cycle," he said carefully, "she's never had it before-" the woman raised her eyebrows in alarm "-had it be so painful before, I mean," he corrected quickly. "I was hoping that you may have some other suggestions for helping with the pain, as a Mage, and. Well. A woman."

"And why are you privy to this information?"

"I'm her brother." 

The woman studied his face critically. She could see some resemblance; a squarer tip of the nose, pronounced Cupid's bow, the way their hair swept away from their foreheads to almost form a curl, (though his was more pronounced, his hair being shoulder length rather than down his back).

"Why not ask another apostate? She seems fond of them enough."

"I don't know Fiona well, but my sister knows you , so I had hoped you would be willing to help her." The woman hummed and began to walk away.

"You will need to fetch me a water skin, I will be using Adan's tables."

When Vivienne knocked on and opened the door to the Herald's cabin the girl was on the floor in her small clothes. She looked up from the stretch Cassandra was guiding her through and shrieked.

"Themos no!"

The man who had been entering behind the Enchantress closed his eyes before he saw why, and turned around with such haste that he collided with the door frame.

Vivienne politely closed the door. The bed was undone completely. The Herald's clothes were soaking in a pail of melting snow. A light breakfast lay abandoned on the desk. The window had been pushed open to combat the stench of stale vomit and the hearth lit to combat the resulting winter chill.

"Oh, dear," the enchantress sighed, "you look simply dreadful." The young woman sniffled. "I made you a small potion, it should deal with your nausea and pain, and help you rest properly." She handed her a vial. " This is for a more immediate comfort." Vivienne handed her a water skin. Pinprick holes dotted one side, letting out only steam, while the other side was marked with an edited fire rune. "It would be impractical to lay in a hot bath all day, but these suffice."

"Thank you."

"You are very welcome, dear."

Varric was surprised when Trevelyan walked into the tavern to have supper with them. She looked pale and irritated, and was nearly swimming in the spare robe Leliana had offered her. The Dwarf chuckled to himself. She looked like a kid playing dress up from her mother's wardrobe.

"Hey Goldie, we weren't expecting you!"

"Feeling better, I presume?" Solas eyed her carefully.

"Vivienne's potion helped, but I was nauseous so I haven't really eaten all day," the young woman replied,  setting her bowl of stew down and taking a seat. 

"That is unfortunate." 

Varric slid the basket of sliced bread and tray of butter over to her, which she took enthusiastically.

"You gonna finish the loaf?" Varric chuckled.

"Do either of you want more?" The Dwarf shook his head and Solas waved her offer off. A grin split her face. "Then yes , since mother's not here to stop me ." The men frowned at her comment. She dunked a slice of bread into her stew and took a bite before they could ask anything. They watched her bring the back of her hand to her mouth in mild panic as she exhaled around the food.

"You alright there?" Varric asked, eyebrows raised.

"I'h ho'gh," the young woman replied. He laughed.

"It seems you would benefit from patience," Solas observed with a smile. The girl swatted at him. They all laughed.

She did in fact finish the loaf of bread, as well as an additional bowl of stew and a mug of tea.

"Now that 's an appetite that doesn't match the frame," Varric murmured.

"Perhaps she will grow taller than you yet," Solas replied lightly. Then they both frowned.

"When do humans quit growing, anyway?"

"I cannot say that I am sure."

They were on the move again within the next few days. The Warden joined them, though he didn't exactly mask his surprise. 

"You're really comfortable following a kid through all of this?" He asked while they watched the Herald climb up the side of a cliff to get at some crystal grace.

"Cienna Trevelyan is 21, Warden," Cassandra admonished.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Eh, she wouldn't be mad. Another ally of ours mistook her for a dwarf when they first met," Varric laughed.

"That... would have been my second guess…." Varric laughed harder. Trevelyan poked her head over the side of the cliff.

"What are you laughing at down there?"

"You're short!"

"I'm the same height as you!"

"Yes, and I'm a very good height for a Dwarf." The young woman came sliding down the rocks, Blackwall lurching forward to catch her around the waist. She snickered, but paid him no mind. ("She does that," informed Solas, behind them. "What?" "It's a habit.")

"Then I am also," she replied.

"Then you're what?" Cassandra asked, puzzled.

"Then I am also a good height for a dwarf."

"But you aren't a Dwarf, that 's the problem," Varric noted.

"Unless my mother's been keeping interesting secrets…." The young woman shrugged.

"Oh goodness," the Seeker muttered. Varric died.

"Should we go down and help?" Solas asked, watching the Herald's feet carefully as she stood close to the edge, overlooking the fight on the beach. He heard her flipping pages in her journal.

"No. This is where their Lieutenant told me they would be, and, well it's pretty obvious they're the Chargers. If they were shit they wouldn't be around." 

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, glad you could make it.” The Iron Bull stated, watching the small woman from the cliff approach. Her people stood off to the side, keeping an eye on him. “Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

“The Iron Bull, I presume?” she asked, having to crane her neck to look him in the eyes.

“Yes, the horns usually give that away.” The Qunari opted to sit on a low rock to keep their footing equal. “I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my Lieutenant?”

“Good to see you again. Throat cutters are done, chief.”

“Already? Have them check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem,” the man chuckled.

“None taken. At least a bastard knows who his mother was, put him one up on you Qunari, right?”

“So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“How much is this going to cost me, exactly?”

“I wouldn’t cost you anything personally, unless you want to buy drinks later. You’re ambassador, uh… Josephine. We’d go through her and get the payment set up. Gold will take care of itself. Don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.”

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

“They are, but you’re not just getting the boys, You’re getting me. You need a front line bodyguard. I’m your man. Whatever it is, demons, dragons, the bigger the better. And there’s one other thing, might be useful, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“I’ve heard some.” She narrowed her eyes, reflecting the grey of the coast.

“Spies basically. They’re, well. We’re concerned about the breach.” She raised her eyebrows. “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 back on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

“What would you be sending back?”

“Enough to keep my superiors happy, nothing that will compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they have to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. If I send word of what you’re doing it will put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.” The young woman set her jaw, tapping rhythmically on her thigh as he watched her think.

“We have our own spymaster, Leliana. I want your reports given to her for approval before you send anything.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he smiled. 

Solas, Varric, and Blackwall were the names of her companions, Iron Bull learned. He had sent the Chargers off to Haven without him, wanting to learn more about his new boss.

The rogue was fleet-footed, and could lead her shots with an incredible eye. When a Tevinter warrior grappled her into the fray, too close for her shooting range, she dodged behind him and slit his throat.

“You are quite versatile,” the spy commented. “It would be interesting to try sparring with you.”

“When we get back to Haven?” she asked, wiping blood off of her cheek with a cloth from her belt.

“Yes.”

“Well, if I’m still around after we close the Breach, I don’t see why not.” The man waited until she was far enough ahead of them before he spoke up.

“Is it really possible that closing it will kill her?”

“The rebel mages will be lending power to the mark, it is unlikely that it will affect her the way it did the last time,” Solas answered. “She simply wishes to prepare for the worst, I believe.”

And the worst did come, but not from the Breach. Bull and the Warden watched the Herald’s back as Dorian rained fire lightning and fear upon the things that had once been Templars. They buried the valley, broke down doors, and ran through flaming wreckage to carry survivors back to the Chantry.

When she made them leave her after reaching the last trebuchet Bull could see her resolute expression. He knew: she did not intend to survive.

They ran.

The flare went up.

Haven was flooded with white.

Chapter Text

“You left her Behind?! ” Themos Trevelyan screamed. “What the fuck is Wrong with you people?!”

“We had no choice. She would not let us accompany her any further,” Dorian stated.

“She wouldn’t let you ? She’s just a- Maker’s breath-”

“What’s going on here?” Cullen asked, cutting him off.

“What’s going on here, is that You People let my baby sister go off and die !” The apostate snarled, his staff sparking like kindling on his back.

“She knew the risks-” Themos’ punch sent the Commander of the Inquisition flat on his ass.

“Bullshit. You- all of you have done nothing but make her feel responsible for saving the fucking world, thats why she did this, you pushed her to this.” 

“We will search for her when we have made camp,” Blackwall said, hauling Cullen back to his feet. “Sacrificing Haven won’t mean anything if everyone we saved dies from exposure out here.” The disowned Trevelyan glared daggers at the Commander as the man held his gushing nose.

“You had better know exactly what you’re doing, Templar,” he hissed before stalking away, snow melting in his wake.

When they had caught up with the others Cassandra looked up from the tent she was helping pitch. She quickly finished what she was doing and ran over.

“The Herald, is she…?” The Iron Bull shook his head.

“We will search for her as soon as we have dealt with everything here,” Cullen assured her. The Seeker looked at him in alarm.

“What happened?”

“She has a brother with the mages, apparently.”

“Themos did that?”

“You know him?”

“Of course. I’m sorry you were not informed.” She pulled the man off to the healers to fix his nose. “Do you think….”

“If anyone can, it would be her.” After a moment a shadow fell over them, and they looked up to see Cole standing there.

“She is cold and cracked. A key can open and close. Everything is white and numb but the wolves will help because he wants them to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you mean the Herald? Did you see her?”

“She sees orange, now,” the boy replied, pointing a long arm to the large bonfire at the entrance of the camp. They couldn’t make out anything through the snow. “She sees nothing.”

“What do you mean she sees nothing?!” Cassandra demanded, standing suddenly and hauling the commander up with her.

“It’s not so cold anymore,” the boy muttered, almost to himself. “I don’t think that’s good.”

“That’s it, we’re looking for her now .”

When they were a few yards out from the camp in the direction Cole had pointed, Cassandra began to make out a human sized shape in the snow. They ran toward it. The Herald lay face down in the snow, unresponsive, but not without a pulse.

“Thank the maker,” Cassandra breathed. 

The people of Haven looked on in awe as she returned, their small Herald in her arms, just as they had when the girl had stopped the Breach from growing.

They stripped her down to her linens to assess the damage, splinting her right forearm and the compound fracture in her leg before slowly getting to work with healing magic. The inside of the tent felt like a humid summers day thanks to Themos and all the snow. Despite Solas' insistence that he be alone in order to concentrate on the complicated task of healing her wounds her brother stayed, quietly mixing healing potions. When the Elvhen apostate took the mark in his hands to soothe it a look of alarm crossed his face. A new force circled the anchor like a scab on a wound, attempting to keep the pain of it at bay.

"What is it?" The human asked. For once, Solas was not sure what to say. "Solas?"

Then he felt it too: a seeking, a longing for comfort. 

The aura of a mage in pain.

It was possible, the men theorized, that Corypheus’ attempt to remove the anchor triggered some latent magical ability to awaken. They did not tell the others. She did not want them to. 

When everyone was well enough, they traveled to Skyhold.

Cassandra caught Themos’ eyes in the crowd as his sister took her new title. She could feel his disappointment. The next time she saw the man he was hunched over a tankard in a dark corner of the tavern.

“I thought you wanted to keep her safe ,” he muttered as she took a seat next to him. She could feel the stench of ale burn through her nose.

“I do.”

“ Liar .”

“It’s not as though she is without help, Themos. She has been the face of the Inquisition since its conception. Now she has a proper title.”

“And more responsibilities, and more people depending on her, and more pressure than anyone in this world needs.”

“She has us for support, she is not the only one shouldering responsibilities.”

“But is that how she feels , Seeker?” The Apostate asked, his eyes dark behind his bangs. The use of her title stung in a way she couldn’t explain. 

The woman trained long into the night, alone. Until she sensed she wasn’t. The demon did not flinch when the tip of her blade was pointed at his throat.

“He wishes to explain, except she won’t let him. She is too afraid, too aware. It scares them both. You think you were her age, the Right Hand. He knows. But would a right hand handle this weight, back then? ‘She is not Cass’, but can The Hands understand the difference?” The demon stared at her with its pale eyes as the question hung in the air. 

“Why are you here,” Cassandra snapped, not lowering her sword.

“It hurts that he is upset with you. It makes you sad. It makes him sad as well. He makes himself burn so it won’t hurt.” The Seeker closes the small gap between her blade and it’s throat.

“Leave.”

It leaves.

Themos no long sparred with her after that.

The Inquisitor refused to make the demon leave.

"All he wants to do is help , same as anyone else who's chosen to be here!"

"This thing isn't something to be kept like a pet, dear," Vivienne said, "it's dangerous."

"All people are dangerous," the Inquisitor spat. "What matters is that they choose not to be."

Leliana was lucky to have found her in her room after she stormed off, studying one of the histories Vivienne had retrieved for her.

“Inquisitor? If i could have a word.” The girl peered over the wall of other tomes that had grown from her desk.

“What is it?”

“My agents found the one responsible for disrupting our communications in the Free Marshes.” The Inquisitors expression was unreadable at the news.

“And what was done with them?” she asked carefully.

“They are being held, but they refuse to answer any questions. I was hoping you could pass your own judgement before we attempted anything… drastic.” The young woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“It took great effort to keep information about my whereabouts from my family before the Conclave, as I am sure you can imagine. I was hoping she would just tell your people that and avoid all of this.”

“She worked for you ?”

“We grew up together.” The Inquisitor sighed, wiping her quill clean and capping her ink. “I will handle things with her from here, Leliana. I appreciate that you did not have her hurt.”

Whatever happened between the two went on behind the closed doors of the Inquisitor’s quarters.

“I’m so grateful that you could join us,” Josephine said. 

“Skyhold is in dire need of a stonemason,” Gasti replied lightly, stepping over some rubble as the Ambassador lead them to her office. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Cienna Sturhald.” The dwarf beamed, taking her hand in his.

“Formerly Trevelyan,” the woman added, “though I’m sure a Montilyet can keep that our little secret.” The woman winked, and Josephine couldn’t help but stare at her. 

 “We can get to surveying the wear and tear as soon as we get something set up in the courtyard,” Gatsi stated.

“Cienna Trevelyan , you said?”

“Yes. I’m not sure how in-the-know you are personally with my family, but I’m sure you can guess that I haven’t seen them in a while.” She gestured to her pregnant belly. She had to be due soon. Josephine did some quick thinking.

“Would you mind if I introduced you to the Inquisitor? I’ll send someone to fetch her, it would only take a moment.”

“We would be honored.”

When the Inquisitor entered Josephine’s office, the Ambassador had little judgement she needed to make for herself. The girl stopped dead in her tracks, staring wide-eyed at the well dressed blonde. Cienna Trevelyan wore a similarly shocked expression.

“Ivary?” she asked quietly.

The Inquisitor fled.

Chapter Text

Ivary Trevelyan knew that she should be dead. Within all logic and reason, within her own expectations, she should not have survived.

But she had. That much was proven thanks to the throbbing pain in her...everything. If she were dead it wouldn't hurt so much. Unless the Maker were crueler than she originally thought….

She pulled open her ice crusted eyes and gazed up at the hole she had fallen through.

Old mine shafts. Haven was crawling with them, Cassandra had said when they had gone to rescue the scouts. They would try to rescue her next. They'd never find here where she was. She needed to get to them, if there was even a way out.

Ivary rolled over to her left side and forced herself to sit up. Her ribs were likely broken. Her right arm and leg definitely were. Her poor bow was splintered in half where she landed. Broken just as she was. But not without use. She steeled herself against the blackness in her vision and laced her boot as tight as she could, tying the two halves of her old weapon into it. It was the closest thing to a splint she had.

Eventually she stood, and limped heavily until she could support herself on a tunnel wall. She leaned against it to catch her breath and looked back at where she had fallen. For once she had fallen. For all the times she had looked down and thought about it, and never had, this time she had fallen. She had committed to it, and yet there she was. A desperate sort of laugh built up in her throat. And yet there she was.

That phrase alone summed her up.

She had left to face a god and die, and yet there she was. She had watched her loved ones as husks perish for her, and yet there she was. She had been in the center of an explosion meant to tear the veil apart, and yet there she was. She embodied every disappointment her parents had honed, and yet there she was. Their union had failed decades ago, and yet there she was.

Corypheus wants you dead, and yet here you are.

Ivary frowned. She did not hear the voice so much as she felt it.

You need to keep going. He needs you to keep going. You do too.

"'He'?" She asks to the open air.

His anger makes him burn like father but he won't be him. He punched the Templar but he doesn't understand. He can't understand. Should that matter? You're too young for this but he can't tell them that. "Herald of Andraste; if Andraste is the kind to choose a child for her work then I will never forgive her for what she's done." He doesn't want to hurt anyone else. He uses his burning to keep the others warm. 

"You're the one who warned us," Ivary stated, beginning to hobble through the tunnel.

You remember me. 

"Why wouldn't I? You helped us."

I'm not easy to remember. It's better like that.

"How do you know?"

I hear the hurting, I heal it, I go when it goes. Them forgetting makes it easier. Washes away where it lingers.

"Easier for you?" She asked, wanting to make sure she understood his winding thoughts.

Yes .

"What's easy isn't always what's right." 

The voice didn't respond. Maybe he didn't know how. He wasn’t gone, she could tell he wasn’t. He rippled around her; through what, she had no idea. She hadn’t felt him doing that before. She slowly made her way through the cave, shivering from the cold, but hopeful. There was a draft from ahead of her. There had to be a way out.

When she saw the exit she swore.

Demons, and she was in no state to defend herself in any way that would save her, not with two daggers and as many broken limbs.

The Fade is under lock and key , the spirit whispered to her, riples coming stronger over her injured side. You use the key for closing but you can open, too.

“Will that work?”

Doors are for going through.

Ivary giggled despite herself.

It hurts again, when she uses the anchor, all the way up to her jaw. Briefly, she wonders if that arm is broken as well, but of course it isn't. Corypheus had agitated it, and, like a cushion of barb-sprung arrows, it tore and tangled further into her.

She blinked the darkness from her vision, and moved on.

She had to.

Things blur together, as they often did when she was stressed, between then and Skyhold.

She was a mage. A new person knew she wasn't Cienna. Her return cemented the idea of her Heraldry. Corypheus had an Elvhen artifact. They had made her Inquisitor.

She sat on the balcony overlooking the mountains, legs poking through the spaces of the rail and swinging in the open air. She pressed her forehead into the stone. Her only warning before he spoke was the light rippling of the fade behind her.

“You don’t like lying, but you do it anyway. Why?” She didn’t respond; not because she wanted to ignore him, she just didn’t know the answer. “It scares you.”

“I’m not sure telling them would change anything, other than make them not trust me anymore.”

“It would hurt less.”

“But it wouldn’t… I’m still responsible for all of this. Twenty-one or fifteen, I still have to do this. No one would take me seriously if they knew. The nobles we’re allied with would doubt me, or try to use me because I lack experience. If they knew I was a Mage some of them would stop their support outright. I was never even trained at a circle.”

“Dangerous, demonic, too many rifts for any will, risking too much just having them at Haven, abominations imminent….”

“Exactly. If the Commander thinks that about mages who are trained, what will he think of me?”

“I don’t know.”

Two days later, after an argument in the courtyard that left Ivary regrettably cross with several people, Cole was officially part of the Inquisition. She intended to spend the rest of her time reading up on the histories of places the Inquisition needed to be in order to fill gaps in her shortened education. Unfortunately she was interrupted. She had been taking notes on the Grey Wardens when she heard the door open. It was Leliana. 

“Inquisitor? If I could have a word.” 

“What is it?”

“My agents found the one responsible for disrupting our communications in the Free Marshes.” Ivary kept her face still.

“And what was done with them?” she asked carefully.

“They are being held, but they refuse to answer any questions. I was hoping you could pass your own judgement before we attempted anything… drastic.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, cursing everything in Thedas shy of the girl they had caught as she thought of what she could afford to tell the Spymaster.

“It took great effort to keep information about my whereabouts from my family before the Conclave, as I am sure you can imagine,” she said eventually, “I was hoping she would just tell your people that and avoid all of this.”

“She worked for you?”

“We grew up together.” She sighed, wiping her quill clean and capping her ink. “I will handle things with her from here, Leliana. I appreciate that you did not have her hurt.”

When she got down to what was left of the dungeon she dismissed the guards and pulled out her lock picks.

“Right pile of shit you’ve gotten us into, Iva,” the elf remarked, long arms crossed on the other side of the bars.

“Don’t let them hear you call me that, they think I’m Cienna.”

“What?!”

“I’ll explain when we get to my room.” She grabbed Mahara’s hand and tugged her along through the fortress, earning herself an odd look from Varric and a couple of strangers. “Did they hurt you at all? Leliana said you wouldn’t talk, they didn’t-”

“I’m fine, Iva, just. What the fuck is going on here? Letters from the Chantry coming nearly twice a day, then the Inquisition exists and they’re sending mail about Cienna? We all know she ran off with the masoner that’d been doing restorations, except for your parents of course, but still. The Revered Mother came in person when they realized their letters weren’t being gotten, your parents know you ran away.”

“And the Ravens without letters were you?”

“Yeah. Nightengale’s arseholes caught me burning parchment and took me here.” 

Ivary gave her friend a long hug.

“I’m so sorry it spiraled like this… I just….”

“Was she even there?”

“Y-yeah. I didn’t get to see her, though.”

“Is she…?”

“The ‘Herald’s’ the only one who survived. I’m sure you know that much.”

“Oh Iva…” Mahara whispered, pulling the younger girl close as her breath hitched. “I’m not upset with you. Your father’s the one who cuts them off completely and forces them to stay at the circle.”

“Well all the better that they don’t know where I am, then,” Ivary chuckled mirthlessley. “I was a late bloomer too.”

“You’re a mage?!”

“And that bastard’s fucking welcome to disown me.”

Chapter Text

The war room looked a bit crowded with everyone in the Inquisitor's circle standing around the table. Josephine had had everyone short of the demon dragged in, as well as the real Cienna.
"Where's the boss?" The Iron Bull asked, crossing his arms. 
"She is… elsewhere, at the moment," the Ambassador informed. "But there has been a revelation of sorts that concerns all of us."
"But not Inky?" Sera frowned, similarly positioned.
"It is about her.” She took a breath. “She is not Cienna Trevelyan, as we had assumed, and as she had allowed us to believe." There was a pause. Eyes flickered between Josephine and the woman they did not know.
"And how do you come to know this?" Cassandra asked.
"Because I am Cienna Trevelyan," the woman stated. All eyes focused on her. "The one you have titled Inquisitor is in fact my sister Ivary. How she managed to get caught up in all of this, I haven't a clue, she should be in school."
"School?" Blackwall exclaimed, "How old is she?"
"Fifteen."
The war room rang with cries of disbelief and various expletives.
"Maker's Balls no wonder her brother's been so pissed!" Varric swore.
"Brother?" Cienna asked over the ruckus.
"Themos. Mage. Way older than either of you."
"Are you sure this isn't someone the apostates sent to spy on her?"
"If they did, then they got real lucky faking a family resemblance."
“You don’t know of your brother?” Solas asked with a frown.
“I suppose not. How old is he?”
“Thirty-seven,” Cassandra answered.
“Oh, goodness… he’d have been the eldest, then….” She sighed, brows furrowed. “A mage, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Father must have been furious….” the young woman muttered.
“Furious enough to erase him completely?” Dorian exclaimed.
“Furious enough to do much more than that.” The expectant mother glared into the middle distance, hands held protectively over her belly.
“Did you come here just to inform us of this?” Cullen asked, after she didn’t elaborate.
“No. My husband is the stonemason. Josephine must have had quite the panic when I introduced myself,” she chuckled.
“Yes,” the Ambassador admitted with a sigh, “it was… quite something.” 
“So…” Varric began, breaking another bout of worried silence. “Guess we go find the kid, then?”
“I will check with Themos,” Cassandra stated.
“Will you now?” Varric grinned. The Seeker scowled at him, but no one missed the red in her face.

“They’re all searching for you now,” Cole said.
“She told all of them?”
“Not me.”
“Well… you did  know already.”
“I did,” he confirmed. He peered back into the corner. Ivary had turned one of the empty crates he always stood near so that its open side was at the wall, just far enough away from it for her to crawl into and hide. He didn’t understand how that was going to help her, and voiced as much.
“It’s just… too much right now. All of them at once.” The spirit shifted his weight as he watched the Seeker and the Mage talk below them. He was glad they were talking again. It was good that she understood why he had been so upset.
“They’re just worried,” he told her. “They aren’t angry at you. Well. Sera is. But she’s worried too, and she’s angry at a lot of things. They fight a lot.”
“Who fights?”
“The anger and the worry.”
They didn’t talk for a while, mostly because he wasn’t sure how to help her. He knew he could lead the Seeker to where Ivary was, make them both forget so that Ivary wouldn’t be upset with him, but…. That solution made him feel bad when he thought of it, and he didn’t know why, but he knew he didn’t like it. He stopped thinking about it to make the feeling leave.
Eventually Solas came in from the door behind him.
"Hello Cole. Have you seen the Inquisitor?" He asked. Cole frowned.
"Yes? I wouldn't know her otherwise." The man chuckled.
"My apologies, I meant recently. Within an hour or so, maybe?" The spirit stared at the floor, fidgeting. He didn't want to lie.
"She doesn't want to be found right now," he decided on.
"Why is that?"
"She doesn't want you to be upset with her. She's used to it but with all of you it matters now, and it never mattered before, with them, but with all of you the disappointment hurts and she can't take it all at once. Not from everyone." The Apostate's face fell.
"Would you be able to tell her that we are not upset or disappointed?"
"I have. She still isn't ready."
Solas was thinking about what else to say when he heard a quiet sniffle from behind them. He turned with a frown, noticing how Cole's posture stiffened when he looked at the pile of crates. He spied one in particular that looked as though it had fallen on its side against the wall. 
"Inquisitor?" There was no response. He hadn't exactly been expecting one. "If you wish to be taken seriously, hiding like a child is not an effective way of communicating that."
"You aren't helping," Cole whispered, "now you sound angry."
"That… was not my intended tone…"
"Not tone, words."
A startled cry came from the pile of crates as they shifted, two blazing hands shooting out into the air as the girl shuffled out into the open.
“You’re stressed,” Cole observed.
“This is ridiculous,” Ivary stated. Solas put his hands over hers, tamping down and extinguishing the dangerous outlet of magic with his own. 
“That didn’t work,” the spirit told him.
“What do you mean-”-Ivary’s shoulders caught fire.
“She’s upset; she burns like her brother. The song doesn’t know any better. It needs to protect.” Solas looked at her face sadly, flames glinting off of the tears on her cheeks.
“This cannot be solved until you talk to us, da’len.”
"I'm sorry," she croaked. The Apostate pulled her into a delicate embrace.
"It isn't your fault," he said quietly. The Iron Bull entered the little loft area the same way Solas had, quieter than any man his size should be able to. Cole could feel his relief.
"I lied. To you. You're the only one who asked and I lied."
"You have good reason to want your allies to think you are older than you are," he sighed, pulling away and brushing embers from her shoulders.
"I think that's something your Ambassador will be able to handle," the Qunari grinned. "You doin' alright boss?"
"No."
"Well, I can't say that's a surprise." The man noticed Cassandra making her way up the stairs. "Seems the Seeker's noticed us up here."
"Seems I have," the woman answered, arms crossed. "Where were you?"
"In a box," Ivary stated.
"How did you find her?"
"I figured that, wherever Cole was, she wouldn't be far away," Solas offered a wry smile.
"That's just cheating!"
"Good to know our Inquisitor so predictably takes the company of demons." 
"I'm not bad," Cole insisted, "I don't want to be, she'll kill me if I become bad, she promised!" The adults looked surprised at his outburst.
"Is this true?" The Seeker asked, beating Solas to the question.
"Yes," Ivary admitted, clearly uncomfortable.
"This is something you asked of her, Cole?" Solas asked.
"Yes."
"Long as there's a plan," Bull shrugged, putting a large hand on the Inquisitor's shoulder. "We should head back to the war room."
"War room?" Themos asked, as though materializing, from where he stood at the Seeker's shoulder.
"Inner circle business, discussing… this," Cassandra remarked.
"Trying to keep me away already? I thought we had just made up," the man joked. The emotional exhaustion in the look she gave him did not mask its fondness.
“I never said you could not become involved.” 
The man grinned.

“We would like you to start from the beginning, if you please,” Josephine said. Ivary took a deep breath.
“I heard about the Conclave from the Mothers in charge of the Chantry school in Ostwick, and that Ostwick’s circle would be sending representatives. I thought it would be a way for me to see Rosalia again. So I sent a raven to Mahara that I would be leaving again, and that she’d need to keep any correspondences from the sisters away from my parents.”
“Again?” Leliana asked.
“I’d run away a few times before,” the girl explained dismissively.
“All this just to see your sister?” Vivienne asked. “Did you not exchange letters?”
“Father forbade it.”
“That’s rather… odd.”
“Father has an acute disdain for magic,” Cienna stated. “All records or signs of Themos and Rosalia were gotten rid of when they were sent to the Circle, and everything done to prevent mage children before that.”
“Everything short of marrying a woman without mages in her bloodline,” Themos scoffed from where he leaned against a wall.
“Everything after the Conclave, you all know.”
“Why didn’t you correct me when I called you Cienna?” Varric asked.
“I…” the girl paused, staring at her feet and twisting her fingers together. “I was the only one who could do anything about the rifts and close the breach, everyone had decided I was this… holy figure, my competence at stopping all of this was- is the backbone of the Inquisition. Josephine was already dealing with some Noble trying to claim Haven belonged to him and kick everyone out. No one would take the word of someone my age seriously, no one would believe the Inquisition would work if they knew.”
“You have more than proven yourself capable, Inquisitor,” Cullen stated as the girl wiped her flushed cheeks. 
“Any issues derived from your age will be taken care of,” Josephine promised.
“I am sorry we expected so much from you,” Leliana added sadly. 
“I’m not sure you really have a choice.” The girl looked up finally, her nervous gaze falling on Solas. “I… there’s another thing I’ve been hiding, as well.” 
“Like what,” Sera laughed, “You’re a mage?” She stopped her laughing when she saw the wide eyed look Ivary gave her. “You’re fucking joking,” the elf exclaimed, taking a step back from the table.
“I’m a mage.”
The young woman swore and stormed out of the war room. 
“I’m sure she’ll… come around to it,” Blackwall said, putting an arm around the sniffling girl, hoping to be a comfort.
“How did this happen? You were not a mage before, according to Solas,” Cassandra recounted. Ivary opened her mouth to answer but no sound came out.
“What Corypheus did in trying to remove the Anchor at Haven caused her powers to awaken, so we assume,” Solas explained.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cullen asked, tone teetering dangerously close to anger.
“Why would she?” Themos fired back, finally approaching the table, proper. “You want us all locked away again, and you haven’t exactly been quiet to her about how dangerous you think we are, Templar.” The Commander grimaced.
“I’m not a Templar anymore,” he replied, voice low.
“What, just because you left? Just because you aren’t dosing?” The Apostate laughed at the look of surprise.
“How did you-” -Themos threw something before Cassandra could stop him, holding him back by the arm. A dagger hung in the air, six inches from the Commander’s throat.
“You can’t even dispel for shit.” The man let the weapon dissolve into the air. “But that’s got fuck-all to do with it, anyhow. Lyrium isn’t what makes you bastards. It’s what you think of us. And you haven’t done a thing about that. So no, Ivary didn’t want you to know she was a mage. I’m shocked she thought it a good idea to say with you here at all.” The man stepped back, and Cassandra let go of his arm.
He left the room.
“That man needs to control his temper,” Vivienne remarked.
“I’ll say,” Varric agreed.
“I believe this meeting has extended beyond its purpose,” Leliana said after a lapse of silence. “Everyone is dismissed.”

The sun was setting when the Inquisitor returned to her tower. As the sky darkened, the citizens of Skyhold could hear a somber tune dance across the mountains.

Chapter Text

“Be careful there, Cole; I don’t think Solas’ nerves can take another teenager so prone to falling from things,” Dorian remarked. The spirit looked over his shoulder from where he sat, rocking gently on the library’s banister.
“She likes the heights, but for reasons rarely good.” The man frowned, no longer actually reading the book he held in front of him.
“That is… a troubling statement.”
“She doesn’t like thinking about it. It just happens sometimes.”
“I see. And where would our little Inquisitor be now? Do you know?”
“Vivienne gave her books to study.”
“One does not learn how to use magic by reading theories,” Solas scoffed from the scaffolding on the other side of the rotunda.
“No, but you can’t create new things without knowing what already exists,” Dorian countered.
“You expect her to come up with some new branch of magic?”
“Not exactly, but she is creative, and judging by her brother she could be quite powerful.”
“You sound like you want her to be a hedge mage.”
“Well you aren’t so bad,” Dorian laughed. Solas chuckled to himself. “All I’m saying is that whatever direction she chooses to take her powers in, it’s sure to come out interesting.” Solas grunted, and focused back on his painting. "Do you often sit here, Cole?"
"Yes."
"I don't recall you here. Your doing, I presume?"
"The Inquisitor thinks I should get used to being seen. Not everyone, not always, but not hiding; don't need to hide. People I know. Let people know me." The mage nodded.
"Why call her Inquisitor? The two of you seem closer than that."
"Everyone else uses her title, even those she knows. Sometimes 'Trevelyan', but now there are three. Only two are missing from the living set." The boy cocked his head, suddenly looking Dorian in the eyes. "They're all afraid of drowning, but none remember why. Small, hurting, trust broken held down by larger hands; all of them. It's deep, hard to hold. I can't quite reach." 
Dorian stilled, lips held in a grim line. The night after the circle found out who the Inquisitor really was he had spent some time with Themos in the tavern. It had not been the first time they had shared drinks, but it was the first time they broached the topic of their parents. Dorian himself had not gone full into the issues he had with his father, and Themos had not pressed him, but the man had enough unkind stories to vent throughout the evening. It seemed as though Bann Trevelyan really had done all Southerners thought could be done to prevent a development of magic.
"Some things are better not remembered, Cole," the man said finally.
"I should stop reaching?"
"Yes, I believe that would be for the best." Cole nodded, understanding, rocking idly.
"Sometimes we hide together. She hardly needs my help, not like she used to."
"And what would she be hiding from?"
"Not from, not really, nothing hurting, just needing to be away from everyone. I don't count. I stay. I don't have reports or lessons or trainings or bows or worries for her, she likes that. She likes me."
"Do you like her?" Dorian asked, smiling knowingly to himself.
"Yes. She is kind, she wants to help. She takes notes so that she knows who needs it, wherever we go. Sometimes she gets stuck, though; with herself. She hurts but not a kind I can help, like before the real sister came. Sometimes she doesn't know why, but she's scared of it hurting when it comes out, but it hurts staying in, too."
"Is she… better, now that we know?"
"She's scared of Sera, because Sera doesn't like mages. She hasn't talked to her yet. She doesn't want her to go." Dorian nodded 
"I don't think Sera will want to be upset for long. One of them will cave, eventually."
"And then there will be bees," Cole agreed cryptically.

It was loud in the courtyard, for more reasons than usual. The Chargers were training. Or, rather, they had been training, and we're currently standing around the sparring pit with a few additional onlookers while The Iron Bull and Inquisitor Trevelyan circled one another. The girl crossed her daggers to parry a swing of the Qunari’s training ax, and the jarring force did not loosen her grip. A flash of green covered both of them. The man chuckled.
“I appreciate it Boss, but I am your opponent at the moment.” Ivary swore short and nonsensical things as she danced around the man’s attacks, dispelling both barriers by accident and then finally, properly, raising one for only herself.
“I do hope she does not make that kind of mistake in battle,” Cassandra sighed as Themos snickered next to her.
“It’s because he’s already marked as a friend to her, that’s all. It’s the same as when you’re dispelling something, you know how someone’s aura feels, you seek them out and remove what shouldn’t be there. A barrier is just an addition instead.” Ivary took a hit, and the barrier around her shattered. Themos winced. “We’re still working on it, though.”
“Good.”
Just then, Ivary rolled under The Iron Bull and leapt into the air, one foot finding purchase on his belt as she pulled herself up by his pauldron. The man paused. She held the dulled edge of her dagger to his throat. The Chargers cheered.
“Clever one, Boss,” he laughed, stooping slightly so she wouldn’t have so far down to jump and jar the leg he’d hit earlier. 
Ivary beamed.

“So, how’s the Boss been handling this whole Winter Palace thing?” The Iron Bull asked, passing tankards of ale down the table for the other three.
“Stressed,” Dorian answered, “she isn’t exactly excited about dealing with nobles. As far as she’s told me she tended to escape to the servants quarters whenever the Trevelyans were involved in something.”
“So that’s how she got so sneaky,” Varric laughed.
“I don’t blame her,” Blackwall muttered. 
“What, not excited to be joining our little Lady?” Dorian asked brightly.
“I didn’t say that,” the Warden replied. “It just isn’t my expertise, either. But I’m sure you will feel right at home.”
“Of course! Why else would I be going?” Conversation was diverted when Varric noticed the lanky spirit approaching the stairs.
“Kid?” he asked. The boy turned and walked to them instead. “Why are you soaking wet?”
“The Inquisitor threw a bucket at me.” 
“Why would she do that?” Bull asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well let us work backwards, then,” Dorian declared. “What was she doing when she threw the bucket at you?”
“Bathing.”
He and Blackwall choked on their drinks as Bull roared with laughter and slapped Cole on the back.
“Never thought you’d be so forward-”
“-you can’t just-”
“She’s a lady-”
Cole stared wide eyed at the ruckus, gripping either side of his hat as though his life depended on it. Varric shushed them all and pulled up another chair.
“I believe that is why she threw the bucket at you, kid.”
“Because she was bathing?” The boy’s confusion elicited another snort from Dorian. Varric slapped him in the arm.
“People generally don’t like to be seen naked, kid.” Bull opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say something inappropriate, but the Dwarf stopped him with a glare. Cole’s frown only deepened.
“Mahara was seeing her naked, she wasn’t upset with her.”
“Ah! The root of the problem at last,” Dorian announced.
“Well, kid; Mahara and the Inquisitor are both girls, and they’ve known each other for a very long time.”
“She was probably helping the Inquisitor wash her hair,” Dorian added.
“Oh.”
“You shouldn’t go into a lady’s chamber without invitation, as a rule,” Blackwall informed. Cole frowned again.
“She’s never been upset about me being there before.”
“Just… make sure to knock first, yeah?” Varric said, patting the boy’s shoulder.
“Alright.”

Cole wasn’t exactly supposed to go to the Winter Palace. Josephine had made the Inquisitor cave and add someone else, so Bull was placed on the roster instead.
He went anyway. Dorian didn’t mention it, but shared a mischievous smile with Ivary when he caught on to the Spirit’s aura in the carriage. 
“I am eternally grateful for Vivienne’s intervention on behalf of our attire,” the mage declared, the road proving too bumpy for him to pass the time reading without rendering himself ill. The Iron Bull grumbled noncommittally. “You’d be wearing a full shirt no matter what, you look much better in that than that horrid blue and red combination we were nearly saddled with.”
“We won’t be in these the whole time,” Ivary reiterated. “And burgundy and gold suits you much better, he’s right.”
“If anyone is truly suited for this, it is you, Inquisitor. You look quite radiant.”  Ivary looked down at her lap bashfully.
“Mahara hasn’t been able to dress me up for anything in quite some time, she was rather excited about it,” she giggled. Between the older girl’s skill and Vivienne’s magic meant to keep it pristine, no trouble Ivary could come across would so much as loosen a curl. Coppery eye shadow accented her green eyes, and her hair was intricately braided with deep red ribbon before falling into plush curls above her shoulders. 
“I do believe we may have to keep eligible suitors away from our Lady, as well as deal with these would-be assassins,”  Dorian had teased when they first saw her come down from her tower.
“I don’t think that will be an Issue for us,” The Iron Bull had remarked.
“It certainly won’t be,” Warden Blackwall had nearly growled, arms crossed.

“Look at me, a guest at the Winter Palace, and I’m still running off to the servants quarters,” Ivary laughed as she activated the enchantment in her gown that transformed it into a belt over her linens.
“Suffocating gazes, whirling whispers, stifling you learn to hide so she teaches you songs mother won’t let you play; found, father yells and throws a glass-”
“-What the fuck,” Bull jumped.
“When the hell did you get here?” Blackwall demanded.
“I followed, to help,” Cole stated.
“You’ve been here the whole time without any of us noticing?!” The Qunari growled.
“I knew, and I wanted him here to begin with, he’s fine,” Ivary told him curtly, pulling on her archers glove.
“That’s not my- We had a d- spirit-; we were being followed. I won’t take not noticing that lightly.”  Cole tilted his head to the side.
“It’s not something you would be able to notice, The Iron Bull.” The Qunari grimaced, but said no more.

“You want them to work together?” Cole asked while Ivary rooted around for blackmail material.
“I do, but it’s wishful thinking. If I force them to be civil, the war will just go on in private. Someone needs to be taken down.”
“And by ‘someone’, you mean ‘not the Empress’, I presume?” Dorian asked.
“Leliana thinks that we can ensure a smooth transition in our favor if we allow her to be killed, rather than the chaos Corypheus is expecting to benefit from, but that’s also just. Leliana.”
“‘She is a bit stabby,’” said Cole, voicing her afterthought.
“Our whole point in being here is to stop the assassination. We can’t just pretend the Inquisition knew nothing of it,” Blackwall grumbled.
“And I intend on preventing it, as we planned.”

And prevent it they did. Grand Duchess Florianne was arrested for the conspiracy before the entire court, and Briala named Marquis. 

Ivary stood out on the balcony, allowing herself some time to be exhausted before returning to the masquerade. She felt a rippling in the fade, and looked over her shoulder.
“You want to be alone…?” Cole asked.
“No, just... Away, for a moment. You can stay if you like.” The spirit nodded.
“Vivienne and Josephine are proud of you,” he stated. “They think you did very well.” The girl smiled, looking down.
“I wouldn’t have had any idea what to do if it hadn’t been for them.”
“Dancing is complicated,” Cole stated in way of agreeing. “It means too many things. It hides and controls.”
“Not always. Here it’s just another part of the Game, but it isn’t like that everywhere.” They were silent for a moment longer, listening as a new song began inside. “I could show you,” she offered, stepping back from the banister. She held her hands out beside her shoulders. Misreading the situation entirely, Cole hugged her instead of taking her hands. 
“Oh, that’s not what you-” he began pulling away-
“-No, no this is fine,” she giggled, her face buried in the taller boy’s shoulder. She guided his hands to her hips before putting her own on his shoulders. “This works, too.”

Chapter Text

Cullen was trapped, in a way. The Nobles would not leave him alone. He had no way to excuse himself. No one else was near enough to get him out of the situation, they had all spread strategically across the ballroom. Even Vivienne and Cassandra, left behind to lessen the Inquisitor’s disappearance during the party, were too far away to meet his gaze. One of the nobles let their hand wander further down, and the Commander forced himself to suppress his shudder. 

A flash of a gold-shifting-green mask caught his attention. He cursed his luck. The one person who despised him, of course. Hazel eyes met his own, mouth a grim slash on his face before turning into something more pleasant for company. To Cullen’s surprise, Themos approached. 

“Hello Commander,” the man greeted lightly. “I was wondering where I would find you.”

“Yes, he has been telling us the most wonderful stories,” one of the Nobles keened. Cullen’s smile was forced.

“And what is your position in the Inquisition, Ser?” another asked.

“I am here to represent the free Mages, in Grand Enchanter Fiona’s stead.”

“Ah.” The man sounded displeased.

“You were announced as a Trevelyan as well, were you not?” another woman asked.

“Yes, though I no longer have claims to the name, as you can imagine,” Themos chuckled. “My involvement with the Inquisition and my relation to the Inquisitor are unrelated, if that is what you are wondering. We would never have met had she not intervened at Redcliff.”

“You are quite a bit older than her, then?”

“Yes, quite.” This exchange gave Cullen the time to inch away from the group, regain some of his personal space. For that, he was grateful. “Now, if you would kindly excuse us, I would like to speak with the commander in private.” Cullen’s blatantly startled look was not missed.

“Oh, do not keep him from us for too long,” a noblewoman giggled.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Cullen’s feet were rooted to the spot, but only for a moment. When he fell into step with the apostate, the man’s expression had returned to one of apathy. They passed Cassandra, and Themos motioned with his head to the commander’s vantage point. She nodded, and began to walk in that direction. When they got to an empty balcony the apostate said nothing, resting his elbows on the marble rail and staring out into the countryside instead. Cullen cleared his throat.

“What did you need to speak with me about?” Themos looked up at him.

“Hm?”

“You said-”

“Oh, that. I was lying.”

“You don’t need to speak to me?”

“No. But you needed to get away from them.”

“I did not.”

“He groped your ass, Rutherford, you most certainly did ,” Themos growled. “Cass will take care of your position, just….” He trailed off with a low grumble. “Entitled pieces of shit, every last one of them.”

“I’m surprised you came to my rescue,” Cullen admitted. “You don’t exactly like me,” he added at the confused look the statement got him. Themos raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, as though saying ‘fair enough’.

“I have been harsh,” he admitted. The casual understatement made Cullen snort. “But there’s no excuse for allowing that to happen, regardless of my personal feelings about you.”

“You seem to have…  personal feelings about the… situation.” Themos took a deep breath, seeming to deflate.

“Ostwick’s circle was not much better than Kirkwall’s. It was getting better by the time Rosalia was there, but….”

“I am sorry.”

“ You , personally, have no reason to apologize. Too many in the Free Marshes become Templars because they want to control , because they’re afraid. They see their cruelty as justified because we’re dangerous . They become Templars so that their cruelty is overlooked, so they can get away with it. Some say that Templars exist to protect Mages, some of you believe it yourselves. If Templars protected us from the kind of people who actually joined the order, none of this would have happened.”

“A lot would be different if only the right kind of people took responsibilities.” Themos chuckled.

“And isn’t that the issue?” He took off the mask and looked up, the moon glinting off of the warm amber around his pupils. “Too many ideas of who the right people would be.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for lashing out at you in the war room, I was just… I spent a lot of time keeping Rosie safe from Templars, and… when we told Iva she was a mage you were the first person she named that couldn’t know.”

“I was?” Cullen could not hide the hurt in his voice.

“You didn’t want Mages to help close the Breach because you’re afraid of people who had already been trained becoming abominations with all the rifts, and she isn’t trained at all.”

“What did she think I would do?” he asked tentatively.

“I don’t know, but knowing you wouldn’t like it was enough to scare her, and I made assumptions because of it. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

“You had reasons to think ill of me-”

“-but not ones given in person,” Themos chuckled tiredly, “though to you , I’ve given plenty.”

“You are spurred by the need to keep your loved ones safe, it is hard to know when you’re allowed to lower your guard.”

“Do you have a hard time? Lowering your guard with so many of us around?” Cullen looked down at him. There was no ire in his voice or face.

“Yes,” he admitted. The other man nodded.

“Mages… we can dispel each other’s magic, just like Templars can, if that helps. Everyone that made it to Skyhold knows how. Then there’s Cass,” he grinned, “Nothing would get past her .” Cullen chuckled.

“Just ‘Cass’, huh?” The Commander grinned. Even in the low light he could see how Themos’ face turned red.

“Yeah, just Cass. Not Cassie, though, unless I really want her to kick my ass sparring.” The two laughed. “She’s great. I… I never thought I could trust someone who could just… disarm me, like that, but. I trust her. And she loves my sister. And she’s gorgeous !” The man groaned and put his head in his hands. Cullen whistled.

“You are in deep,” he laughed.

“ I know ! I’ve gotta… I need to woo her. She’s a romantic like that.”

“With her choice of books I’m not surprised.” Themos snorted. “Any plans?”

“If you don’t tease me.”

“Of course not.”

“You should have heard my sisters. I nearly jumped out of the rotunda.” 

“What are you going to do?”

“I have a poetry book, and candles,” his voice was slightly muffled by his hands. “I’m waiting for a full moon, the flowers need to be as fresh as I can get away with.”

“Sounds straight out of one of her books. I think she’ll love it.”

“Really?”

“Really.” 

Themos beamed.

Chapter Text

The Winter Palace was heavy with sleep, the soft song of dreamers replacing the purposeful music of the ballroom. The Inquisition was among the guests who stayed the night, living too far from Halamshiral to be expected to leave until the morning. Cole flitted around the rooms they had been given, listening. Normally the spirit would hang around Solas, but Solas was not with them. He avoided Vivienne’s room. She didn’t like him. Cassandra was… warming up to him. Themos’ dreams were harsh. Cole didn’t like the sounds they made. The Iron Bull’s were similar, and Cole knew for certain that the Qunari would not want him listening anyway; it would count as ‘that weird crap’ that made him all growly. Blackwall also disliked it whenever Cole did things that reminded the man he wasn’t human. Dorian did not mind him, his branch of magic called upon spirits the most, after all,-

- Balcony doors, easily unlocked, He will be appeased-

-someone was not asleep. Cold, not hurting but wanting to hurt, angry , plans ruined .

Cole followed the murderous intent, invisible to the guards in the corridor, into the room where the Inquisitor slept. Two glinting daggers over the bed became four, became two, became the thud and gurgle of a dying Venatori. The sound of metal on tile rang out as the would-be murder weapons dropped from the corpse's hands. Ivary sat up with a start. She stared at Cole, at the body, at the open glass doors, at Cole.

“He won’t hurt you now.”

“Y-yeah… thanks….” Cole nodded, wiping his daggers clean on his pants and sheathing them. The stains quickly faded to nothing. “Now what?” Cole frowned.

“I don’t know.” They quietly watched as the blood ran an unseen path across the marble. “It is still your time to sleep.”

“Mmmm….”

“Not here?”

“No.”

“It will smell soon.”

“Yeah.”

“Cassandra?”

“Yeah.” 

Ivary slipped out of bed and silently into the hallway, twisting the doorknob in such a way that the latch didn’t make a sound, purely out of habit. She entered the Seeker’s room the same way. 

“Cassandra?” she asked softly.

“Hmm?”

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Of course.” She shifted to give the girl room, but not so much that she wouldn’t feel comforted. She heard her sniffle as she settled under the covers. “Did you have the nightmare again?”

“N… no.”

“What is it?” she frowned.

“Someone got into my room.”

That statement startled Cassandra awake properly.

“What?”

“I woke up and he was dead.”

“Someone got passed the guards and tried to kill you?” she clarified, sitting up and grabbing her boots. The girl nodded. “Have you told anyone?”

“Cole was there.”

“Alright,” Cassandra sighed, assuming that was a ‘no’. “This must first be dealt with. You may stay here, if you wish.” The woman pulled the blankets up so the cold air wouldn’t reach her. 

When Ivary woke from the nightmare later that night, Cassandra was back beside her, sleeping soundly, safe. 

The red was gone, had never even been. Ivary shifted closer, resting her head against the Seeker’s shoulder. She would not die for her again. She wouldn’t allow it.

News of the assassination attempt had reached the rest of the Inquisition by the time Ivary was awake. 

“Seems we were fortunate your little demon followed us after all,” Vivienne stated, taking a sip of her tea. They were taking breakfast in the sun room that sat at the end of the corridor. Ivary sighed. Their argument about the woman continuing to call Cole a demon was reserved to glares only. Ivary was done trying to change her mind on several things; that being one of them. Their stances were known to each other, and that would have to be enough. Vivienne wanted the best for Ivary, as a leader and as someone growing into adulthood, and Ivary appreciated it greatly. Neither mage wished to squander their relationship, no matter how different their ideologies were. 

“Was the balcony not locked?” Iron Bull asked, though it came out more as a growl.

“I’m not the only person in Thedas with a pick set, Bull,” Ivary replied tightly.

“I-... never mind. We shouldn’t be making you talk about it.” The sound of footsteps approaching drew them all away from the conversation.

“Ah, Themos, did you find anything?” Cassandra asked.

“A few Venatori hiding in the escape passage from the royal wing,” he reported, the shield and sword in his hands forming back into two halves of a lyrium-infused staff. He put the two together, the lyrium knitting the hardwood back together. “The royal guard wasn’t very appreciative of our help,” he smirked, Cullen walking in behind him. 

“Empress Celene would have been killed under their watch if it hadn’t been for our efforts, as well. If anything we have done nothing but prove their incompetence the last 24 hours,” The Commander remarked.

“What has you two playing nice all of a sudden?” Iron Bull asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Nothing of note.”

“Hmm.”

“Themos, I have been meaning to ask; where ever did you learn to be a knight enchanter?” Vivienne asked, watching as the man stole a slice of melon from his sister’s plate. “I cannot imagine Ostwick’s Knight-Captain approving of you having such training, knowing your temperament.”

“I wasn’t trained.”

“Oh? Then how did you come across such an… ability?”

“It… became necessary.” 

“I doubt the situation was that dire,” the woman scoffed.

“So you would just allow Templars to let themselves into your room in the dead of night back when you lived there?” Themos asked icily, fists clenched, “Or did your nobles find you entertaining enough for you to be spared the realities everyone else lived with?” The Imperial Enchantress remained composed, but did not respond. “You are not as much made of iron as you are out of touch, Lady Vivienne,” he spat finally before turning on his heel and leaving the room. The woman let out a curt sigh and shook her head.

“Honestly Cassandra, I don’t understand what you see in that man.” The Seeker looked at her in horror.

“And I don’t understand what you get out of blatantly antagonizing him,” she snapped, leaving shortly after to follow him. The syrup of a silence was only cut through when the Commander cleared his throat.

“Ser Trevelyan put up with… a lot, in his Circle, and is still an honorable man. He is not worthy of such disrespect.” Vivienne raised her eyebrows.

“And what has caused your view of him to change so drastically, dear Commander?”

“He removed me from an… uncomfortable situation with the nobles last night, in spite of his dislike for me. He is more principled than many.”

The loud bang of a door slamming shut was all that warned any of them before Dorian barreled into the room holding a hat and a bundle of clothes.

“Are those Cole’s?” Ivary asked in alarm. “What are you doing with those?”

“They are in dire need of a wash!” the man declared.

“And what of the boy who should be in them?” Vivienne asked.

“ Also in dire need of a wash,” he replied lowly. “You wouldn’t happen to know any extra handy tricks to getting things clean quickly, would you?” he asked, looking at her, “Blackwall may not buy me much time, he’s like bathing a cat. ” The enchantress sighed, putting down her tea and standing up from the table.

“I do hope you already have had a washtub brought to your chamber?”

“I have.”

“Good.”

“What has you smiling, Boss?”

“She called Cole a boy .” The Iron Bull barked a laugh.

“Don’t let her know you caught her on that, I don’t think she’d like it.”

Ivary giggled. It was a very good sound.

When Cole finally escaped Blackwall’s room he had been scrubbed pink and his shirt had become whiter than anyone had thought it to have originally been.

“He tried to boil me!” Cole insisted, hiding in Ivary’s room with her.

“I’m sure he tested the water first, you just weren’t used to it,” she sighed, doodling a little Orlesian mask in the margins of her journal.

“I didn’t like it.”

“It was a bit drastic,” she agreed. “I would have just washed your hair; wouldn’t even get your shirt wet, if we were careful.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Well… it was a bit greasy. It’s not now, but you should probably brush it before it gets too tangled. You can borrow mine.” She handed it back to him and turned back to her journal.

“Um… it’s gotten… stuck?” She looked over her shoulder and suppressed a giggle. It had stopped going through around his ear. She stood and went to sit on the bed next to him. She gently teased it out of his flaxen hair.

“Your hair is longer, so you want to start brushing at the ends, instead of the top, or else you’ll push all the tangles together.”

“And then it gets stuck?”

“Yeah.” She took the section into her hand and began to brush, keeping it against her palm so the bristles would not scratch Cole’s ear. She carefully went around his whole head in that manner, and then brushed it all back from his forehead to see where it would part; a bit to the right. Then she fixed the locks into the directions they were wanting to go. “There. It’s not in your eyes anymore.” She handed him his hat, which he put securely back onto his head.

“That was nice,” he said eventually.

“I’m glad.”

When the party returned to Skyhold the castle was bustling with activity. Varric called Ivary over when he saw her.

“Hey goldie,” he grinned, patting her on the shoulder. “Heard the Winter Palace was a little more exciting than we anticipated. You holdin’ up alright?”

“Yeah, I just slept with Cassandra.” The man nodded.

“Nothing gets passed her.” Ivary agreed. “Anyway, uh, my friend got here while you guys were gone. You can meet us up on the battlements when you’re ready. You should see your sister first, though.”

“Is she alright?”

“She’s great! You’re an aunt now, kiddo!”

“Oh! Alright, I’ll… I should go see her now, then.”

“See you when you can,” he chuckled as she scurried off.

Oleah Rose Sturhald was small, wrinkly, and very pink with a head of dark hair and a voice that carried very well through the stone passages of the fortress. Ivary wasn’t quite sure what to do, holding something so small. Cienna couldn’t help but laugh.

“This is the least relaxed I have ever seen you,” she snorted, taking her daughter back, “and I was in the war room .”

“Well I don’t think anyone should really be relaxed around a baby, the moment you do that they learn to walk and investigate the hearth,” Gatsi stated.

“She’s a day old,” Cienna chuckled, “I think we have at least a few months before we start worrying about that.” The man hummed, eyeing the swaddled infant with mock-distrust.

“If you need anything-” Ivary began before her brother-in-law waved his hands.

“We have more than enough help here, from your ambassador included, don’t worry. You have too much on your plate as it is for us to stick you with babysitting.”

“Okay,” Ivary grinned, “As long as you’re asking when you need it.”

“I’ll ask for help when I need it if you do,” Cienna countered playfully.

“Ah. You’ve out-played me,” she chuckled as Cienna ushered her through the door.

“Go on, go read your old war-journals or essays or whatever it is you do for fun.”

“I’m studying history! And it’s for Inquisition work!”

“Then go study your Inquisition work, I have a baby to feed!”

Ivary huffed dramatically and left their rooms. Standing outside of their door she straightened herself, having to be more than just Cienna’s little sister.

The Inquisitor was needed on the battlements.

Chapter Text

“She doesn’t blame you,” Cole said, suddenly next to him. Varric sighed into his ale, glancing back at his people’s reports of Red Lyrium outcrops. “She thinks you’re a good friend, wanting to keep Hawke safe after everything he’s been through.”

“A good friend to Hawke, maybe,” the man sighed, “but what kind of friend am I to her, letting her lead all of this so young when I could have taken it off her shoulders?”

“You thought she was old enough. All of you did.”

“Against our better judgements, yes, we did. As if anyone can be old enough for what this world puts its Heroes through.” He laughed mirthlessly. Cole frowned into his lap, twisting his fingers into the hem of his shirt.

“She doesn’t blame you,” he repeated, “you still…” he made a frustrated noise.

“-Hey, hey, Kid,” Varric muttered softy, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“You still feel guilty but she doesn’t blame you .”

“You can’t get rid of guilt, Kid,” Varric sighed. “It does help to know that, though.”

“I helped?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, patting him on the back, “you helped.”

Ivary had been anxiously pacing around her room for what seemed like an hour. Every time she glanced back at her desk she couldn’t go back to it, instead doing another lap around her tower. A rare but published collection of Grey Warden journals sat open next to her own notes on the group.

Blackwall had always been vague when she asked about them. She had assumed it was just some sort of bound secrecy, but now….

She had asked him what darkspawn blood tasted like. He hadn’t seemed to understand why she thought he would know, not until she mentioned the joining. He shouldn’t have needed a reminder of it, not if….

Not if he were a Warden.

Ivary lay face down on the carpet and screamed into her hands.

She had no idea how upset she should be. She herself had lied for months about who she was. He had been nothing but honorable, protective, and kind; that was not an act, or Bull would have said something to her. He was true in all but his name. Did that really need to be condemned?

She didn’t know, but they were investigating the Grey Wardens soon.

She could not bring him.

When they charged Adamant Fortress, he led the soldiers with Cullen.

Ivary does everything she can to save the Wardens who are left, kills every demon on the battlements and spares the few who aren’t bound, but her efforts feel pointless as the beast who destroyed Haven returns, demons on its tail where Templars had been before.

“Follow the Magister,” Themos screamed at her over the fighting, golden barrier flickering solidly over him as though it were true armor. He stays behind with Cassandra in the courtyard where the demons are strongest while The Iron Bull, Dorian, and Cole follow the Inquisitor and her allies. 

They follow her, and they fall with her; straight into the fade.

If it weren’t for the situation, Dorian would find Cole and Ivary holding hands to be quite adorable. Unfortunately, they could not afford to keep still and dwell on anything, what with the fear demons and the Nightmare and figuring out what really happened at the Conclave. Ivary did not put up with the Demon’s tauntings. Not for herself, and not for her companions. It was like Redcliff all over again, as if part of her had to shut down in order for her to move forward. Bull had even asked her if she was okay. She plainly said no, and left it at that. When Hawke and Stroud stopped to argue she yelled at them to shut up and keep moving. He wondered what Cole was feeling from her. He wondered if Cole was able to feel anything at all.

At one point she stopped to stare into the green mist. The rest of them stopped with her. 

“What’s wrong, Boss?” Bull asks, trying to see what she’s frowning at. There’s someone else, a Dwarf, through the mist, but it doesn’t seem real. Especially not when Varric, Dorian and himself come into view of what seems to be an illusion. The Dwarf in the mist seems to see Ivary, her eyes widening. The moment it seems as though the hand she reaches out will come through, it all dissipates. “Any idea what that was?” he decided to ask. He and the Inquisitor exchange a glance, and then look at Cole between them. The boy is frowning.

“She sees you, but I… I don’t understand how. She sees a lot of people but none of them are with her. She leads us, like you do, but they’re an us that’s somewhere else, where you’re dead.”

“We already know that anyone could have walked into that room, I guess… there’s a place where it wasn’t me.”

“Well now isn’t that compelling?” Dorian declared, “Why don’t we ponder it after we’ve gotten out of here?” Ivary nodded silently, and their group trudged on.

The Inquisition’s forces were being overwhelmed. The rift in the courtyard weakened the veil so much that demons were springing up from everywhere, and no one had any idea where the Inquisitor was to close the damn thing. Cassandra, Cullen, Solas and Themos were in the main level of the courtyard, with Varric positioned above them where the ritual had begun sinking bolt after bolt into demonic flesh. Vivienne was up there with him, ensuring that nothing interrupted the Dwarf with walls of ice and the bright flash of her blade. Blackwall and Sera were with the Chargers, keeping all the demons that manifested outside of the courtyard from getting there and flanking everyone else. Something had gotten rid of the dragon, apparently, but no one had any idea what. Hopefully it hadn’t gotten rid of the Inquisitor as well.

It seemed as though every time Cassandra cut one down, another had already taken its place. Her guard wasn’t going to last much longer, and she wasn’t sure if she still had the energy to put up another one when it ran out. A crackle of electricity made her hair stand on end and she swore. Another Pride demon. One moment she heard Cullen shout a warning to Trevelyan, the next the man she loved was flying across her field of vision like a ragdoll with such force that the stone wall cracked against him. She couldn’t get to him. She had to fight. She blinked salt from her eyes and did not stop. She barreled into a Terror. She sliced through its chest. The sickly green light reflected from the rift turned a pale yellow. Solas cast a barrier over her and Cullen. Varric threw wasps down at the Pride demon and yelled for Cullen to move. Cassandra did not look to see why. Something knocked her to the side and she bashed at it with her shield until she realized it was the Commander. He looked at her, his eyes wide with fear. She pushed him away and got back to her feet before seeing why.

An armored figure of golden light stood to the Pride demon’s height, a great sword the size of The Iron Bull held over its head, slashing down. At its center was Themos, his skin cracked and glowing with the brilliant color they had always seen his magic produce. Soldiers of the Inquisition and Grey Wardens alike fled from it as it cut through the demons in its path; and when the demon on the other side of the rift roared through the fade it shrieked in two deafening voices back.

They almost missed it when their companions started falling out of the rift as demons began to break through the corridor’s defenses. 

“Where’s the Inquisitor?” Dorian yelled, looking back frantically. As he did so the rift ejected Stroud, who skidded several yards across the pavement.

“You were supposed to cover us,” Hawke screamed.

“She didn’t- something threw me!” Stroud screamed back.

“Cole!” Solas shouted, noticing as the boy began to sprint back to the rift. Bull tried to grab him, but he became intangible at just the right moment to slip through the Qunari’s fingers. As he got to the edge of the rift something slammed into his chest. He grabbed it instinctively as the force knocked him to the ground. Ivary let out a cry of pain. Something was caught in her back, a large hook anchoring her to the fade. She threw her hand back and closed the rift, cutting off the Nightmare’s limb.

 She went limp in his arms. Bull and Dorian were the first to reach them. Cole could hardly hear them with how much pain she's in, but they were full of swearing and fear and all Cole could see of Ivary's back was red; so much red and it's so dark. They unhooked the massive claw from where it snagged above her left hip. Solas' hands glowed with his healing as Dorian tried to wipe the blood from her skin, tried to reveal the wound fully. Cole pressed his cheek to her ear as Hawke joined in the attempt to close the wound. Ivary's back was laid bare, her armor cut through like paper, from the top of her right shoulder to her hip. 

Cole hears the words '-too much-' and the word 'cauterize' and Hawke's fingers glow white with fire as he makes contact with the flayed skin. Blood sizzles as either side of the wound it burnt shut. It is a long way across. By the time Hawke is finished Vivienne has come with a stretcher to take her. He doesn't want to let go but Bull takes her away from him. He wants to yell but nothing comes out. He sits frozen on his knees until someone pulls him up and into a hug.

 "She's going to be alright, lad," Blackwall says.

"You don't know that."

 "No, I don't. But it's what we have to believe." Neither of them move to break the hug. Not until they hear Cullen shout in an argument that had been mounting somewhere in the background. 

"You've been an abomination this entire time?!"

"I am not an 'abomination'," a deep voice answered. It was not Themos, and yet it came from him. The man's eyes glowed solidly with a golden light that mirrored his veins and wounds, and faintly from a sun-shaped mark on his forehead. "I am a spirit of Valor. That I have bonded with a mage is only coincidence." The sword the commander had pointed at its neck did not waver. 

"How long have you possessed this man?" Seeker Cassandra growled. 

"Since the night he required my help." 

"And when was that?" Themos' body shrugged. 

"I cannot tell you. Time means little in the fade. I have not bothered to keep track of it. Before meeting you but after killing the assailants. Before the sister died but after her harrowing. Before the vote and the splitting of the veil, but after years of hatred and hurt. That is all I can tell you."

 "Then let us ask him," the commander demanded.

 "I can't." 

"What do you mean you can't?!" Cassandra shrieked. Cole took a step back, hiding behind Blackwall. Neither of them had ever seen the woman so angry.

 "He is not conscious. His mana is spent. It will need to be recovered before he wakes again." 

"Then leave his body and allow him to rest," Cullen demanded. Themos' head tilted as solid gold eyes fixed on the man, an eerie smile twisting up the lips on an otherwise expressionless face. 

"Is that what would make you comfortable?"

 "Yes." The grin widened. The teeth behind it did not belong to the mage. 

"I do not care what comforts you, Templar. We have done well for each other. If we wish to part, it will be done, but there is still much work to do." Valor looked past the man holding a sword to Themos' throat. Blackwall's hair stood on end. "Besides. I am not the only spirit in your ranks. I do not see why my bond with a mage should make me any less desirable than Compassion." 

"Compassion?" The Seeker asked. 

"He means me," Cole answered, still mostly hiding behind the Warden. "Valor really does mean well."

"So did Justice," Varric mentioned, finally speaking up, "and look at the mess that caused."

 "A mess must exist for the filth to be cleaned," Valor stated. There was a long silence. Cullen lowered his sword with a defeated sigh. 

"What caused you to... bond with him?" Cassandra asked finally. 

"Templars made him Tranquil for defending himself from them. I stopped them from succeeding."

“You stopped the ritual?”

“If that is how you would put it.”

“Is you… talking to us not also using up his mana?” Dorian asked.

“For this I draw from the fade, it is only when we work together in combat, as we did earlier, that I draw from his mana. We have only done that once before, so I unfortunately over-exerted him.”

“No taking baby-steps with you, huh?” Varric chuckled. Themos’ head tilted as it was turned to look at the Dwarf.

“Training his swordsmanship and his ability to manifest weaponry were good steps.” 

“Yes yes yes he fights very well,” Dorian dismissed, waving his hand, “should you not be going to rest , for his sake?”

“He would not want to take up room napping in the healer’s tents when there are those with injuries that need to be tended to. We will wait here.”

“And what exactly will you be waiting for?’ Cullen asked, eyes narrowed.

“As of now, for you all to come back from the healers. All of you have injuries to tend to, save for Compassion, though I expect him to stay there regardless.”

“But we will be able to find you here? You will not run away?” Cassandra asked.

“ I will not run away. I cannot guarantee the same of Themos, when he realizes what you all have come to know.”

“I see.” If her sigh stuttered as it passed the lump in her throat, those who might have noticed it happen decided to forget. “I will return shortly.”

With that, the Seeker walked briskly as she could to the healers, and everyone slowly followed.

Chapter Text

“I will not have men in this tent whilst the Inquisitor is so exposed,” Viviene snapped, turning Solas and Stitches out as they prepared to remove what was left of Ivary’s armor. “That includes you , boy,” she specified with a glare, ushering Cole out with them. 

“They’re not going to be able to close something that big with magic,” Stitches muttered.

“She is skilled for a Circle Mage,” Solas sighed, “I’m quite certain she’s aware of that much.” 

“Well, we have other places to be if she doesn’t want us here.” Solas nodded as the healer walked off to another group of tents and handed Cole an elfroot potion.

“Tell the spirit of valor to drink this, or else his mage will have more than just exhaustion to worry about.” Cole nodded, and the man left as well. Cole glanced back at the tent. Her pain had not gotten quieter.

Warden Stroud took command of the fortress as things settled down. The Inquisitions forces were given a wing to operate from while their leader recovered. It would take several days alone for them to ensure the muscles along her back had repaired themselves properly. 

“A speedy recovery will mean nothing if she cannot move,” Solas had snapped when the Commander asked him how long it would take.

“I am not asking for you to be careless, I am asking for something I can report back to Skyhold.” The Elf sighed, pressing his fingers to his temples.

“I apologize, Commander, it has just been….”

“More than we anticipated.”

“Yes. Now, a weeks bedrest may be enough, if she responds well to treatment.”

“I will send word, then.” The Apostate nodded, and began to walk away. “And Solas? You should rest as well. I am certain Warden Blackwall or The Iron Bull would take vigil for Lady Vivienne and yourself.”

“I… yes. Thank you. We will consider it.”

“You think she’ll really stay in bed a whole week?” Bull asked, setting up a bedroll as Blackwall sat in a chair next to the Inquisitor’s bed. The man grunted.

“I’m sure she’ll try, don’t think she’ll sit still enough for it, though.” The man stared at the sheets, the wisps of light Vivienne had left above them, the potions and water left for if Ivary awoke; anything but her bloodless, pale face. On the bedside table were a few of her belongings, only one of which had been with her in the battle. The blue glass eye that was usually found tied in fine leather around her neck sat atop her diary; a new one that Varric had bought her when he saw the other ones unused pages wearing thin. It was made with sturdy brown leather, and had delicate vines and flowers curling up its face from the spine. The brass clasp had a trick to it, making it difficult to open, not that anyone other than Cienna would be able to decode the Inquisitor's script, if she even remembered how. Her pen was slotted securely in a small loop made just for it. It was an odd thing, Dwarven, something her mother had given to her for her thirteenth birthday. Rather than dipping the nib, the body of the pen has a hollow of ink, allowing her to write at a moment's notice (which she often did). There was also a round piece of serpentstone she had found on the Storm Coast, rounded by the river, that she liked to keep in her pocket, and a sewn pouch of embrium petals. Neither Blackwall nor Bull knew what the petals were for. Embrium wasn't her favorite flower (peonies), or her favorite smell (oranges and cloves). They decided they would have to ask her. 

Blackwall was pulled from his thoughts by a sudden shuddering intake of breath. He looked down in alarm, Bull standing at the other end of the bed in moments. Rift-green eyes flickered dazedly around the room. Finally they focused on Blackwall. One of her hands fought through the bedding and grasped at him. He held it carefully.

“You need to rest, my Lady,” he said softly.

“Did they notice?” she whimpered, eyes glazed with pain.

“What do you mean?”

“Did they notice you? Any of them?”

“I… no, my Lady, no one noticed me.” For a moment she looked relieved, before her face became wet.

“It hurts.”

“Solas left a potion for you, you’ll need to sit up to drink it,” Bull stated, picking up and uncorking the vial. “Can you do that for me?” She nodded automatically, but rolling onto her made her hiss a few curses. He placed a large steadying hand against her shoulder, as he was on her unbandaged side, and helped her up slowly as the warden fixed the pillows behind her. “Drink it fast, it doesn’t smell too great.” 

Ivary whined, but took it down in one go anyway. Her face scrunched up in disgust. She took the water skin from Blackwall.

“The healers said you could sleep on your sides, but preferably your stomach, and try not to move your right shoulder too much or you risk tearing the stitches,” the warden instructed. Ivary looked around the room, seeming confused.

“Stitches? Where’s….”

“Not my Stitches imekari,” Bull chuckled, “he’s not here right now. He means the stitches holding your back closed.”

“Oh. Ew.”

Bull let out a hardy laugh.

"Get some rest, Boss."

She lay back down on her side, snuggling down into the pillows.

"Where's Cole," she asked, eyes flicking around the room before landing on something somewhere passed Blackwall. "There you are." She smiled tiredly. Bull pulled the blankets over her as she finally fell asleep. Blackwall glanced behind himself.

“You there, lad?” The air blurred together, green, and the spirit came into view; head down, shoulders hunched, tugging at the loose threads of his shirt.

“You won’t tell Vivienne?” he asked nervously. “She told me not to bother the Inquisitor, but I’m not bothering her, I promise; she really just wanted me to leave but that’s what she always wants….”

“We won’t tell her a thing, kid,” Bull chuckled. Cole’s shoulders relaxed just a bit, hat bobbing with a short nod.

“Are you alright, lad? I heard from Dorian that things were… a bit rough for you in there.” Cole chewed at his lower lip.

“I don’t like it there. It’s not right anymore.”

“Not like how you remember it?” Cole frowned.

“I don’t. I had to forget there to stay here , so I could help him.”

“Help who?”

“It had been cold and dark for so long. The Templars had forgotten him. He didn’t want to die alone, it was the only way I could help.”

“Okay….” The men glanced at each other, unsure what to do or say. A sharp knock at the door kept them from needing to. Bull stood abruptly when it opened, hand resting where a dagger hid in his belt as golden eyes peered into the room. They made contact.

“I am not here to hurt your child, Tamassran,” Valor chuckled.

“I’m Ben-Hassrath,” he growled.

“Hissrad may be, but The Iron Bull is not. Isn’t that the point? To separate the weapon from the person?”

“Stop it,” Cole demanded, his glare dark under the brim of his hat, “that isn’t why you came in here.”

“No, it’s not,” Valor agreed. “I came to see how the girl is doing so that I may inform her brother whenever he wakes.”

“You can tell him she’s resting,” Bull replied icily.

“Very well then.” As he turned to leave he stopped again. “You have more control than you were taught, Qunari.”

The Iron Bull did not respond.

Cassandra woke to a sudden shift in the bed. She rolled over. Squinting in the darkness of the room she put a warm hand on his arm.

“This isn’t the courtyard.” She smiled, hearing his own voice from him, but no one saw it.

“No, it’s not.” The Seeker paused, choosing her words carefully. “You depleted your mana fighting demons, you were asleep the rest of the day.” She sat up and reached for the bedside table. “You should eat before you fall asleep again.” He took a wedge of dried meat from the plate she offered, tossing up a weak wisp of light to float above them. “Everyone is alive, but your sister was gravely wounded by the demon the Magister was trying to summon. We will be staying here a while as she recovers.”

“Was the rift closed?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t read his expression in such low light.

“What exactly did I do that used up so much mana?” he asked slowly. Cassandra wished he hadn’t. 

“We were being overrun. You… tapped into your spirit bond in order to save us.” She wished he would look at her.

“Is that what you’re calling it?” He huffed a breath, a mirthless chuckle. “I’m just a mage with a ‘spirit-bond’?” She pursed her lips.

“Could this wait until morning? Please?” Themos let out a shaky sigh, but finally nodded.

The space between them had never been wider.

Chapter Text

Cassandra woke to a cold and empty bed. She sat up hurriedly, quickly scanning the room. The bed Solas had taken at the other wall was already made. The candles were blown out in favor of morning light from the window. The plate was gone.

Finally she spied Themos’ chestnut dyed cloak on the poster at the head of his side of the bed and his staff leaning against the wall next to it. She let herself breath again. She washed her face, changed into her regular uniform, and made her way to Adamant's great hall. The Grey Wardens and the Inquisition’s forces were not exactly mingling, and the tables were packed.

Except for one.

Dorian lounged mostly sideways in his chair, elbow propped up on the table and a book resting open on his thigh. His angle allowed him to keep a side-eye on the recruits, who were mostly Templars, he would otherwise have his back to. Themos sat across from him, back to no one but the wall. The Altus pushed what seemed to be a third bowl of porridge across the table.

“You’re going to make me sick, Pavus,” she heard Themos chuckle lightly.

“Eating is very important to recovering from mana-exhaustion, and you slept through the time period wherein doing so is ideal; it’s your own fault, and that spirit’s fault for not wanting to eat either.”

“He doesn’t like how it feels,” the mage shrugged, pulling the bowl closer to himself. The ease drained from Dorian’s face as he caught sight of Cassandra. Themos noticed immediately. He looked at her only briefly before returning his gaze to the table.

“Good morning,” Dorian greeted, pulling out a chair next to him for her.

“Good morning,” she replied cooley, taking a seat next to Themos and pulling the other chair back in with her foot. Themos silently passed her the jars of dried berries and sliced nuts for her bowl, and she quietly thanked him. Chatter resumed at the table across from them when Themos glared. He didn’t seem to be in the mood for casual conversation. Cassandra was likewise unsure of what to say. Dorian cleared his throat. Themos looked up in the direction of the man’s casually inclined head and hissed a sigh through his teeth.

“It seems you have returned to yourself,” Lady Vivienne remarked.

“It seems I have.”

“Though I must ask, is the demon still with you?” He looked sidelong at her tiredly, eyes filling with gold and returning to normal just as quickly.

“I assumed you wouldn’t need to ask, with the number of Templars in here.”

“I am merely surprised at the amount of… freedom, the Commander is allowing you.” Themos huffed a mirthless chuckle.

“The fact that he has yet to execute me outright is mysterious indeed.” 

“Yet you’re still here,” Vivienne observed.

“For now.”

“Is that subject to change?”

“We will see. Though I doubt the Commander would allow such a risk .” Despite the conversation he had finished his bowl. Gathering it and the rest of them he stood and left to take them to the kitchens. 

“And how are you taking it, dear?” Vivienne asked, looking at Cassandra.

“We haven’t had the time to discuss it.”

“It must feel like quite the betrayal.” Cassandra did not disagree.

“Well he isn’t exactly Gaatlok next to open flame,” Dorian snapped, “It’s been what? Six months? Without any indication of possession? And Valor isn’t your average demonic quality, either. If they’ve been… like that, for nearly a year now without corruption I would consider them stable.”

“Yes, the opinion of a Tevinter Mortalitasi on the matter will surely calm people’s nerves,” Vivienne smiled. Dorian glowered as he closed his book and stood from the table.

“Whatever effect this news has on your relationship, I suggest you establish it quickly,” the man advised before leaving. Cassandra looked down at her barely-touched breakfast, unsure of her remaining appetite. Vivienne took a seat next to her.

“I wish to impart to you some advice, my dear.”

Cassandra nodded. “Of course.”

"It is not weakness to show your emotions. You must allow them your time and then let them pass on when they are done. Lingering on them, letting them fester, is what causes weakness, darling. Heartbreak is a difficult thing, but it will pass; even if it leaves you changed when it does, it will never have made you weak."

“We have not ended our relationship, Lady Vivienne.”

“That may be true, but you cannot allow love to blind you to what he is.”

“I have not.” Vivienne nodded.

“Then I wish you the best in whatever happens, dear.”

Cassandra finds him on the battlements. There is blood and rubble and the vile green leavings of demons still left, but the bodies have been removed; letters written to families by both sides. The air is always warmer around him, but the bitter chill of Wintermarch has him in his cloak all the same.

"We need to talk," she states. His throat tightens at the clinical tone of her voice. He nods, and turns to face her. "Why did you hide something so serious?" Themos' expression morphed from somber to incredulous in an instant.

"Because I'd have been murdered ?! And very well still could be ?! If Ivary weren't my sister every Templar here would happily have stuffed my body in a broom closet by now! Even you said-"

"-What I said assumed you would not be in control of yourself," Cassandra snapped, "as any other case of an abomination is."

"Oh, so I'm just some new 'Other' now? I'm an Abomination but I'm not like the others, I'm the good one; just like I'm the mage you wouldn't want to be sent back to the Circle when they get re-established 'in a better way'?!"

"That isn't what I'm talking about," the Seeker growled.

"It's not?" Themos exclaimed. "Because to my recollection, the Circle is the Direct Cause for Valor being here !"

" You didn't trust me!"

" This has NOTHING to do with TRUST, " he screamed.

" How does this have nothing to do with trust ?!" He stared at her, breathing heavily, tears steaming against his cheeks.

"Because I cannot afford to expect anyone to just… abandon everything the Chantry teaches about spirits and possession and everything else that has to do with my situation, no matter how close they are to me. And if you think I don't trust you then you're an idiot , because you're the only person who can truly and fully disarm me that I have ever willingly been near." He took another deep, shaking breath. "I apologize for pursuing you. This never should have happened."

Cassandra couldn't bring herself to speak past the rock lodged in her throat. She couldn't bring herself to disagree with him, either. In the silence, they parted ways.