Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: All new for her. Faded for them.

Ciara still remembered how it felt. How could she ever forget it? It was seared in her memory by fire, by pain, and the kind of alien strangeness that only powers could produce.

The loneliness, the rejection, the judgment of not only her allies but also her enemies, the constant need to just do more mission, the frustration… all those things she kept under wraps boiled over and mixed themselves with the source of her powers, with the product being something far closer to the alien nature of her powers

The Keeper of the Dead , Ciara thought. The one that collects . Her power had always been about taking from others. Her weapons and companions, all lives stolen. It was the reason why she had been so feared, even among her fellow heroes. 

How utterly and suitably ironic she ended up being a slave of her power, just like they had been of her.

Her passenger had been in complete control while Ciara, the mortal, just watched, her mind between reality and dream. Between the carnage that was the world of the outside and the crystalline reality of the passengers she used to call faeries.

Her vision was hazy and every thought was like she was swimming in thick tar, but she remembered enough to know her comrades had succeeded and how she had helped with that. She had taken control in the end. Fought the negative feelings and the unrelenting sensation of powerlessness to take command of the alien construct that was her body. But after that… everything had gone black, and even the crystalline dreams had stopped.

Where was she?

Ciara looked around, studying her surroundings. Was she still in the realm of crystals and dreams? Or was she stuck somewhere else?

The first thing that struck her was how...odd the geography was. The sky was a deep green with rocks randomly floating around, sometimes connected to other floating rocks by what seemed to be bridges or ropes. Uncanny in general, but there was more that stuck out to her. 

Ciara squinted her eyes.

Far away she could see something massive, its shape indistinct at this distance, a massive black blur hanging in the sky. However, the more she looked the clearer it became — an inverse of her second sight, where this time she had to struggle to look beyond the superficial to properly see .  As she looked closer, the green clouds formed towers, each one taller than the other. She realized what she was seeing, and her eyes widened in surprise.

Was that a floating city in the distance? She tried to focus more, but the shape remained as it was. 

A Black Citadel floating in the void.

Besides that, the sky was almost empty. No birds or stars, only floating debris and that unsettling green that colored everything above. 

She looked down, searching for answers that the sky didn't seem to have,  and noticed that the ground was decorated with glowing blue veins that had an ethereal glow around them. Some of them even came together to form tree-like structures of twisted glowing branches, which made the place even more unsettling. She doubted those things were plants, or even alive.

Familiar, in a way, to the red and black crystal back home. Familiar, but different.

Best not to touch them without proper equipment, or the proper power.

For all she could see she was on an island. To her left was a jagged black wall and to her right the green alien sky, full of floating rocks and a strange citadel in the distance. 

Without anyone around or a certain path forward, Ciara tried the first thing all Wardens were instructed to do in a situation like this — try to communicate.

"This is Valkyrie, status report," she said, touching her earbud to transmit. She’d had one when she’d gone to fight the Augur Titan, and whatever process had turned her back had brought it along as well. Maybe it was a fool's dream to hope it was still working but checking would cost nothing.

To her surprise, it was transmitting but wasn't picking up a signal. Only static could be heard from the earbud. She was alone, then. Or at least the closest thing to it, considering who she was.

It wasn’t like it mattered much, anyway. She was used to loneliness. Even with her fellow heroes, she was an outsider, her flock and shades her only company, and even those interactions were more of a necessity than a genuine desire for companionship.

She guessed that Chevalier was a friend, as was Riley, and Legend was on that path with her too… but the times between crises were few and far in between. She blamed herself for always wanting to do more, despite the objections of everyone around her.

Yamada included. And didn't that say a lot, that she could consider her therapist her friend?

She usually managed to find something else to do, a crisis somewhere else that needed her attention. A distraction to keep her busy from thinking about it, but it seemed that now she could not stop thinking about it.

Perhaps it was a side effect of the process that turned her into a monster? Maybe all of her frustrations boiled over so much that now she couldn't help but wear them on her sleeve?

Looking above once again, she considered flying, to try and maybe reach that black citadel that hung ominously in the sky. If it was a city then perhaps people could be living there. She could ask for help, or maybe guidance.

As she considered, doubt crept in, and she decided that maybe that was unwise. She didn't know where she was and the whole place felt...off. Unnatural. Like she was an intruder walking on hallowed ground, desecrating its purity by her mere presence. Maybe those rocks would move to crush her once she started moving upwards, or maybe creatures would come out from the sky to fight her in unrelenting droves. She couldn't know, and she needed more information about this place before she could take a more decisive course of action.

Chances were she was in a place heavily touched and shaped by powers. Maybe even created by them, like dimensional pockets or some Shaker effects that affected reality in extreme ways. Before the death of the Warrior, a power like this with such potency and depth to it would be extremely uncommon or unheard of. But, after his death, the rules that defined the powers were more loose and uncertain. Powers that were never meant to be used were released, and pieces of the Warrior were scattered across the multiverse, uncoordinated and chaotic. 

There was also the disturbing possibility she was in an alternate dimension. One warped by beings like the Warrior and the Scholar, or simply where the rules of physics were different from her own reality. All very dangerous possibilities that made flying in the open sky quite unappealing.

The ground under her feet seemed solid and safe for now, and that worked for Ciara at the moment. If the worst came to pass she could handle herself.

Alone and in unfamiliar, possibly hostile territory, Ciara came to the conclusion that just trying to explore this strange land was dangerous. If she couldn't get information from more mundane means, then the fantastical would have to do.  She hoped — and was willing to admit she was considerably nervous and worried about it — that her previous state of being hadn’t morphed her powers to an unrecognizable form. That she could still wield it as she did before. She didn't know what she would do if she was stuck here, powerless and alone.

Would anyone even come for her? Would anyone even care for Ciara, the woman, if she went missing? Or would she be condemned for the thing she did when she was a monster once again? Or was Valkyrie all that mattered in their eyes? The hero, the living weapon. 

She didn't know, and it was better not to dwell on it while here.

Tension left her body once she felt her power, and how easy— practically intuitive — it was to summon one of her shades. She needed one that would give her some guidance in this uncertain situation and that, maybe, would help her to find someone else. Maybe others were stranded like her. Other capes that were forcibly turned and warped by their Agents, but without the same resources she possessed to find their way forward. She had to find them.

She called the one known as Lightbringer, Guide to the Lost. One of the first to wield that name and one of the heroes sent to capture or subdue her, back then, when she was known as Glaistig Uaine. She had broken the woman after two confrontations, taken what made her her and bound it to herself. The end result was forming at her side.

The shadow took shape to her left, as if it was stepping in from another room, its feet still planted firmly on the ground. She was young, in her mid-twenties in look, if not demeanor, from what she could remember. She turned her head, exploring the odd landscape, her form indistinct,  the lines between what used to be her flesh, and what used to be costume blurry and shifting. She was a caricature of what she used to be, her hood and her veil making her look like a nun or a missionary, if a child had decided to draw them.

Riley once called her shades ‘really pretty and lovely,’ but Ciara didn't know if she quite agreed with the statement anymore. It was a lonely existence.

"Can you sense anything?" Valkyrie asked her shadow. "A path forward, or someone else near?" 

Lightbringer wasn't the most powerful thinker she had, but she was one of the more reliable ones and, more importantly, she had been a hero. One quite popular, if Ciara remembered well. Her death had been considered a tragedy across the hero community, and it had intensified the hunt after her. 

The ghost had described her power as some sort of “radar” she had. Once she was in a new location she could release her power and map a whole area, seeing it as some sort of “painting” where she could feel energetic expressions, emotional spikes, and even lingering uses of powers, as long they were based on energy projection and utilization. Her range started at six hundred meters and could reach up to a mile, but she had to stand still in order to use her power or to expand it. Furthermore, any physical blow could interrupt her scanning, causing her heavy migraines that would leave her powerless for full minutes to hours, depending on the severity. 

Lightbringer was also among her candidates to return as a member of the Flock. Ciara had hoped that the woman would eventually agree to return. The world needed more genuine heroes, now more than ever.

The shadow shook her head. "Yes and no. This place, it feels off to me. Like a constantly changing picture. Trying to map it is hard, like trying to paint with running water. It's pointless, I don't like it."

Valkyrie hummed and checked the skies once again. Narrowing her eyes, she noticed how the configuration of the rocks floating above her seemed a little bit different now. She had been aware of how they seemed to be constantly changing, but she was surprised at how fast this place seemed to configure itself into new shapes and proportions. Now, she thought she could distinguish faces and pieces of masonry in the stones. As if someone had plucked pieces of buildings and left them floating around.

'Moving around this place is going to be harder than I thought if not even powers can grasp it correctly, ' Valkyrie thought.

"Can you sense anything else? Or anyone?"

The Lightbringer turned her head and stared far away. When she spoke her voice seemed distant, almost dreamy. "There's... something out there. A surge of energy. I think someone is doing it."

"A cape?" Valkyrie asked. "Maybe the one that made this reality?"

The shade shook her head. "I don't think so. Or at least I don't know. This place is strange. My power can't grasp it well; you should seek someone else. Someone that deals more with the abstract than I do."

The heroine noticed how the shade's words were more clipped and tired. She didn't like this place. Disturbing in a way; few things bothered her shadows.

"Can you point me where to go?" Valkyrie asked.

"Yes," the shadow answered. "Down that path, you'll find the surge of energy I have told you about."

Path ?' The heroine thought. 'What path, there's no-.'

She turned. Down to her left, the wall of black rock had opened, revealing jagged steps going down. At the sides of the entrance, two ornate braziers were positioned, distinctive in how they clashed with the aesthetic of the area. They were silver, and looked new, with indescribable symbols inscribed on them and an ethereal blue flame that shone inside of them. 

Valkyrie was certain that all those things weren’t there a minute ago. Worrying.

Was the master of this reality aware she was here? Or maybe that was just a quirk of this location?

Neither option relaxed her. She had to be ready for anything.

“Is it down there?" Valkyrie asked Lightbringer.

The shade nodded. "Be careful. I sense small things that flow and disappear. Some bigger than others, but yes, they're there. I think you'll notice what's causing the surge I'm feeling."

"Are they that distinctive?

"Maybe. Yes. I don't know. It's just that... it feels solid compared to everything else here. Now, can I go back, please? I don't like it here. It's just so...wrong. "

Valkyrie banished the shade and turned towards the newly formed path, running through the shades and powers in her mind. Defenses and means of escape were a priority above offense right now.

The path was long and winding, and from it she could see the Black Citadel in all of its dark glory.  Looking at it from afar she couldn't help but think of how Jamie would have thought that it was, in his own words, “fit for a Queen.”  She chuckled a little at the memory, but her smile died when thinking about him inevitably led her to remember what he’d once told her. 

He had called her a Queen. A force of change in the world, with her own kingdom to rule. Unstoppable, with enough power to level cities, and make the entire world fear her.

He’d said those words as if they were good things. Things she could not deny about herself, and would always be a part of her. She didn't know if she agreed, and she was afraid that there would come a day when she thought he was right . The day she thought she was a Queen and the entire world her kingdom of the dead.

The woman before Valkyrie had thought like that, but she had been a monster —  more Agent than human.  The woman that she was now made great efforts to atone for all the actions and atrocities her previous self had committed and move on from that dark period of her life.  

'But maybe, ' Valkyrie thought as she walked the steps to the recently made entrance. 'If I was truly the Queen, Jamie thought I was... I would, maybe, stop feeling like the scared and lonely white rabbit all the time.'

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Ethereal Being.

Ciara always knew what she wanted to be as a child. 

She wanted to become a faerie.

 And why wouldn't she? Faeries were wonderful, eternal beings from a magic land far, far away, where dull reality disappeared and was replaced with exciting fantasy and magic. Much better than her boring life.  

Her grandmother loved to tell her stories about the fae and their grandiosity, and Ciara looked forward for them every time. She didn't have many books at home, and her dad broke their small TV, so her grandmother's tales were one of the few things that a young Ciara could entertain herself with. 

But of all of them, the young child loved one story above all.

Her grandmother once told her about the changelings, and how they were faerie children that replaced human ones. The human children grew up in a land of imagination where they forgot about the human world and became fae. Meanwhile, the changelings were raised as humans, until one day they learned what they were and had a decision in front of them: go back to the magical land they were originally from and become Sidhe in fullness… or just stay in the human world.

Ciara, as a child, knew what she was going to say if she ever had the choice.

Her grandmother had told her how in the Valley of the Fae one never felt hunger or sadness. Every day was fun and games till the sun went down and the moon rose. Then it was time for the sweet sleep, where she would be placed in a bed of the finest silks, by a loving and kind mother, who would kiss her forehead and tenderly say to her: “I love you.”

Ciara wished every day she was a changeling, and that one day her real parents would go  get her, so they could leave together to a land full of fantasy and love.

Every day a little prayer. Every day a wish for someone to take her away from her dirty house, her awful life, and her mean parents that constantly yelled to her. 

But the fairies never came and her grandmother died, taking with her the bedtime stories and all the warmth of her life.

And leaving a young Ciara with her parents.

Her parents… Ciara never liked to think about her parents.  They named her, and when Glaistig Uaine was born, that name — and the lonely girl that came with it — had to disappear so the Queen of the Faeries could rise. Most of the memories about them had been bitter and cold, anyway. There was no love lost between them, and Ciara had been happy that she could forget about them and move on once they were gone.

Or at least that’s what she said to herself.

In her mind, they were never that important. Only minor figures to what would become her grand tale. They played a small, but important part in the series of events that caused her to trigger, but that was it. Her grandmother was the one that mattered, not them. 

The day her beloved granny died was also the day the girl known as Ciara began her death knell, only to be reborn as something far more monstrous and powerful than anyone could have ever imagined.

But even though her previous self had died, the stories she’d been told had not only remained, but became stronger. So strong that they eventually replaced reality. 

This odd reality, with its lack of color and life, reminded her of that part of her life. The one she had struggled so much to bury. Of her grandmother’s fairy tales and of Tir na nOg , the Otherworld and home of the gods, a land of beauty and pleasure, covered in lush greeneries and lovely apple trees. 

It was Heaven for anyone fortunate enough to be welcome inside. 

This place was the opposite. A dark mirror of the paradise her grandmother had told her. There was no greenery, no apple trees, or impossible beautiful faeries.

The place was sterile and dark, filled with that oppressive and nauseating green color that seemed to infect everything. The rocks, the ground, the sky — Nothing escaped it. 

It didn’t bother Valkyrie much, though. She had been in far worse places in her two years as the top rising heroine of the Wardens: parallel worlds in war,  swamps filled with flesh-eating mutants and territory the Machine Army had annexed. But this place, it had… something that unnerved her profoundly.  

There was no wind, no sound, no birds chirping, or any signs of life. Only her footsteps made any noise, which was one of the few things that assured her she was actually here and not back dreaming in the land of the red crystals. However, each step was not only reassurance but also condemnation. 

There was something at the end of this path, something dangerous . She could feel it. She knew that she was giving too much trust to a mere “gut feeling,” but when one was close to the source of powers, gut feelings were always something more. 

And the decoration did nothing to assuage her fears. 

The path had led her to a long, wide hallway full of statues at the sides, each one of them representing a scene of human cruelty:  A master punishing a slave with a whip, a horned man-beast bisecting a young girl, a thin creature with long limbs about to pounce on an unsuspecting child, a knight with a raised ax again screaming young woman with odd pointy ears. 

And so on. Each one of them was disturbingly realistic and vivid, as if they had been frozen mid-act and forever left here as decoration. Valkyrie did not dare to touch them for now. There was a lot she didn’t know and acting rashly would do her no good; besides, for all she knew they really were just creepily accurate statues.

Eventually, she reached a stone staircase that signaled the end of the hallway. Before climbing the steps, she looked back at the macabre exhibition and bit her lip. She had strong suspicions that those weren’t regular statues, but despite the temptation, she couldn’t stop and check with one of her shades.  She was afraid that if she did so, she would learn that she was right, and feel even more guilty for moving on. She still didn’t know the rules of this reality and was experienced enough to know that being rash and overconfident helped no one. 

Better to be safe than sorry.

She climbed the steps, doing her best to put the hallway in the back of her mind.

It wasn’t a long trek, and what waited for her at the end gave her pause.  A door. An ornate wood door with interlocking circles; such a thing clashed with the ambiance in such a manner that she couldn’t help but stare at it for a few brief moments in bemusement.

Wary of traps, she summoned the Grey Seer and had him stare at the path ahead and the door. He looked at the floor — which she realized had morphed from the smooth black stone to gray and cracked in just one second,  much to her consternation — to check for traps or hidden mechanisms, and then slowly advanced to the door as his power fed him answers. 

Once he reached the end of the path, he touched the door a few times and rapped knuckles against it. Then, after giving it a few more checks, he turned to her and gave her a thumbs up. 

Valkyrie nodded and dismissed him before carefully advancing.  Even if the Grey Seer was a specialist trap master, that didn't mean she could afford to let her guard down.

Reaching out, she grabbed the knob and twisted it. With some effort, the door creaking opened and she could see what was waiting for her inside.

Instead of the barren wasteland she’d left behind, she found herself in a rather well-furnished room. In front of her, a lovely red carpet extended from to the other side of the room. To her left side a fireplace roared, its fire frozen like it was a photograph of a fire instead of an actual one. She looked to the right and saw a ruined wall with several bookcases filled to the brim with books. 

Above, a yellow banner depicting a sun hung from the wood rafters. It was torn and visibly bloody, with drops of fresh blood falling to the floor and pooling on the carpet, giving the entire room a slightly macabre aesthetic. 

The heroine searched in the deep dark inside of her and toggled between multiple powers, focusing more on defense and evasion than offense.

Once she was satisfied with her selection, she took a step inside the room.

"Well, well . What have we here?"

A sultry, feminine voice echoed in the room, and Ciara froze. Her hand went to her blade and her shades appeared at her side. 

Cindrallion.  Pazuzu.  Milgracias. Gavel.

The small pool of blood bubbled and burned, and from it something arose with an explosion of air. The creature in front of her had the visage of a woman, but a monstrous one. Elaborate horns protruded from a bald, fiery head and extended to the sides of it. Her eyes were black, so profoundly dark that Valkyrie could have sworn she was seeing the Void. She had a slim figure, and her skin was grey under her almost bare top. Valkyrie would have called her topless if it wasn't for the golden necklace that was barely covering her breasts.  Her legs were covered with extravagant cloth and Valkyrie could glimpse a tail peeking from her behind.

Such looks screamed one thing to Valkyrie. 

Demon.

"Hmm, what's wrong, hon?" she said, her voice honey, sex and the promise of ecstasy. "Cat got your tongue? Or… did you see something you like?"

Her voice… Valkyrie, not even once in her life, had considered someone's voice sexy or alluring. Or even seen someone in a sexual or romantic light — who had time for it when the world was constantly in danger? — but this thing , it somehow stirred feelings in her she didn't even think she had anymore.

That wasn't good.

One of her shades — Pazuzu, The Fiery Demon —  made fire bloom from his hands, while another one — Cendrillon, the Bleeding Heart —  quelled Valkyrie's emotions. The mental defense was a boon, allowing her to view the being in front of her with a colder eye.

"Who are you?" Valkyrie said. Her tone was firm and uncompromising.

The demoness chuckled, amused. "Nervous, aren't you? Understandable, my kind have that effect when it comes to interacting with you... creatures. You have nothing to fear though, I bear you no ill will."

"I said, 'tell me who you are’," Valkyrie repeated. The flame burned hotter and her energy wings extended themselves using a Shade from within; a tactic, Valkyrie had found, that worked well to intimidate someone.

The woman just tittered. "I see you're tense, but don't worry, I dislike fighting. Talking is always more pleasurable for all parties involved."

“I won't repeat myself anymore,” Valkyrie said. 

With a smile, the woman started to caress her own body. "I see. Well, if it eases your soul to know what I am, then I'll tell you, creature." She slowly advanced, her steps seductive, until she was a few feet away from Valkyrie.

"I'm Desire," the demoness started. "Whatever you creatures of the living world want, I seek to provide. Lust, power, greed… they're under my domain."

"I'll give whatever you want — for a price, of course, but do not fear. My prices are fair and my wares, limitless.  I can give unlimited riches, pleasures without comparison, or power beyond your wildest dreams.”

"So please, let’s sit and converse like civilized beings. And believe me, I'll make it worth your time.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Desire.

Ciara watched the creature in front of her, mind racing and heart pumping.

'Desire?' she thought. Did that mean she was in front of a projection? Or maybe a confused Case 53? Or— more disturbingly— another thing entirely? She didn't know where she was and that opened millions of possibilities and caused thousands of uncertainties.

The only certain thing was that she didn't trust someone who called herself Desire and whose appearance resembled a christian demon.

'A succubus,' Ciara thought. 'A peddler of desires and destroyer of men. It fits the theme.'

One of the members of her Flock, Noah —Carpenter of Heaven— had been deeply religious and, much to the irritation of other members of her team, quite willing to share his beliefs and knowledge of Christian lore, whether someone had asked him or not.

"What's wrong, mortal?" Desire said, her hands caressing her breasts in a way she knew men would go mad for. "Does this form not convince you?"

"Can you change forms?" Ciara questioned, wary. She was unsure if Desire was going to take the rejection of her deal well, and any information on her capabilities could be helpful if a fight broke out.

Desire just smiled and in the blink of an eye, a man stood in her place. He had a chiseled bare chest, a dashing smile, and strong arms that made Ciara think of those male models in magazines.

In short, he was gorgeous. The kind of man any woman would beg to be with and just looking at him made Ciara think things she had never about anyone else.

Which meant she was once again being Mastered and that Cindralion’s defenses were faltering somehow.

'Master- Stranger protocols,' Ciara thought while renewing Cindralion's mental and emotional defense. 'It seems I can't trust myself around this creature without protection. Another reason to not take this deal.'

"So, mortal? Do you enjoy what you're seeing?"

"Whatever form you take is inconsequential to me. All I want is for you to answer my questions."

Desire pouted. "Now, now. There must be something you desire, isn’t there?" His head tilted and he started to touch his body in a way that a lot of men and women would've considered seductive and alluring, but not Ciara. Not now. "You're a strange human. You're not a mage, are you? Or maybe you are? You're a strange creature. How”— the demon licked his lips, in a gesture he probably thought seductive —” fascinating. You're interesting, little thing."

"I'm glad you find me fascinating," Ciara said, drily. "But whichever form you chose is of no concern of mine. The same goes for your deal. You have nothing that could interest me."

"Nothing?" The man licked his lips again. "You're no common mortal or mage — that's obvious to me now. But… you do want something. All of your kind does, human. You creatures of the flesh are so...basic in that."

"I assure you," Ciara repeated as her shades prepared their powers. "I'm not interested in making a deal. I don't want anything and desire nothing you can give me."

She was lying, of course. She did want something, she wanted to know where she was and how she could go home, but she obviously knew better than to trust someone so sinister looking who referred to humans as "mortals" or "creatures."

Ciara couldn't help but wonder if this strategy had ever worked for them, but since Desire seemed to be a Master it could explain a lot about their confidence.

" What a pitiful mortal," Desire said, purring. "You're beautiful in so many ways. So fascinating, so...shiny. You're different from all the others that come here."

"I'm willing to share information with you if that is what you want," the heroine said, wary. "An exchange of sorts if you want. Not a deal."

The creature chuckled and it was something sinister and malicious. "Tempting, but no. For so long, for so long…" then they laughed, the sound a beautiful thing that somehow made Ciara unnerved, and caused the place to resonate to senses the heroine didn't know she had.

'Unsurprising,' Ciara thought, as her shades spread out and prepared her for the upcoming fight. It always came down to this when parahumans were involved. 'Violence is the only language we all understand, after all.'

"I have waited for someone like you all my existence," Desire said. "I have been feeding on dregs for so long that I almost couldn't resist when I sensed your power, but now… Now you'll be mine, mortal. Soon, I'll experience the material world through your eyes."

'So that confirms something,' Ciara thought, filling the information away. 'I'm not in the "material world" and they're some sort of parasitic entity?' I still don't know enough.'

"Sadly my body is already in use," the heroine said drolly. Chevalier and other heroes always said banter could be fun from time to time. She had never been one for such things, even as a villain, but always better late than never.

"Don't worry, I shall relieve you from that burden soon, mortal." Then, as if they’d been waiting for a signal she couldn't grasp, creatures woven from shadows emerged around her. Ciara counted six of them.

"Unfortunate," Ciara just said. "But expected."

Then, per her orders, Pazuzu sent a wave of pure flame at the incubus, who answered with a wave of pure cold that made the room around them sing once again.

'So, they're also a cryokinetic? Good to know.'

"Subdue her," Desire commanded. At her words, the shades moved to her position all at once, but Valkyrie wasn't scared. She had faced worse and lived.

As Pazuzu launched more and more flames towards the demon — who defended itself by pooling some sort of energy to act as a shield — Valkyrie commanded Cindrallion to attack. The elegant ghost dodged a swipe of a shade and then let out a scream that sounded like dozens of crying women.

Valkyrie watched the wave of power erupt, making the monster reel back as If physically stunned.

She didn't know if either the shades or Desire could feel emotions but she lost nothing trying, and Cindrallion's scream didn't affect emotion as much as it imposed them on someone.

There had been reports of how the ex-heroine had managed to almost drive a psychotic serial killer to suicide for how regretful and sad he felt for all of his actions, and how the effect had lasted weeks till it vanished. That power use had gotten her in trouble with the local Protectorate at first, but the public was in love with Cindrallion — back then Cendrillon — for saving the mayor's little daughter. Her heroics gave her some leeway to avoid severe consequences, and her popularity gifted her some freedom when she chose to join the Denver Protectorate — who was in severe need of more anti- master capes back then and wanted to try and use Cindrallion against a emotion master and serial kidnapper that had roamed the city, hunting young women.

The scream was specifically effective because even if someone— or something — didn't feel like she or regular people did, Valkyrie was sure the scream had to cause something in them. She wasn't wrong.

With the shade still stunned Valkyrie sent Gavel at the demon and ordered Pazuzu to send fire to the shades. At her side, Milgracias — The Worshipper of the Unseen — kneeled and began to pray. A few seconds later Valkyrie began to feel a tingling in her skin that made it clear that the shade’s powers were working on her.

Without missing a beat she lunged and cleaved with her blade at the midsection of the closest shade. The blade harmlessly passed through the body of the monster and Valkyrie — her body augmented — quickly dodged out of the way.

At her left Pazuzu's flames consumed two shades and he backpedaled to avoid another. Gavel chased the demon around, getting hit with shards of ices and darkness but being completely unaffected by them. A shade tried to lunge at him from the side but he grabbed the shade monster by the head and threw him at the demon. A wall of ice formed between them and when the shade collided with it, both the wall and the shade, exploded and sent Desire tumbling down.

Gavel laughed and went for a follow-up but Desire hissed and turned into a flock of iridescent butterflies that moved across all directions.

Wherever they flew and landed one more enemy shadow arose from the ground— like bugs and misshapen things, their backs hunched and arms dragging.

'They can be harmed,' Ciara thought as she avoided another attack. 'But maybe you need to attack a specific point, or all of it at the same time.

At her will, Cindrallion disappeared and was replaced by the small and childish form of Wunderkind — The Merry Prodigy — who climbed to her back and started whispering secrets after watching the shade chasing Valkyrie.

"They have a core," the ghost whispered. "Attack the head. Destroy it and they dissipate. They're not real, not really. They're just clumps of things that could be, not sentient. They don't think, don't feel. Destroy them."

Wunderkind was banished and Atalante — the Silver Huntress— appeared, bow in hand.

Valkyrie slashed the head of another shadow monster and Atalante stepped in. With a flicker of her hand, the huntress whispered to life an arrow made of pure silver energy, knocked it into her bow, but did not shoot it. She would need time to build up her power to the fullest.

"Force them back!" Valkyrie shouted.

Atalante could clear the way to the demon, but she needed time and space. Valkyrie and her ghosts could provide both with relative ease but she had to be wary. She still didn't know the full capabilities of these creatures and the possible backlash that their destruction could cause.

"Subdue it," Valkyrie said to Gavel, pointing at Desire. "But be careful."

Pazuzu threw another wall of fire at the demon and forced it back. With the creature occupied Valkyrie focused on the other enemies by the closest shade next to her. This time the blade managed to hit true and sent the creature reeling, enraged at being hit.

It didn't matter anyway. Atalante was almost ready.

Behind her the shadow of the heroine stood; in her ghostly hands was a bow and a silver arrow, so bright it hurt to look at. The huntress readied her weapon and aimed it at the head of a rapidly approaching shade and, once she was ready — something signaled by the particular brightness of the arrow and the weight of it ─ she let go and the projectile struck true.

It’s time for a light show, Valkyrie thought as she commanded her shades to fall back on her. It was always a spectacle to see Atalante power at work. A Protectorate hero, she served faithfully until Gold Morning happened and she died in one of the ensuing fights against the Warrior. Ciara was there to collect and Atalante ended as one of her ghosts — one of her more useful ones when she needed to eliminate large crowds of enemies without concern for casualties.

The arrow found its target on a shade's head and the creature started shining like a silver bonfire. From its corpse fiery silver lines emerged from the inside, zigzagging and moving in imposible angles until they found their targets in the surrounding shades and Desire, who screamed at being hit.

A few got close to Valkyrie and her entourage but at the last moment they all swerved and landed on the floor, wall and on the roof, all of them in near proximity to their group, but none getting close enough to be risky.

Atalante couldn't really control the lines — once shot they usually were attracted to anything that moved without distinction, but she had some degree of influence in the direction they shot at and she was capable of "nudging" them mid-flight so they didn't hit anything she didn't want disintegrated.

Still, accidents happened a few times. Lives got caught in the crossfire of powers and a scapegoat was always needed. Atalante got reassigned from a highly coveted position in the San Francisco Protectorate to the Quarantine Site 3 — Eagleton, Tennessee — to fight the Machine Army and to make sure no more civilians died in "villain attacks."

It was a flashy, marketable power but it was also one that consumed everyone it touched with little distinction. Perfect for situations like this.

In just a few seconds the lines connected with all the intended targets and — after counting to five — Valkyrie closed her eyes. When she did so she felt a wave of heat hit her in the face and, after counting to five once again, she opened her eyes.

Instead of shadows what greeted her was the beautiful show of silver lights, shaped like small fires, swirling around her like playful will-o-wisps. Instead of feeling hot, they felt cold and weightless; where they touched someone they vanished in small showers of sparks as if they were never there.

And they were all that remained of the shadows.

But not of Desire, Valkyrie thought. The so-called demon still remained, groaning on the ground and trying to stand up. Not very impressive for a so-called bringer of desires and dark wishes.

“Thank you,” she said to Atalante, who just nodded her head before vanishing. In her place, the elegant figure of Cindrallion rose and started applying her power on Ciara, renewing defenses and calming emotions.

With her shades following her Valkyrie strode towards the demon and put her blade on its neck.

“Are you ready to answer my questions?” Valkyrie asked. “Or should we repeat that?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: The Fade.

Desire looked at her with fear written on their face.

"Well?" Ciara said. "Are you ready to talk with no tricks or lies? Or I should just execute you?"

Pazuzu’s hands became fire, and the demon backtracked, but Gavel appeared behind them and made his intent clear when he grabbed the demon by their shoulders and squeezed.

"Wait, mortal, wait," Desire said, quickly. "You have already proven your power to me. I have seen that to keep challenging you is folly. So please...have mercy and I'll answer all of your questions. I may even...grant you a wish. If you desire it, that is, with no deal attached, as proof of my submission to you. Please.”

“No,” Valkyrie said, pressing the blade a little tighter. “There’s no need for that. Honest answers to my questions will suffice. Understood?” 

The demon just nodded, but Valkyrie was still wary and called several powers to boost her body and resistances. Even though the demon had been defeated that didn’t mean the creature wouldn’t try to trap her into a deal or try to attack her out of spite. For all she knew, it was pretending to be helpless while trying to lure her into a false sense of security in order to defeat her and, as they put it, “experience the real world through her.”

No, she couldn’t lower her guard. Not now, and maybe never until she managed to return to the “real world,” as the demon called it.

But that world...would it still be Ciara’s? 

She didn't know the location of her physical body or the state of it — If she went back would she return as the monster or a woman? — or for how long she had been asleep. Months could have passed, maybe years. Still, not knowing was always worse and, in this case, dangerous, if Desire and their shadow minions were the norm for inhabitants of this dimension.

She had been called a mage, which indicated parahuman powers were something known and — according to the terminology used—  believed to be magic, which implied a certain primitive belief in supernatural lore and ancient myths. Desire’s comments also showed she wasn't the only human that had passed through here, which also meant that this place was known well enough for people to venture in. That was troubling because it meant there was an entire society that had managed to contact the source of powers and create a system of belief around them.

It implied that in order to properly communicate with them she would also have to learn their traditions, their language, and their history, and she had never been a talented diplomat. She’d never complained when she had to play that part, but she’d always made clear to Chevalier that she thought there were people more qualified than her. 

Then again, perhaps there wouldn't even be the chance for diplomacy. Their society could be medieval enough to try and burn all the "mages" or "witches". Valkyrie included.

Of course, she could just be panicking for nothing and this realm was nothing more than the personal pocket dimension of someone that had read too many Maggie Holt books, among other more comfortable possibilities.

In the end, though, that was all she could do: theorize. She had no answers and her only available source of information was untrustworthy at best and murderous at worst.

Looking at the demon made all of Valkyrie's instincts scream to her that she needed to plunge her blade on the creature's neck and burn the remains. But that would mean that she would have to stumble around this unknown place without answers. And there was no guarantee that any other inhabitant would be more honest than Desire.  

Whatever happened though she was confident she could deal with it, just like she did with countless other threats and other challenges that she was sent to overcome.

She had to be confident.

'If you dare nothing,' Ciara thought. 'Then you'll earn nothing.'

"What is this place?" Valkyrie finally asked. "No games, just answer me."

The demon smiled, kindly, and it made Valkyrie’s skin crawl. "This is the Fade, mortal, the realm of spirits and dreams. Your kind only comes here when they dream and even then, they can't affect this world or even be aware of what they're doing. Only those that possess magic are capable of both, and even then they're wary, cowed by the power they have. A sad thing isn't it? To be scared of what you are."

Valkyrie ignored the question and focused on what she heard. The Fade. Magic. Spirits. Dreams.  As it was she found those terms oddly comforting. In part, because they were a throwback to a past time when life was more simple, if bloodier, and in another, because the relationship between powers and dreams was something proven by their studies and first-hand experiences —  Like that fracture between realities in Bet, that had trapped civilians in dream realities that caused trigger events,  Or — more recently — the "adventure" of Breakthrough and the Undersiders in the realm of the Agents.

But even with all the evidence gathered she was sure, none of the research or experiences described the realms of the Entities the way she was experiencing it. They depicted a realm of red crystals that was constantly changing, instead of the bare land of sickly green and black citadels. Neither were the inhabitants said to be anything like Desire. That meant that she probably wasn't in the same dimension or — more troubling— that the realm of the Entities had somehow evolved, through unknown methods. Or at least — if the word evolved didn't fit — it had become more welcoming to humans.

"You mentioned mages before. Tell me what they are. Who they are," Valkyrie demanded.

"Mages are what your kind call those that can draw power from the Fade and affect the waking world. According to what I know, only they can affect change in your world. How most of your kind can even live without the power to shape reality is beyond me, to be truthful."

"Draw power from the Fade,' Ciara thought. 'Then this is the source of powers for the parahumans of this Earth? Is this how the realm of the Agents evolved for some reason? Or maybe this place is a byproduct of the Agents interacting with the world?

(There was also another option. The worst one, but she wasn't ready to admit that one was a possibility, not yet.) 

She had to know more. 

"How many mages are there?" She had doubts about this question. Even in Bet, the act of calculating the numbers of parahumans worldwide was a hazardous and tiresome task that she doubted that even the Number Man of Cauldron — later of Mortari — could successfully achieve.

Still, she didn't want an exact census. Just knowing how widespread they were would work for her.

The demon laughed, amused. "Do you think I know how your kind breeds, human? I only know they're feared for their great power and for their connection to my kind. Exact numbers elude me and they're of no importance to me because it doesn't matter how many there are, nor what species they were born of, there's always someone willing to deal with my kind."

Valkyrie filed away the fact they were feared for their power — some things never changed — and focused on something that piqued her interest and worry.

"Species? What do you mean by that?" She almost thought that Desire had meant race with that comment, but the way they said it and the intonation of it, made clear it was something more than that. 

And looking at the way the demon reacted, Valkyrie immediately knew she was right and that she had made a mistake. 

"What a curious creature you are," they said. "You ask things that someone of your kind should know since birth and treat it as something cherished. I knew the instant I sensed you that you were unlike other mages but now? Now I know that—”

The blade tightened on the demon's neck till it started drawing ethereal green ichor. Desire hissed and flinched back, but Gavel was behind and grabbed them from behind, squeezing.

“Please save your comments and just keep answering me,” Valkyrie said, drily.

“As you wish,” Desire said, their voice still with a hint of smugness. 

The demon was angling for something. That much was obvious to her, but as to what she didn’t know. They had said that they wanted to feel the material world through her, but that was before they were defeated. Could they still be working to reach the same goal?

“How do I get out of the Fade? Is there a doorway? A gate?” That was probably one of the more important questions she could ask in order to bring an end to this conversation. She needed to return to the real world — to her world — and learn what happened to the City and her comrades. 

“Leave, mortal?” Then as if Valkyrie had said a joke the demon laughed. “Do you think we are in the room? Do you think you and I are actually here? In one of your kind buildings? No, this is a world of dream and intention. You aren’t actually here. Just a part, just enough for you to explore the Fade and interact with us. Dreaming, but at the same time not. More in here than out there. Do you understand?” 

And despite the answer being wrapped in frustrating mysticism — one she used to be so familiar with — Valkyrie understood well enough. “Am I dreaming?” she said, more a question to herself than to the demon.

The creature smiled. “Yes and no. I don’t know if you’re dreaming, mortal, but you’ve stumbled into a realm made of a pure dream.  A mage was sent here and the master of this realm shaped this place to make him weak and fat with fear.”

“Sent here? Why?”

“Their kind has devised a brutal test to prove they’re not at risk of being in danger of possession. He’s not the first that has come here and he won’t be the last.”

So many questions. Possession? What was magic? How could someone devise such a test? Every answer made her realize that this puzzle was bigger than she thought and that her preconceptions weren't pieces that fit.

But someone’s life was at risk and she was still a hero.

"You said someone was here beside me? Where are they?” 

The demon looked at her with something like joy flickering in their black eyes and Valkyrie knew she had been got. “He didn’t pass through here.  Hubris wouldn’t allow it.” They spat but then smiled. “But you can help the poor thing. It is in your power if you chose to do so.”

“I see,” the heroine said and then began pressing the blade a little harder. “If you’re attempting to trick me…”

“What would be the point of that? “ the demon said. “You‘ve already proven your superiority to me and I have no need for a reminder. All I desire right now is to help you achieve your goals.”

“Why? Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t expect you to do anything, least of all believe me. But know this: the Fade is split into several demesnes ruled by powerful spirits and demons. You’re in one of them; a part of the Fade ruled by a powerful pride demon called Hubris. He enjoys devouring the souls of mortals — mages most of all. And he rules over me and others like me with an iron fist.”

“And you dislike this,” Valkyrie said. 

“Would you enjoy being a dog? Or a servant?  He enjoys seeing how the mages and their jailers interact and then he likes to replay those interactions between the lesser spirits in his domain. He gorges himself with souls and leaves almost nothing to the rest of us. Everywhere he goes, only ruins and misery remain. If you were to destroy him you would be unambiguously doing good and saving lives from ruin.” 

So many things Desire was sharing, so many things she could ask. But time seemed to be at a limit now and she focused on the most important things, the most immediate ones. 

“And it would set you and other demons free to eat and consume innocent people .”

Desire laughed raucously. “Your kind, human, are rarely innocent of anything. You just don’t know it yet.”

Their tone had a smugness that Valkyrie disliked. That self-assurance that only knowledge brought but coupled with selfishness and the inability to properly share it, even when it was for the good of all. It was a staple of villainous thinkers and it always was for petty reasons. Control, ego, pleasure, and that wholehearted belief that only they knew how to properly use that knowledge.

With Teacher, it had been all four since even before the Birdcage. And Valkyrie was tired of those like him — who played with human lives and used them to reach their petty and selfish goals — and if she was to dethrone a tyrant, she would not help the rising of another one. She would rather burn it all.

“That isn’t helping your case. Tell me why I should not destroy you.”

“You could, you’re certainly mighty enough, but you’ll never reach the boy if you killed me. Hubris has split his realm among many isles and this is not the one where the harrowed mage is. He’s with Hubris in the center of his power. If you go on your own then you’ll find obstacle after obstacle and droves of enemies after you in every corner. But if you accept my offer then I would just need to open a way for you to save the mage.”

“And you’ll do this out of the goodness of your heart?” Valkyrie replied.

“No, I’ll do it out of survival. Promise me, you’ll spare me and I will open a path for you. Destroy me and the boy is dead, consumed by something far more dangerous than me.”

“And letting you free to gorge on souls?”

“Aren’t you being a hypocrite now? I’ve seen those you call to fight for you,” they said, pointing at Valkyrie’s shades. “At least I give them what they most desire and a choice to accept or not. Can you say the same?”

Valkyrie narrowed her eyes and, out of sheer disgust, thought for a long second about cutting the thing head’s off. Then, after taking one small breath, thought better, and chose to remain silent. She could’ve said many things, she could’ve said, for example, how she knew how everyone she met considered her creepy and still one hair’s breadth from becoming a monster once again. She could’ve also said how she was aware of her own hypocrisy, but that she knew it was for the greater good and she could not use her power when so much depended on her. She could’ve said so many things in her defense, give reasons and arguments she had practiced so many times in her mind, and said several times to her detractors. And this time she could’ve spoken but she didn’t.

Mostly because Valkyrie realized that was what Desire wanted. To draw her into a verbal fight and beat her with an argument. 

(And maybe, just maybe, because she was tired of repeating them so many times without a change happening. Maybe she was always destined to be treated like that.)

"How could I know you won't betray me? And how does saving the mage help me wake up?" she asked.

“Do you think I'm one of your kind? A human? Deals for us demons are sacred. Vow to forgive my life and I will help to save that mage. I won't betray you. I know now that you can end me at any time. And about your second question: the boy was sent here to defeat Hubris and only after he has proven himself will he wake up. The same will happen to you if you destroy him. He's stopping you from waking up, after all."

“But you'll still be free and wishing to go to the material world."

“And I repeat what I said. You’re free to destroy me, it’s in your power to do so, but know you’ll never reach the mage in time. Hubris hungers for a powerful vessel and he’ll wreak more havoc in the mortal world than I ever will. If you spare me then I’ll also promise you won’t hear from me ever again. We won’t cross paths and I’ll be someone else’s trouble.”

Ciara wanted to say no. She wanted to destroy this creature and be confident that she could reach the person in time; that she could save them, but the demon was right in something. She didn’t know much about this place, she didn’t know of its rules and what she could do. Doormaker wasn’t working and he was the most effective long-range mover she had. She hadn’t wanted to risk other movers since time, space and physics didn’t seem to have much meaning until they had, like now.  

She hated this. She hated not knowing enough and despised the feeling of powerlessness it brought.

“Sometimes,” Legend had told her way back when she was just starting as a hero, “we have to compromise with evils we don’t like in order to do the most good. We don’t have to like them, and I’m guilty of allowing too many evils to live and thrive for a cause I thought was right and just, but in the end, it caused as many problems as it fixed.”

"Why are you telling me this?” she had asked, wary. They hadn’t interacted much before this. An awkwardness had always existed between them,  even more palpable than the one between her and the rest of the Wardens. Probably because she had collected Eidolon, one of his closest friends. 

“I’m telling you this because I also was a new hero with strong power. I thought I was strong enough to make a difference and save everyone that needed saving. All of us thought that. But that’s the hardest lesson that needs to be learned.

Not everyone can be saved.”

And he was right. Not everyone could be saved, and she wasn’t a good hero. But she still was a hero, here or in Gimel, or any of the other Earths she’d been to, and someone was in need of help. Even if she had to allow a lesser evil to live… for now. 

Valkyrie made a choice. “Very well. You’ve got a deal. I’ll let you live and in exchange, you will help me rescue the mage.” She pulled her blade out of the demon’s neck and stepped back. Her shades followed her. 

“Perfect,” Desire said, smiling and standing up. “I knew you’d see sense.”

Then, before Valkyrie could say anything else, the demon extended their hands and grabbed something in the thin hair, and pulled.

As if she had pulled from a loose thread, a patch of the reality behind Desire unraveled, and suddenly a patch of the room was extremely different from the other — this one was a hallway with doors and paintings at the side and a rich blue carpet rolled out on the floor.

"That's the Nightmare of the Mage," Desire said, laughter in her voice. "Where Hubris and the mage are expecting you. Good luck."

Giving a hesitant look to the demon, Valkyrie steeled her resolve — while calling up various powers in case anything happened — and stepped into the portal.

"Have fun, and please, survive. You’re too fascinating to die now," the demon said, as the portal closed behind Valkyrie. “Oh, and remember, Faerie Queen , real challenges never end.”

Chapter Text

Interlude: Harrowed.

In the Tower, the first lesson they forced on us wasn't about magic. It was about religion.

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

Foul and corrupt are they

Who have taken His gift

And turned it against His children.

They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.

They shall find no rest in this world

Or beyond.”

Such were the words of the prophetess Andraste — transcribed by her disciple Justinia to the Canticle of Transfigurations — and we were told from a young age to burn them in our minds, or someone else would do so for us; because the sin of the ancient Magisters, who dared to taint the Golden City, was our sin, and we carried their taint in our power. We were told by the Chantry that our magic was a curse and that we were dangerous. That in order for the rest of the world to be safe we had to be locked inside our towers, and that we were supposed to be grateful for that because the other option was to slit our throats and drown us as babies. 

They shoved their shit down our throats and they expected us to smile and say it tasted like honey, that we wanted more, and to plead forgiveness for the sin of being born. 

I hated it, and I despised those that went with the whole dog and pony show. I hated how they scraped for the leftovers of the Chantry, how they denigrated themselves and bowed their heads to the templars, pretending to be grateful for their presence while hiding how unnerving it was that they were always there. Watching. And sometimes... more than just watching. 

I hated it all, but I understood that in order to survive you had to do things you didn't like. Even when that was doing nothing, and keeping quiet in the sight of injustice. Because it helped, in a way, to keep our delusion alive. That we had a choice, that if we were good mages the Chantry would go softer on us, that we would go out and live normal lives. It helped to keep us sane; to keep us alive and relatively whole, and it helped us ignore the fact that one night we could disappear and never be seen again. 

As a son of nobility, I had privileges — that I didn’t ask for — that protected me a little compared to others, but that didn’t mean safety. One was never safe in a Circle Tower. It didn't matter who you were or what you did; as long you had magic you belonged to them.

And that made me think of Andraste — who fought for the freedom of slaves — and I couldn’t help but think she’d be disappointed by what her Chantry became. 

After all, how was the woman that fought to defeat a slaver Empire supposed to feel if she learned she helped in the creation of another?

⊙

That night started like any other night. We all gathered in the grand salon of the third floor for dinner, which the Tranquil made for us.  The room — with its multiple small tables and its few large ones — was a common place for us to gather and chat after a long day of hard work. We ate and chatted with one another of the recent happenings of the Tower, while we tried to ignore the constant rows of armed Templars behind us.

As usual, the food was delicious and varied, with all of us having the freedom to choose where we sat, while the Knight-Commander with the First Enchanter and other select few watched over us from the head table, at the end of the room.

First Enchanter Lydia looked in my direction and smiled, raising her glass of wine as a wave and I answered in kind, if a little more warily, before continuing on my way to meet my friends in one of the more smallish tables that were big enough to hold more than five people but less than ten.

After sitting, I immediately greeted my friends as usual and then I quickly turned to look to the other tables — in the direction of the full-fledged mages — trying to see where Rosemarie was, my heart aching with guilt and my mood somber. Our fight was still fresh in my mind and her last words had been echoing inside of me since then.

Maker, what a fool I had been. I had to fix this.

“Have you guys heard about Thomas?” Anne said, at my side. “I’ve heard he volunteered for the Rite of Tranquility!”

Lesas snorted, his messy straw blonde hair barely covering his elven ears. “Yeah, right. Who did you hear that from? Leanne? You can't trust that one. Everyone knows she’s a little bit crazy from her Harrowing.  How the First Enchanter even let her teach apprentices is a mystery only the Maker knows.”

“You shouldn’t be saying that! Leanne is a very talented mage that passed her Harrowing with flying colors according to what I heard. Maybe she’s a bit...eccentric but she knows what she’s talking about. And most important she’s—”

“Crazy,” Lesas interrupted. “Right, Max?" I just nodded at his words, peripherally aware that he was talking to me but not really paying much attention to it. Every word they said went through one ear and exited through the other one without distinction.

“See, even Max agrees with me. Everyone knows it, Anne. There’s a reason why the templars check her for signs of corruption more than anyone else. She’s a necromancer, for Maker’s sake. Who knows what sort of experiments she does in the laboratories. You should stop talking to her, the templars are going to get bad ideas about you two.”

“Stop talking like necromancy was some sort of forbidden magic already! The Circle of Nevarra has published several papers about it, explaining why it has nothing to do with summoning demons or blood magic. It is a branch of magic just as viable as any other.”

"Yeah, in Nevarra. Their mages practically run the place there, what with their citizens' creepy obsession with corpses and how old their king is. But we're not there and it is well known how devout the nobility is in Ostwick. Hunting mages was practically a sport for them in the past."

"Yeah, well, things are changing, you know. After...you know what happened in Kirkwall, the Chantry has to have realized they cannot keep going like this. They need us, even if they want to deny it."

Lesas laughed and took a bite of his chicken. "You really don't know the Chantry then. Have you talked to Mother Rowena? That woman is capable of denying the sky is blue and the tiles of the floor are grey if it suits her worldview."

"Okay, maybe mother Rowena is not the best example, but sister Analea is really nice—"

"I'm pretty sure she almost called me a knife-ear the other day."

"You think everyone's about to call you a knife-ear at least once."

"That's because they are and—"

"Have you guys heard about Thomas and the Rite of Tranquility?" Kendra said, suddenly coming from behind with a goblet of wine and apple pie in hand, startling Lesas, who let out a very unmanly scream and caused Anne to snort in her wine.

I just nodded at her as a way of greeting and kept eating, absentmindedly chewing but not tasting anything, thinking of where Rosemary was. I tried searching for her beautifully distinctive golden hair, but she was nowhere to be seen. Was she still mad at me? How could I make her understand I did not mean such words? She wouldn't just leave it like that, right?  She couldn't. She wouldn't.

"What— don't do that!" Lesas said, his hand on his chest and his expression harried. "You almost gave me a heart attack, woman!"

"Everything gives you a heart attack, Les. You're always jumpy, like a rabbit," she teased, ruffling his hair.

Lesas’ expression darkened. "You know, I've been itching to try these new fire spells I've learned recently. Want to volunteer?"

Kendra smiled and took a nibble of her apple pie. "I'm too much of a woman for you to handle, sweetie. And let's be honest, you've never had a woman before, so it’d be you stumbling in the dark trying to hit something with your...staff."

Lesas turned red as an apple, which gave me the idea that maybe if I gave Rose a slice of apple pie she would deign to talk to me. She’d always loved desserts and apple pie was one of her favorites.

"Umm yeah, can't we try and not talk about staves and, uh, thrusting stuff, please? What did you say about Thomas, Kendra? Is it true?"

Kendra grinned. "I never said anything about thrusting but fiiiine." Then her expression turned serious. "Yes, Thomas apparently volunteered for the Rite of Tranquility. The dumbass. I heard it from Superior Enchanter Leonard, this afternoon.”

Rose had always liked Leonard. She said his classes were exciting. Maker, I missed her. She couldn't just leave with things as they were right now, right? She had to give me a chance to explain myself at least.

Lesas’ face fell. "But...really? Why!? I mean, does he know what they're going to do to him? He's going to stop being human and turn into a Tranquil!?"

"Tranquils are still human," Anne said, harshly.

"Yeah, you said that because your mentor never forced you to help in the deposit. Spend more than five minutes with them and you'll know what I mean. They're not human, Anne. They'd been stripped of that. Only the shell remains."

"You can't just say that they're —"

"Not the point of the conversation," Kendra interrupted. "And I'd like to eat without another argument, please. What about you, Trevelyan? Heard anything good from First Enchanter Lydia? Trevelyan?

I nodded at her and said, "Sure, whatever you said," with practiced ease before grabbing another bite of my chicken thighs. 

There had to be a way I could talk to her. I knew that relations in the Circle were almost always meant to end but...it couldn't be this way. With a quiet whimper and us ignoring each other every time we crossed paths in the Tower. If only magic could heal—

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt a strong shove on my side and I landed on the floor.

The cold touch of it and the hardness of my fall woke me up to my surroundings and I cursed aloud to Kendra — who mischievously smiled at me.

"What the fuck!?" I said, ignoring the murmurs of the other tables and the side glances from other mages. Some of the Templars looked in our direction, but none moved, and unless someone started casting they would remain like that. 

“You weren't paying attention to me, or any of us. And you know how I hate being ignored,”  Kendra said, as I rose and cleaned off my robes. 

“I wasn't ignoring you,” I snapped, angry. I had been, though.

“Uh, huh,” Kendra said. “And I'm the Queen of Ferelden. Now, are you done brooding like a child?”

“I wasn't brooding,” I answered, coldly. 

“Now that I notice, you were a little...standoffish,” Anne said before Kendra could open her mouth again. She looked concerned and I hated that. Anne had enough things to be concerned about on a daily basis and I didn't want to be one of them.

“Are you okay, Max? I know we were a bit… self-centered right now, but you do know you can tell us anything, right? 

“I said, I'm fine. I was just busy. Focusing on my assignments and stuff,” I said, mulishly. I knew my friends meant well but I wasn't in the mood for sharing. Irrational as it was, I wanted to keep this pain to myself, for a little while. The last remnant of one of the few things that could be truly called mine, in my whole life.

Lesas snorted. “You lie like shit, Max. I've known you since you were six and you've never managed to hide your tells. Now, what's wrong? Who's the asshole I need to set on fire now?"

"More like the bitch we need to set on fire," Kendra said with a knowing glint in her eyes. "This is about Rosemarie isn't it?"

"Don't call her that," I said to her. "She's not a bitch."

My friends just sighed, tired expressions on their faces as they looked at me as if I was the biggest clown they'd ever met and this was just a sad, humorless joke.

"Look man, I don't want to say we told you so, but—"

"We told you so," Kendra said. "We warned you about her and you didn't listen."

"It was my fault," I said. "I – we argued and I said things and then… I don't know. She's been avoiding me."

“Of course, she's avoiding you. She's a coward and your brother is an ass, simple as that.”

“Can't we talk of anything else?” I said, trying to poorly deflect. “What did you say about Thomas, Anne?”

  Lesas rolled his eyes at my poor attempt of moving the conversation to other topics, but kept his mouth quiet and lightly pinched Kendra’s arm when she tried to continue with the topic. Anne just sighed. They were good friends, the three of them, and they didn't deserve to be dragged into my petty drama when they had concerns of their own. It wasn't fair to them and I wasn't worth that much concern. 

"He's taking the Rite of Tranquility,” Lesas said. “He's a coward.”

“You shouldn't be saying that,” Anne replied, furiously. “He must have his reasons.”

“Yeah,” Lesas said. “That he's a coward. He probably heard he was being considered for the Harrowing and instead of doing the right thing and facing it as a mage would, he immediately balks and goes to the Chantry for answers. Fucking choirboy.”

Before he could continue Kendra interrupted him. “The reason why he volunteered is meaningless. For all, we know it's just a rumor. But”—she turned her head to look at me—“did the First Enchanter say anything? Or maybe something slipped by when she was giving you lessons?”

“Not really?” I said, trying to recall today's lessons. “She was busy as always so we didn't talk too much today. I only listened and followed her instructions, as usual."

Kendra huffed and rolled her eyes. “Really, Trevelyan, what use are you for us? The First Enchanter, of all people, picks you as her personal apprentice and you don't use that opportunity to learn a little about gossip from the outside of the Tower or maybe…. maybe who's next for the Harrowing rites? You know, the important, life-defining rite of passage we all have to go through?"

“Are you still with that?” I said to her. “I told you already, the First Enchanter is not sloppy. She wouldn't leave important papers such as these in the open. Stop asking.”

“Fiiine,” Kendra replied. “But can't fault me for trying. Not all of us have our positions in the Circle already safe and cozy thanks to our rich parents.”

I narrowed my eyes. I thought this matter was settled between us. I’d already told her what I thought of my family and their supposed meddling and she’d already made clear her opinion on the subject 

"Kendra…" Anne started.

"No, let her talk," I said.  "She won't shut up until she says her piece."

"How kind of you to let this poor peasant talk, my lord ," she said with a mocking smile. 

My fists clenched and I felt anger burning inside of me. The Fade answered in kind and I felt the power within me churn and move, ready to be used. Ready to lash out and make Kendra shut her damn mouth. I didn't though, mostly because I knew it wouldn't solve anything and because the Templars would be on me before I could do anything else.

'She knows I hate when someone calls me that.'

"I thought we had already talked about this," I said. 

She narrowed her eyes and turned in her seat to look at the surrounding tables. More specifically, to the templars near us, and then to a table not far from us. The table of the loyalists; the ones that loved to eat the Chantry shit and spew it to all of us. Thomas used to be one of them and, in a particularly dark moment, my friends and I joked that if the Circle ever got Annulled these guys would just do the Templar’s job for them and slit their own throats with a smile on their faces.

It used to be a joke, a small jab, to those that thought that if they bowed to all the Chantry's whims they would get more freedoms, or that maybe their bootlicking behavior would cause the Divine to have a Maker's sent epiphany about her treatment of the Circles.

We used to laugh about them and how annoying they were, but now — after Kirkwall — it stopped being funny. There was a… tension in the air. One that needed naught but a spark to set everything on fire around us. After the Champion of Kirkwall sided with the mages and helped kill Knight-Commander Meredith, the Circle was a buzz of news and gossip about what we could do and what we would do. The Knight-Commander of Kirkwall had been crazy, so deranged that they said even her men had turned against her and helped the Champion kill her. It made us wonder. What happened there, could it happen here? Were we going to awake one day with the Templars’ swords over our heads? Was this the time to rebel, to be free?

An apostate had killed a Grand Cleric and, for that, all the mages in the city had been condemned. Why did we deserve to be judged by the actions of a deranged man? Of an abomination , of all things? Haven't we been loyal enough to them? Fought in their wars?  Didn't we help defeat the qunari and defend Thedas during Blights? How much did we have to prove ourselves in order to be accepted by the wider population? Would it ever be enough?

The neverending questions eventually consumed the Circle, and from there, it evolved into shimmering unrest that wouldn't find any sort of appeasement. We were angry, scared, and uncertain of our future. An explosive combination made even more so when the Templars answered with the only tool at their disposal: violence.

The punishments and the beatings increased in number and severity and more mages and apprentices were sentenced to solitary confinements at the depth of the Tower. Anne’d had to clamp Lesas’ mouth before he said something to the Knight-Captain he'd regret, and I’d had to drag Kendra away before she joined in one of the protests.

Things had only calmed down when the First Enchanter made a proclamation in front of the whole Circle that, as long she was in charge, she wasn't going to allow disarray or chaos in the Tower.

  "What happened in Kirkwall was a tragedy, but I think you all need the reminder that this is not Kirkwall," she had started. She had stood in front of the crowd in her best green robes, with her makeup tastefully put, and her hair — according to Anne — arranged in the latest Marcher fashion. She was the perfect picture of what a noble should look like: Regal, proud and beautiful.

And, oh, how I fucking hated her for it in that moment. 

“I'm the First Enchanter here and I will not be questioned, either by my own people or the Templars. Faxhold has been loyally serving the Chantry and Ostwick since its foundation and I'm not going to let it crumble because of the failures of another Circle. I've already spoken with the Knight-Commander and his men will stand down, and those that… went out of hand in the disciplinary actions, are to receive heavy punishment from the Knight-Commander.” She’d paused and looked at all of us like we were a bunch of misbehaving children. As if our doubts were not legitimate and the abuses some of us suffered weren’t real. “For safety reasons it has been determined that all mages will be locked in their own rooms for the duration of two days with no exception, whatsoever. The Enchanters will escort the apprentices to their rooms and then go to their assigned lodging. At the command of the Knight-Commander, Templars will patrol the Circle and properly discipline those that escape from their rooms. This is your punishment. You're not children, so don’t behave like them.”

Protests had risen immediately after that ´pronouncement’ — all rushed, with everyone talking over everyone else — none managing to find a sympathetic ear. The Knight Commander had silenced everyone with a yell and a threat of Smite if everyone didn't shut up and do what the First Enchanter had said.

“And be grateful to her,” he’d said in his gruff, deep voice. He’d looked tired of everyone’s shit, but of course, he was always like that, especially when there were mages involved. “I would’ve been less...kind when dealing with you lot. Now behave and do as your First Enchanter said. Men, make sure everything goes smoothly and without the ‘magical accidents’ that were so common this last week.” 

Things calmed down after, but not by much. Just like Knight–Commander Draden said, ‘magical accidents’ became rarer after that and the Circle returned to normalcy. At least on the surface. In truth, the Tower was a simmering pot of factions and ideologies ready to burst. No one could agree on anything and everyone was ready to point fingers at who was to blame, and that made a lot of people nervous.

People like Kendra or Lesas, particularly— elves and humans without a drop of noble blood in them. Without someone on the outside that cared for them or without enough influence to pull strings inside the Circle. 

"Listen," Kendra continued. "I know you don't like your family and you would be happy without anyone remembering the fact that you're a noble, but the fact is, you are a noble, whether you like it or not. You're the son of one of Ostwick's oldest and most prominent noble families, and no matter how much you wish to be a mudfooted commoner like Lesas and me –"

"I'm not a commoner," Lesas interjected weakly from the side.

"Shut up," Kendra said. "And yes, you are. Magic aside, that’s how everyone would see us. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. You're a noble and we're not, and hating that is not going to change anything. You have advantages we don't have and that's the truth, that's why you need to understand you are safe in a way we're not."

"I'm not a noble," Anne said weakly, at my side.

Lesas rolled his eyes, his expression was tired and annoyed. "No, but you're the bastard lovechild between an Orlesian noble and her so-called true love. She's a donor to the Circle and has come to visit a few times. To say she would be upset if something happens to you would be an understatement."

"Everyone knows the First Enchanter works really hard to make the Circle an invaluable thing for Ostwick, and part of the job is kissing up to the nobles' arses. Or making their sons her personal apprentices."

I narrowed my eyes and made a noise of protest at her for that.  I did not ask to be mentored by Lydia, and it could even be said that she forced me into the mentorship.

"Look, I'm not saying you don't deserve it," Kendra continued." In fact, I'll say you've earned that honor — Maker knows no one else is good enough for the First Enchanter — but you can't say to me you're the only one who deserves it. In the end, you know the decision came down to who your parents are and the fact they're loyal Andrastians who have sent one of their sons or daughters to the Chantry every generation."

"I know that. All of that," I replied. How couldn't I? Especially after my father outright told me, to my face, how shameful it was that I had been born with magic; as if it had been my fault. But of course, blaming us — his children — for things beyond our control was something that father was very skilled at. That and being an offensive twat.

"Can you tell me what your point was? Because I thought you wanted to eat," I said, touching my now lukewarm chicken and mashed potatoes. 

She rolled her eyes and took another bite of apple pie. "I'm telling you because you aren't taking the situation seriously enough. Specifically, with the Harrowing." She leaned her head closer to me and spoke lower. "Everyone knows that crazy bitch in Kirkwall did whatever she wanted and used the Rite of Tranquility to punish light offenses. She even used it on mages. Not apprentices. I mean full-fledged Harrowed mages."

"This is not Kirkwall," I hissed. Of all the things Lydia had said that day, that was probably the only one I completely agreed on. "Stannard could do whatever she wanted because she killed the previous Viscount and controlled the next one. Dreaden wouldn't even dare to do a fraction of what Stannard did. The Grand Cleric would eat him alive, that is, if the Theryn doesn't grab him first and burns Faxhold.” 

“That's not the fucking point, Max,” Kendra said. “The point is that we're all near or at the age where they call us for the Harrowing and we don't know what that is. Some of the Templars in here saw the mages rebelling in Kirkwall as a challenge . Some even said that what Stannard did was right. We have the right to know what the hell these bastards are going to put us through. Nobody cares if something happens to an apprentice; they see us as untested. But being a mage gives us protections we wouldn't have otherwise."

"And you want to spy on Lydia for that information," I said, dubiously.

"Not spying, but—" Lesas started.

"You're the only apprentice of the First Enchanter. She usually takes two or three to personally train if they impress her enough, but the last few years she’s been busier with court and politics so she doesn't have the same time. Besides the Superior Enchanters, you're the only one close enough to see what we need.”

“It’s not just about us,” Lesas said. “The others are nervous too. They want to know what's going to happen. I know it is a lot to ask but could you please try? For all of us?"

Anne made a noise of protest at my side. "I'm not okay with this. You're forcing Max to take a risk that could potentially end his apprenticeship with the First Enchanter. And for what? To learn something that is kept a secret for a reason? You can't ask him to do this!"

I looked at my friends and sighed. Maker, wasn't this a mess. "Can't you just ask someone in the mage's quarters? What about Marcel? Can't he tell you?"

"Marcel and I aren't speaking to one another," Kendra said, crisply. "And he refused to talk about it. Max, please. I know you don't like it, but everyone is nervous and scared. More apprentices are disappearing by the week and no one knows if they're dead or if they were sent to another Circle."

I thought about the Harrowing. Everyone was scared of it and with good reasons. It was the rite of passage that tested if an apprentice was ready to become a full-fledged member of the Circle of Magi, but no one knew how they tested you for such "honor." The rumor was that the Enchanters summoned a demon for you to fight and if you lost the Templars killed you and threw your body to the sea. Another rumor, even more outrageous, was the price for failing was that the First Enchanter turned you into a pig and then gave you to the Tranquils and servants to turn you into dinner.

Probably none of them were true, but that didn't help to soothe the nervousness and fear of younger apprentices who were already twitchy enough with the Templars.

"Fine," I agreed. "I'll help you. I'll see if I can do anything."

"Really!?" Lesas and Kendra said, their tones incredulous. They probably expected me to say no and with good reason. Risking the anger of the First Enchanter was something I never would've done before. But right now, I needed help with something, and the mention of the Harrowing reminded me of another unpleasant situation I was going to be forced into.

"Really?" Anne said as well.

"Really," I repeated. "But I want something in exchange."

"Anything," Lesas said, quickly.

"You're still talking to Ser Damien, right?" I said to Kendra, who warily nodded.

"Yes? I know he's a Templar but he's kind of nice and—"

"Don't care," I said. "Laila told me he's one of the Templars in charge of the visits this month and I need him to say to someone that they can't visit. Promise me you'll convince him. You know his price. I'll even give you some of my lyrium If you need it."

"Max..." Anne said, her tone sad, but Lesas grabbed her hand and shook his head. "No," he mouthed to her.

Kendra looked at me for a moment. "Okay," she said, and then paused for a second. "Your siblings, or your father?"

"Doesn't matter," I said, trying to deflect. I knew my mother wouldn't come, she was too busy. "I just don't want them here."

"Fine," Kendra said, her tone so gentle it almost hurt. "I promise I'll do my best in order to convince him."

"Can we eat in peace now?" Anne just said. "The food is really nice tonight and I don't want the efforts to go to waste."

"Sure," I said. "Been trying to do that since the beginning."

As we continued with our meal, I thought about the Harrowing and what it did to mages. I knew it had to be bad, but how bad exactly? I wanted to believe that it wasn't as nightmarish as everyone made it seem. That it gave mages a fighting chance to prove ourselves and to show the Chantry and the First Enchanters that we weren't ticking demon bombs.

In hindsight, I should've known better.

  ⊙

They came in the night and forced me out of my bed.

Templars. Their armored boots were oddly silent on the tiled floor as they grabbed me and forced me out of my bed. 

I struggled. More out of instinct and need than out of a genuine belief that I could really escape. If they wanted to kill me I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of making it easy. A spiteful last act, to make up of years of obedience and meekness. A nice way to die.

Their grip was strong and before I could cast a spell, one of them kneed me in the gut. I screamed — pain blooming from my stomach while one of them cussed and snarled — but before anything else could happen an angry voice spoke.

“What in the Maker’s name do you all think you're doing?” The Templars hastily dropped me to the ground and they stood at attention.

“Ma’am, we were told to–” one of the Templars started saying.

“You were told to bring the apprentice to the top of the lighthouse in an orderly manner. Not gag him and punch him. You should be ashamed, men.” 

“Knight-Lieutenant, he–”

“He behaved as anyone else would have done so in his situation. Leave, I shall escort him myself since you're all unable to do so peacefully.” 

“Ma’am, with all due respect, the Knight-Commander—”

“Will understand once I explain what happened. Now”—she clasped her hands and smiled at the Templars behind me—“please leave us. I have an apprentice to escort, after all.”

They hesitantly did as they were told, giving me dirty looks that were clear to me even with helmets on. As if it was my fault.

“Are you okay?” Knight-Lieutenant Morgan said. She had always been one of the good ones and, just for that, I was glad to see her.“They shouldn't have done that. I'll make sure to report them and that the Knight-Commander does something.”

"I'm fine," I lied while trying not to scoff. As if reporting them to Draden would do anything. He probably knew and didn't care. "Nothing I can't really fix."

I touched my gut and winced at the bruise I felt, but a quick application of healing energies quickly fixed that. 

"I'm glad for that," Morgan said. "But you need to come with me. Both the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander Draden asked for you."

Oh. So they had actually asked for me.

"I'm in trouble? Did I say something or maybe I failed in something? Or…"

"You'll have to see. I'm not allowed to say," Morgan said with a gentle, if a little nervous, smile. "But no, you're not in trouble. Just come with me, please, and you'll know."

I followed her through the floors of the Tower in quiet silence, my mind already suspecting of what was happening but having trouble processing it.  A part of me couldn't even believe it.

'Maker ,' I thought, desperately. 'Give me strength.'

I reached the top of the Tower, where my eyes saw the Enchanters and the Templars gathered there, and only then reality finally catch up to me and I finally understood 

This was a Harrowing.

Chapter Text

Interlude: Harrowed II.

"Magic exists to serve man and never to rule him," Draden said, his voice coarse as he glared at me. "Thus spoke the prophetess Andraste when she defeated the evil Magisters of Tevinter.

"Your magic is a gift, but also a curse, for demons of the dream realm — The Fade — are drawn to you and seek to use you as a gateway to this world."

"This is why the Harrowing exists," continued Lydia, her green robes billowing from the light sea breeze. "This is a ritual, a trial by fire, and a rite of passage to prove you're ready to become a member of the Circle capable of resisting the temptations of the demons."

I stared at them, my mind numb and my heart beating faster than it had ever had in my life. A Harrowing. My own Harrowing. Maker, I wasn't ready. I couldn't – I just….why now? Why me? Of all of the apprentices in the Tower, why was I chosen to go through this?

"I-" I stopped. My voice had been trembling. I couldn't afford to look weak in front of the Templars and Enchanters. "Do I have a choice?"

"There's the Rite of Tranquility, that–" Draden started.

"Will take away your magic and your emotions," Lydia interrupted. "It’s a controversial ritual, but a necessary one to cut the weak-willed away so they don't endanger us all with their indecision and questionable control of their powers."

‘And you're not one of them,’ she left unspoken. As always, her trust in me was as heartwarming as it was unsettling.

'I'm not a tool for your games,' I said inwardly, but I still acquiesced by nodding at her.

"Through the Harrowing, you'll prove you're ready to take the responsibility of becoming a member of our brotherhood of mages and show us the strength of your will. I have faith you'll succeed," the First Enchanter continued, ignoring the withering glance Draden directed at her.

I gulped and tried to find bravery inside me. I always knew this was going to happen eventually. We all did, but…

It was still hard. The uncertainty and everything it entailed. 

'I could die, ' I thought, the realization bitter and cold. 'That's why so many apprentices disappear or choose Tranquility. This could kill me. Maker, why me?

"W-What do I need to do?" I said, my voice stuttering for a second before I caught myself. Don't show them your fear. This is nothing but another test and you'll succeed. You have to. 

"You'll be sent to the Fade," Draden said "where you'll show us the strength of your will by challenging one of the Maker's first children: a demon."

My eyes widened and I couldn't stop myself. A demon. The Circle spent decades teaching us about their dangers and monstrous nature, and now they were throwing me at one!? 

'I guess you were right on one thing, Kendra,' I thought. 'Damn you for being right and damn them for making me do this.' 

"And if I fail?" I asked, unnecessarily. I already knew what would happen — there was only one reason for Templars to be here —  but I needed to hear it from him. 

"You'll be killed," Draden answered, his cold grey eyes locked into mine with nothing but hatred and indifference in them, even if his voice betrayed nothing. 

He'd always hated me and I could never figure out why. I only knew that the instant he saw me  —  a mere child, standing at the side of a twitchy Lesas who looked at everything with awe and fear in his elven eyes — I’d seen the light in Draden’s eyes disappear and be replaced with something ugly and savage. 

For years I had wondered if he was going to act on those feelings, if someday he was going to call me to his office and 'disappear’ me like the Knight–Commander of Kirkwall had done with so many of her mages, but surprisingly, he never did. He just watched us, like any Templar would.

Like a fool, I had dropped my guard. I thought he would never do anything more than just watch but now —looking at his empty gaze and his scarred face — I realized something. He had just been waiting, like any other predator would, for the right time to strike. And this was it. My Harrowing. The only time where Draden could kill me and face no repercussions for it, besides the eternal displeasure and enmity of the First Enchanter and maybe my mother. But they wouldn't care for that long, either. 

Lydia would find another promising mage with another rich family to groom, and my mother would stop grieving once she saw the political benefits of having the family's shame dead.

Draden would get what he wanted. My death and… something else most likely. I hadn't discarded the possibility that he was just a sadist that wanted to see me suffer, but I never thought that his motives could be so shallow and shortsighted. 

Family of ancient name besides, I was still just a mage. I had no say or part in my family's political plays and my magic had stripped me of any right to their holdings and titles. Killing me would have no effect, besides making a bit of a mess for the Tranquil and servants to clean.

"By then, killing you would be a mercy," Draden continued, ignorant of my ruminations. "A demon would have possessed your body and turned you into an abomination. A mad and terrible creature with a desire for wanton destruction."

"I see." What other answer could that speech warrant? He’d just told me they would kill me if they saw signs of corruption after I battle a demon of all things. Maker, was it like this every time? With every apprentice that came here? How could they!? Didn't they hear how insane everything sounded?

"You'll do just fine," the first Enchanter whispered from where she’d stepped behind me, softly pushing me forward. "Remember your lessons about the Fade and you'll succeed. I know you will. Just keep your wits about you. I know you’re ready, Max, you just don't realize it."

'That's because I'm not, ' I wanted to say. 'I'm not ready for my Harrowing. I'm not ready to fight a demon. I honestly don't see what makes you think I am.'

She placed me at the center of the circular room, on a raised dais where a silvery font —marked with glowing runes of containment, dream, and spirits — had been placed and filled with a shiny substance that sang to me. Lyrium.

"Remember that the Fade is a realm of dreams," Lydia continued, her tone tinted with a nervous edge. "It's shaped by your will and the will of its inhabitants, so it isn't always what it seems. Be ready for anything, and trust nothing that is shown to you."

"The apprentice must go through the Harrowing alone, First Enchanter," Draden said. "He's not a child who needs to be led by the hand. He's ready."

Lydia frowned, but eventually nodded and took a step back. Draden pointed to the dais. "This is lyrium. The very essence of magic and your gateway to the Fade. Come and let the Harrowing — and our watch over you — begin."

'So, it’s time to start.' I took a breath and moved, every step a death sentence. 

'Maker,' I thought. 'Grant me the strength to survive this.' I never was a very religious person, but the Chantry sisters always said the Maker could hear us in our hour of need, and what greater need would I ever have than this one?

I walked to the lyrium font and felt its song soak into my bones. One of my fingers softly brushed the refined lyrium and my whole body started  vibrating with the reverberating sounds of the song. Around me  the Fade twisted and pulled and the song increased its tempo, now with a glow that held my eyes.

As the energies pooled and the song reached its climax, I managed to tear my eyes away from the enrapturing melody to look at Draden's hateful gaze one last time.

'I'll survive this,' I vowed. 'If only to spite you and your whole order of butchers.'

Then I lost control of my body and  I was enveloped in blinding light.

⊙

I still remembered when I first saw the Fade as a child. It was also, the day I discovered my magic and my life changed.

I had dreamed of a huge monster, chasing me through the empty manor my family called their ancestral home. Even to the current day, its ugliness was seared to my mind in a way only magic could. A giant bear, made of shadows, bloody teeth with flesh still hanging on them and with eyes where eyes shouldn't be. It had eaten my family and now it was going to eat me.

I ran away and tried to hide, but no matter where I went or where I hid, the monster always found me.  It finally cornered me in the basement of the manor, my back against the wall and the jaws of the beast mere inches away from my flesh.

Then I felt pressure in my chest and something inside of me snapped , lighting everything on fire. The room, the monster, and me.

That night I woke up to the screams of the servants. My room — full of toys, children's books, and other flammable things —  was on fire and I was to blame.

The servants and guards doused the fire, saving me, but nothing was ever the same afterwards. The servants were all jumpy around me, and the guards kept an even wider distance from me as if I was infected by some sort of dangerous disease.

But it was my family that reacted the worst to the news of my newfound magic.

I used to spend whole afternoons playing with my older brother, Marcus, and my younger sister, Evelyn. But after my magic was discovered I was forbidden from seeing them and confined to my new room, alone and with no toys. 

I cried. Cried for my mother and my father to come. I was alone and I was hungry and I wanted to get out. But no one came. My parents didn't even bother to come see me, to ask me if I was okay, to give me food. Nothing.

They behaved as if I didn't exist, and before long, men in silver armor came for me. Templars. They dragged me outside, kicking and screaming. I was crying and I didn't want to leave. I wanted my mother and my siblings and all the warmth back.

But no one helped me and no one bothered to say goodbye to me.

It was a crushing thing, that loneliness, the despair. So many negative feelings in the tiny form of a five-year-old and for a mage that had severe consequences. Nights were restless and full of scary whispers till a young elven child — so thin and twitchy — grabbed my hand and told me everything was going to be okay. That he understood how it was to be alone.  That was how I met Lesas and how we became friends.

But that feeling — that loneliness — was always there. It was there every missing letter, all the times they didn't show up and the times they did. It was an ever-present emotion that soaked the Circle and could be tasted at every second. 

The Circle was both a prison and a tomb of solitude and isolation. We would never leave its wall and we would die here, whether we wanted or not.

'After all,' I thought, with no small amount of bitterness. 'You can get the mage out of the Circle, but you'll never get the Circle out of the mage'

Such thought was so deeply ingrained in all of us, mages, that I wasn't even surprised when, instead of waking up in some sort of nightmarish landscape only possible thanks to the twisted thoughts of a demon, I woke up in the Tower again.

I stared at my surroundings and I immediately knew where I was. The Apprentice quarters, on Faxhold's first floor. The sight of the bunks, beds, and books scattered on the floor should've been familiar enough to relax me, but instead of that, all it accomplished was to unnerve me.

Everything seemed a bit...off, and the more I looked the more it seemed the room was unraveling before my eyes.

The beds started floating and a thin mist started to manifest in the room. Behind me, I heard the steps of someone and the faint laughter of children. 

I turned but I found nothing except an open door and a trail of mist that pointed out of the room and into the hallway. Almost like an invitation.

"Right," I mumbled. "Trust nothing that is shown to you. Only trust in yourself."

I took a hesitant step forward and left the room. 

'I need to find that demon,' I thought, ignoring how outright insane it sounded. 'But how? They never specified that. Should I just walk around this facsimile of the Circle until it gets bored and comes for me?'

No, that was a bad idea.  Just sitting around in the Fade sounded like the perfect recipe for possession and I had no desire to be an abomination

'I have to survive,' I thought frantically. 'I have to. I'm not dying to a Templar's blade or a soul-sucking demon. I have to live. For them. For her.'

Arming myself with all the bravery I could muster I followed the trail of mist, fully aware I could be headed straight to a trap.

'But of course, I thought. 'I want to find that demon, maybe going where it wants is the quickest choice to awakening.'

There were other ways, of course. The Fade was a shapeless dream world, after all. I wasn't actually in the dream version of the Tower, but rather,  I was in the Fade, which was currently shaped like the Circle by the will of the master of this demesne. That had several implications. One, that this demon was powerful enough to have a detailed demesne such as this one — which was bad for me. And two that the demon knew enough about Faxhold to make such a lifelike representation. For a demon, at least.

"Even the paintings are the same," I mumbled, as I followed the trail of mist. "That's a little creepy and–"

"Shut up," a tiny voice said at my side, freezing me. "You don't know anything about me or my family!"

I could recognize that voice anywhere. How couldn't I? It was me, as a child. 

I looked in the direction of the voice and saw, in one of the apprentice rooms with its door open, two little children arguing with each other.

"I-I know enough," little Lesas said, his voice broken and stubborn. "They left you here, just like me. Just like all of us! They don't love you. They never did!"

"Shut up!" little me yelled, sounding hurt and betrayed. "What do you know of family, huh? You're a street rat and an elf. What do you even know about family? You don't even have one!"

" Shut up! I-I do," Lesas said, lying through his teeth. He didn't have a family, not really. He was born on the alienage of Ostwick of a mother that died during childbirth and a father that he never met, and while he never explicitly said it, we all knew that the Circle was the only home he ever knew during his whole life, and we — his friends — were the closest thing he had for a family, sad and dysfunctional as it was. 

"No, you don't!" little me said, angry and mean. "You're a liar. You–you knife-ear!"

Even from here, I could see how little Lesas's face contorted in anger and betrayal. He always hated being called like that; all elves did. But Lesas never took it silently. He always had to fight back,even when the consequences for it were too severe for him to take.

"Don't say that!" the little elf said, tears in his eyes.

"What? Knife–ear?" little me said, a tone so innocent and fake that it was practically insulting.

"Shut up," Lesas hissed.

"Knife–ear, Knife–ear, Knife–ear, Knife–ear," I continued, my tone sing–song and hurtful.

"I said shut up!" Lesas screamed, sending the young me against the wall with a cry with a wave of uncontrolled telekinetic power.

"What's the meaning of this!" a masculine voice said. A templar. He approached both children — Lesas panicking and me crying — and the vision ended.

'Maker,' I thought. 'I was really a little shit as a kid, uh.'

I remembered that day like it was yesterday. It was visitation day— some families were allowed inside the Tower to visit their children and see them in person and I, like the hopeful and foolish little kid I used to be, had hoped that my family would come to see me.

They hadn't, and that was the first of many disappointments.

 "I see you've done your research," I speak to the thin air. "But if you think that's going to upset me then you don't know me, monster."

I had to finish this quickly.

I walked through the hallways of the first floor, ignoring all the doors of the Apprentice Quarters. Once I reached the door to the main reception, I crossed the door's threshold and—.

⊙

Ser Brandon was among the most faithful; everyone knew that. He was chivalrous, brave, and a wholehearted believer in the Chant. 

And that meant his hand wouldn't falter while he held the lash.

I was deprived of my robe and made to kneel. This was to be my punishment for my misuse of the powers that the Maker has granted me. Or at least that's what they told me.

It wasn't on purpose. It wasn't but… I had told the Instructor that I could handle it, that I didn't need help with the Summoning Sciences, that I successfully managed to complete the third configuration without help but-but…

Only one step amiss was needed to ruin a summoning circle written in chalk, and when the bindings were ruined then the creature contained was free to run amok, and entities from the Fade were rarely friendly.

The ensuing fight ended with a Knight– Lieutenant dead, a few mages injured, and the Statue of Enchantress Leonora — she who mastered the healing sciences and helped the legalization of Spirit Healers — completely destroyed. That statue was older than half of the Circle and had come from Orzammar itself.

"There must be punishment for this," Draden had said.  At first isolation for a whole month was discussed but Lydia put her staff down. What had happened had been an accident. A tragic one, yes, but an accident either way. 

More negotiation ensued and in the end, an accord was reached. Thirty lashes, one for each day in isolation, and with the hope that this would be enough to teach some discipline. 

Everyone seemed to be okay with this but me.

"I understand your fear, child," First Enchanter Lydia said. "But this is necessary. I understand your fear but there is no better choice. Look into my eyes and find the strength within you to pass through this. I know you will."

I just nodded, a million pleas in my mouth, but I was smart enough to know that they would be for naught. My fate had already been decided.

"Look into my eyes, child," my mo– Lydia repeated. "And keep looking."

"Ser Brandon," Draden said,  "to my count, if you will."

The knight just nodded and prepared his whips.

"One," the knight Commander said and the whip hit my back.

I screamed at the searing pain. I couldn't help it. My whole back was on fire and I wanted it to stop.

But I did as Lydia said. I looked into her eyes and she looked back, and somehow, that made it better.

"Two," Draden said, toneless, and the whip fell one more time. 

I screamed but my eyes didn't waver.

⊙

I fell to the floor, gasping.

That- that wasn't any sort of illusion magic. Or at least one I recognized.  That was...powerful and invasive and how the hell did the demon manage to do that!?

The Fade resonated with our actions, true, and demons could see our desires and the reasons underlying them, but to make me relive the events of that day and in such a way I felt I was there again…

What kind of monster had they sent to kill me!?

"Maker's breath," I gasped. "You don't do things by halves, do you, creature?"

I received no answer besides the mocking silence.

I tried to get up off the floor but my hands were shaking and my back still felt on fire.  But I had to get up.

'In the Fade, my true form is the one I'm most attached to, ' I thought. 'I've read books of mages that managed to change their shapes to suit their respective needs. Maybe I could–'

But no. It was possible, but I would risk forgetting my true form, and the demon could see this as a challenge to its domain and the way it shaped the Fade. 

Once I finally managed to get out of the floors I gingerly made my way to the stairs to the second floor. However, it seemed that my surprises weren't over yet.

Ethereal wisps of the Fade floated around me and I tensed. They were literal wisps of power and energy that demons left behind once they were defeated. In their lonesome, they were barely a nuisance, easy to destroy. But at the hands of a skilled mage or a demon…

The wisps flew by, closer to me, and they coalesced on the floor, taking new shapes and multiplying. 

I screamed at the end result, taking several steps back and shuddering at the horrifying vision before my eyes.

Spiders. Giant, horrifying, eight-legged, and man-eating giant spiders, with their disgusting mouths salivating poison and their empty black eyes revealing their lack of souls.

They approached with their particular skittering and I screamed once again, sending a wave of fire at them that some managed to dodge, a sign of intellect that made it clear that these weren't common spiders. 

'Remember your training ,' Lydia's voice resounded inside of my head. 'The more aggressive your response, the more they reflect back at you. Be disciplined.'

Right. I could fight back but I had to be careful. Wanton use of magic would leave me bereft of mana before I reached my jailor. I had to be careful.

As the beasts approached, I narrowed my eyes and prepared my spells, and as they skittered around me, with their empty gazes still on me, I gave my answer in the form of fire and lighting.

I raced across the steps of the third floor, my breath stuttering and my willpower fraying.  The demons posing as Templars followed me, screaming insults and jeers at me. 

I sent another fireball after them and one of them blocked it with a shield, the metal heating and making the knight curse but not retreat.

None of them tried to interrupt my spell casting. None of them could — they weren't real, they were demons, but it was enough.

It was enough, with the helmets and the reddened blades and the corpses of my friends.

So I ran, I ran because fire and lighting weren't enough and I was getting tired.

I ran because this wasn't a test. It was nightmare 

I ran to the stairs to the Third Floor – the demons not far behind me and —

⊙

I watched impotently as Anne hugged a crying Kendra in silence, Lesas beside me.

I didn't know what to say. No one did, so we just kept silent and offered the only thing we had for now. Comfort and love without judgments.

Because this wasn't the first time it had happened to someone they knew and they were aware it wouldn't be the last.

And it always started the same. With the clash of mana and lyrium and the pain and blackness it followed. And then...they had their way.

I could talk to Lydia and do something but...it wouldn't be enough. It never was. The Commander didn't care and the Chantry was ready to offer excuses every time it happened.

"Tell anyone and I'll brand you, and Tranquils never say no."

⊙

The memories flooded back. 

It was clearly a game that the demon liked to play. It apparently enjoyed my remembrances, and it liked to share that joy with me.

From the third floor onwards it all got worse.

I was chased by wolves of shadow and demons of rage, their fiery bodies burning everything on their way and making me scream every time they managed to touch me.

More Templars came – their blades red with the blood of mages — and even when I managed to kill them or avoid them, they didn't relent. The corpses of the mages rose and assaulted me – with both hands and spells alike.

It never ended. From the stairs of the third floor to the fourth, I dreamt again.

I was twelve and my father looked at me. The scene and his looks are meaningless because only his words matter and those are the ones that keep echoing at every ghostly step I take in this facsimile of my home and prison.

"You're the biggest disappointment of my life," he said and somehow that managed to affect me more than all the horrors I'd seen. It sunk deep into me and chased me through the whole way, following me and making me feel even weaker than I was. That I am.

I moved through doors that kept shifting and somehow I was in front of Rosalie, her beautiful azure eyes looking at me with sorrow.

" Please, Rose. I know I screwed up but–"

"But nothing, Max. I-I can't do this anymore.  It shouldn't even have lasted so long but I- I don't even know what I'm doing anymore."

"Please," I begged. Maker, I was so pathetic.  But she couldn't leave me. She was the only good thing about me and without her, what was left?

"I can't, Max," she said, voice resolute. "There's- there's something wrong with you. I just– I need some space, okay?"

Then she left and I cried her name.

I ran away, the doors and floors shifting.  The demon! I had to kill the demon! If I didn't I would —.

⊙

" Focus on the spell, Maxwell," First Enchanter Lydia said. "The Primal School is one with great potential for destruction and overflow –for such reasons it will require more focus and discipline than usual. However, I'm confident you'll succeed.

I nodded, nervously looking at the candle. This was an exercise of control, not of power — which Lydia had noted I had a lot of, for someone so young as me — but control had always been hard for me.

It was so easy to simply...let go and let the power flow, but the First Enchanter had always remarked that discipline was the thing that differentiated true mages from bumbling practitioners, so I had to try.

"Focus on the candle and the power within you, Maxwell.  Fire is a volatile element, but if one is calm and properly focused, then dominion over its primal energies can be easily achieved. I know you can. You have the potential for it."

I looked at the candle and tried to focus. The power came easy and wild but I immediately tried to tamp it down.

'No,' I thought. 'It's too much. I only need to light the candle, not the whole office.'

I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. I had to. I couldn't let the First Enchanter down. She had taken me in and accepted me as her apprentice when I had so little to offer and she had been nothing but patient and kind to me – if a little strict during training.

I had to focus on the flame. It was an unstable element and the one I’d always been less successful in taming. It was hard because why would I tame an element that just wanted to be free? It was so easy to let go and let it flow but – it couldn't be free. Discipline and control. That was what mattered.

I focused on the candle and I took hold of the primal energies of the Fade and then – trying the hardest I ever did in my entire life — I cast the spell, taking great care of only lighting the tip of the candle instead of the whole thing. 

"Fantastic work, Maxwell," Lydia said, a proud smile on her face that made me feel warm and content inside.

"I'm sure your family will be proud of your progress," she continued, making the warmth inside of me putter out and die without even realizing it.

'My family,' I thought.  'Who didn't even bother to visit or answer my letters.'

The flame increased in size but I didn't care.

'My siblings, two strangers wearing familiar faces. With one even joining the Templars.'

The flame kept increasing, and by now Lydia was noticing, but I still didn't care.

'And my father, who only had unkind words to me.'

And, in that moment, the office of the First Enchanter disappeared and was replaced by the luxurious rooms for visitation and important dignitaries that sought the help of the Circle.

I was at a table, staring nervously at the man in front of me. Bann Frederick Trevelyan, my father. He was a severe man, with a rough face that never smiled much and a receding hairline that made him look older than he probably was.

This was the first time he had come to see me in eight years and it was an understatement to say I was nervous.

A lot of that conversation lay forgotten now, not because it was unimportant but because a few words that he said struck me deeper than any Templar's sword ever would.

"You're a disappointment to our family," he said, with the same tone as one would while talking about frivolous things like the weather or tonight's tea. "You're the greatest shame of our family – a weak little boy with magic of all things ."

"Father, I–" I tried to say. Because this couldn't be it, right? This man was my father, my progenitor, he – he couldn't be saying such things and be serious, right?

"Be quiet, boy," his Father snapped, then he took a deep breath. "My only hope is that you'll be able to redeem yourself in service to the Chantry and that, eventually, your existence shall be forgotten amongst those of higher breed."

I lowered my eyes, because what else could I do?

"Don't contact me ever again. Or your mother,"  father continued, ignoring – or relishing – in the pain he was causing me. "It is not proper for a mere mage to directly address the head of a noble family , as ancient as mine."

Then he rose and left without saying goodbye.

Then I was back at the office where the flame had burst and everything was on fire. I tried to quell the flame but it was too strong and I just wasn't sure strong enough and–

Frost bloomed everywhere and I breathed out in relief. I looked at my master, and crushing disappointment took over me as I studied her tried expression. 

"First Enchanter, I'm sorry, I just couldn't..." I trailed off and I failed to give a proper explanation for my behavior. All the excuses I had were inadequate and I couldn't lie to the woman that had helped me so much.

Lydia breathed as well, and looked at her ruined office with resignation. "I guess I'll need to replace the curtains for the second time this month."

"I could help," I said tentatively, mostly because I had no idea in what way a failure like me could help one of the most powerful and talented mages this Circle had ever trained. 

"It's okay, Maxwell. Training is over for today. Return tomorrow."

I lowered my head, ashamed, and left her office in silence.

⊙

I ran, but stumbled when I slipped in something. Ice. The floor was covered in ice.

What?

A figure showed up, floating and small but sending waves of power at me. 

A Despair Demon. Was it to blame for all that had happened? Was it to blame for such horrible memories of my past?

Was it the demon I had to kill?

I threw fire at the creature and it wailed as it burned, but it wasn't enough. A fist made of pure ice struck me and it hurt so much I couldn’t breathe for a moment.

I rose to my feet and sent another fireball at the demon but it dodged, and then it started to talk. 

"Failure. Disappointment," it said. "Nobody loves you and you'll die alone. Your friends, your lover, your family. You'll die and you'll disappear like all the apprentices before you."

"Shut up!" I yelled, fully aware that the best way to deal with a Despair demon was to ignore it.

It eventually burned to death and I  just wanted to done with this.

Where the fuck was that demon?

The Despair demon had said soul cutting things but...it didn't feel powerful enough. It burned too easily.

I hear a child laugh behind me and I turn. The trail of mist had reformed itself and now was pointing to a door I was pretty sure wasn't there a few minutes ago.

'Maker,' I thought. 'Let this be it. Let this be the end of this horrible nightmare.'

I opened the door and I froze. 

There was nothing on the other side. Just an empty void.

"There's no way I'll go there," I said to the empty air. "You can go fuck yourself if you think I'm actually going to do what you want you fucking–."

"Fine by me," someone said behind me and before I could comprehend what was happening, I found myself falling into the void.

I screamed at the nothingness.

A gentle voice woke me up. It was lovely and kind.

"Max, sweetie. It's time to wake up."

I opened my eyes groggily and stared at my mother.

"Mother?" I said, confused. It felt...odd to say it. Like the word hadn't been said in a long, long time but– 

No, that was a stupid thought. She was my mother after all.  It was a little odd she was the one to wake me up instead of the servants, but that could be excused. Mother liked doing that from time to time.

But even still... something felt wrong and out of place. Was I supposed to be here, in my room? Wait, was this my room?

Where was I?

I blinked my eyes, trying to see, trying to clear my head and push that feeling of wrongwrongwrong that kept shouting in my head, but my mother interrupted and her sweet voice cleared everything.

"Maxwell, are you alright?" she said, worriedly and softly touching her lips to my forehead. The contact felt nice, fulfilling a craving I didn't know I had until now.

"Do you wish for me to call the physician?" she continued, her soft hazel eyes boring into me — filled with love and acceptance.

It should have felt nice — my mother loved me after all — but why did it still feel so wrong?

What was wrong with me?

"I– no. I'm fine, mother," I answered, trying to push back all of those feelings.

"Good," she said. "Then it's time to get up and start the day, then. Your father awaits you in the courtyard."

"Father?" I asked.  "Why would he want to see me?"

"It's time for your training, remember?

"Training?"

"Yes, my child. Your sword training. You're the heir, after all, and a proper lord not only needs to lead but also fight alongside his subjects."

'I'm the heir," I repeated, numbly. Even though I knew I was the heir — wait, I did? — and I had been for a long time.

My older brother, Marcus, had gotten entangled with a peasant man and had made clear his desire to marry him. My Father denounced him for such insult to our august family name and my sister…

"Is Evelyn here, Mother?" I asked. I hadn't seen my little sister in years. Wait. No, not years. I had seen her...a week ago? No, a few days?

Maker, my head hurt.

"Oh, she arrived last night from Antiva, while you were sleeping. She's missed you so much and is eager to see you."

"Antiva?" I said. Wasn't she supposed to be in Starkhaven, training to be a Templar…

'Wait, no. My sister, a Templar?” I thought with incredulity. “Maker , now that's a ridiculous idea. She's an artist, for Andraste's sake. She doesn't even know what part of a sword is the pointy one, less how to use it to stab at someone. '

I knew that. Everyone knew that. I remembered clearly that lazy summer afternoon where my sister announced her desire to go to Antiva to study art but...why did it still feel so wrong. Why was my head hurting so much?

I groaned as I felt how the pain split my head. 

"Maxwell," my mother screamed, rushing to me. "What 's wrong!? I-I'll call the healer and your father. He'd be worried sick of you"

'My father,' I thought.

(" Don't contact me or your mother ever again .")

'And my mother.'

( She didn't come. She never did.)

I looked at the woman in front of me...her expression so worried – so fake with her lovely voice, with her unbelievable words. 

I had never touched a sword in my life. My father didn't love me. I hadn't heard from my mother in ten years.

I was a mage and this was the Fade.

The pounding pain of my head quickly retreated after that realization, as the illusion peeled away to reveal the world of dreams I was in. 

My room — or what I thought to be my room — quickly changed to the Harrowing chambers.

"Max?" the creature wearing my mother asked. "Is everything alright?"

I sent a telekinetic wave at it and the demon flew back, landing poorly a few feet away from me.

"Stay away from me!" I shouted, my voice raw and tired. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted this to end already.

"Mmmm, that was delicious," the creature said, standing up and looking at me with pure desire in its eyes.  It looked unnatural on my mother's eyes."The Hunger, the Pain, the Love and the Desires. Maybe too many Desires. Too little Pride to work with."

I snarled. "Those were my memories you filthy… abomination! You had no right to use to amuse yourself."

The demon chuckled. "Such Rage. It's beautiful, but not yet complete. Come, there's no need for this when we both know the outcome of this encounter. Let's talk like civilized people and reach an arrangement."

"Only the weak and stupid accept deals from demons," I said, quoting the First Enchanter.

"Ahhhh, there it is. The Pride – the Hubris, delicious. I'm going to feast today."

"Fuck that," I said. I tried to stand up but my muscles weren't responding. The demon had paralyzed me. 

"Ah, don't worry, my child. You'll soon feel alright. Soon you'll feel nothing, and just for you... I'll make the dream double layered this time. So you'll never wake up."

I tried to channel my power. The strength of this paralyzing spell was beyond everything I've seen and experienced at the Circle but if I managed to dispel it in time, perhaps I had a chance.

But, before I even managed to get a hold of even a wisp of power, the demon smiled and everything turned dark.

⊙

"Today is a day of celebration," the First Enchanter said, her tone joyous. "We have defeated the Templars of this Tower — though not without a great cost — and proclaimed our freedom to the world! Soon we will join our brothers and sisters, and fight for the recognition of our rights!”

We all cheered. Yes, I remembered now. Draden tried to invoke the Right of Annulment on the Circle, but we fought him off. 

"Let us all give thanks to the man who warned us of this, and whose plan led us to victory. My apprentice, Maxwell Trevelyan!" Lydia continued.

Right, my plan. I had found out about Draden's plan to kill us all — though the details were foggy about how exactly I did that — and warned everyone about it and… they believed me? Yes, they did that.

So we attacked before they even knew what was happening and defeated them all. Some of us died, but the price was worth it. We were free and now we were ready to fight to keep that freedom. 

"Come here, my child. So everyone may congratulate you for your success."

I did, feeling elated all the way. We — no, I — did it, and now a revolution had  come to the Chantry.

(And to everyone that had failed to recognize my worth, my talents. My power . )

"You did it, Max!" Lesas said, while I walked to the podium. 

"My hero," Kendra said, sultrily.

"I'm so happy for you!" Anne said. 

"Come here, my precious child," Lydia said. "You have made me proud today. You have made us all proud."

Everyone cheered. The applause, the laughter, the happiness. It was intoxicating.

"Thank you, First Enchanter. For everything. Without your lessons I–I wouldn't have made it."

"Oh, Max." Lydia's face softened in a way she so rarely showed. "I never said this to you but – I love you like you were my own child. Right now this is not about me, it’s about you...and someone else."

"Max," a soft voice said. I turned and found Rose, beautiful as always, smiling at me. "I'm so happy for you, and for all of us."

"Rosalie," I said. Was she more beautiful today?

"Max," she continued. "I'm so sorry for even saying those words to you. I didn't mean them. You're the bravest, smartest, and most handsome man I've ever met. Can you find in your heart the chance to forgive a foolish woman like me?"

"I– of course," I answered her. "I've always forgiven you. I love you."

Her smile was heartwarming. "Then we can get back together. This time forever. You just need to… let me in."

"Let you in," I repeated. For some reasons, the words felt odd on my tongue. Like a warning – but that was stupid. This was Rosalie, for Maker's sake.

"Yes, let me in, Max," she continued, her tone feverish and a hungry glint in her eyes.  "Together we can defeat them all. The Templars, the mages, the nobles. We can be unstoppable if we work together."

"That sounds–" Horrifying, I tried to say. "Beautiful," 

"I know, Max. I love you. Please let me in."

"I-" I wanted to say that she was acting weird. That I wanted to go to my quarters, but my voice wouldn’t work. I couldn't speak. I couldn't say what I wanted to say.

"Please," Rosalie continued. "I want to be together with you forever. You inside of me and me inside of you. Forever."

I opened my mouth, but then there was a flash, and the whole room shook as a vision of red crystals and an ever-changing landscape invaded my eyes. I heard footsteps.

"I think that's enough," a strong female voice said. 

Then an intense heat hit me and I Fade-Stepped back, but Rosalie wasn't as fast. She screamed, loud and shrill, causing the whole room to shake and then–

The illusion broke. 

I stumbled back and a soft hand stopped me. I turned and my first impression was…

'Beautiful,' I thought. She had to be a spirit. Nobody looked like that in real life.

She had flawless pale skin, with vibrant green eyes and long golden hair worn in a thick braid. Her armor was of a like I'd never seen, golden and sky blue, with a short skirt edged with golden chains. She was wearing a headset that pressed to her cheekbones and forehead in a very complementary way.

But the most eye-catching thing was the wings. Beautiful, luminous wings that marked her as one of the Maker's first children.

"Are you a spirit?" I blurted, because I was an idiot with inappropriate timing.

The woman smiled. "I'm Valkyrie, and I'm here to help you."

Before I could think of a reply, a chuckle interrupted us both. 

I turned and saw Ros – the demon.

It was a sorry sight. Whatever spell Valkyrie had used on it had all but destroyed the creature. 

Rosalie's golden locks were almost burned and her whole body was more charred skinless flesh than human.

"You, intruder," it spoke with a barely understandable gurgle. "How dare you. The mage is mine!"

"He belongs only to himself," Valkyrie said. "I won't let you take him, monster."

"Ohhh," the demon crooned. "Such Pride. Such Hubris. I'm going to enjoy eating you."

Then light enveloped its form. Rosalie's body disappeared and was replaced with the twisted horror that was the malignant spirit’s true form.

It was a hulking beast that dwarfed  us both. Its body was muscled and covered in twisted black spikes that oozed malignant power, with its head a mess of horns that shadowed a eyeless face  and fanged mouth that resembled one of a dragon twisted by a nightmare.

A Pride Demon, one of the most dangerous creatures that the Fade had to offer. That was the monster I had been sent to fight.  That was the creature I had someone overcome on this pointless and cruel quest. 

Maker help us.

"I'm going to devour you whole!" It charged at us, crackling in lighting.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Prideful

As the monster charged them Ciara made a decision. Urging her spirits to boost her body with superior strength, stamina, and flight, she grabbed the mage — who squeaked at being grabbed — and went up in the air.

She wasn't going to risk getting hit with any of its attacks before knowing exactly what she was facing.

Powerful enemies usually required particular combinations of powers to swiftly deal with them and she wasn't going blindly to attack a foe she had no information about.

That previous attack on the demon had been more of a probe than anything else. She had chosen to use one of her middle–tier hitters, Chantico, to make the opening strike, and, surprisingly, it had been more successful than she’d expected.  But that still left her frustratingly lacking in information about its weaknesses.

"It– it's casting something," the mage in her arms shouted, interrupting her thoughts. "Watch out!"

"Get over here!" the Demon of Pride said, attacking her position with a cracking whip made of pure lighting.

Ciara moved — her wings propelled by her ghost’s power — and narrowly avoided the strike. Even from a few meters away, she could feel the pure heat of the attack as it cleanly sliced through the walls of the room. 

The power of Zawisza, the Rider in Black , enveloped her and the mage as she kept avoiding the unrelenting attacks of the demon; seeing that one whip wasn't enough to catch them, it created another one and kept lashing at them, destroying walls, floor, and the ceiling, but never touching them. The power of Zawisza made sure of that.

Summoning another of her spirits, Golondrina,  the Spirit of Freedom, Valkyrie called forth multicolored wisps of energy that gathered around her, forming a protective shield that slowly expanded around her, which once hit, quickly turned into furious red birds that proceeded to attack Hubris.

Ciara let out a small smile at the sight of the enormous demon, yelling in frustration at being unable to hit the birds — whose pointed beaks and sharp claws quickly left small gauges on its unnatural flesh — but quickly smothered it. There was work to do.

“What are its weaknesses?” she asked the mage in her arms.

He just looked at her, startled, and Ciara wondered if he could understand her or if she wasn't clear.

"W-What?" he just said.

"Its weaknesses," Ciara repeated, stressing the word to make it clearer. "I assume you're aware of something we could exploit to defeat it, correct? You're a mage, after all. I assume such… arcane lore is in your possession, right?"

To be truthful, she had no idea what a mage did besides the obvious answer of "magic," but in all the fantasy novels she had read — at the insistence of Jessica and others who wanted her to have a hobby — mages were synonyms for scholars and wise men, so she guessed the more esoteric details of the creature they were fighting would fall under their purview.

Or at least she hoped so, because when she looked at the soft and terrified grey eyes of the young man in her arms, Ciara didn't see a supposed master of magical energies, but rather a terrified lad of probably no more than twenty that seemed as lost as she was.

And they were expecting him to defeat this...thing on its own? Without any help?

"I – well. Maybe if you…" the mage started, nervously watching the host surrounding her and the increasing swarm of birds. Was he worried that they were going to run out? A logical thought to have, but Golondrina didn't have an upper limit of birds. That was what made her so valuable. 

"Yes?" she said, trying to encourage him, but only managed to make him cringe. Had she said something wrong?

"Don't worry about the birds," she tried. "They're not alive."

That seemed to startle him. "Uh, no serah – I mean Lady Spirit, I wasn’t thinking about — well it doesn’t matter. The Pride Demon, uh, well it can use magic and… it's very powerful?"

"I can see that," she said drily as she kept watch of her minions. "Anything else?"

" No. Wait! I mean yes. If you could just—" He stopped and shook his head and his face morphed into a look of pure concentration. "They can use magic as well as any mage and they've shown a preference for the use of the elements to rend and destroy their foes. They can also make themselves immune to magic for short periods and dispel any existing spells, making them challenging foes to fight, even with magic on your side."

Ciara nodded. “I see,” she replied. “And if I may ask, what can you do? What are your po-” she caught herself. “Magical spells, I mean. What is your expertise?”

He opened his mouth, thoughts forming before his eyes widened with terror and Ciara felt the air seize and stir around her. Below her, Hubris shouted and suddenly a field of pure electricity manifested around it. Ciara quickly calculated its radius through the use of a borrowed power and flew back, narrowly avoiding its limits, but the birds weren't so lucky. where once they had been aplenty, now none remained.

Ciara banished Golondrina and the demon chuckled before it started gathering energy around its hands once again. 

“It's doing something,” the mage said, tone choked. “I can feel it in the Fade.”

She could too; it was an odd sensation. She felt as if the walls, the floor, and the air itself were alive and trembling, ready to move, ready to do something. She was connected to them in a way she wasn't with anything else in the real world, and it reminded her of a previous life — when her shard and her were intertwined in such a way that it was hard to know where the entity ended and the woman began. 

The demon roared and whipped its arms. Ciara flew away, but too late she realized she wasn't the intended target. The air around her constricted and suddenly she was on the floor, her wings failing and her power of flight discarded without her say so. She stumbled and the mage flailed away from her arms, falling to the floor with a roll and a groan.

The demon looked at them and laughed, amused and smug.

“I'm the master of this realm, creature — whatever power you possess is at my suffrage and whims. That you dared to defy me for so long speaks greatly of your strength, but now that is at its end. Kneel and submit to me and you'll get to live and serve.'' Its voice was cavernous and oily, possessed of an arrogance that only a being with the name of Hubris could wield so smoothly and unironically. To its eyes, she probably was nothing more than a bug daring to defy a god — something amusing in small quantities, but quickly evolving into an irritant when refusing to die.

She knew the feeling. She had also felt that same arrogance, that confidence, and belief in one's power — all accompanied with the exhilarating feeling of being the most powerful being on the face of the Earths. It was addictive, in a way, but like most addictive things it was based on a cruel delusion.

There was always someone that was just more than you. More smart, more powerful, more charismatic, more anything. One couldn't be everything, and power could never be a panacea for one's failings and shortcomings.

Power was meaningless without skill or finesse. Especially one blinded by so much pride, as she was just about to demonstrate.

Gavel, Mushroom, Esclavage, Xylophone.

The four shadows appeared in a semi-circle behind her, ready to fight.

She turned to the mage. “It seems the time for talk is finished. I'll take the brunt of his attention to make a way for you. Can I trust that you'll be able to pull your weight when the time comes?”

The mage nodded and Valkyrie responded in kind, satisfied.

The demon laughed, half rage, half disbelief. “You dare to defy me!? I'm your worst nightmare made flesh!”

Valkyrie faced the monster,  and let the familiarity of the situation sink into her bones. Some things never changed — monsters still existed, and someone was still needed to fight them.

⊙

Maxwell

I stared at the unbelievable sight in front of me. The magic, the coordination, the raw power that was being thrown around. It was all unbelievable, impossible, and awe-inspiring at the same time.

The Circle taught us about our powers, which meant being constantly reminded about the limits a mage had. All the hard rules that the Maker had designed to limit our gift, that couldn't be broken or toed because they were His rules, His will. Unbreakable and eternal just like Him.

But right now His rules seemed written in the sand for how flimsy they were. 

The spirit woman that had come to my aid advanced and I felt how the Fade trembled in her wake. Whatever sort of Spirit she was, it was clear as day she had to be very old and powerful, or maybe she embodied a strong virtue — Valor, perhaps? Maybe Justice? — one that didn't balk at the power of demons and held power over other minor spirits. How else could I explain the unbelievable magical show in front of me?

I watched in awe as she somehow managed to summon four other wraiths behind her — or maybe spirits? Ghosts? — that were somehow stranger and more out of place than anything I had seen until now. 

Their ghostly sheen reminded me of the pure and raw Fade — the unmasked world some mages beheld behind the dreams and illusions. They were ethereal and almost see-through, all of them wearing strange garbs I couldn't make sense of, with a mix of shapes and forms I’d never seen anywhere. But, strange appearances aside, their power couldn't be denied. All of them reverberated in the Fade and attacked in a coordinated way that made their power even more apparent.

One of them — a muscular man, wielding an oversized hammer —  ran to face the demon. The malignant spirit contemptuously tried to swat him away, only to be shocked when the ghostly man didn't give. Instead, the ghost swung his arm and the demon flinched away — an act so opposite to its prideful nature that I did not doubt that it felt great pain.

Another shadow, a woman with a strange dress, approached the stumbling demon and started producing sounds that made my ears rattle, and the demon shrieked with pain. 

The last two attacked — a woman bound in leather and a young child with a strange bulbous head — in practiced concert. One of them used some sort of band that gouged pieces of the Harrowing chamber and threw them at the demon, but not before the child did... something with them. Using strange magic I'd never seen in my life, it made what seemed to be glowing mushrooms from the spiked bands.

When the woman threw the things at the demon, they exploded in a shower of green leaves that seemed to hurt and melt the demon's arcane skin, so I guessed that the unfamiliar wild magic was effective.

As the strange spirits fought, their summoner wasn't idle. Using a scythe covered in bright light, the Lady Spirit weaved and hacked between attacks, leaving cuts that didn't heal that bled strange demonic ichor.

The attack was impressive, the magic awe-inspiring and, most importantly, they were winning.

They were winning against the terrifying demon on their own.

And I was not needed. This was my own Harrowing. My trial by fire and someone else was about to complete for me.

I didn't know how to feel about that. Relief, perhaps? Because someone else was going to fight and kill the very scary demon for me? Shame? Because I was not strong enough to fight on my own Harrowing?

The cocktail of emotions rolling and churning inside of me was hard to define but I knew I could not just do nothing. I had to be the one to defeat the demon, I had to face my Pride and Hubris and overcome them because, if it wasn't me, then what was the point of all of this?

Something good had to come from this. Something that made this cruelty worth seeing through. And because…

" Because I know you can do it, Max. You are powerful and you're ready. You just don't know it yet. Embrace it," the voice of Lydia said, as If she was beside me. There was something about it... something off and not completely right about its words.

But it was still enough to remind me  I wasn't helpless. I wasn't weak. I was a mage and the Fade answered my call. 

I watched the fight with a keen eye until I found the right moment, then I smiled. The Lady Spirit dodged one of the demon’s attacks and slashed its knee. Pride stumbled and I let my power loose.

"Watch out," I shouted, and to my relief, they listened. The spirit flew back and pulled the spirits with her, saving herself from the fiery explosion that followed. 

The fire consumed the demon and it screamed, writhing and making everything shake.

'It's working, ' I thought. 'It's dying.'

Then, of course, everything went to shit after that.

The demon screamed and the magic generated from that blew us all from our moorings. I landed on the floor and flailed when I felt the air leave my lungs. At least until a kind hand lifted me and smiled at me, making my heart – foolishly – beat faster. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with kindness. Perhaps she was a Compassion spirit? I dared not ask. Some spirits saw it as an affront to guess their Virtue wrong.

"I am," I said, my voice surprisingly strong. "Thanks for your help."

The woman nodded and looked at the shifting mass that the demon of Pride had become.

"Do you have any idea about what it's doing?"

I didn't, not really. But I wasn't going to say that in front of the scary — and fetching — Spirit Lady that for some reason thought I was worth saving 

"I think it's...shifting?" 

" It's changing into something more dangerous," a voice said. " Get ready."

"Did you hear that?" I said to my savior, but before she could reply, Hubris’s shifting arcane mass exploded and I shielded my eyes from the sight of the magical explosion.

"I'm getting tired of your games," the sinister voice of the demon said. "It's time you mortals learn your place once and for all."

A flame rose and the fiery form of a Rage demon rose, smoke pouring out of it. 

"I'll teach you to fear me!"

This time I did not wait. Ice came to me — a little slower than fire or lightning — and the Rage subsided, but didn’t stop. The fire still bloomed everywhere and we were forced to act. 

I summoned a barrier for all of us and the spirit looked surprised for a second before she nodded at me and four other different wraiths appeared behind her. 

Another barrier — this one surprisingly more solid — manifested in front of the next fire blast and made the demon shriek

I called the fire to me and poured power into a fireball, with my will steady and sharp to keep it under control – I needed to let it loose at the right moment, lest my fire consumed my allies. 

I summoned a winter's breath and made the demon silent, but the floor turned into the fire itself,  forcing us to retreat. I Fade stepped while the woman flew back and one of her wraiths — an indeterminate figure wearing what seemed to be winter's gear —  summoned a chunk of pure ice to hit the demon.

It wailed, but the fire didn't stop and soon enough half of the floor was half molten rock. The smoke was suffocating and blinding until I remembered it didn't technically exist, and then with an extension of will, it turned into a pale greenish flame – veilfire – that produced neither smoke nor suffocating heat, but that still could burn. 

I stepped back and reinforced our barriers as the demon kept sending more and more waves of fire. The woman advanced with another spirit — this time a child's — who summoned a pale bubble that halted the advance of the fire, while the ambiguous figure kept launching waves of frost

I called my power and tried to create what were supposed to be sharp needles of ice to send at the demon but, unsurprisingly, they ended as amorphous round rocks. I still sent them at the demon.

The demon shifted once again and I was pulled from my feet and dragged near the spirit. Pride had shifted from a Rage demon's fiery form to an armored knight with a wicked-looking sword. A Revenant — a corpse possessed by a demon of Pride. 

The knight raised its sword, and I knew just by looking at it that it would shatter all my barriers and bite my bare flesh. And I wouldn't be fast enough to get away. Pride swung its sword and—

It hit the floor with a heavy clank because I was no longer there. I was standing once again by the side of the Spirit woman, who had a new ghost at her side. This one, a man with a strange headdress and a bare chest, disappeared and was replaced by another figure, who started to fly and send rays of pure light at the Revenant, who screamed and tried to block the shots with its sword. It tried the same trick it had used with me, the gravitational pull, and it worked, but before it would decapitate the ghost a shimmering pale barrier appeared in front of it and made the sword and the Revenant recoil.

The ghost flew once again and started pestering the creature with shots, while at my side the man with the hammer advanced again and a woman — this one wearing some sort of flowing robe and some headdress with flowers — kneeled and started praying , of all things.

I summoned fire and threw it at the demon, but I found it lacked... something. My mana reserves were slowly wearing thin. I needed something. I didn't have any lyrium potions so I couldn't recharge my lost power, so that meant I had to be more precise.

Magic could be used without a foci, but that made it costly and imprecise. That was why mages used staves; they were excellent catalysts for magic, quite useful at long-range combat, and they usually had a pointy end on one side to stab someone if they got too close to you. 

They were the perfect weapons for a mage, and that was why apprentices weren't allowed to have them outside of lessons. Only full-fledged mages were allowed to have their own personal staves in the Tower.

But I wasn't in the Circle Tower anymore, was I?

I could shape the Fade as I willed. As long I knew how.

“Focus and shape your will into a weapon,” the voice whispered to me, and I tensed. “Everything is possible in the Fade if your will is strong enough.”

Right, lesson number one about the Fade: never trust its inhabitants. For all I knew, the mysterious creepy voice could be a demon trying to tempt me. Listening to it, right as it was, would be very stupid. But…

I watched the spirit woman keep attacking the Revenant, her shades assaulting it from distance with fire and light, while she and the man with a hammer traded blows with it. They were handling themselves rather well but with a creature of this power one never knew. I had to help, and I was already receiving aid from supernatural creatures of questionable origins. What was one more?

“Your will is a weapon,” the voice repeated. “Now make it true.”

I did. It was surprisingly easy, probably because my power and my mind were being guided by an external power. I had my suspicions but I focused on my priorities, and the Fade answered my call, eager and ready to be shaped by me.

I imagined my will as a weapon, an object of offense and survival, and I sensed the Fade moving to acquiesce me. Suddenly my hands were not empty anymore: an elaborate black twin-headed staff, modeled like the ones the magisters of Tevinter supposedly wielded as a show of their status, was in my grasp. Its design, two rising intertwined dragons that met at the tip and held a channeling ball between their roaring mouths, reminded me of how in Tevinter magic was seen as a gift instead of a curse. Mages were free there and magic celebrated as the driving force of their society.

And staves like this were a living proof of that. That, in a faraway land, the mages ruled, that they could be free, that they could love and live their lives in peace. 

And that was why staves like this were so rarely seen. Because everything that was of Tevinter had to be stamped out and burned. Because magic was evil and so were we. Because when we were free we would rule over all and it was better for everyone if we all died.

But we weren't going to.  We couldn't. And that was why this staff was not only a weapon but also an expression of what could be 

“I'm going to live and pass all your tests and trials,” I thought, power singing to me and the staff. “And then I'm going to go outside and feel the sun on my skin. I'm going to live my life, even if it is to spite you all, and one day, I'm going to be free.”

The tip of the staff lit on fire and I relished how easy it was. I cast a barrier over the spirit and then I carved a glyph of paralysis under the demon, making it stand still.

The spirit and I didn't waste any time and we started whaling on the Revenant with both spells and blade. I casted a haste spell on the woman and she started cutting the creature’s armor faster, specters working in tandem behind her. 

Bit by bit we were doing it, but the demon wasn't giving up on its food. It shifted again and this time a corpse in tattered mage robes replaced the knight. An Arcane Horror.

It trapped the spirit in a crushing prison and immobilized her, but that didn't stop the ghosts, who started going after the spellcaster. I called lighting from the ether and formed a cage out of it. I had to limit and stop it from casting, just like the books said.

I summoned frost and entropy and it tried to snare me but the voice had warned me, and somehow, I was always ready to avoid its attacks with a Fade Step.

The spirit eventually freed itself from the prison and I cast a healing spell upon her, hoping that its restorative power also helped to restore spirit essence. She looked at herself for a second and then looked at me and just nodded. I nodded back, relieved that the spell had worked. 

From then on the battle fell into a rhythm. We would drive the demon into a corner and then it would shift, into another more annoying form.

From an Arcane Horror to a particularly big Shade, to a fucking Giant Spider, to a Despair Demon.

It shifted and kept shifting, but eventually it hit its limit, and its forms got weaker, decreasing in power until all that remained was Hubris in its original form, its Pride wounded and Rage pouring out of it. 

We challenged and we defied its reason for existence. Now it was pissed.

But now… Now it was weak enough that I knew I could kill it.

“Can you hold it still in one place, please?” I said to the spirit. I still didn't know how to call her or what honorifics I should use — or even if I should — but the least I could do was to be courteous to the spirit that had decided to risk its existence to help me. Not like she needed any help during the fight. She seemed to handle herself a little bit better than me. I wasn't complaining. I could destroy it for good and rid the world of one evil. I just needed the time to cast the spell.

"How much do you need?" she asked.

"A minute," I said, thinking of the only other time I had casted the spell. 

"I need a minute and then – then it will all be over."

The woman looked at me for some moments and then turned. 

"Very well." Then without saying anything else, the shadows around her disappeared and were replaced by another group.

I didn't pay attention to them and instead focused on the spell. Magic as big as this one always required concentration and a level of finesse that few had. I didn't think I had it either, but then again, Pride was something one had to go all out to overcome.

I kept murmuring the words of the spell to help me concentrate and elation rose in my chest as I saw the flames being born between my hands. 

'Just a minute, ' I thought, as the primal energies of the Fade kept swirling. 'That's all I need.'

At my side, the spirit woman hadn't stopped working. The ghosts around her had changed again and, focused as I was, their details were a little blurry, but the spellwork they were applying would've caught the attention of even a blind man.

What seemed to be interlocking yellow barriers were wrapping themselves across the body of Hubris, pulling it down while lacquered silver chains came from the nothingness and coiled around its muscular arms, making it stop its spellcasting. While it was trying to move and escape, the final ghost was making translucent bubbles that quickly began to form around it and, after a few seconds, they burst above the demon's skin, turning it into what seemed to be stone.

Eventually, the haphazard prison managed to make the demon stop its effort and I knew it was time.

Murmuring the spell, I shaped the power between my hands — ready to burst and burn us all if I lost concentration for a second — and, after I determined the area of manifestation and duration, I cast it. 

The world burned.

Above and around the demon a veritable tempest manifested, making the demon  seize and scream, and I backed away from the sudden presence of the heat of the lighting storm 

A translucent shimmering barrier appeared in front of me, cutting the heat back and making the roar of the crackle of lighting a little quieter, and the spirit gently touched my arm. I was surprised how warm and solid she felt to the touch. Were spirits supposed to be like that? Would it be rude to ask her? Or maybe mention why she was so pret – er, human–like, instead of the more weird and arcane forms other spirits seemed to enjoy taking.

Maker...I was making a mountain of a molehill, wasn't I?

'Just thank her and ask if you owe something for her help,' I thought. 'She wouldn't be the first friendly spirit to come to the aid of a helpless mage. Just be firm and assured."

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft and kind. Up close to me I couldn't help but notice just how flawless her skin was. 

'She has to be a spirit ,' I thought. 'Nobody in the real world can be so beautiful.'

"Just peachy," my traitorous mouth said before I could rein in it. "Err, I mean, fine. I'm fine."

I gave her a nod and tried to make myself a little bit less of an embarrassment.

"I give you my thanks and gratitude, my Lady," I said, bowing and trying to imitate what pompous nobles sometimes said to Lydia after she fixed their broken nails, and scratches from their pretend hunts. 

She gave me a little mysterious smile and said, " No need to thank me, it’s my duty. I'm glad I managed to reach you in time.”

The roars of the demon interrupted her following words. Both of us looked at each other and then to the storm as it kept on going. Eventually, even that quieted down and disappeared, leaving nothing behind, but a scorched floor and no demon.

I let out a breath as I felt the absence of the malevolent spirit in the Fade. It wasn't anything visible but I knew it was gone.

And that meant only one thing: We won and my Harrowing was complete.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Goodbye ( for now.)

Maxwell.

⊙

I knew something was wrong the moment the demon finished disappearing.
I was still here, after all, and I couldn't be here if the demon was dead.

"Is something wrong ?" the spirit asked, and I nodded. 

But what could it be? I had killed the demon, and my Harrowing was complete.

I turned to the spirit. Could it be that—.

No, I cut that line of thought before it manifested. It was possible, but I didn't think so. She had helped me when she didn't need to. She had fought beside me and taken hits for me. I couldn't repay her with suspicion and fear. Whatever the Circle said, this spirit had helped out of the goodness of her heart and, because of that, the Chantry could shove their dogma up their asses for all I cared. 

And — most curious — she felt... different from other spirits. More solid, more real somehow. Like a dreamer.

"Do you need help with something?" she asked. Oddly enough, she sounded somewhat eager to be of assistance. 

"I-I don't know," I said. "My Harrowing is done, but something is amiss and I don't know what, and Maker, what if I did something wrong? What if that wasn't the demon that I was supposed to kill. Maker, what I'm going to do? They're going to kill me and my body is going to be dumped to the sea and—”

"Stop." Her voice cut through me as she softly laid a hand on my arm. It felt surprisingly warm and real, like she was a real person, of flesh and bones.  It grounded me and made me feel less alone in the face of my slim chances of survival. I relished her touch and leaned on it, making me look at her in a more detailed manner, and I was surprised at how human she looked in comparison to other beings of the Fade. 

Her skin was fair and almost flawless, with a few imperceptible freckles on the bridge of her nose and full pink lips that were currently curled in a worried expression. And her eyes were of a beautiful color green that reminded me of the Emerald Graves — the ancient forest of the elves, their lost home.  I remembered how I once saw an illustration of it and was struck by its beauty and idyll that caused me to wish  I could be there. That I could walk among the foliage with my friends, far away from the Chantry and the nobles and all their petty games.

I didn't even know if I liked nature, but her pretty eyes made me think that not only would I love it, but that I could also lose myself in it for entire hours.
 
"You'll be alright," she said and somehow her tone made me believe it, if only a little. "Whatever happens, I'll protect you. It's my duty."

I smiled, feeling reassurance in her words. It felt silly, to be happy for such a small thing, but her words just sounded so unabashedly sincere that I couldn't help it. No one had ever said to me that they would protect me and genuinely meant it. In the Circle, such things were always accompanied by the undercurrent of a threat or the expectations of a favor owed. No one was willing to fight for us because nobody cared. Except for her — she made it sound like she did and that made me feel...safe.  But then the Circle Tower shook, sudden and strong, and it all crumbled away, causing us both to lose stability and grab each other for support.

On the outside something roared, a sound that rolled over my skin, stole beneath my flesh, struck at my core with the precision that only primal fear could claim, and left me shaking like a leaf in the wind. My heart thundered in my chest, beating faster and faster with every moment the sound continued.

Whatever that thing was, it was near and angry and it made me feel again like that boy of eight in that dark room, crying and begging for someone to help him. Powerless and under someone else's thumb. I hated it, I hated the way it made me feel, and that even now — even after all my training — there was something that would terrify me in such a way.

“Oh, dear,” a new voice said behind us. “You two made quite a mess of this demesne didn't you?”

We turned, my hand tightly grabbing the staff as my power screamed inside of me, ready to be unleashed at a single gesture. I was getting quite fucking tired of demons and their games and their "offers". I just wanted to leave, was that too hard to ask?

But what I saw wasn't a demon. I didn't know what it was.

It was light. Light and smoke shaped in a form that vaguely resembled a woman. Her form was smoky and constantly shifting in a dance of pure energy that made it look like a woman in one second and a formless mass of energy in the other. And even at its most solid, the form was diffuse, with no face, no expression, and a body that would be androgynous if not for the width of its hips and the small lumps of smoke that resembled breasts. It walked to us, slowly and surely, but I felt no aggression or danger from her. The way it moved reminded me of how my mother moved, or like Enchanter Franchesca — the kind Spirit Healer that taught me as a child and told me that there was nothing wrong with me. Kind and welcoming, always ready to hug you and tell you everything was going to be alright.  It made no sense, but this was the Fade and the abnormal was the norm here.

“Who are you,” the spirit at my side asked. “What do you want?

“Peace, children of men. I mean no harm.” The spirit’s voice was soothing and warm, like a mother consoling her child. “I'm Compassion and I'm here to help.”

“Compassion?” I asked. I had heard of such spirits but they were rare and timid. Only Spirit Healers had any contact with their kind, and even then only a few of them managed to properly form a bond.  It was unavoidable; Compassion was a fickle, delicate thing, only truly possible in a world of ideals like the Fade, while it quickly withered when faced with the complexities of the material world.

“Yes,” it said. “I sensed the anguish of the souls in here, and I knew I had to help. This demesne had been a place of suffering and despair for such a long time that I knew I had to come and lend my power when I felt the boundaries between my domain and this one weakened.”

A noble and idealistic cause, one I wouldn't believe if it came from anyone else's mouth, but this was a Compassion spirit. The champions of all hopeless causes and pitiful individuals; this kind of action would be normal for them. 

The building shook and the roars grew closer, kicking dust up and making me sneeze a little; another small shitty thing added to my already shitty night.

I trembled at the sound of the roar, and my breath quickened up. Again, that awful prey sensation. Like a rabbit, waiting for the jaws of the wolf to close on it.  I had an inkling of what it was and the only sure thing was that I needed to get the hell out of here before it was too late. 

“What is that thing?” my companion said. 

“The Hubris of man,” it said. “A Pride so deep and ancient that it is almost bottomless. It was born a long time ago and so well-fed with the arrogance of your kind that it has almost become too big to be properly destroyed. Both of you vanquished its avatar, but now Rage has overcome it and it has to crush whoever dared to wound it. Pride cannot stand such contradiction to its existence; it would mean its undoing.”

I breathed. ‘A Pride so deep and ancient that it was almost bottomless.’ Uh? “Fuck me,” I thought. “I have to try and kill that?”

“Shit,” I said, just done with everything. “I’m dead. No way I'm killing that thing."

"You're not," the winged woman said. "There's always a way. A weakness we can exploit. Not all is hopeless."

The building shook again. I lost my balance again and I almost fell to the floor before my savior caught me and I flushed, embarrassed at how pathetic I looked and how I needed help at every turn. The shaking made a piece of the roof of the Tower fall and I coughed at the dust its impact raised.

What was the fucking point of dust in the Fade?

"Sadly, the young mage is right," Compassion said, crushing my already slim hopes. "A single mage won't ever manage to defeat such a being. An army would be needed for such a feat."

"So, what," I said bitterly. "Should I just roll over and die?"

"No," the spirit said. "You leave."

"Leave?" I repeated.

"Yes, you're both sleeping and it's time to wake up. I'll assist with that and then I'll leave as well."

"Sleeping?” the spirit woman said. "I'm sleeping?"
 
I paused at that. Could spirits sleep? I doubted that was possible, but— I looked at the woman at my side and thought how warm and real she felt, and how her form was unlike all the spirits I’d met during my dreams. “Could it be? No, that was not possible, but maybe…”

Could it be that this woman wasn't a spirit after all? Just a human mage that had somehow ended up in the Fade and, for some reason I couldn't fathom, decided to lend a hand to someone as pitiful as me.

Could something so unreal happen to me?

"Yes, and I can wake you both up. The demon's power forced unconsciousness on both of you, but I can destroy that and give you an out. Know that if you reject me now you won't be able to destroy it. Not now at least."

I didn't know what to say about that. Could I trust it? It was a Compassion spirit, so its purpose was benevolent enough, but the words of the Circle and the Chantry rang strong in my ears. That this so-called "good spirit" could be a demon in disguise, that if I said yes I would be waking up as an abomination with a Templar's sword above me and my own body as a prison. 

I wanted to believe that this spirit meant well but all my training was screaming that I should banish it before its words wormed inside of me. 

Spirits aren't like you and me, they aren't people, they lack souls, and they are envious of our world. They can’t be trusted. 

Just like the Chantry said magic and mages couldn't be trusted.
 
"How can we trust you?" the (maybe) blonde woman asked, giving voice to the thoughts that fear had trapped in my mind. 

"Because it's who I am," the luminous being responded. "I'm Compassion, and I was drawn here because someone needed me. Because of you, stranger from far away. Because you chose to help someone in need, and that gave me the strength to come help you in turn. Please let me help you; others have said no and it never ends well. Please let me save you."

The building shook again and this time the walls at the left side crumbled, exposing the green landscape where I could see the abnormal and ever-changing architecture of the Fade, with its floating rocks and the Black City in the distance.

And beyond this facsimile of a Tower, something of unspeakable power was approaching. It didn't have shape, it was just a black storm of energy that was quickly approaching at every second, but it was enough to terrify me. The sheer amount of  magical power that was coming from that thing shouldn't have been possible by any means. Even my companion tensed at my side, her face paling and her hands curling into fists. 

"What do you want in exchange for this?" I said, surprising even myself. 

The spirit looked at me and then tilted its head. A surprisingly human expression that suited its confused tone well.  "Want? I don't want anything, human. I told you already, I'm Compassion, I help and relieve those that need it because it's who I am. What does it matter what I desire? What matters is that I helped. Is that so wrong to your kind?"

"No," the winged woman softly said. "It's not wrong at all."

I just nodded because she was right. It was admirable to just want to help someone.

Still, the distrust ran strong. I couldn't help it, it was how I was trained. 

"Would it hurt?" the woman said.

"No, it would not. I'll just dispel what Hubris made." Then it paused, turning its head to the outside. Looking to the monstrous thing, which was drawing nearer and nearer, its steps were silent but relentless. "Please, it's coming. If we dally any longer, I won't be able to help and you'll be lost."

I paused. I knew I should take it. I knew that it would probably be my only chance to escape alive, but I just couldn't. Millions of arguments ran in my head and all of them were based on fear of magic and the Fade. 

“It can't be trusted,” a part of me, the one that had been taught by the Chantry, said. “It's a  demon. It's not a person, it just wants to possess you and use you. It's all that demons want.”  And I knew it had a point, that the inhabitants from the Fade couldn't be trusted, that they wore many skins and took many forms. I could say yes to it and the next thing I knew I’d be an abomination rampaging across Faxhold.

“You have to,” another part of myself whispered. “You don't have a choice and you promised. You promised that you'll go outside and feel the sun in your skin. And in a way, this spirit is just like you, another victim of the Chantry interpretation of things.” And Maker, how I wanted to, how I wanted just to say yes and be taken from this nightmare but I couldn't. I couldn't, because it would mean to blindly leap into the arms of what I was taught to distrust, and without those lessons I was nothing. 

Why couldn’t things be fucking easy for once?

"Do it," the woman said, her tone surprisingly kind. "I trust you. Please help us, spirit of Compassion."

She turned, waiting for me to respond as well. It felt stupid and my Circle education was screaming at me, calling me an idiot and a pathetic mage. How could I trust the word of a demon?

But those green eyes were looking at me, and somehow the fact that she was willing to trust the spirit made me feel safer. Made me think that as long we leaped together everything would be alright. 

"Yes," I said, and the word felt heavy on my mouth. Was this how it felt to be responsible for one's self?

A wave of pure energy came from the spirit, enveloping us both and with it, I felt something being lifted from me. It was insidious and poisonous — like all the mutterings of the Templars about us when they thought no one was listening — and even though I never felt its presence I knew I would be better off if it was gone. It made me think of better days, of how one day I could walk with my friends on the outside, without anyone to stop us. 

I breathed and somehow it came out easier than before. 

"It's done," the spirit said. "Now it's time for you to go."

"What–" I started but then everyone turned...blurry.  My sensations dulled and I felt lighter, hollowed out.

"Oh, so this is how it is," the woman said, enveloped in a white haze of energy that made her voice sound far away.

And then I realized I still hadn't learned her name. Or rather, I had forgotten it.

What a bloody idiot I was.

"My lady!" I said, my voice distant. "Could I know your name? Please I have – I have forgotten it."

She looked so far away now, my vision cloudy and the haze enveloping all my senses, and when her lips moved I feared I would never hear what she said. But, somehow, her voice made it through.

"Valkyrie." 
 
Valkyrie, I repeated, tasting the words, testing the syllables. I swore an oath to myself, then and there, that I would never forget it, not in a thousand lifetimes.

The haze eventually consumed me and everything turned black and silent. I felt nothing, I was nothing, just a speck compared to the enormity that was the rest of the world. I liked it, it felt peaceful.

And then I heard the voice of a woman. 

"It's okay," the woman whispered, alluring and flirty, as if she was standing next to me. "If that's your Desire then you'll see her in your dreams soon enough."

I left the Fade and, when I heard the voices of the Templars and the mages, I opened my eyes. 

⊙

Ciara knew she had left that dimension — the Fade — when she felt her body experience all the things and sensations she had taken for granted. She felt the unmistakable sensation of sun rays on her skin, the soft whispers of the wind, and the soft ground under her. Everything felt different, more real, and she knew this wasn't an illusion. She was back in the real world. Or at least a real world.

Yawning, Ciara tried to open her eyes only to realize she didn't want to. She felt tired, with her back aching and her head pulsing. When was the last time she had taken a break? When had she last gotten an uninterrupted night of sleep? How many times had Jessica told her she needed to rest, to pick up a hobby, or maybe try and make some friends?

All those conversations were somewhat heavier now than ever before, and it all contributed to making Ciara want to stay here, lying in the soft ground, without the heavy duty of her responsibilities, both given and self-imposed. 

But she couldn't stay like this forever. She had to return home, where they needed her. She had to know everything had turned out alright, or if it hadn’t, then find a way to help.

She was a hero and such was her duty. 

Stirring, Ciara opened her eyes. 

⊙

   END OF ARC 1

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: The Emerald Graves 

Ciara

⊙

She didn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed being in a forest. Not since she had become a hero.

When the woman that had become Valkyrie had been the murderous child, Glaistig Uaine, forests were nothing more than a rest stop from her ongoing hunt for more capes, and from her fruitless wish to see the cycle of Warrior and the Thinker completed. They were places of solitude and temporary rest before the next bloodshed, where Ciara would pretend that she was not hungry and that the company of her shades was enough to quell her loneliness and the grief of losing her granny. 

As an adult, and a hero, they were nothing more than battlefields among many. A warlord that wanted to try his hand at slavery in the Pyrenees, a mutagen that had somehow turned some trees of the Daintree Rainforest into man-eating creatures, and a plant tinker in Earth Dayet that had thought it was a good idea to turn some wisteria trees into a deadly flesh-corroding poison and test it on refugees. All of them, examples of a situation Ciara had gotten too used to, of a series of choices that had led her here.

Being a hero had been more than a second chance for Ciara. It was a calling, a chance to prove herself,  and an atonement, most of all. It wasn’t supposed to be easy, because life in service of others never was. And she was okay with it, mostly, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of how much she was losing out compared to her peers. As a young child she had wanted to travel, to leave the small town she had been born in and the miserable grey and blocky house she had grown up in. As a hero, she had gotten that chance, but never in a pleasant way. Traveling meant work, and work meant dealing with one threat before shuffling to deal with the next one. It was a rushed, monotonous process that left very little time for the appreciation of natural beauty.

And, if she was being honest, there wasn’t that much natural beauty to admire, anyway. Powers left a mark, and they had scarred the places her superiors had directed her to to the point of nonrecognition. There was little in them worth remembering, and Ciara hadn’t tried. 

The forest she currently was in was the opposite of such despondent sights, and it caused her to feel an admiration for nature that she hadn’t experienced in a long time. 

'A pure wildland,' she thought.  Of the kind one could rarely experience these days.

The air was pure and refreshing, with an inherent cleanness that she had only experienced in the more wild and isolated places of Gimel, where the wilderness had never felt the touch of men. 

And just like the pure air told her things, so did the rest of the forest – telling her different things about it that made the incomplete picture of where she was a little more clear, piece by piece.

The trees were tall with rich green leaves that shone in the sunlight, and interwoven branches with birds singing in them and small animals running around – disturbing the branches and creating a wild symphony that captivated her in a way few things could.

And the animals were strange, too. She curiously watched as a small creature that superficially looked like a rabbit — if rabbits were hairless little things, with snouts more similar to horses and appendages that looked disturbingly like hands — cautiously approached her. After checking with her thinkers about the safety of it, she reached out her hand and let the small animal smell it. 

Up close, she realized it was even cute, in an ugly sort of way. It nuzzled her hand and she took the chance to pet it a bit. It leaned into her touch and shyly licked her gloves and, as a reward for its friendliness, she stroked it harder, causing it to start a sound she identified as a pleased groan. Ciara let out a short laugh, amused at the behavior of the little critter, and she wondered if the whole species was so friendly.

She’d never had much positive experience with animals or pets — not enough time — but she mused if this was what pet owners felt and if this was the reason why they took on the responsibilities of looking after another living being. 

Eventually, the little thing stopped sniffing and, after some small search of her hand, it went away, skipping all the way.

Ciara started waving at it, but stopped once she realized how silly it looked.

She gave the small clearing another once over and took a small breath, stretching her aching body and letting out a small yawn. She felt tired, and a bit weak, but she was no longer a prisoner of her own power, so she could deal with some lingering pain and tiredness for now.

A shame about her costume, though. This was her second one in the last two months.

Her team in PR had thought she’d needed a makeover after her short “vacations” — mostly running around, gathering survivors and lost personnel from alternate Earths — and she had finally agreed, after a tricky operation with a broken trigger got her wings burned and half her costume unsalvageable.

She’d thought it was a good idea back then.  Even as a child, Image and presentation were  important things for her and the chance to help design a new costume and create a new public image was kinda appealing to her. She was coming back to the City, after long months on the outside, and she wanted it to mean something. 

“They’re going to forget what you look like,” Chevalier had said, once. “I think they’re already talking like you’re a myth or a memory.”

And, as usual, he had a point. Eventually, she would have to return and face her fears and she thought that a new costume could help. A protection, in more ways than one, and an incentive to be braver. Except now it was ruined.

She sighed as she saw how her wings flickered, and she eventually banished them without ceremony — the mechanisms that made them probably damaged beyond repair. The rest of it wasn’t much better. Burned, scuffed and some parts just plain mangled, it looked almost unrecognizable from the pristine uniform she had been given a few months ago. Her helmet wasn’t much better — it felt tight and, once she pulled it from her head, she saw it was heavily singed and slightly caved in on the left side. 

No surprise she had a headache.

But hopefully, she could get a new set soon. Touching her communicator, she hoped for the best.

“This is Valkyrie. Still alive and soliciting a status report.” 

Silence. She tried changing to another line of communication, and her answer was only more silence. 

Of course, it couldn’t be easy.

Dialback.

The specter appeared. 

“My phone,” she said. “I need you to communicate with HQ and arrange an extraction if possible.”

The specter nodded and answered after a few seconds. “I’m trying, but something is interrupting the signal. It’s strange, and my power doesn’t like it.”

“Can you push through?” she asked.

The specter shook his head and she felt her hopes start dwindling. “I don’t think so. It’s...vast. It’s unlikely I’ll manage. I’m sorry.”

Ciara dismissed the shade and thought of her other immediate option.

Doormaker.

The shade manifested, waving at her.

“Door me, please. Earth Gimel.”

A portal opened in front of her, and Valkyrie almost breathed in relief. She was afraid it wouldn’t work, as had happened in the Fade. 

But it did, and from it, she could feel the breeze of alien air that signified home for her. And home meant a shower, a new change of clothes, and a well-earned rest. She also needed to report the existence of this new alternate Earth and learn what happened with the Titans and the current crisis, but she guessed that after informing her superiors and spending some time in the infirmary, she could take a break. A real one this time, with no impromptu rescue missions or wandering to different parallel Earths. 

'But only if they don't need me,' she thought. ' Only if they can do without me.'

However, before she could step into the portal, something happened that put a stop to her ruminations. The portal glitched suddenly, and before she could even do anything, it started twisting and she was sent back flying when the portal exploded in a rainbow of colors and sounds.

Ciara felt the air leave her lungs as the portal kept twisting but, and despite the protests of her own body, she quickly got up. Just in time to see how monsters started pouring out of the newly formed portal.

No . 

Shades started pouring out of the corrupted portal, all heralding the entrance of a creature of pure fire that roared at Ciara with hate as it charged at her.

Demons.

Selecting an effective configuration of shades and powers, Ciara shouted “Close it!” at Doormaker and started to fight them.

The fight was brief. She had already fought both types of “demons” and was well acquainted with their weaknesses. The shades showed vulnerability to energy attacks and the creature of fire was — predictably — weak to ice powers. 

But that wasn’t the end. For some reason Doormaker was having trouble closing the portal. It struggled and twisted even more wildly, rapidly changing from its original shape and color to a sickly twisted green that she had only seen once, recently.

The Fade.

More creatures started pouring out of the door — this time thin, elongated monsters with long clawed arms and too many eyes  — as Ciara realized that somehow Doormaker had connected his portal to the alternate dimension she had recently been in. 

" How is that possible ," Ciara muttered to herself, as she dodged one of the elongated creatures. " Doormaker rarely makes a mistake when directed. Is something interfering with his powers?"

“Keep trying!” she shouted to the shade, who was finally succeeding in controlling the gate. Using a power to slow one of the creatures down, she beheaded it as another of her shades — Stheno, The Left Sister — turned the other into stone. 

They were fast, and they could phase in and out of reality, but, as she quickly discovered, they were quite predictable. They kept trying to attack her from the back or the side and their swings followed a pattern that, with some thinker help, she managed to decipher.  

After finishing the demon in front of her, the portal started closing, dragging the remaining creatures back to the Fade, announcing the end of the battle. The creatures screamed, deafening Ciara, and they cried once the gate closed in, devouring them all anticlimactically — leaving no signs of its presence besides a cloud of ethereal green dust and a sensation of disorientation and hopelessness in Ciara. 

Doormaker was the most powerful mover she possessed, and her go-to shade when it came to dimensional travel, and if he couldn't find a way to return then that meant her choices had been reduced greatly.

She still had choices. The entire point of her power was to have a vast array of powers to select and combine, but the reality that Doormaker wasn’t of any help had left her shaken and unsure of what solution she could devise to find a way home. 

She needed more information and, fortunately, she had an inkling of where to get it. She thought of the young mage she met during her misadventure in the Fade, and what seemed to be an organization of others like him. Mages, the parahumans of this world, or something similar to them. Maxwell had been oddly versatile for a parahuman and she understood very little of the rules of this alternate Earth and its inhabitants. To make assumptions was dangerous and until she managed to make contact she had to lie low. 

So for now she needed to go back to the basics. Lean on the Wardens’ protocol until she could learn more of her current situation and the land she was currently stranded in.

A yawn escaped her and, for the first time, she realized how truly tired she felt. Her body ached, her head was still pounding and her costume felt itchy and uncomfortable. Overall she desperately needed to lie down and the little clearing she currently was in didn’t feel right for setting a camp.

'Too open,' she thought. 'I can use my powers to hide this location but I don’t know if travelers pass through this area often. A secluded place in a defensible position is always better.' 

Making a quick decision she washed the tiredness away with a power and breathed in relief at how her head cleared and her body felt energized and fresh. She knew it wouldn’t last —such power effects never did and they always had long-term consequences on the human body — so she had to hurry and find a suitable place to settle for the night.

And the night was coming. Soon, if she could guess by the position of the sun.

Better hurry, she thought. 

⊙

Dusk was within reach but, surprisingly, it didn’t bother her as much as she thought. The forest had that effect on her, she realized. Exploring the unknown, seeing the sights, and being surrounded by nature was something she surprisingly found enjoyable.

 And now, on her own, she could admit that she had enjoyed that week where she’d tracked the lost Wardens personnel, after the attack on the portal stations. There was an appeal to surviving on her own, with only her shades as a company, as she hunted and cooked her own food. But back then she hadn’t thought much about it; she had a mission to accomplish and people that needed her, so everything else had to be secondary.

But here it was different. There was no big battle upcoming that needed her, no fresh crisis she had to attend to, and no colleagues that cringed away from her presence.

It was just her, her shades, and an environment more peaceful than she had ever experienced. A quiet existence to escape from one’s responsibilities, and relax for a bit, with no one around to judge her for who she was and the things she had done.

She wondered if Riley felt like this every day since she’d decided to remain alone on that desolate Earth. With her garden and her experiments, away from everyone else and their opinion of her.

She had her excuses and logic, but Ciara knew, deep down, what was the real reason she stayed all alone.

‘Jessica,’ she thought. ‘You tried your best, but everyone has a breaking point, and that was yours. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you.’

Redemption wasn’t like what they pictured in the stories. It wasn’t a magical thing that made everyone else forget what you’d done and embrace you like a friend. It was a hard road with an uncertain future where the only certainty was that, no matter how hard you tried, your past sins would never be washed away. 

You could try, and wish, that everything will be alright and, eventually, that you will be too. Just like she wished Riley would be okay without someone close to talk to and visit.  

‘I hope I’ll be able to go back soon,‘ Ciara thought . ‘I promised her to visit, after all.”

‘And maybe—’ She softly touched a tree’s bark as she walked and listened to golden songbirds singing their lovely songs . ‘I can convince her to come on a trip with me. Just the two of us, with no labels of hero or villain, relaxing and enjoying some of this nature and peace. She could get new ideas and do some experiments, while I would do something relaxing. Whatever other people do to unwind, but only if they don’t urgently need me. Only then.’

Someone else could take care of properly contacting this Earth. She didn’t have diplomatic training — or at least the one needed for situations like this one — so she could confidently say this wasn’t her area of expertise. And considering how little she knew of this new Earth culture and how they would feel about having Gimel as neighbors, she decided that maybe avoiding all contact with the natives of this dimension was the appropriate response. At least until she could learn more.

As she continued walking, and the sun fell into quiet sleep with the dusk settling, she finally found the first evidence that this place wasn’t as abandoned as she thought.

Scattered in front of her, as lost remnants of another era, there were a set of mossy dilapidated ruins that she cautiously approached.

They were of a white polished stone that showed very little damage from the passage of time, besides some vines and green moss covering them, with beautifully carved wolf statues scattered here and there.

They made a small labyrinth, which when combined with the foliage and the trees growing everywhere, made for a  beautiful, yet inexplicably sad vision.

Ciara didn't know why but looking at this  — at the remains of what once was — made her feel sad and forlorn. Such feelings made her want to explore, to see if she could find anything to learn about this strange land and the people that once lived here. 

But as the sun fell down, her weariness, hunger, and the headache returned with such tremendous strength that she decided that any exploration would have to be delayed until she got some sleep.

Wandering for a bit she eventually found a secluded location  — protected from sight thanks to some thick trees and a half crumbled wall —  east of the ruins to make her camp. Using a combination of tinkers, matter manipulators, and matter creators, Ciara created a quaint tent, a bedroll, a few blankets for herself, and a few cloaks of all colors, except green, for her to use. They weren’t her best work, but then this refuge was temporary and so she valued more practicality over style.

Summoning Waggish, Twelfth of the Fabricators, Ciara sacrificed some pieces of her costume and a few rocks on the floor to make herself some appropriate cooking utensils and cutlery to eat her dinner. She had some emergency rations that would do for now, but she doubted she could sustain herself by eating dry meat and dehydrated vegetables for too long. 

Eventually, she would have to forage and hunt for her food, but that was tomorrow’s problem.  

Either way, she was too tired to care for now. Whatever happened that reversed the process which turned her into a Titan had left her tired, and having to fight her way out of an alternate dimension had not helped. Devouring her dinner, Ciara called a group of shades specialized in protection and camouflage. 

Escondidas, Furcifer, Hogo, Shieldmaiden.

“You know what to do,” she said to them. “Please make sure no one finds this place and inform me if something happens.”

Nodding, the specters began their work and Ciara let tiredness guide her steps to the tent, where she took off the more uncomfortable parts of her armor and let sleep bring her to an unconscious bliss.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Midnight Encounters.

Ciara

⊙

That night, Ciara had her first encounter with the people of this world.

She slept, soundly, and silently, dreaming of an impossible dream. She was in a prairie, full of the most wonderful flowers she had ever seen and her grandmother was with her. They were both smiling and Ciara felt...happy, at peace with her life. She didn't know what they were doing or how that encounter came to be, but she didn't care.  

She felt loved. She felt accepted.

“ Mamó, ” Ciara said, like a prayer. She clung to her grandmother, as a drowned man did to a piece of floating driftwood. 

“My bláth beag,” her grandmother said, her creased face turning into a warm expression that made Ciara want to cry. She had missed her so much . “My beautiful, lovely girl. Look at you! You've grown so much and become such a pretty lass and a hero!” 

“I-I’ve missed you.” She didn't know what else to say. What could she say? So many things, she decided.  But she had time, she decided. Because time had no meaning in this place and they had forever to talk.

So, of course, the dream had to end. Just like everything good that had ever happened to her. 

She knew it had ended when her grandmother’s face blurred and vanished and the elation she had felt was replaced by the piercing cold that seeped from the ground and that her sleeping bag did nothing to stop.

“Están aquí,” a female voice whispered in her ear, ending the dream and waking her far too soon. “Armored footsteps. Men in silver armor, carrying a blazing sun on their chests. Están cerca.”

Ciara stood up, her head pulsing and her eyes puffy, and she looked at Escondidas, who was inside the tent with her. The shade looked just as she had when Ciara had claimed her during Gold Morning, wearing a skintight black outfit with a long skirt and a black veil with a painted smiley face that covered everything on her face except her mouth. Escondidas had always been a cheery shade, always happy to tell Ciara about her life and how she missed her homeland, Argentina, and her family, but tonight there was no smile to her tone.

“Men in armor?” she asked, her head clearing and her tiredness being forced back by sheer necessity, but the memory of that dream still lingered in her mind. She hadn’t had a dream so vivid as that one in a long time, but she had to focus right now. “From where?”

“The west,” Escondidas answered. “They carry blades and torches, ready for violence as they mutter. They saw the ruins and they’re coming here.”

Ciara hastily put on her armor and a black cloak as she grabbed her mangled, but still functional, weapon. “Are the protections holding?” she asked, and the shade nodded.

“You told us to call you if anything happened, jefa,” the specter said, and Ciara said nothing because she had indeed, even if it annoyed her that her sleep had been interrupted.

She went out of the tent and saw the shades in their respective positions chatting among themselves, with their powers still functioning. If everything worked out as intended, the camp shouldn’t have been found by any sorts of means — outside of some particular powers, thanks to the three layers of protections her shades had created around her modest campfire, and the added security blanket of Escondidas as a scout and an assassin.

“Shieldmaiden, keep the powers’ effects going. Hogo, if they breach protections you know what to do. Furcifer, keep one of your totems here but come with me.” Hogo nodded, the earth subtly taking new forms around him and slowly becoming living breathing organisms that would attack as Furcifer moved to obey her, his tail playfully swinging. Quickly deciding, she offered an arm to Escondidas. “Take us to them, fast.”

Escondidas did as told and Ciara flinched as a bone-chilling cold pierced her whole body as she melted into shadows and moved through them. Her senses and organic functions disappeared to the point of nonexistence as the power took hold of her, with the weightless presence of the specter the only certainty in this claustrophobic dimension she was still alive and had a way out. She hated to use the shade this way, but she needed information about where she was and what the armored men wanted. The puzzle inside her head was still too incomplete, and she was going to take any opportunity that presented itself to learn more.

“Here,” Escondidas said. “Too close and they’ll see us.”

They approached the boundary between the realm of shadows and reality and Ciara's senses returned to the point of feeling the hard column where the shadow pooled and how the icy wind softly brushed the ground and made the grass move. It all sounded distorted and far away, she could hear gibberish that she knew were voices distorted by the shadows.

‘Take us out when you sense there’s no one close,’ she ordered Escondidas. ‘Furcifer, the instant we are out, cloak us with your power.’

Escondidas released them from her hold and Ciara experienced the disorienting rush of her senses returning to her body before the numbness of Furcifer’s power took over her and the disorientation quickly disappeared.

And that was when she finally paid attention to the voices and noises around her.

Armored footsteps were accompanied by loud, firm noises as they approached her position behind the half-ruined wall and the moss-covered stone pillar. 

“You know your orders, men!” a strident voice spoke. “Spread out and search for clues of his position. Leave no stone unturned and no mossy ruin unsearched! Till we find confirmation that the fils de pute wasn’t here, no one rests and no one complains. Now move!”

‘They’re searching for someone ,’ Ciara thought. ‘And... are they speaking modern English? And was that a French word?’

She thought how odd that was. While Bet and Aleph hadn’t been the only Earth where language hadn’t diverged, they were also a minority. In most Earths, divergences were more varied and went farther back than the 80s, which caused historical divergences that created extremely different societies culturally and socially to the ones from Bet or Aleph. 

Stopping her reflections, Ciara called some powers to her, enhancing her vision to see in the dark and making her steps silent. Furcifer’s power could make her unnoticeable, but being extra careful never hurt, while the opposite could mean severe consequences for her.

Moving carefully and sticking to the shadows, both Furcifer and Escondidas with her, Ciara moved inside the labyrinth of ruins and statues where most of the voices were coming from — with their boots, loud voices, and bright torches that interrupted the quiet harmony of the forest. 

She passed through crumbled walls and mossy but still beautifully carved statues, and she couldn’t help but admire how beautiful this wildland looked at night. Even with intruders trespassing on its grounds, the forest never stopped. Crickets and nocturnal birds sung their respective songs and the chilly night wind still blew, ruffling her disorderly gold strands as it passed her way, while the light of the moon somberly illuminated her path, giving a very sinister, yet still alluring ambiance.

‘This place is beautiful, yet still inexplicably sad,’ s he thought as she followed the muttering voices and she softly brushed a bit of moss from a wall. There was a small golden plaque below, but she couldn’t read what it was. Its words were strange, a combination of what seemed to be a runic alphabet based on something similar to Ogham, something she knew of but couldn’t read.

‘Just like everyone else that wasn’t born in the Middle Ages,’ she thought, noting how odd it was that the language was so similar to her own, while their alphabet was so antiquated.

‘And the plaque seems new too, if dirty,’ she continued. ‘How odd.’

The labyrinthine ruins around her showed many people had lived here a long time ago, only for something to happen, for them to move out or being driven off. Most likely the second, if one considered human history and how violence seemed ingrained in them.

‘A stolen land,’ she guessed. ‘ Like so many others back home.’

“Fucking shit!” a rough voice shouted near her, startling her and making her realize she had forgotten what she was doing and stupidly walked too close to one patrol. ‘ Careless, ‘ she admonished herself.

“W-what?” a female voice said. “Did you find something?”

“Uh, no... I just saw an enormous spider and got freaked out,” the other voice admitted sheepishly.

“... What?”

Ciara approached and turned a corner, where she found two armored knights. Just like Escondidas said, their armors were made of silvery material, with purple skirts and a blazing sun on their chests. A visored helmet hid their faces and they carried a bright torch in one hand and a weapon in the other. The smaller knight — which she guessed was the woman — was leaning towards a scribbled wall, her body half-turned to glance at her tall companion, while one of her hands tensely grabbed a small ax while the other.

‘The knights that appeared in the Nightmare of the Mage,’ C iara thought.

They had attacked her during the Nightmare. Their battle cries broke the oppressing silence of the dream reality as their weapons left their sheaths and they shouted expletives at her, calling her apostate, maleficar, and other things as they tried to kill her.

She didn’t completely understand their relationship with the mages, but she knew it couldn’t be a good one when they were knees deep in the corpses of other mages within the dream, shouting justifications about the carnage to anyone who listened.

‘Are they something resembling witch hunters, perhaps?’

“Are you fucking kidding me? A spider, you screamed because of a dumb spider?”

“It- it was really big?” the man answered.

“Was it a giant one?” she continued.

“No?” the male knight said, cringing away from his companion.

The armored woman muttered something uncharitable under her breath before her voice rose again. “We’re hunting a dangerous apostate and you’re scared of a bloody spider?” She had an accent, Ciara realized, something resembling French.

“It’s not my fault! I can handle apostates, but I hate spiders. They’re different things.” As he spoke, the man waved his hands, changing the shape of the shadows and giving him a clumsy air.

“Really?” the woman said, skeptically. “How many have you hunted?”

“Eh... well, I–well. A few?”

The woman sighed, a sound of long-suffering Ciara could sympathize with. “Let me rephrase that. How long ago did you take your vows and become a full brother of the Order?”

“Eh, well, mmm.” He stumbled on his words, hesitating, and Ciara slowly advanced. She wanted to get closer, see how they reacted to Furcifer’s power. 

“Yes?” she prompted, impatient. Ciara approached and slowly waved a hand near his head, careful to not touch him.

The man flinched and said, “Did you feel that?”

“Yes,” his companion said. “It’s called the wind. It’s a wonderful magical thing that happens all the bloody time. Now answer my question.”

“I just–that shadow just…” The man stopped and deflated, before continuing in a more defeated tone. “One month,” he said.

Ciara carefully stepped back and nodded with satisfaction. Furcifer’s power was working accordingly and was making them think she was part of their surroundings, and as long as they did not break the illusion through violent and sudden contact, she would be fine. But she had to be careful, Furcifer’s power wasn’t infallible and it wouldn’t be the first time she was forcibly discovered.

“What!?” the woman said, disbelief in her voice.

“I’ve been a full-fledged brother of the Templar order for one month, ma’am,” the man said, his voice recovering some firmness that was undercut by some of the youth Ciara could detect in it.

“Oh mon Dieu, tu te fous de moi?” the female Knight said, her French accent resurfacing. “Are you serious? This is not a tasteless joke, is it?”

Her companion — or maybe subordinate — shook his head, and the woman muttered something under her breath.

“Do you even have any experience hunting maléficars? Did you even serve in a Circle or have some experience tracking apostates? What was your previous position?”

“I– well, I served in one of, uh, the local Chantries in Val Royeaux before I volunteered for this. My captain said that it was our duty to protect people from evil magic and I couldn’t think of a bigger purpose than to hunt such an evil apostate. Magic must serve man, and I have faith in the Maker that we’ll succeed.” His voice slowly gained confidence until he pronounced the last words with a fervor that surprised Ciara. An oath, perhaps?

The woman sighed again, and Ciara moved closer to her. “Faith in the Maker is something nice, kid, but it will not protect you from a fire spell. The Maker helps those that help themselves, and our prey is not a scared apprentice with no idea what to do. This one is an expert killer that has snuffed out the lives of many good men and women and is an abomination to boot. If you go there, nervous and about to shit your britches with only the Maker to protect you, you’ll die. Don’t think for a second that just because you’re a kid he’s going to show you mercy. He doesn’t care about that. Vengeance is the only thing on his mind now.”

“I—” The boy gulped. “I know of his reputation, but I trust our commander and the Knight Divine. The Maker is on our side and powerful as he may be, he’s just one man. I trust in our cause.”

Ciara looked at the spot where the woman had been searching and saw an assortment of odd objects. Bows, trinkets, and a few wood-carved animals were clustered together near a wall where she guessed they had been previously hidden among the weeds and shadows before the female knight found them.

“The Knight Divine isn’t here, kid. We’re the ones digging in the mud and the trash.” She turned to where Ciara was, and for a second, she thought the woman was going to lean down and pick up something from the floor before she quickly rethought that. “And that’s all we’ll find here: trash. There’s nothing here, just like there was nothing in the Brecilian Forest or Denerim, or fucking Seheron or wherever else. We better report our nothing to the commander so we can go back and rest.” 

“Nothing? But ser, what about this?” He sheathed his sword and awkwardly pulled a small necklace from a place on his armor that Ciara couldn’t see. “I can recognize these markings, ser. This is of Dalish manufacturing. Shouldn’t we inform them of the possible presence of a clan in this forest? For all we know, they could be aiding our fugitive.”

The woman crossed the space between them in three long strides and ripped the necklace from the young man’s before throwing it into the pile with the other objects. “The Dalish aren’t our business unless we’re ordered to make them our business,” she said, with a voice that allowed no arguments and made the man stand to attention. “And there’s always a bloody clan in this forest, recruit. This is their forest. They don’t involve themselves in human matters, so unless they start sacrificing humans and pillaging cities, it’s not our business whatever unholy things they’re up to. Now let’s go, this forest is creepy at night.”

The young man nodded hesitantly and moved to follow her, before stopping and asking in a quiet voice. “You don’t think it’s him, do you, ma’am? I heard some of the older knights saying it couldn’t possibly be him. That he probably was with the Champion of Kirkwall or with the Fereldan Grey Wardens and I, well, I felt relieved that this was probably a false sighting. He, well, he scares me, ma’am.”

The woman sheathed her weapon and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He scares us all, lad. But no, I don’t think Anders is here. Whatever he is, he’s probably pretending to be a beggar or something and if he’s smart enough, he’s never going to show his face in public anywhere in Thedas. Now come on, I’m hungry and you’re shaking, let’s get you something  warm.”

They left in silence, their lights becoming more and more distant, but Ciara ignored them. 

She had heard what they’d said, and she learned a lot, but there was still a lot she needed to know.

Templars. The Maker. The Dalish. Abomination and Apostate. Anders.

A lot of these names meant nothing to her, but that didn’t mean they weren’t important. 

This was only one small patrol of many. She wanted to know what the other Knights Templar could divulge. And — she looked to the haphazard pile of things — this was possibly not the only group in the area. 

She looked to the living piles of shadows that was Escondidas.

“Take me away. I need to go higher.” 

Touching the heroine’s arms, the shadow swallowed the three of them, and together they disappeared in shadow.

⊙

Ciara took to the skies using Furcifer and a flying power and, standing above all, counted thirty torches in total. Thirty Templars and all of them for one man. An “apostate” and, apparently even worse, an “abomination”. And while she didn’t know precisely what the words signified, she understood enough. They were hunting a mage that had committed a crime, and the fact that he was an abomination — whatever that particularly meant in this context — was somehow related to how powerful he was and why he required so many warriors to bring him to justice.

“Anders,” she said aloud, tasting the name and its pronunciation. A common name, one that meant nothing to her or caused her any of the feelings of fear and apprehension that had shown in the voices of the Templars. It sounded common and mundane, lacking the weight and showmanship that abounded in the names capes chose for themselves, and it only served as another reminder of how far she was from home. 

‘They’re chasing a criminal,’ she thought. ‘And I’m a hero.’ 

For a second Ciara entertained the idea of discreetly helping them to catch their prey to curry some favor with the local authority, but she quickly rejected the idea after some deliberation. She couldn’t meddle in the affairs of the natives without authorization, and she wasn’t ready to answer the never-ending questions about who she was or what she was.

‘And they look medieval enough to burn me at a stake, ‘ she thought.

Lowering herself to the ground, Ciara moved into the shadows and approached the next group of Templar knights, hoping for more information about where she was and — between curses, angry mutterings about “knife-ear architecture”, and gossip — she found some useful information.

She was currently in the forested region called the “Emerald Graves,” which was in a monarchical country named Orlais. Apparently, the Templars were some sort of a military arm of a religious organization called “The Chantry” and they were here chasing a criminal, who also was mage and an abomination.

And they weren’t very successful at finding him.

“Morceau de merde, fils de pute, fucking piece of a son of a Fereldan whore–” the man she had identified as the Knight Captain — both by the words of his subordinates and the finery in his armor — kept muttering while he was passing by. What she assumed was his assistant, a female knight without helmet and hair in a bun, looked nervously at him and coughed loudly and, when it didn’t work, she cautiously called him.

“Knight-Captain, ser?” Her words reached him and he turned, a glazed, feverish look in his eyes that made the female knight flinch.

“Yes, Knight-Lieutenant?” His bearded face was half-covered in shadows and his voice sounded deep and hollow, possessed by a palpable hunger that gave him a sinister air. 

“All patrols have reported in,” the woman said. “...No signs of him.”

Ciara watched, almost fascinated, how the words affected him. As if she had pushed a button, the visage of the Knight–Captain shifted to one of pure rage. 

“Another fucking waste of time!” he shouted and started passing around the ruin-covered clearing. Under the flickering light of the torch, Ciara noted how his sunken cheeks and tired face shifted in such a way that made him look monstrous. “Those fools in Val Royeaux and that old cunt in the Grand Cathedral think that we have nothing better to do? That we don’t have other important duties to attend to? That we want to go into these pointless chases across filthy forests and dark caves chasing rumors and hearsay instead of our sacred duties? Are they so blind as to not realize the dangers of magic and how stupid they are being!?”

“Captain -” the aide tried to say. At the start of the captain’s rant, Ciara had noticed how the woman had taken a step back and clutched at her sheathed weapon with something resembling panic, but now she seemed to have collected herself. “–it’s not all useless, sir. The men have found signs of–”

“The men ,” the captain scoffed, “are pathetically useless. I ordered them to not rest until they found something tangible and what do they do? They give up at the first chance! Do none of them understand the importance of our calling? Of the dangers of magic? Who’s going to protect the innocent if we don’t? Do they think this all a game? Bunch of disgusting weaklings. They should have followed my orders to the letter, not to do as they pleased. Once we go back, I’ll inform the commander of such disobedience and –”

“Sir!” The Knight–Lieutenant shouted.

“What!” he screamed, whirling around to face her.

“Do you need...do you need a dose, ser?” she asked, quickly pulling out a small shiny vial from inside her armor that the captain eyed with unmasked desire. “I-I noticed that your vial back in the tent was untouched and—Do you need it?”

The captain was silent for a few seconds, his eyes never leaving the shiny blue vial in the hands of the woman, but eventually, he gave a jerky nod and the woman crossed the distance between the both of them to place the tiny vial in the man’s hand, before silently stepping back, her head bowed low.

Her commanding officer quickly uncorked the shiny container and downed the bright blue liquid in one go, and Ciara watched, perplexed, as the man’s demeanor completely changed. His expression smoothed, his eyes lost that glazy sheen, and his posture straightened. Taking a deep breath, he cleaned some visible sweat from his forehead and passed the small bottle to his subordinate, who quickly accepted it, saying nothing. 

What was that thing? Ciara thought. Was that some sort of medicine? A calming drug, perhaps?

“Thank you, Knight-Lieutenant.” Even his voice had changed. Before it sounded like a maelstrom of warring emotions that struggled for dominance, but now it was like a calm river. No emotion, just a smooth, professional tone that permeated all his being. “I appreciate it. Truly. But, if possible, I would appreciate it more if we could forget about this… slip of protocol and move on to more pressing matters.”

“Already forgotten, sir,” the woman replied.” And, if you need it, I have a report ready for you. The men found something. Something that may lead us to the apostate.”

“Yes, yes. Please proceed Lieutenant.” 

“Our patrols found clear evidence that this place has been of use recently. Tracks of footsteps that lead deeper into the forest remains of campfires, and, most importantly, hidden caches of weapons and supplies.”

The captain frowned. “Bandits? Mercenaries perhaps?”

“No, sir. Dalish.” 

The man’s face soured, and he spat onto the ground. “Worse then. Bloody knife-ears. They’re everywhere, like a pest. But we can’t hunt them down without proper orders. Did the men find evidence that they are hiding Anders among their ilk?”

“Sadly no, ser. We’ve confirmed their presence in the area but nothing else beyond that,” the woman replied, voice mournful. “However, it is known that Anders has Dalish associates from both his time in Kirkwall and the Grey Wardens. It wouldn’t be out of the question for their kind to shield him in consideration to their kin.”

“You are making the mistake of thinking of these elves as a united nation, Lieutenant.” Ciara blinked. Did he say elves ? “They’re not. They’re barely above wild animals–to expect a unified front from those heathens is unwise and I doubt they would lift a finger to help anyone that’s not another knife-ear. Their kind is craven like that.”

“Some clans have associated with apostates and other humans, though,” the woman replied. “It wouldn’t be out of the question for them to help him. Especially if it’s detrimental to the will of the Chantry.”

“That’s still only an assumption. Unless we have palpable evidence that the elves are sheltering him, we can’t do anything. The orders from the Knight-Divine are clear: restrain Anders and no one else. The elves are of no concern to ours. For now.”

“I understand, sir. Some of the rank and file won’t be happy we’re letting a group of heathens alone but if that is your order they’ll comply.”

The captain stopped and looked thoughtful for a second before answering. “No, you’re right. The presence of the Dalish is suspicious and one we can’t allow without checking. Tomorrow morning we’ll send for backups to Val Royeaux and a… diplomatic party to search for the clan’s campsite. But for now, it’s time to go. Rally all the patrols, we’re going back to camp.”

The woman bowed. “As you command.”

Ciara watched as they gathered all the other knights that — with the rising dawn — looked like a sea of lights and flickering silver that drew her eye, She sat quietly in the distance, observing as they organized themselves and silently marched out of the ruins and her camp, their armors reflecting the rays of the dawning sun and making everything  annoyingly brighter 

The sun slowly woke from its slumber as they left, and Ciara calmly retraced the steps back to her camp. 

She had a lot to think about.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9:   Daylight Encounters.

Ciara

⊙

Ciara didn't go back to sleep. She tried to, but discomfort plagued her and it wasn't long before she was up and going again. She didn't know what to do, but she still felt that she needed to do something. There was too much she didn't yet know. It was... disquieting.

So Ciara got up and decided to occupy her hands. She dismissed her current shades and cleaned her abode a bit, picking some leaves and cleaning some dust, and then went to hunt for something to eat. She took her time searching for prey, and in the end settled for a rabbit that didn't run away from her fast enough.

She cooked its flesh on a low fire and ate it unsalted with some herbs, once her shades told her it was edible. She ate it slowly and meticulously, savoring each bite and wishing she had some spices to make it tastier. She didn't have anything to do so what was the rush?

After finishing, she took out whatever remained and stared at the bright fire in front of her as the forest kept on with its complex routine and the sun started shining brighter and brighter.

She had eaten and she was – somewhat – rested.  And now…

Now what?

What was she supposed to do?

Her priority was still to find a way home but what could she do to get there? She needed to contact the pertinent authorities and say... say what?

That she was a dimension traveler from another world and that she meant no harm?

That explanation didn't work as well as many thought, and considering the people she had met until now had been heavily armed and hunting a man in dark woods, she had the inkling that those words weren't going to be better received than the other times she’d done it.

'We all have the instinctual fear of the unknown,' she thought. And what was more unknown than someone with powers beyond comprehension claiming to be from another world?

'Those Templars are also suspicious. From what I've heard they sound like a combination between the PRT and the Inquisition from old in Bet.'

A religious army in charge of those with special abilities. All under the supervision of an organization called the Chantry.

'It's never a good  idea to give armies to religions. They tend to use them without a second thought and the slightest justifications.'

So what could she do? What should she do?

Warden protocols dictated that she should try her hardest to not interfere in the local matters and lay low until rescue arrived. Then a sanctioned diplomat would take over and evaluate the condition of the Earth and how to best approach them. 

Problem was the more usual and trusted method of traveling through dimensions – the portals – weren't working properly, and she had the best mover for portals that existed. If Doormaker was useless, then the possibility of success with other types of portals didn’t bear mentioning.

It wasn't hopeless though. She had options.

Her power was nothing but options, but somehow that didn't comfort her.

She passed her hands through  hair, trying to find some relief in an action that granted none. Her hair felt oily and stiff, with her usual golden luscious locks looking more like dried stalks of straw. It was also thick with the smell of smoke and the forest, and it only served to remind her that it had been two days – more or less – since the last time she had bathed.

'Well , at least that gives me something to occupy my time with.'

Summoning two of her shadows, she shaped a piece of clearing into a rudimentary dirt pool two feet wide, and then filled it with clear water. She didn't have any soap or hair care products, but since beggars couldn't be choosers she undressed and silently submerged herself in the cold waters, letting the chill calm her mind and soothe her nerves.

She didn't mind that it was cold; in fact she rather liked it. The coolness of the water helped her to find focus, and the way the clear liquid washed away the dirt and grime served to make her tired muscles relax, and let her mind occupy itself with something more immediate and easy to solve than her current situation.

But even then she couldn't escape the heavy burden of her problem and the lack of guidelines she had to work with.

Missions with the Wardens had been easier, in this regard. She had protocols, clear objectives to accomplish and a group of peers and superiors ready to support her and clear any doubts on her mind. She had a routine, and that helped her to think and not think at the same time. It gave her rules to work with, that served both as limiters of the damage she could do and as a way for her to never backslide to the black abyss she’d crawled away from.

She scrubbed harder at the dirt and tried to direct her mind towards more productive purposes. She needed to analyze the situation and stop moping about as if everything was hopeless. There was always a solution at hand, even if it didn't seem so. 

First, the problem: She was stranded in another world with her options to go back curtailed by factors outside her control. She couldn't communicate with the City and she didn't know how, or if, the conflict with Titans had been resolved. That meant that for all she knew, her reality  could have been destroyed and she was the only survivor...

'Better not think about that.' She dunked her head underwater and let the clear liquid wash away her worries and worst case scenarios. 'Chevalier and Legend would have come up with something to stop that . I trust them.'

Problem two, then: She had very little information about the Earth she was currently in and the little she knew didn't make her feel safe. A militarized religious organization in charge of the parahumans of this world, a parallel plane full of malevolent entities that seemed to want to prey on humans, and, apparently, elves.

It was almost like one of those ridiculous fantasy novels that Canary enjoyed reading in her downtime.  Except that Ciara had not crossed paths with a bare-chested young man eager and ready to “take her against the hard, rugged bark of a tree and make her his.”

Canary had been quite embarrassed when Ciara looked at what she was reading and, for a while, she hadn't understood why. It wasn't like she hadn't heard or seen anything worse — everyone coped in their own way and Canary’s love for books of questionable quality wasn't even the weirdest one she had seen.

‘I hope she's alright.’ Canary had never wanted to be a hero, not really. It was just that after Gold Morning everyone had needed to pull their own weight in order to make things work, and Canary had little to offer but her voice and a driving need to do something she could see as useful. She chose a costume and eventually started going on missions, always a bit hesitant and a little bit scared, but always there and ready to be of help. Eventually she’d found her way to Valkyrie’s Flock and stayed, both out of a sense of kinship that had somehow formed between them, and the grim truth that there wasn't a lot of work for parahuman singers at the moment. At least not the type of work that made her feel safe, considering who was behind the entertainment industry in Gimel.

‘I'll see her soon enough,’ she thought, getting up and rinsing off. She summoned a shadow and it brought some fresh clothes. 

Problem three, then: There was a city nearby, one called Val Royeaux where she was sure to learn more about her new world, but she had to plan her approach properly. She didn't know if there was someone stationed in one of the hypothetical entrances of the city that could detect her in a cloaked form, or how the inhabitants of this world used their powers. For all she knew they had ways to detect her or foresee her coming. If she was discovered then the amount of trouble she could bring to Gimel would be quite substantial. She wasn't trained as a diplomat and she didn't trust herself in any sort of first contact situation without the proper support of trained professionals. The last thing she needed was to make another enemy for the City, when they needed all the allies they could get.

So what could she do?

‘No idea .’ And that meant it was time to delegate. But first, she needed to look a little less messy.

With a mere thought Waggish came forward, his blemish–free face beaming at her with his always serene smile.

"Can you help me with this, please?" she said, pointing at her wet hair. "A hairbrush and a mirror would be nice, if possible."

Waggish nodded and began to work gathering rocks, soil and some remains of Ciara’s ruined armor and helmet. Shaping them with his power, he made a functional hairbrush and small mirror, big enough to see her face.

She thanked and dismissed him with a nod as she focused the next few minutes in trying to look presentable. Using a brush to try and tidy up her still golden curls, Ciara suddenly remembered something she heard from several of the Templars but she had forgotten in the rush of trying to process all the new information she had heard last night. 

The Templars had spoken about a group of elves that lived around in this forest. She could try and find them and, after having observed them for an appropriate amount of time, try to make contact with them. 

However, despite her best efforts, a more primal and childish part of her that still craved a world full of magic and old myths come to life couldn't help but be fixated on that word. Elves — she remembered how her grandmother had once told her tales about the sidhe and their eternal magical world. She remembered dimly lit evenings with the only person that genuinely cared for her reading aloud the Fellowship of the Ring when her nana got tired of telling her the same tales again and again, and she remembered how fascinated she was with the book's representation of the elves. They were beings of pure light — forever young, forever beautiful and so far away from the problems that plagued her in that faraway time.

She wondered if the ones living in the woods were like that — beings so alien that age itself had no effect on them — or maybe the word “elf” was just used to describe forest dwellers  in this world.

Either way, Ciara reminded herself she had no reason to be disappointed if they weren't magical beings with pointy ears. She was beyond that after all. 

Dressing herself with a blue dress and cloak and grabbing the remains of her weapon, she summoned a group of thinkers she knew would be useful for this situation. Exerting her power, they appeared in front of her as if stepping from another room, their translucent forms oddly in tune with the verdant landscape around her.

Lightbringer, Lachesis, The Gentleman, Watson.

"I need to track a large group of people," she said. "If possible, I would like precise numbers and the exact distance from this camp."

The four nodded and worked in silence – for a minute everything was silent until Lightbringer spoke again. "There are two big groups I can detect, one with a bigger source of energy than the other. One is more...spread around, like a virus or a power, and the other just seems to permeate the ground around an area. They both feel different but the latter one is similar to the one I felt in the dimension you were in, only more stronger and focused."

"Are they far?"

"No," the specter continued. "At least not the ones that feel like the boy from the Fade. They're deeper within this forest, hidden."

"I can see the ways to get to them," The Gentleman said. "Some words are more muddled than others, but our dear Watson here–" The aforementioned shade turned his head to the  suited man and opened his mouth to say something, but Ciara, having already gone through this, glanced and he fell quiet. "–can amplify them a bit more. Either way just say the words and I shall provide you the best angles of approach with the limited information I have. Once you get there just make sure they don't see me and I'll make everything go our way. They won't even realize it."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Watson said, touching his deerstalker hat and puffing his empty pipe. "Some versatility will be sacrificed but the reach and potency are going to increase, no problem."

Ciara turned to Lachesis, the specter looking to the woods, and waited for the woman to speak. After a few seconds the shade turned to her. "Your paths with those that persist are meant to cross, sooner than you think. When the call for help appears, act quickly and decisively and you will be rewarded by the one who wields the mark of the deer. They'll light the path for you and make the uncertainty more certain."

"That was surprisingly more clear than usual . And for once she didn't try to say it in Greek.'

  "Riiiiight," Lightbringer drawled. "No offense to her, but what the fuck does that means?"

They all turned to Watson. "Well, that is considerably less purple than what the lassie usually says, but it could mean a great number of things.”

“Well, yes,” The Gentleman started. “But while you're trying to parse through that nonsense, Watson dear, we’ll do the actual work and help Valkyrie here approach her actual objective. Have fun deciphering that .”

Watson opened his mouth — no doubt to say something equally scathing and even more crass — and Ciara thought for a second about dismissing them both and trying with a different set of thinkers when a scream cut through her line of thinking.

It was shrill, loud and, most important of all, young. 

“Well,” Lightbriner started, pointing her finger to the west. “That was faster than usual, it's over there, you can't miss it and–”

Ciara dismissed the four of them and ran over with a new configuration of shades, her legs propelled with a power to make her run faster and stronger. She jumped through shrubbery, avoiding the strange little rabbits and small foxes that peppered the landscape, and let the sound of the screams and cries guide her through the sinuous forest.

Rushing through, she didn't stop until she found the source of the scream. A hulking, roaring and spiked form was encroaching a small figure that was quickly backpedalling away from it with heart wrenching desperation. Eventually the child stumbled on an overgrown root and fell to the green-covered ground, with the gigantic bear not wasting a second and violently stomping toward the child, its maw open and frothing and its claws bare.   

The beast had a similar visage to a bear but it was one that had more in common with a deranged creature made in a biotinker laboratory than a natural-born beast. Not only did it have  spikes growing from its body, but from several parts of its body, and all its fur had fallen off, leaving only clear and disturbingly bloody skin that, with its empty milky eyes, left the impression that the animal was diseased. It took another step, getting closer to the terrified child and Ciara acted. 

She activated her power and Satyrical and Assault stepped forward. The first created oozing human-shaped forms that threw themselves at the massive beast without waiting to be more defined, drawing his attention, while the second waited before Gavel kicked him forward, rocketing Assault forward and launching him against the beast.

'That should've killed it.' And for just a second it looked like it did. Assault’s kick launched the bear several feet away in an explosion of sizzling blood and gore that left a hole in its body, which made even more clear that the blow should’ve killed it instantly.

Yet it was still alive. Assault dodged a swipe and kicked it in the chest, sending it back again and spraying blood everywhere. 

'Just like the mutant zombies back in Bet. I'll need to be thorough and leave nothing, not even ashes, but first the civilians need to be evacuated.' A Satyrical clone, this more defined than the others, rushed and grabbed the crying child and carried them behind Ciara before stepping forward to face the mutated bear.

With a tug of her will, Gavel disappeared and Pazuzu and Atalante appeared, powers already activated and ablaze. Ciara pointed at the beast and they all moved, coordinated like a well-oiled machine, and commanded both by her orders and by the alien intelligence behind her power. 

With Satyrical making more and more clumps that mobbed the beast, Assault kept dodging and moving, striking at the bear and forcing the creature to split its attention, but making no killing strikes; those seemed to be inefficient for now and Ciara wanted It to be dead and burned for good.

With the bear occupied, Pazuzu set the creature on fire and Atalante prepared her powers, waiting for the right moment to release it. When the time came — several clones piled on the bear and Assault retreated — Atalante released her arrow, and just for a few seconds the forest became pure light.

Ciara opened her eyes, and stared at the empty patch of scorched earth where the beast had stood a few seconds ago. Nothing remained of it, and for a moment she kept looking there, in case  the animal started regenerating from a still untouched speck she hadn't destroyed. When nothing happened she relaxed a bit before a quiet sob reminded her she had a lost child with her, causing her to tense once again.

Taking a small breath, she turned trying to morph her face into a comforting smile without much success.

Despite living the vast majority of her life as a child, Ciara quickly realized she wasn't actually good with them, nor did she know how to treat them. Maybe because she’d never been one herself, nor had many things worth remembering from that time of her life.

Many times she had stopped herself from just using a power to make things simpler and many a time she had to remind herself what Jessica said to her.

She wanted to be more human, not just a parahuman, and that implied many things, communicating clearly without the aid of powers among them. Preferably outside of a professional environment, but Ciara rarely ventured outside of work,  so that left only interacting with colleagues and members of her Flock, with the only kids in those contexts of little help, leaving her right back at the beginning with no progress being made.

And this child was a poor thing. A little girl with shoulder length hair of the same color as straw, dressed in a green colored dress that looked old but not ugly, that a time ago perhaps would have been pretty, but now looked ruined. It had several gashes on it and its fabric was covered in mud and broken leaves. There was a bruise on her leg and several small scratches on her arms, giving evidence that her trip through the forest had been rough,  with her face even…

Ciara blinked and stared. 

Her ears. Are those… 

They were pointed and bigger than any other she had seen. And that wasn’t all — her eyes, clear blue orbs, were almost too big to her face, with an almost bug-like quality to them that somehow still managed to be pretty on her slender delicate face.

Ciara kept staring because she almost couldn't believe what she was seeing.

An elf. A real, blood and flesh, creature of fantasy in front of her eyes. Ciara still couldn't believe it.

The child sobbed, breaking her reverie and reminding her that, creature of fantasy or not, she was still a young child, scared out of her mind after going through something traumatic.

‘Remember your sensitivity training .’

“Hello,” she said softly, crouching to the floor and trying for a reassuring smile. “You need not to be afraid, child. I'm Ciara and you're safe now.”

She tried to slowly extend her arms, to show she meant no ill will, and the child backtracked with heavy breaths and a terrified gaze locked onto Ciara, as if she was a monster from her most terrifying nightmares.

Ciara stilled. Had she done something wrong? Was she scared because of what she had done? Right, powers would be terrifying to people distanced from the games between heroes and villains back home, and while she didn't know elf culture she guessed anyone would be petrified after seeing what she had done.

“I know that what you just saw was quite… shocking but you don't need to worry.” The words sounded forced on her mouth, and she dearly wished to slide a power and let it take over, but she knew she couldn't. It was a slippery slope after that. “I know I may not look like it, right now but I'm a superhero and helping people is what I do.” Did the child even know what a superhero was? She didn't think so, considering how the child still looked confused and terrified, but it was too late to take those words back.

If only it were Chevalier and Legend here. They're good with kids. 

“Are you lost?” she continued. “If you need help then I can assist you. We heroes don't mind helping those in need. It's our duty, in fact.”

She stopped and the child just kept staring at her, shock replacing terror as she watched    Ciara as if she was some sort of myth proven real. Perhaps she couldn't understand her?

She got closer and the child didn't react. Was she okay?

“Hello?” She lightly touched the child's arms, and that worked to snap her out of whatever trance she had been in. The girl looked at Ciara's hand touching one of her arms and shrugged it off like it was diseased, jumping back and screaming horrified.

"Wait-" Ciara tried to rise, but she was too slow. The child ran away screaming and crying all the way to the depth of the forest, and though Ciara ran after, it was all for naught.

The little girl was faster than she seemed and by the time Ciara managed to get close  — right as the liitle one turned behind a tree — the child had disappeared as if she had been nothing more than an illusion.

Like the forest itself had wanted for them to not meet.

She changed her shadows and tried to use thinkers, trying to see if maybe they had an answer to her doubts. The response was both a balm to her anxiety and yet disquieting on its way.

“Someone picked her up,” Hubble said. “They blend in with the forest quite well and they're armed. Their ears are also pointed.”

More elves . Ciara wanted to meet them, she wanted to see how they were, to hear what they could say but it wasn't smart to go now. She needed to do it on her own terms, with the best impression she could make because this isn't a vacation for Ciara, she was stuck representing  both Gimel and the Wardens and whether she wanted or not she owed them to try and not screw this. So, tired and disappointed, Ciara turned back to her camp, wondering all the way what she had done wrong. 

She would have chased. Try to talk to them but... so mething told her that nothing good would come from chasing that poor girl and she decided to trust her instincts on that. 

⊙

Ciara was restless the rest of the day. She moved across the camp, trying to burn some of that energy until she realized she had nothing to do, and trying to rest for a bit, only to fail at that too.  She thought of her meeting with the young girl, thinking of what she did wrong and what could have done better -- trying different scenarios in her head where she did something else, maybe talked a little bit softer, or maybe when she killed the bar in a different way, one quicker and less bloody. She spent what felt like hours running those escenarios in her head, but in the end she gave up.

The girl was gone and Ciara had screwed up. Trying to dwell on that would earn her nothing but grief.

So she got up, checked the limits on her camp and got ready to meet with the elves. She thought of all the best possible ways to meet  them, all the things she could say and maybe even ask if the little girl had found a way home. She was guilty that she didn't do more to help the  little girl, she should've searched more, used more powers, done something  but...

The forest wasn't empty and she hoped that the girl had found her way home successfully, but Ciara was alone and felt watched, painfully aware that she was as alone as one could get in a place where she felt as if thousand eyes were staring at her.

The forest was alive, it had animals of all kinds -- from those strange little rabbits to constantly singing birds and there was always something doing something that made explicit that while the woodland didn't seem to be populated that didn't mean it wasn't alive.

And now it was all quiet. Too quiet.

She toggled several powers and after making sure her body was strengthened with both a steel skin and a healing factor, she summoned a shadow to know if her suspicions were right.

The Beholder and the Choked Whisperer appeared, their figures bowed.

“Are they here?” she asked.

The Beholder’s one eye gazed at the surroundings and nodded. “They stick to the shadows of this place like vermin, bows ready. Some of them are under something — a power maybe.“

'A power ,' she thought. ' Or a spell.'

“They're staying away for now, wary of what you can do. But they're close enough to listen if you raise your voice,” The Beholder continued. 

"Are they saying something?" she asked the Whisperer.

The hooded shadow nodded and spoke, their voice coming out as a raspy hiss. "Yes." Then her voice changed and wobbled before settling in a different, deeper voice with a slight accent.

"... just sitting there, just talking with those creepy spirits. What's the point of this? She's on her own, we should attack and get over this."  The voice was male, young and reeked of impatience. Ciara wondered if he was a kid.

"Don't be an idiot, the Keeper was clear. Just observe and report."

"He's right, though. This is soooo boring. Couldn't the shem summon demons or something? Maybe slit her wrists and start dancing butt naked? That would definitely be something I'd pay attention to all day long." This voice was female and teasing, making clear that she wasn't talking seriously

" Shut up, Verana. Nobody asked your damn opinion. If the shem decides to summon demons and gets herself possessed then that's her business. Until then we watch her as commanded."

"Ugh, but I'm so boreeees. Can't we, you know, talk to her? She's the only shem around that isn't working for the Chantry and we outnumber her. We could just ask."

"Verana," a gentle male voice interrupted. "Both my sister and the Keeper were explicit about–"

"Shut up, Mahanon. Nobody asked for your opinion," the voice identified as Verana said . "So shove it right up to your ass."

"Yes," Mahanon said, his tone tired. " How could I've forgotten that my opinion is worthless to you. Ir Abelas, Verana."

"Are you seriously going to let her walk all over you?" another female voice hissed. 

"Leave it," Mahanon said. "It's pointless."

" Just saying, if the shem saved little Lirel, I would like to know why, and why Deshanna thinks she's so important. Also, isn't her magic interesting? I thought that the Keeper was all about weird magic and the shem’s looks odd enough."

"Creators, it's like dealing with a child. Could you please shut the fuc–"

"Enough," Ciara said, cutting the connection. "I've heard enough."

So they knew the little girl? Then they were elves as well. This was not how she planned to meet but it would do.

Now she just needed to make a good first impression.

The shadows disappeared and Ciara fixed her hair and augmented her voice and her senses with power.

“Hello there,” she said, her voice reverberating across her camp and through the forest. “Today is a wonderful day, isn't it?” She paused trying to sense a response.

“It must be cold out there in the shadows, wouldn't you like to come out here to the sun with me? I promise I mean no harm, I just want to talk to you.”

She paused, no answer but the rustled leaves of the trees.

She talked again. “You don't have to answer, but the fire is warm and I would appreciate the company.”

No answer again, at least not a verbal one. The wind kept blowing and some branches of the trees moved with it.

Did she say something wrong again? Like with the child?

She didn't know the customs of these people and she couldn't help but worry. Maybe she shouldn't have pointed out that—

Crack.

The sound of a branch breaking.

“Can I take that offer?” a female voice said.

She stopped and turned to look at the young girl that had somehow manifested from the green wilderness. She was wearing green armor, with green boots and a green bow that was tied on her back. Ciara’s eyes roamed across her form and she noticed the pair of knives sheathed in her waist and how her hands were hovering near them, not quite touching them, but near enough that she could quickly grab them in a pinch.

“She's tense.”  

But none of that showed in her face. She had a pretty face, Ciara noticed. Heart shaped, with a set of vibrant tattoos that looked well with her tied auburn hair . She was smiling, and if not for how her body looked ready to bolt at any second, Ciara would've believed that it was genuine.

And her ears were pointed. She was indeed an elf.

 “But of course,” she said. “I didn't lie, you're welcome into my camp. Call me Ciara, please.”

“Nice to meet you, shem,” the girl said, sauntering in with a surprising amount of confidence. “Name’s Verana, and since you're in our forest I was wondering if you were open to answering some questions.”

Ciara hummed. Were her friends to join her in this impromptu interrogation?

“What about your friends? Will they join us?”

“Friends?” the girl said, a confused tilt on her head. “What friends?”

“The ones that probably came with you,” she pointed out. “The one that are probably surrounding this camp.”

The girl just shrugged. “No idea what you're talking about.”

And even though she said no, Ciara could feel the steps encroaching her camp, how they tried to be stealthy and how nervous they were. They hadn't expected to be discovered and they probably hadn’t expected their companion to show herself to her.

Hopefully they would be willing to talk and not go straight to violence.

She doubted that beating their warriors would be a good first impression to make in her official role.

“I'm sure you don't,” she said to Verana. “Now, what did you want to talk about?”

“She won't be the one asking you questions, shem.” A young male voice spoke. Ciara noted how Verana  pouted and muttered something unintelligible as more armored forms manifested around them from the thick trees. All of them, except Verana, surrounded her with bows drawn and arrows knocked. Each one of them, elves with the same armor as Verana and the same strange tattoos on their faces. Shadows of the forest made flesh.

The one who spoke was an older elf, with a greying hair crop short and nasty scar splitting his face in half. His voice was rough and the sneer he directed at both Ciara and Verana gave him the look of someone particularly unpleasant.

"I'll deal with you later, Verana." He said to the girl, who looked unperturbed at his threat and just looked bored. "And you shem…" the stare he directed at Ciara was so hateful that it made her pause. Had she done something to this man? Or maybe calling them out on their surveillance had been the wrong move after all?

"Isn't your kind happy with all the land that you've stolen from us? With all the blood you've spilled from our people? You've taken everything from us and now you seek with your foul magic to disturb the rest of our fallen? You'll pay for everything you've –"

"Enough, Darevas." The forest shifted, with branches and shrubbery moving away as a young woman stepped into the clearing, staff alight with arcane energy as she stepped closer to them.

'A mage,' Ciara thought.

"Ellara," Verana muttered.

"The Keeper has been clear on our orders. Just because Verana has chosen to disobey, doesn't t give you free rein to say whatever you want." The young girl spoke with authority, Ciara realized and it wasn't unfounded. The arches around them had looked uncomfortable for a second and Darevas looked annoyed for a second before answering.

"The shem–"

"That isn't for you to decide." She said, " just the Keeper has that power."

Then she turned to Ciara and, to her surprise and everyone else's indignation, she bowed her head and spoke in a deferential tone. "

 "Andaran atish’an, sorceress," she said. "My name is Ellara, First of Clan Lavellan. Our Keeper, Deshanna Istimaethoriel, has predicted your coming and has asked us to come to fetch you. Would you come with us to meet her? You have her promise that no harm will fall upon you as long you're under her protection, and she welcomes you as her guest."

Ciara stood there, frozen and trying to parse what she'd been told. At her side, Verana was looking at her with barely hidden fascination, while Revas looked as he swallowed a whole lemon."Your… Keeper. You said she predicted my coming?"

"Yes," the First said. "She saw it in the birds, in the trees and in the sky. She's been waiting for you for a while now. Would you come with us, please? I apologize for suddenness but I swear to you on the goddess Mythal that you'll be safe with us."

"That sounds like a quote from a fantasy book, ' she thought. 'But if this "Keeper" predicted me arriving in this world, does that mean she may know how to get back.'

She turned to look at the others. Seven in total, including the mage girl. And they wanted to take her to meet their leader at their camp or village, where she was being waited as a guest of their "clan".

It sounded good. Too good to be true. Just like that everything she wanted in just one minute and all it took was to go with them to possible enemy territory.

But, in the worst-case scenario, she could always beat up everyone and make them answer what she needed. She would need to be careful about the mages but she was confident she could deal with almost everyone else as long as she didn't hold back and if it was in self-defense, of course.

"I would love to go with you," she said to the mage girl, Ellara. "Just let me grab some things first, please."

Whatever happened, she would return home and no one would stop her. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Seeing Red.

Ciara

⊙

She learned that they called themselves the Dalish. And they were masters in showing their dislike of her in the most subtle ways.

They didn't tie her, threaten or try to hurt her, but it was obvious it was less of a consideration to her and more about the presence of Ellara, who – at the mere suggestion from the elf Darevas that Ciara should be gagged and tied so she couldn't cast any spells – had reminded the rest of the group that Ciara was a guest, not a prisoner. Therefore, she would be treated as such. Much to the displeasure of most of the rest of the hunting party.

And while they held their tongues and their blades, they didn't hide their disposition toward her during their trip to the forest, only this time they used silence and inaction in the place of violence.

The forest was a sinuous, lively terrain, and while the hunters seemed to glide through it with practiced ease, Ciara held no such natural advantage. The hunters weren't inclined to give her any aid; she tripped and fell a few times, much to their amusement. She quickly fixed that with a subtle power to help with coordination and kept going without issue, but she didn't miss how disappointed they were that the shem wasn't stumbling anymore.

The barely concealed hostility felt like an old friend and,  like always, she weathered it with  aloofness and indifference. Though Ciara had to admit that she was confused about why they were so against her presence in the forest. Perhaps this was a place of religious importance to them? Or maybe their kind were against human presence in these lands? Did they consider themselves humans? Or did they identify as something distant to humanity? 

They looked human-like at least, almost disappointingly so in fact. 

They weren't magical creatures of eternal beauty and unlimited good. They were...mundane, with all of them besides Ellara lacking any sort of supernatural powers.  They smelled of sweat, of grime and forest, with their mouths muttering quiet curses as they sneered at her with their eyes and unstring bows.

They were ...people. 

Human, she thought. They all look so human . Take the armor away, clean the stains and cover their pointed ears and it'll be like home.

She didn't know what to make of them, how to react to their obvious disdain and even if it was proper to address it. She was never good at handling this sort of situation and while she was used to collective enmity, she was sure this was the first time that she didn't know what she did to make everyone so apprehensive about her presence.

"You look really fancy. Like, noble fancy,"  a cheery voice said at her side.

Well, almost everyone.

The elf known as Verana approached Ciara's side with an easy gait. She was the only one who didn't seem unhappy with her presence and the only one willing to break the oppressive silence that her companions had tacitly agreed on.

Ciara thought for a second. It wouldn't hurt to make casual conversation, right? To show them she was not dangerous and maybe learn why she was so disliked. “Fancy?” she asked, glancing at her clothes. “Do you really think so?”

Verana trotted closer to her and gave her a long look that lingered a bit too much on her chest area. Ciara recognized that at least. “Pretty much. That cloak and that dress screams expensive, and your skin and your hair are way too pretty for a farmer or a servant.  Shem farmers are rough to the eyes and sun-kissed but you're not. You look like a noble here to take a stroll through the forest or meet your rough woodcutter lover. Are you here to meet your rough woodcutter lover? We didn't interrupt, did we? Because I would've loved to watch that . ”

Her voice was smooth and almost flirtatious, but that did nothing to hide that she was obviously fishing for information in a way that was supposed to unbalance Ciara and make her give up something important. She wasn't an expert in this sort of verbal sparring, a bit too uncouth for her liking, and without a power she was reluctant to try her hand at it.

Declining to fight fire with fire, Ciara decided to ignore the deliberately intrusive question and keep going.

“Not really,” she said. “In a way you could  say I sort of...wandered in here.”

Verana snorted, disbelieving, and got slightly closer to her, much to the displeasure of the warrior behind them both.  He muttered something inaudible, yet obviously unflattering, under their breath.

“Really? That’s your excuse?” Verana asked. “You wandered in? Like some sort of lost child? You’re going to need to lie better if you want our Keeper to believe you.”

“I’m not lying.” Ciara shrugged. “I’m from far away, you see. My work took me away from home and now I’m here.”

Verana rolled her eyes. “Of course you are. Because apostates like to take strolls in broad daylight, not like I’m complaining. Not much to see in these woods — even if they are ours. You're probably the most interesting thing we’ve seen in weeks. And a pretty one too.”

Ciara smiled and tried to think of a proper rebuke. She’d never been good at carrying a conversation— a mix of inexperience and lack of interest, really. Or at least that was what she liked to tell herself.

“Thanks,” she said, trying to hope her discomfort did not show. “But I thought you said your leader knew who I was?” 

Verana rolled her eyes again, probably at how unsubtle her question was, before answering, “Oh, I have no idea who you are. Our Keeper told us about someone she was waiting for in our homeland and you showed up. We know you’re really important, apparently, but she never told us why. Care to share? I already told you that I think you’re an apostate, maybe one trained in one of your Circles. Would explain the fancy clothes.”

She certainly likes to talk, Ciara thought.

At the head of the formation, Ellara sighed, but didn't say anything, a weary expression on her face. The elf named Mahanon almost opened his mouth before he seemed to think it over and kept quiet, while the elder warrior Revas pinched his face as if he had smelt something foul.

“Is that the only possibility?” Ciara asked.

“Well, no but the others are too ridiculous. You obviously have magic and are too lovely to be a mere ranch girl, or a witch of the woods – eating roots and insects in solitude. And your body… Well, I’ll only say that if all peasants looked the way you do I'd be long—”

“Verana,” Ellara finally interrupted, her voice too collected to not be forced. “I think our guest has answered enough questions for a while. It’s better if she saves her answers for the Keeper. She’ll know best what to make of them.”

Verana looked ready to argue before something in Ellara’s expression made her waver. Eventually she pouted and stuck her tongue out at her, but remained quiet.

Ellara sighed and turned to Ciara. “And you– please forgive Verana, she’s young and excitable but she means nothing with her questions. You should ignore her if she approaches you again, she’s a child at heart.”

" Verana remained silent at the rebuke, and Ciara  smiled and nodded, sensing that maybe there was something else going around her than annoyance at Veranas’s behavior.

“We'll be approaching our camp soon and until our Keeper allows it, I’m going to have to ask you not to use any kind of magic within the limits of our home. It's for security reasons. Our people tend to get a little bit...twitchy around humans. You understand that, right?”

“What if I need to defend myself?” Ciara asked.

“You won’t need to. You’re a guest of Clan Lavellan and so you’ll be protected by it, until Keeper Istimaethoriel says so. You have nothing to fear.”

'I’m not afraid,' Ciara thought, but said nothing. She gave a quiet nod and they continued on the path, the tacit pact of silence settling in again. ' But just because you can’t see my powers doesn't mean I won't be using them – at least until I know what your kind wants with me.'

  ⊙

Ciara didn’t really think about what to expect when she was told that they were going to an elven camp. 

A part of her — a childish impulse that still clung to old fairy tales — hoped it would be a magical place, where nothing was painful and fairies ran around playing mischievous jokes and magical songs reverberated through the air and ground. A place of wonders.

Surprisingly, this time reality wasn't completely disappointing.

Instead of a hidden village she was led to a clearing whose entrance was simply signaled by the presence of three haggard looking elves that seemed to materialize out of the greenery. They nodded to their fellow elves and greeted Ciara with suspicious glances and a tightening of their hands in their weapons.

"Aneth ara, Mithras," Ellara said, giving a slight bow to the guards. "We bring the one the Keeper has been searching for. Is she on her aravel?"

Mithras gave Ciara a doubtful look before answering. "Aneth ara, Ellara. She's on her aravel but, um, are you sure that—"

Ellara didn't say anything. She arched her eyebrow and looked at Mithras with a mix of anger and annoyance. He gulped and took a wordless step back to let them pass, while his partner did a commendable job of trying to blend with the forest and ignore everything.

Ellara sighed, and signaled the group to move Ciara across the encampment. It was filled  with strange ship-like vehicles that were painted in multitude of different colors and had multiple sets of red sails. They looked big enough to hold several elves inside of them and Ciara guessed that, considering the lack of visible tents around, they were where the elves lived.

'They're like a combination between carriages and ships ,' Ciara thought.

The strange vehicles were ringed against a hillside, with life scattered between them, in a way that  fit with how everything else was ordained.  Around the encampment strange and ethereal white deers runned around the  caravans, careful never to leave the invisible limits of the encampment.

The place was oddly beautiful and full of something that other camps where she had been simply lacked. There weren’t any loud noises, no mess, no garbage or anything. Only the wind and the sound of leaves rustling in the ground. It reminded her of some of the wild places she had been. Unspoiled by humanity.

 It was peaceful, harmonious even. But…

  It was too peaceful, Ciara realized. The kind of peace before a big storm or an upcoming battle. There were too few people as well; there were  dozens of the strange ships, but very few elves around, ten or twelve at most to dozens of the ships.

  Where is everyone? she thought. There were too many of those ships around for so few elves and the visible disparity was making her nervous.

Are they watching us right now? In the woods or in the shadows, with all of their arrows pointed at me, ready to let loose?

She didn't voice her questions but made sure to have a power ready, just in case, as they kept going to a slightly bigger caravan stationed against an enormous white sycamore tree. Some small animals climbed it's lengthy trunk and a huge white deer peacefully sat in the shade of it.

Ellara quietly split from their party and bowed to the pale beast. “Keeper, I have brought her as you asked.”

Ciara wondered for a second if the deer was supposed to speak back, or if Ellara wasn’t right in the head. Then a shiver went through Ciara's body, and the deer was enveloped in a soft light. The light soon faded, leaving a wizened elven woman behind that approached at a light and careless step towards their group. 

The woman gave Ellara a motherly smile and looked at Ciara with a scrutinizing gaze that was filled with curiosity, and had none of the hatred or hostility of the hunters. 

“Well, well,” she said, getting closer. She smiled at Ciara. The hunters quietly took a step back to give her a better look and the Keeper thanked them with another silent smile. “Hmmm, you're not what I was expecting, but I guess that I didn't really know what I was waiting for.”

Ciara was tempted to ask what she meant but, still feeling the hunters at her back, decided it was better to remain quiet. At least for now.

“And I guess it could be worse,” the Keeper continued, oblivious to everyone else.  “It can always get worse in my experience, but that doesn't matter now, I guess. You're here now and that's all that matters.” Then, looking at Ellara and Verana, she said. “You two, prepare the table for some tea with our guest. The rest of you, please leave. I’ll talk to her now.”

The scarred elf, Nithras, shot another distrustful look at Ciara and spoke. “Keeper, are you sure that—”

”Yes, Nithras. I’m sure.” The tone was gentle but Ciara could detect the authority behind the softness. “Go and train the younglings, lethallin. I’ll talk to our guest on my own. And the same goes for all of you. Go, I’ll be fine on my own.”

Hesitantly, the party scattered across the camp and the old mage smiled at Ciara with some tiredness. “Please forgive them, da’len. We’re usually kinder to strangers but… well, life has been unkind to our clan the last few weeks.”

“It’s nothing,” Ciara said for the first time. “I have suffered worse.”

“Hmm, have you?” the woman said, with an inquisitive tone. “Good for you then, my mother always said suffering made character, but what did she know? She was a joyless hag through and through.”

Ciara didn't know what to say about that so she didn’t say anything. Instead she tried to get a better look at the Keeper.

  She was a small woman like all the elves were small. Slim people , Ciara thought, and not quite as old as she’d first assumed. The Keeper’s hair was silver, nearing white and was unruly and disorganized in a way that felt intentional instead of accidental, elven ears peeking through her hair. Her skin was soft and clear of wrinkles, with a pair of baby blue eyes that looked full of energy in a way that reminded Ciara more of a woman more her age than a grandmother. 

Her face was marked with a beautiful tattoo in an elaborate golden pattern that fit quite nicely with her heart shaped face. Instead of the green robe with golden flecks she had seen Ellara in, the Keeper wore a simple brown dress that had some daisy pattern on it, with only a simple silver necklace tied with rope as decoration. 

All in all, when Ciara looked at her she couldn't help but think of the archetype of everyone's favorite hippie aunt, who always appeared in television shows to talk about nature and the environment, instead of the powerful mage and leader of this band of elves she supposedly was. 

“Bah, but who cares about her and where are my manners?” the Keeper continued.  “You must think we are a bunch of savages after all of this.” She inclined her body in something between a curtsy and a bow and spoke: “My name is Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, but since I know that name is a mouthful even for my kind, you can  call me Deshana or Keeper, either is fine.”

Understanding it was her turn, Ciara replied, “My name is Ciara.” 

“No last name?” Deshana asked, straightening, her eyes roaming Ciara's entire body with open fascination.

  “No,” she answered curtly. “ Only Ciara or, if you please, call me Valkyrie. It’s a… title among my people.”

“ Valkyrie ,” Deshana said, tasting the word, running it through her mouth. “That'll do for now. Come, Valkyrie. Do you enjoy tea?

“I do,” she said, following the Keeper to her carriage. “Usually with company though.”

"Then we’ll get along splendidly," the Keeper answered cheerfully. “It’s always nice to get visitors around here, we used to get more but now we don't anymore. Time's a-changin’ you see, it makes visitors scarce.”

They approached the small wooden table that Ellara and Verana had set up for them and the latter girl winked at Ciara when she leaned down to place a small plate near a seat. A white and steaming teapot, covered in a leafy pattern, silently sat atop. At her side, Ellara placed a pair of similar looking teacups on the table before placing herself at Verana’s side to the left of the small table.

Both Ciara and Deshana sat at the table and the latter waved away Ellara when the young woman tried to serve tea.

“I'm old, not crippled, dear,” the Keeper sniped before taking the teapot and serving both Ciara and herself with deft skill. “I and our new friend can handle ourselves pretty well on our lonesomes, so go on and continue your studies, da’len. I’ll find a way to survive without you for a few minutes.” 

  Flustered, Ellara nodded and went away, her steps silent.

The Keeper looked at Verana, who was trying very badly to blend against the greenery. “You go too, Verana. Go do…whatever you do when you’re not doing something important.   Just don’t burn the camp down or scare off the hallas.”

“Fiiiine,” Verana said, rolling her eyes and pouting before turning to leave, but not before turning and winking at Ciara again. “And I’ll see you later I guess,” she said, before walking away.

The Keeper watched her leave with a long suffering expression.  When the younger elf was out of sight, she sighed, "Pay her no mind. Verana's a nice girl, if a little bit...messy. She means no harm, really, only to test boundaries and annoy, if I'm being honest.” Then she grabbed a small plate of sugar cubes and passed it along to Ciara. “Sugar, dear?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ciara said. Using a power she checked if the tea had any poison or damaging substance and, after confirming that it was safe, she threw a few sugar cubes inside and took a sip. 

"You're probably wondering what you're doing here, aren't you," Deshana said, taking a sip of her own.  "I imagine the hunters were a bit sudden in fetching you."

"I’m a bit confused, yes." Ciara admitted. "Especially since I was given no explanation about it."

The Keeper grimaced for a second and took another sip of her tea. "Well, yes that's a bit my fault. You see, da'len, the reason you're here is a bit...odd, you may say but, I assure you, we're as confused as you about all of this. If that gives you any comfort."

  It didn't, so she took another sip. "This isn't the strangest situation I have been in," she eventually admitted. "But I would still like an explanation, if possible."

Deshana nodded and gave Ciara a searching look before asking, her voice tentative. “I mean no offense, da’len, but you’re not from these lands, are you?”

Ciara thought for a second about lying, but then quickly decided to go with the truth, or at least a truth. The thinkers and politicians back home would decide later what would be the appropriate response to actually say to the general population, so for now she would stick to half-truths. After all, the last thing she needed after her rescue was a bureaucrat chasing her around the Wardens’ headquarters, accusing her of scaring the natives. Again.

“No,” she finally said. “You could say I’m…stranded in a way.” Then, awkwardly, she asked, “Is it really that obvious?”

“Well, you haven’t called me a rabbit, knife ear, or accused me and my clan of being filthy demon worshippers, so yes. I would say it's quite noticeable you’re not from Orlais or the surrounding lands,” the Keeper said with the same nonchalance one would use to describe the weather.

“Oh.” Ciara took another sip. Better to be silent than say the wrong thing.

“And, of course, I also know that because I’ve been waiting for you for a long long time.”

Ciara tilted her head, taking in the words and the fact she was a mage. Her head immediately connected with both her personal experiences and the slew of theoretical knowledge she’d obtained during her time with the Wardens. “Are you some sort of clairvoyant, or seer?”

The Keeper snorted. “Nothing so pretentious, child. The humans in these lands and their Circles have forgotten the old ways — the old magics that expressed themselves through nature instead of only the Beyond. A demon didn't tell me about your coming, the wind did. In the birds I saw where you'd appear, while the moon and the sun guided us safely here, to the place of the Broken Promise. Here the forest itself protected us and helped my hunters find you because, no matter what the shem say, this is still our home and the graveyard of our people.” 

Then, as if following a hidden cue, a blindingly white owl appeared from nowhere and softly landed in the Keeper’s stretched arm. The old woman caressed the bird's pale plumage and it hooted in pleasure, leaning into the touch. “Nature is both a kind mother and a furious killer. Remember that.” Then she leaned closer and whispered something to the owl. The bird hooted in what seemed to be an affirmation and it flew away.

Ciara leaned in, fascinated at what the woman was saying to her. Magic , she realized. They were discussing magic.

She was very aware that she had quickly started calling the powered people of these land mages and the powers they wielded magic, without really trying to think of any other options, or considering that their interpretation of powers might be due to an archaic culture where superstition was still prevalent. 

Well, that was a lie. She had considered it at first, but when the fantastical element kept presenting itself, she had completely given in the instant she found an excuse to do so.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. But, for once, she didn't think she minded much. 

“You decided to come here because you need me? Because the wind told you to ?

“Well, in my defense it was a very clear wind and I’m really good at reading the messages nature leaves me.” She looked Ciara in the eyes. “And being completely honest, we were desperate. And we still are.”

“Desperate?” Ciara asked, confused. 

“Yes,” the Keeper said, somber. “I do not know the customs of your people, or if there are elves there, but you must know that we aren't the kind that easily ask for help from outsiders. We are the Dalish, last of the Elvhenan, and while that probably won’t mean anything to you, it does to us. We are the last carriers of an ancient culture that existed a long time before the arrival of humans to Thedas. Our empire extended from sea to sea and we had magic like no other. But now...now only shadows of shadows remain. Mostly, because of you."

"Me?" Ciara asked as if waking from a dream. For a second she had gotten lost there. Fascinated by what Deshana was telling her. Sloppy of me, she thought.

"Well, not you . I mean your kind – humans. Nobody knows what exactly happened, and to be sincere I care not to revisit it at the moment. That tale is almost as old as I am, twice as boring and more bitter than I'll ever become, so why try to rattle those bones?" The old woman took another sip of her tea and Ciara was tempted to say that she wanted to know about that supposed bloody history filled with racial conflicts, but she was a guest here and she could see how her host badly wanted to avoid the subject.

“You still haven’t told me what you need from me,” Ciara said. “And while I’m willing to help where I’m needed, you must understand that I also have responsibilities to my people. I can’t afford too many delays.”

“I understand, but any help you can give will be welcomed. At least by me.” Then she drained her cup in one go and stood up. “You wanted me to tell you what we needed of you. I’ll do better— I’ll show you.” She paused. “Unless you want more tea, of course.”

Ciara looked at her half-empty cup and shook her head. “I’m ready to go.”

The Keeper stood up and with a quiet “Please follow me,” left the room. Ciara went with her. Moving quickly to catch up, she followed the mage through a maze of the “aravels” and the surrounding nature, all while listening to the explanation as to why they needed Ciara.

“We weren’t originally from Orlais, you see — which is the name of this land, if you didn't know. Originally we lived in the Free Marches, constantly on the move, until we received a call for help from a member of the People. She said to us that our brethren in Kirkwall needed help. That the Templars and their Chantry were out of control, locking all the elves inside the alienage and killing everyone that was found outside. Not even women or children were spared. This young woman had already asked other clans, and most of them had refused. We didn't and it cost us greatly.”

The Keeper stopped at the front of a tangled mess of roots. They were all linked together to form a green wall that rose high and large, casting a large shadow and hiding the sight beyond.

“We managed to reach the city undisturbed and then infiltrated with the help of the acting Captain of the Guard and the remnants of a network of apostates. We left with everyone that wanted to come, and some remaining apostates that wanted to escape the current Knight Commander. But we were chased.”

The elven woman cast a doubtful look at Ciara before quickly drawing a knife and slashing her left hand in one quick motion. The mage then hissed some words and the blood flowing from her hand rose to the air, flying into strange patterns along the green wall, which quickly disappeared like morning dew. A moment later the wall became undone, returning to the ground that it had sprouted from.

The sight beyond the wall was a simple grove with a hidden trail that led deeper to another section of the forest. The Keeper signaled to Ciara to follow and they continued.

“The Templars weren’t too happy that we stole their so-called ‘knife-ears’ and before we knew it, they were onto us. We had stopped to secure a ship big enough for all of us, thinking we had time enough to escape…but we were wrong. Because our pursuers had long since stopped being human. They had become infested with something.”

The path eventually led to a clearing, from which loud sounds could be heard. Ciara stepped away from the path and, looking at what lay before her, felt all blood drain from her face.

She was seeing Red.

Red, like the crystals of that realm between dream and reality. Red, like the blood of her Flock and comrades, and red like her dreams when she became a prisoner of her own twisted body.

She remembered her battle against the Titan Auger, her fall to the thick of the Machine Army and then the second metaphorical Ice Break. Her form twisting and changing, her struggles to remain her own person to try and separate woman from Passenger, the mounting fear, her shortness of breath and then, then—

“We call it Andruil’s Bane,” the Keeper said softly. The suddenness of her presence rooted Ciara to reality and helped her remember where she was. She was safe, she was fine and while the sight in front of her was horrifying, it was not the realm of the Passengers. She would have been able to see the Passengers in multiple realities if they were that close. “And despite our knowledge of herbal lore and ancient magics we’ve been unable to cure it, only delay it.”

It was an infirmary, Ciara realized, still shaken.

Dozens, if not hundreds of elves, lay on the floor of the forest, writhing and crying, their bodies emitting a sickly red shine that managed to make Ciara feel ill even at this distance. They were crying, yelling and even shitting red as their bodies were somehow morphed and changed by a red crystalline substance that grew in their bodies.

One of them in particular — a child, probably no older than nine or ten — had a piece of the red mineral growing from his left eye, much to his agony. The child writhed and cried but even his tears were red and quickly crystallized, sticking his eyes shut. That caused him to cry more, which made more tears fall in a vicious cycle. Thankfully, his cries did not go unheard. 

Between the sick, some elves walked, all of them encased in all-concealing white robes covered in green and red symbols that shimmered in the air and made Ciara think of her ghosts. Four of them walked with incense burners in hand, spreading smoke and smells that the heroine guessed were to put the sick to sleep. Two of them had shining staves in their hands, drawing luminous symbols in the air that quickly coalesced into glyphs in the ground. 

One of the mages pointed at the boy in pain and one of the incense carriers quickly went. Once near, the elf in white pulled a small bottle from a pocket, forcing the child to open his mouth and drink it. The child struggled for a bit, but went still after a while.

“I’ve tried my best spells, but I’m not a spirit healer and the Bane took our best first. Our mages and our healers. Magic used to run in the Lavellan clan, and we took pride in protecting all our gifted children. We scoffed at those that cast out those blessed with the gift. Now, only seven of us remain healthy enough to protect the clan, and of those, three are children.” She pointed at the air and stones around them. “We did our best to contain the infection, to protect both the sick and healthy, but time is running out and blood can only buy so much.”

Around the clearing, Ciara saw four rocks spread in all the cardinal positions, all of them carved and painted in blood. Energy ran through them and to each other, and for a second, Ciara could see a pale dome shimmer into existence.

“Four binding stones create four different energy fields for healing, protection, containment and purification. All blended together in quite a fine work I must say. It took quite a bit of lyrium and quite a bit of blood, but it held. It will hold for a long while but not forever; the lyrium will run out and blood will run dry eventually. If someone doesn't assist us, then the whole clan will succumb.”

“Is there no one else you can ask?” Ciara asked. “Other Dalish or-” She thought of that young man she had met in the Fade, how scared he had been but how he’d still fought. Maxwell, she thought his name was. “-other mages? Isn’t there some sort of… magic academy or something?”

Deshana scoffed. “You mean the shem and their Circles? Bah, as if they knew what actual magic was. Their Chantry rules them with an iron fist and they have no love for us. Savages they call us, and glad would they all be to see us dead to the last.” The Keeper extended her arms. “We need you, or at least someone willing to extend a hand. Few and weak we may be now, but we don’t forget those that look past our ears and help us. Alone and lost you are, and we have little to offer you. But hear this: save us and we’ll save you in return, we’ll feed you, cloth you, and guide you. Save us and you’ll become a friend of the Dalish. Please.”

Ciara looked at the sick and wounded. She knew she had to return home, she knew she couldn’t waste too much time here. Gimel could be burning for all she knew, its people dying in the millions to the Keeper’s hundreds. Ciara did need help, but she didn’t know if she had the time needed to find the right tinker, the right power, or the right path to follow.

Her comrades needed her and yet…

She looked at the sick elves, at the form of the sleeping child and wondered when she would stop this attempt at self-delusion.

The Keeper spoke as if this was up to Ciara, as if her choice would be the one to define what happened later, but that was a lie.

There never is a choice, never was . Not until the last debt was repaid, until the good had outweighed the bad and the lives she’d saved felt more heavy on her heart than the ones she’d claimed.

From the moment she had donned the helm to her last breath. Always and forever, fighting and saving those that couldn’t help themselves.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: The Calm 

Ciara

  ⊙

The girl shivered and cried as Ciara used a pair of large forceps to pull a crystal, red as blood, from her back. Ciara didn't let the poor girl's pain deter her – for the body to heal, all the crystal formations in the body had to be removed. While surgery wasn't the most effective method, it was the safest for the infected.

It was inelegant, but that couldn't be avoided. Especially after how some of the members of Clan Lavellan had reacted to seeing her brand of “magic.” 

The overt use of her powers seemed to alarm several of the patients, with some even calling her ghosts demons from the Fade and panicking at the sight of them. Others reacted oddly, reaching out to her with pleading eyes and elven prayers – calling for mercy and an end to the pain.

Ciara just kept going, uncomfortable but busy. She was used to the fear and scorn but had no idea how to handle the raw praise and adoration. 

"C-cold," the young woman said, her voice hollow and raspy. "Ellara, please make….make it s-stop."

"Shhhh, ma vhenan. It's okay," the First of Clan Lavellan said. "It's going to be okay, in a second." She weaved a calming glyph from the ether and nodded to Ciara.

"Do it in one motion," Avicena whispered, invisible to all but her. "It will limit nerve damage and give us more samples to study." 

Ciara did so. Augmenting her strength, she pulled, and the crystal split from the body with a wet sound and a pained whine that resonated across the tent and made Ellara turn green with disgust. 

The First of Clan Lavellan glanced at Ciara's prize with distaste and a tired sigh that made evident how long they had been working today. Ciara had already lost count of the hours — of the red crystalline boils and tears — but the sun was brighter than this morning  and she had a few more red lyrium crystals than yesterday. Only a few. They were only supposed to be around the sick for a few hours each day but, somehow, she felt as if she had been trapped here for weeks. 

"Creators, that's disgusting," Ellara said. She finished weaving the Fade around her and a silvery mist manifested from her fingertips. It quickly crept inside their patient and put her to sleep, silencing the pained wails and leaving a pregnant silence behind. "I'm never drinking a lyrium potion ever again."

"It is quite disgusting," Ciara agreed, examining the " lyrium " crystal. Using Thinkers, she had examined the quarantined elves and had found that the crystalline substance that was growing from them had several similarities with the blue potions she had seen the few remaining mages drink to recover their magical energy.

The substance could be found in abundance in the depths of Frostback Mountains in the country known as Ferelden – where one of the two last cities of the dwarves lay hidden – and that the human Chantry highly coveted the substance to keep a better check on their Circles of Magi and their Knights Templar, but despite their widespread use no one knew what the actual origin of the substance was. They were myths and theories, of course, but were ever close to being actually proved. 

Both Ellara and Deshana had said the lyrium "bridged the gap" between the material world and the Fade, explaining its magical properties and its role in multiple magical rituals. They both also told her  that the ancient elves believed that lyrium were the tears and blood of the Creators mixed together that ---trapped in the Eternal City in the depths of the Fade--- could only wept and hurt themselves as they saw how  their beloved children were hunted and their ancient cities sacked. 

On the contrary, Verana was much more clinical. She believed that lyrium was just “the Fade leaking to this world” and causing normal minerals to evolve and change into lyrium and that they shouldn't dwell too much on its origins. Only in what they could use it.  

"How many crystals do you have now, for your collection?" Ellara asked.

"Eleven," Ciara said, feeling the heat emanating from the red lyrium. They were all warm like that, with a feverish glint that never diminished. A reminder of the red Firmament she had been trapped in.

Red, red surrounding her and inside of her, like an infection, like rot. Just like it was inside the elves – covering their skin and bones, melting their organs, petrifying their blood, replacing it all with Red, driving them mad. After that, there was no turning back, not that she had discovered at least; those elves had to be put down, not only as a mercy but for everyone else's safety as well. Otherwise they would go berserk and rampage, trying to not only feast on their fellow's blood and flesh, but on their own as well.

“Blighted and cursed to the core,” Ellara had spat, when one of the sick elves leaped at her, mouth-frothing and eyes shining with a sickly light. She’d burned him in self-defense. “The Creators must have cursed us. That's the only explanation.”

'Cursed indeed ,' Ciara had thought. The elves had been infected as a result of trying to rescue a group of their own trapped inside Kirkwall – a crumbling city in another region – and the whole thing felt like a cruel joke now. The clan had risked their lives trying to do something good, and their reward had been nothing but death and sorrow.

After burning her fallen friend, Ellara had remembered that Ciara was with her and reacted awkwardly, sputtering and stumbling over her words. 

Ciara had just brushed past her and softly said that they had work to do. She couldn't offer comforting words, but she could give someone the space they needed to properly grieve. 

So she’d pretended she hadn't seen Ellara's eyes grow moist later that day as they tended the patients. Ellara in turn had pretended that she was okay. It’d been an awkward affair, full of tense silence and sick whimpering but later that night she’d found an extra piece of meat on her dinner plate, so maybe she’d done something right. 

"Any closer to figuring out a healing method?" Ellara asked. "Mahanon told me the hunters got the materials you asked for. Do you need any assistance in... whatever sort of magic your kind practices?"

"I’ll be fine on my own," Ciara said. "I'll try a variety of… spells and rituals, to see what works best, but I'm considering something that helps to purify the blood and hastens the crystal removal."

Ellara clicked her tongue. "The Keeper tried that. It helps but it's never enough. She compared it to trying to douse a forest fire with a bucket. Blood alone is not enough, just like spiritual healing wasn't enough at first. Maybe together but… our spirit healers were among the first to get sick and after that, all healing magic fell short."

Ciara nodded and placed the crystal in the enchanted container that the Keeper had given her. One of the most frustrating experiences of this whole ordeal was that she couldn't use her power safely with half of the of the sick. The crystals had some strange properties when fully formed, that somehow made power interactions unstable and dangerous. According to Deshana, lyrium was known to have a “song” that resonated between the Fade and the material world, warping both in a multitude of different ways that sometimes weren’t easy to perceive. The red lyrium seemed to make magic… “violent” and prone to mishaps, even managing to alter Ciara's power effects so that they became unpredictable when used with the sick.   

She’d stumbled into the problem on her first night. After some careful consideration, she’d decided to use her power to dematerialize a large chunk of Red in the leg of one of the healers of the clan. She’d hoped that by eliminating the oversized rock growing on the young elven body, she could rush the healing process and save time. 

It hadn't worked.

The power she’d chosen only worked on non-living materials, but somehow, when used on the infected, its limits were erased and a whole chunk of both of the patient’s legs disappeared in bloody fanfare, causing great amounts of confusion and panic in the healer's tent.

Ciara quickly undid what her power caused, saving the mage's life and prompting a series of frustrating experiments where she’d tried to figure out which powers were safe to use and which ones would be warped by the combination of the magical mineral and elven flesh.

Using a power to see the connections between the lyrium and the organs of the sick, Ciara watched the multitude of effects the substance had in the bodies of the diseased elves and she couldn’t help but compare it to a  half-finished canvas that was still being painted, only now all the colors had been replaced with red and black. Both body and lyrium mixed and changed together, creating something intermingled and hard to set apart. Organs turned into lyrium, which tainted the blood in the body as the Bane expanded and caused madness and aggression in their carriers.

It’s like a virus, she’d realized on her first night, while gently stretching on the cot the Dalish had given her. “And if it keeps spreading then not only the clan will die out, but it will continue to the next settlement and the next after that one.”

Until it found a bigger confluence of people. Like a city.

Ciara couldn't let it advance more, she had to stop it here. No matter the cost and if she couldn't find a proper cure…then she would have to cut the problem at its roots for the sake of them all.

She didn't waste time the second day and, after several hours of testing, she’d determined it would be safer and more useful to limit herself to the use of tinkers, a few thinkers, and other select capes with powers she trusted in situations like this. Tinkers, especially, were made for this situation, with the hunters being pliable enough to search for her requests for materials.

With some luck she'd have everything she needed today and then she could start to build what she needed.  

However, that wasn’t the only thing occupying her mind. 

Five days had passed without a glimpse of a rescue or portal manifestation, meaning that either the Wardens were too busy to come to find her – with the alternative being too terrifying to think about it – or they didn't know what happened to her, which wasn't too comforting either.

Either way, she was stuck here and Deshana's restrictions, which limited her contact  with the sick for a few hours a day, didn't help either way.

The lyrium crystals had some sort of insidious master effect that lingered for a while after contact with the crystals had finished. The Lavellan clan learned the hard way when one of their own had overexposed themselves to the lyrium and gone insane.

The hunters name  was Leanne, and while Ciara never actually met her case was famous in the camp.

The young huntress had been one of the non- magical clan members that had volunteered to help in the care of the sick. One day one of the other volunteers had an accident during a hunt and Leanne chose to help her by covering all of her hours. 

That good action doomed  her. Prolonged  contact with red lyrium had detrimental effects on someone’s mind and a whole day with  the sick and insane  caused Leanne's sanity to erase itself, leaving nothing but a rampaging husk behind.

  She rampaged across the camp until she was caught and then  she’d had to be isolated for at least ten days inside a "glyph of purification" where she’d voiced a desire to "feel the song" and even attempted  to attack Deshana when she came to check the rune circle. She’d been contained eventually, but Ellara had noted how the lyrium had somehow enhanced the huntress' speed, strength, and durability to new levels previously unheard of. 

“She was like a demon of rage,” Lamas, one of the surviving elven mages, said. “Coated in red, with her skin oozing blood and lyrium.” He spat and took a long drink of water, his look haunted as he refused to look at any of the sick. “She moved as if the Dread Wolf chased her, and both arrows and swords drew no blood from her. Only frost and lighting stopped her, and even then she still had enough strength to fight. Only the Keeper’s magic managed to make her stop and regain her bearings…but even then Leanne wasn't okay and I think we all knew she never would. 

Copious amounts of healing Dalish rituals had managed to cleanse the influence of the red lyrium on the hunter but, aid, Leanne was just...gone. She was a shadow of what she once was, and no one knew what to do to bring back what she had lost. Eventually one day she went  to sleep and never woke up. As if she had lost the will to live. 

After that contact with the infected was restricted to a few and even those who had  the skills to  help had their time heavily curtailed  to three hours a day maximum, with only two healers helping at a time and having to drink a "special tea" that the Keeper had made that helped clean the body and the mind of corruption.

Six days later the hunters found Ciara, just as the resources and more were reaching new lows. 

"How long has it been now?" Ciara asked, wiping her forehead.

"I think we're nearing three hours. We have a bit of time but…" She looked around at the picture of desolation that was the healer's tent. Not much either of them could do with a "bit of time."

"I'll do my daily report to the Keeper then if you don't mind," Ciara said.

Ellara just nodded, taking a sip from her water skin. "It's okay, I'll clean everything here. You can just go."

Ciara nodded and turned to leave. "Wait," Ellara said.

Ciara turned. "Yes?"

"Umm. Well…" Ellara bit her lip, looking nervous and frantic. Had Ciara done something to make her uncomfortable? "Are you doing something? Tonight, I mean."

 Ciara tilted her head, confused. "Tonight? I'm sleeping I guess." As usual.

"Oh, well. If you want you could…" Ellara swallowed. "You could come with me tonight.  Some of my friends are doing something. It's silly but with everything going on some of them insisted on us relaxing for just a few hours, trying to remember why we persist, and all that. You could come. If you want, I mean. "

"I…" Ciara felt confused. Was she being asked to "hang out"? She remembered how distrustful the Dalish were of her at first. Was this some sort of ploy to make her more biddable? " I wouldn't want to impose," she finally said.

"It's not an imposition," the First of the Keeper said. "We're asking you because we're grateful about what you're doing for us and we're aware some of us failed to be properly courteous to you. We want you to know we appreciate what all the effort you’ve putting into helping us, 

"I was a stranger in your land. You had every right to be suspicious of me."

"No, we didn't. And that's the issue."  Ellara said, bitterly. "This is no longer our land. Not in the eyes of the Orlesians, or the rest of Thedas. Times have been hard for clan Lavellan and we have let that hardness taint us, forgetting the lesson of our elders. Not all humans are the same, and you have our thanks for reminding us of that."

"I-" Ciara didn't know what to say. "I-I don't know anything. Just a few of you. I don't want to make things uncomfortable". 

Ellara just gave her a soft smile. "You're right, you don't know us. So why don't you start now? Just think about it. I promise that we can be kind and quite friendly."

Then she left to clean and Ciara, unable to find the right words, left as well.

Verana was waiting for her outside the bounded area.

"Had some fun today?" She was leaning on one of the elven landships – aravels – trying a bit too hard to appear casual. One of her hands was playing with a dandelion flower and she sent a wink and a playful smile to Ciara.

 "If you think that was fun, then you and I have different ideas of what fun means," Ciara said.

Verana shrugged and then threw a green water skin to Ciara. She caught it and quickly took a few sips, sighing in relief when she felt the freshwater run through her body.

"To each their own I guess. Did Ellara tell you about tonight?" Verana asked.

"About the... gathering."

Verana snorted. "You could call it that way, I guess. Mahanon got the brilliant idea that we should celebrate not turning into red shambling corpses with some extra meat he hunted after hours."

"Won't the clan need that extra food and drink?"

Verana threw the dandelion flower away and rolled her eyes. "Well, the funny thing about that, is that a lot of dead people means a lot less hungry mouths to feed, so the Keeper is okay with having a small gathering." Then she walked to Ciara and gestured for the skin. She gave it to the huntress and she too took a few sips of the clear water. "Everyone that has a bit of free time is going to come too. I promise we're more fun than we seem."

"I don't want to impose," Ciara said.

"Believe me, you won't. Not counting the Bane you're probably the most interesting thing that’s happened around here in the last year or so."

Ciara said some platitudes about thinking of going before they went to the Keeper's aravel. She was unsure of actually going – she wasn't good in those kinds of situations – but she was afraid that saying no would offend them. Either way, she needed to think through this more. She was the de facto representative of the Wardens in this new Earth until she managed to make contact with Gimel. She needed to present a professional image until she wasn't needed, and Ciara didn't think she would conduct herself well in those kinds of... social situations.

Together, Ciara and Verana walked through the camp. Technically, Verana was her guard and companion for this day but she never behaved that way. There was a casualness about her that seemed natural and effortless, like Ciara could burn the whole camp and Verana would just sit there  and take a nap.

 It wasn't always Verana who came with her; sometimes it was Mahanon, the gentlemanly hunter, and others it was the nervous Nethras, who seemed to be ready to jump out of his skin every time Ciara glanced at him.

Verana was by far the most chatty, and the most curious. Always ready to share, as long she could also ask.

"So, do you know about the Templars? Those shiny guys that hate mages?"

"I met them in the forest," Ciara said. "They didn't see me though."

Verana smiled in approval. "That was smart of you. They tend to dislike free mages like you. And what the Templars dislike they usually kill. They're sweet like that."

"Are the Templars keen trackers then? " Ciara asked.

Verana snorted. "As if. Those templars wouldn't find a mage or an elf even if they were dancing naked in front of them. I just hid while they were shouting like a bunch of scared little boys and girls. It was fun."

“What could they possibly want?”

“To kill us? To expose us? Maybe both? A noble vacationer here probably complained about us heretical elves, and now those poor knights are saddled with a bit of rabbit hunting.”

“Rabbit?” Ciara asked.

“That’s what they call us. For our ears, you see. Don’t we look the same?”

Ciara stilled. “And everyone calls you that?”

Verana just looked at her as if  Ciara was a particularly dim-witted child. “Don’t see what they shouldn't. No one cares and you shouldn't either. History isn't kind to people that do.”

“That sounds quite defeatist.”

Verana just shrugged, indifferent. “You can call it that way. I prefer to say I’m realistic.”

Their conversation stopped as they crossed a group of children playing with sticks and wooden bows while an elderly elven woman looked over them. When they looked at Verana they all smiled and almost started to vibrate with excitement – with half ready to pounce at the huntress before their caretaker stopped them with a stern look and let them continue their way to the Keeper. One of the little girls kept staring at Ciara, and glancing at those big eyes and those golden locks, she thought that there was something achingly familiar about the girl. Verana noticed her attention.

"Oh, so you recognized little Lirel. She's quite shy, but you've been in her mind quite a lot lately," she said. "She won't stop talking about you."

"That girl," Ciara said, a memory dawning on her. "She's the one I helped in the forest. I tried to search for her later but I never managed to find her." 

"That's because this forest is special," Verana explained. "The Keeper said that echoes of what happened here still resonate across the Fade, so it still remembers who killed our kind and what they would do to a little elven girl like Lirel if anyone managed to catch her. We're not the only inhabitants of this forest you know.  Bandist and nobles used to roam around here, though sometimes it was hard to know who was who.   "

Ciara frowned, she hadn't seen anyone but the Templars and Dalish in the forest. “I’m glad she's okay. I was so worried when I couldn't find her. I thought… well it doesn't matter.”

"She was the one that told us about you." Verana smiled, fondly.  "She got lost chasing a damn butterfly of all things, we all went stir-crazy trying to find her. Some even say that the way you found her is some sort of message from the Creators. That there's still some hope for us."

"Do you think the same way?" Ciara asked, curious.

Verana just shrugged. "We all believe what we want to believe. So what does it matter what justification we use to explain our actions or the actions  of others? One single action is worth more than a thousand words, the rest is just talking."

Arriving at the Keeper's aravel, Verana winked at Ciara and turned to leave, but not before saying, "Think about tonight, okay? We're pretty nice for a bunch of savage heretics and some of us really want to meet you."

Then, silent as a shadow, Verana disappeared between the elves' landships, leaving Ciara alone and with words left unsaid.

  ⊙

“Anything new?”  Deshana asked, petting her owl as if it was a dog. Contrary to her debriefs with the Wardens, her reports with the Keeper of Clan Lavellan were drenched in casualness and friendliness. She always offered Ciara all sorts of refreshments and snacks that she’d made herself, while constantly asking about her wellbeing and if she felt comfortable in the camp.

“Verana told me Mahanon and the others managed to get what I needed to start my…rituals.”

“Of course, that's good to know, dear. But I wasn’t asking about that.”

“Today we’ve managed to alleviate the pain of thirty-six patients and surgically remove the crystals of—”

“That's very good to hear, but I wasn't asking about that either, Valkyrie.”

Ciara stopped. She knew what the Keeper was talking about. She was talking about Gimel.  Her people.

“Yes. I thought it would be like that,” Deshana sighed. “Come and sit. Take a drink and eat something fresh. You can clean yourself later— of both grime and red lyrium.”

Ciara sat and Deshana quickly served her some apple juice with a smile. Ciara touched the glass and, for a moment, enjoyed the cool pleasant sensation emanating from the cup. She knew the Keeper used magic to keep beverages cold and well preserved, something she was now thankful for.

“Thank you,” Ciara said, simply.

“You can thank me by giving me some of that mead next time,” Deshana chuckled. "It was quite sweet.”  The Keeper had commented once she was  a wine lover and that she missed not having a bottle around. Ciara, wishing to  give something to the clan as a token of friendship and gratitude, made a few bottles to share and was honestly surprised when the gift was received with a great amount of cheer.

There was a stilted silence before Deshana spoke again. "No news today either, da'len?"

Ciara took another sip of juice. "No," she just said.

"They'll come to find you," the Keeper said. "I know they will."

"I-" Ciara's words caught on her throat. "Yes, I'm sure they will." She didn't want to talk about this anymore.

"Was there anything else, Keeper?"

Deshana sighed. "It seems I've touched a nerve. I apologize for that, da'len." With a tired expression, she pulled a blue vial from her clothes. "As you're probably aware, what's in my hands is the substance called lyrium. It's of vital importance for magical rituals and the maintenance of the magical barrier between the infected and us. And we are running low."

Ciara leaned. "How low?"

"We have at most three days. Then we will be forced to get… creative in both the maintenance of the rune barrier and the care of our sick." The Keeper's face turned into a scowl and she touched her left hand, which was crisscrossed with a pair of ever-present red scars. "I've...circumvented the spell's original limitations with the use of blood but that won't be enough. For greater power, greater...sacrifices are required. Sometimes forcefully."

Ciara tried not to think too hard of what sacrifices such magic required. "And can we get more? Is there some sort of...vendor or supplier near us?"

Deshana snorted. "Not one willing to sell to us, poor heretical elves. The only source for miles around are, well, the Templars. And they  or anyone.”

“The knights from the Chantry,” Ciara said.

“Yes, and that was what I wanted to talk to you about.” Deshana’s tone grew weary and serious. “Their hounds are approaching us and it won’t be long before they find us. Knowing them, their intentions won’t be peaceful. They’ll try to drive us off and when we say no they’ll attack, using whatever justifications they’ll find to kill us. I need to know: if the worst comes to pass, what will you do?”

Ciara’s caught in her mouth. Could she do something? Should she do something? She was a hero, but the situation seemed far more complex than just doing the right thing. The Templars were the military arm of a mighty political institution that had a lot of influence in Thedas.

The Dalish admitted to not being the best informants in matters of the “shem world” but apparently it was common knowledge that the Chantry was a powerful political player in all the known world. With the lines between Church and State quite blurred, Ciara guessed the Divine, their analog of the Pope, was one of the most influential  figures in the world she had found herself in.

Almost everyone belonged to the Andastrian faith, and the only other known religions were followed by stigmatized minority groups like the Dalish, which gave the Chantry lots of leeway to do whatever the hell they wanted with them. 

She knew helping the Dalish was her duty as a hero but she also had to think about Gimel and the consequences of all of her actions. She couldn't possibly make a new enemy and alienate an important organization when the City already had so many. Not when Shin and Cheit were around, relentless in their ambitions.

And they wouldn’t relent, that she knew. Bigots and fanatics never did.

“I-” Ciara’s words caught in her mouth and she thought about summoning someone to make it easier, to make the words flow better in a way she never naturally could. But she knew it wouldn't work if it came from power; it had to come from her. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“I want to say I’ll support you, you've sheltered me when I needed it most but… I’ve got responsibilities with my people as well. Duties I can't ignore. My ci-country has enough enemies and few friends. I don’t know if it would be wise to add another to the list. Especially if it’s as influential as the Chantry.”

Deshana sighed, looking older and tired. “I admit it was not the answer I had hoped for, but I guess I can’t fault you for that. We do what we must for our people, after all.”

“I understand the situation is dire but maybe some accord can be made with the Templars, to at least delay whatever violent action they intend.”

Deshana looked at Ciara as if she was a child. “Ah, to be young and naive like that. They won’t stop, da’len, they didn’t stop when the mages rebelled, or the Blight returned, or when the King of Ferelden gave the Brecilian forest to the People. They’re soldiers, and like all soldiers, they only know one thing: to follow orders. They won’t stop, because they’ve been ordered not to.”

Ciara took another sip of her juice and, as if the waters also refreshed her memory, she remembered something. “I think I know what they want, and it’s not you.” 

The Keeper’s eyes shone with interest and, if Ciara wasn’t mistaken, hope. “Really? Do tell.”

"They’re after a man. A mage, I think. They called him Anders and said he was a criminal and an apostate.”

“Anders,” the Keeper slowly pronounced the name, tasting it, touching each syllable and each letter. “Somehow, that name sounds familiar to me, but I can't quite pinpoint why yet.”

“I think they said they couldn’t attack the Dalish. Not yet at least.”

“How long was this?” Deshana asked.

“Six days ago, before the hunters found me,”  Ciara said.

A thoughtful expression grew on Deshana’s face.“Then perhaps there's still hope for this. If we can find this Anders, then perhaps we can delay the Templars for a bit. I’ll have the hunters search for him and maybe…maybe he’s also at fault for the other slew of issues we’re facing.”

“Issues?”

“I didn't tell you this because it isn’t as urgent as the lives of the clan members but the spirits are in unrest. Someone has been playing with forces they don’t completely understand and that has been affecting both the flora and fauna. Like that bereskarn you killed.”

“Bereskarn?” Ciara asked. 

“A tainted bear that has been infected by the Blight,” the Keeper explained. “The taint of darkspawn didn’t reach these lands in the previous Blight, which makes its presence here very worrying.” A disgusted expression appeared on the Keeper’s usually affable face. “The magic that comes from the Blight should never be touched and that someone would be fool enough to use such powers keeps me up quite late at night.” 

“That sounds quite urgent,” Ciara pointed out.

“It’s less urgent than the lives of my children. As long as the forest isn't being corrupted and we aren’t being overrun by darkspawn then I’m fine giving it less priority.”

Ciara took another sip. “The Blights,” she said. “I can’t quite remember what they entail.”

“Oh! Apologies. I'm used to everyone knowing what Blights are so I must've forgotten that lesson,” Deshana hummed. “Well, we’ll brush up on them at a later date but in short, every few ages an army of repulsive creatures we call the darkspawn arise from the depths of the earth to kill us all. The shems and their Chantry like to blame their existence on magic and the hubris of those born with it, but the truth is nobody knows how exactly they were created, only that they exist and dwell beneath us.”

“How common are these Blights?'' Ciara asked. She would need to add this to her report to the Wardens after she was rescued. Nothing called a “Blight” could be good, especially since it implied sickness and contagion. The last thing she needed was to fight another horde of mutant zombies— the last ones she’d fought had been full of infected and sticky blood that got in all of her boots and hair that even with powers, had been extremely hard to clean off her body. 

“Oh, you shouldn't worry, dear.” Deshana took a sip of her juice. “Last was one, um, ten years ago, I believe? So the next one will probably happen in a few centuries or so. Enough time for me and you to become dust and leave that mess to someone else. Hopefully, the  Grey Wardens will prove just as effective. ”

“The Grey Wardens?” Ciara asked, interested.

“Oh! Right, you’re part of a group coincidentally called the Wardens. Perhaps there are some coincidences between both after all. Just like your group, the Grey Wardens are hailed as heroes for their grim work… as long as it's Blight time.” Deshana emptied her cup and went to serve herself another. “The last Blight, in particular, lasted just a short year with the hero that stopped it being notably still alive and serving a high position in her home country.”

“And her being alive is notable, why?”

“Well, the Blight is usually led by a creature known as an Archdemon--- I won’t bore you with the details, but they're exceedingly dangerous and take the form of a giant dragon, and while I don’t know how is done in your home country, here dragon hunting is considered an activity that only the extremely bold or the incredible stupid undertake. Grey Wardens usually don't survive a duel with an Archdemon, and the fact that she not only killed it but lived to tell the tale as well, makes Solona Amell a figure worthy of many songs and tales.”

Ciara filed the name away, just in case. "She sounds interesting, and if possible I would like to know more about the Grey Wardens and the Blights.”

The older woman just waved her hand. “Like I said, maybe another day. It’s a grim topic after all, and I’m quite tired of grim sad things.” Then she smirked. “We should speak of more interesting things.  I’ve heard from a little bird that you’ve been invited to a party today. What are you planning on wearing? I've heard humans like to talk about that.” 

Ciara frowned. “Is it wise? To allow a party considering the situation.”

The Keeper shrugged. “Maybe it’s not wise, but it’s sorely needed by those that remain. Should I let the whole clan suffer and drown in pain? This has been some truly...hard weeks. Morale is down and the clan needs a reminder of why we fight on and why life is worth living. Tomorrow they’ll go back to their assigned duties, but tonight they’ll get a chance to relax for a few hours. You should come too. It may be the last chance you’ll get to lay down your burdens for a long while.” 

Even though Ciara agreed, she still couldn’t bring herself to do so. “I think I‘ll stay. I have lots of things to do and analyze and I can’t just l eave them for later.”

Deshana snorted. “Creators, you’re bad at this aren’t you? When was the last time you had a man in your bed? Or a woman? I do not judge.”

Ciara choked on her drink as she felt heat rise to her face. What did she just say? “Ex-excuse me?” she said between coughs. 

The elf laughed, free and wild. “Oh Creators, you should’ve seen your face,” she said, then, glancing at Ciara’s face again, she laughed more, with tears of joy falling down her eyes. For a second Deshana looked ready to stop but then she looked at her  face once again, still red from embarrassment, and lost her bearings for another minute. 

For a second Ciara considered freezing the Keeper’s drink or making her chair disappear, but then she remembered she was above such pettiness and decided to bear the mockery stoically.

This time, at least.

The Keeper finally stopped laughing and then looked at Ciara with an amused expression.“Ir Abelas, Ciara. I didn't mean to offend you but, well, I have so little joy these days.”

“Glad to be of service,” Ciara said, icily.

“Oh, don’t be so glum. Have more juice,” Deshana said, pushing the ceramic jar to Ciara. “One should learn to take jokes at their expense. Life gets so much easier when you take yourself less seriously, you smile more and that is always good for one’s health.”

“It’s pretty hard to not take myself seriously when you told me I’m your clan's last hope.”

Deshana just chuckled. “You see, that’s where you're wrong, da’len. That’s the funniest joke of all. After all, we’re the Dalish, we swore to never submit but here I am. The Keeper that begged for help from a human mage.” Then she laughed, melodious and beautiful but lacking in warmth. “Funniest jest ever.”

Ciara, feeling awkward like a child, avoided the Keeper’s eyes. She never thought to consider how the Keeper asking for her help would be seen by the rest of the clan. She didn’t know much, but she knew enough to know that the Dalish had a bloody history with the humans of this land. And the Keeper wasn’t just the leader of the clan or the strongest mage, they were also the preservers of the old ways of the elf-kind, of the ancient magics that they struggled to remember. In asking me for help, she basically admitted she was weaker than me.

It seemed everywhere she went, she was always making everything more uncomfortable for everyone. Even when she was trying to help. “I didn’t mean to—” she tried to say, before the Keeper interrupted her. 

“Oh shush, It’s fine. You shouldn't pay me any attention. I’m just an old woman, rambling about inconsequential things.” Her voice was soft and her face relaxed, but even Ciara could see that it was not fine . “Point is, you should enjoy life while you can, da’len. Go out and get a drink, socialize and laugh a little. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly smile, or laugh in the five days you’ve been with us and that’s sad. You’re beautiful and young, Valkyrie. Enjoy that.”

Ciara tried to hide her grimace. She didn’t know how to do that — she never had friends.She had never “hung out” as most people do, she had never gone drinking with anyone, or to the movies, or…shared a bed with somebody special.

Jessica had said to her once she was an adolescent, a ridiculous notion to her then, but one that, on reflection, couldn't be less true. Ciara might be older than Jessica, but she’d only been making her way in the world for two years, without a mask or a role to fall back on. She was maturing, going through growing pains while she tried to find herself.

And worded like that it sounded almost noble, inspirational even. But now, two years after making that decision, to try and be a person, what did she have to show for it? 

“Nothing’s changed,” Ciara thought. “I'm still trying to find myself. A child in the body of a woman nearing her forties but with the life experience of someone not even half her age. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s pointless to start now,” an annoying little voice said to her. “ You’re too old to change, too strange to relate to them. Why should you even try?”

She waved it off, but she had to admit the little voice had a point. What would be the point of even trying? She could be the mothers of half the hunters, and she didn't know what to talk about with the people closest to her in age in the camp. She didn't even know their names, and she would go away eventually, probably to never return. Trying to build bonds between her and the Dalish would be just a waste of time for everyone involved.

“But you could at least try,” another tiny voice, this one more kindly sounding, whispered to her. “Riley  wasn’t your friend, but you two got along, right?  And she could have been your daughter.

Take a break, Chevalier had said. Have fun, go out with friends. 

Enjoy life, Deshana had just told her. She wasn’t as young or beautiful as she appeared but.. that didn’t mean she couldn't at least try to have fun. A short interlude before she had to keep digging red crystals stuck to fossilized flesh. One night of fun where she could learn about her hosts.

“You’re living the childhood dream of many. Meeting actual elves,'' a part of her said. “ And you’re wasting it by being stuck inside a tiny tent all on your own. Go out and do something.”

“Do I- do I need to bring something,” she asked, hating the small stutter in her voice. She was supposed to be a grown woman, not a shy child. “For the party tonight, I mean.”

Deshana smiled. “Just your presence, dear. Oh, and maybe some of that sweet mead of yours. But not too much!”

“Of course,” Ciara said, trying to hide the well of nervousness inside of her. “I’ll try to be punctual.”

The Keeper snorted. “Who cares about that? Just have fun!”

Ciara squashed down the nervousness that rose inside of her. Fun , she thought. I don’t think we have the same idea of fun, Deshana. But at least I can give it a try. 

That's all we can do most days. Just try and keep trying, until one day we finally get it right. 

Chapter Text

Ciara.

 ⊙

What did one wear to a party? Ciara couldn’t help but ask herself.

In another life, she might have known the answer to that question. A life where she never triggered, never saw the dance of the fairies or sunk herself in the bloody life of a cape. A normal life, as most people would call it. 

Sometimes she wondered what kind of woman that Ciara would’ve been. A world where her nana never died and one where conflict had never engulfed her homeland and torn her childish, unhappy life apart. Would that woman be happier than Ciara was now? More peaceful? Married even?

The Ciara of now didn’t know and maybe it didn’t matter. Her past was dead and buried, and trying to dig into it would only cause rotten bones to emerge. 

As she cleaned her body of grim and sweat, the ghost of Grandmother Odd — The Stalker in Reflection — angled her mirror so it could reflect the entirety of Ciara’s sunken naked body even better. She could sense the desire emanating from the ghost-like ripples in a pond. It wanted to communicate, to express its wants and needs – a few of them quite known to Ciara in all of their appealing glory. She was capable of even imaginating, with surgical precision, what Odd would say. “I wish I could have skin like yours. Ample bosom and legs for days. So delectable, so gorgeous — ready to skin and tear. You’re just… magnificent, my dear.” So creepy.

Ciara sighed, her mind still remembering the last time she let this ghost speak with frustrating clarity. Grandmother Odd wasn’t even the worst ghost she had, but she was near the top of that particularly unpleasant ranking and death had not improved her disposition one bit.

A cannibalistic serial killer, that sadly managed to survive Gold Morning, the Grandmother was deemed clinically insane and firmly locked in a secure facility in Gimel’s Europe after evidence had shown that, while a troubled individual that constantly skirted the law, she hadn’t shown any psychopathic tendencies or homicidal impulses until after her trigger event. Scientists were hopeful that, through her study, new information could be gained about the nature of the Passengers, and the symbiotic relationship between them and their host. They even believed that the particular mechanics of her powers were closely tied to the dimension the Passengers resided in, which would hypothetically explain her swift personality turn after triggering. 

It didn’t turn out as they hoped.

Grandmother’s powers made her particularly slippery and hard to contain – she could “birth” a personal pocket dimension that used mirrors and reflective substances as entryways. Once her victim was inside her prison she enjoyed playing “games” with them, turning her realm into a labyrinthian terrain where she fancied herself the ultimate predator – a snake taking its time biting its unfortunate prey.  

Eventually one small slip up was enough for her to escape and indulge in a rampage through the facility, releasing dangerous patients and test subjects and causing the deaths of many members of the staff. At least until Ciara finally managed to arrive and stop her, proving Grandmother that she wasn’t the ultimate predator she thought she was. 

Her death also meant a new power in her own personal heaven — a new arrow she could use against the enemies of Gimel. Another shade may have been considered a comrade-in-arms, but never Odd, or those like her. She could have done without her, but times were unsure and she couldn’t afford to waste a good power like hers. Even if it meant dealing with her infuriating presence from time to time. 

Rising from the bathtub, Ciara stretched and waved to another specter for a towel. The soft material passed over the skin of her arms, wiping away all water drops and serving to slowly soothe her nerves. There was a safety, a routine in such action, done deliberately slow as she was doing right now. It was silly in a way, stupid even, but she couldn’t help but think that every second spent drying herself off was another she could use to excuse herself for arriving late, another moment of quiet peace she could justify.

For a second, she reconsidered not going. She could afford to make a few good excuses even — the red lyrium still needed to be studied more thoroughly, there were a few healers in the tents right now, and they would enjoy taking a small break before the next mages took over and–.

She could go on, but she was aware it would be pointless. She promised the Keeper she would assist the small gathering the elves were planning, and she didn’t want to break her promise.

It’ll be only for a few hours , she thought, resigned. I’ll find a way to escape later.  

 “Go away,” Ciara said, to the mute specter of Grandmother Odd. “But leave the mirror behind.”

The spirit did, disappearing like the sea foam, and leaving the only thing that validated her very existence on this plane – a shimmering, silver-looking glass that reflected the heroine perfectly to an uncanny degree. 

Ciara observed the woman reflected in the mirror and the first word that came to her mind was tired . Her body showed clear signs of exhaustion that somehow had sneaked on her – she had nascent bags under her eyes, her hair looked dim and without its usual gold hue and her body ached with a longing for a home she never really processed. She had fought

for so long for the preservation of Gimel, and her work wasn’t done yet. She had to go back. It was almost primal, the need she had to return home — there was always something else to do, another enemy to be defeated, another broken trigger that had to be contained. Powers were chaos incarnate, and every day she spent away from Gimel she feared there would be nothing but chaos when she returned.

She was also painfully aware of how unhealthy it all sounded. She understood that she was supposed to have a better work-life balance but there was always so much to do. Could she afford to take too many breaks? When was too many?

Chevalier would say that I should take this opportunity to rest while he overworks himself to death, Ciara thought. A bit hypocritical of him, but nobody could fault him. But maybe he’s right.

Her last vacation was… how long ago? A few weeks, a month? A little bit soon to take a break, if you asked her, but a vacation didn’t have to mean idleness. She was already doing something important and that was… fun. Even if Chevalier and Legend would disagree with her.

And, maybe, a part of her still remembered with agonizing clarity her time as a puppet of her power. It was branded on her body and soul as much as her trigger event, and it nestled inside her guts in an almost familiar, even welcoming sort of pain. As if an infiminestical fraction of her being accepted surrendering her humanity as a form of liberation.

Two years ago I made the decision to never finish what Scion started and fight for what remained of humanity, she thought. I fought to redeem myself, to become a hero, and the decision was taken from me as if it was nothing. Could that happen again? Could I become like that again?

For a second the mirror flickered and, as if peeling a layer of soft skin, woman and power became inseparable. Her surroundings turned a crystalline red, and her form distorted itself into something alien — her arms became manifold, all reaching as one to multiple points of dancing lights that shone as diamonds.  They were all intertwined in an oppressive valley of red, that turned to a mountain, that turned to a ravine and finally to a city, all in the span of a heartbeat. Somehow all the lights had eyes and were looking at her, eagerly awaiting her word to continue dancing.

The dance of the fairies, Ciara thought, revulsion rising inside of her. 

Once, she wanted to see one hundred thousand of them dancing at the same time for the greatest effect. Now, her greatest desire was to stop seeing it.

The vision disappeared like morning dew, leaving CIara doubtful of what her eyes witnessed. Was it real and she was still in real danger of becoming like that, or was it just smoke and mirrors?

 I need to relax, she thought, franflictly drying her hair. “That won’t happen again,” she muttered. “It won’t .”

 Tonight could work as a small break from work – even if it was draining to be around so many people at the same time.

You’ve fought abominations and monsters from beyond dimensions, Ciara thought. You stood up to a god, who almost destroyed all of known reality. You can do this.

How bad could a small bonfire party be?

⊙

“You look nice,” Verana said, accepting the small bottle of mead Ciara had made for the party. For once, the girl wasn’t wearing her light armor for the night and she instead was clothed in a loose green shirt that showed some of her cleavage and a pair of black trousers that hugged her legs in complementary ways. The flickering light of the fire somehow enhanced even more her elaborate face tattoo, or valassin as the Dalish called it, giving her an ethereal look that made her resemble a piece of fantasy art come to life. 

“Thank you,” Ciara said, trying to not appear nervous. There were a lot of elves, all gathered around a few scattered bonfires that were kept just fiery enough to light the shadows around and not much else. The Dalish were dancing around those shimmering points of light, ghosts of the forest made flesh that melded and merged as they laughed and chatted with each other. 

Ciara felt like an intruder around all this livery, a strange Other that had no place around all of this joy. She was never good at parties or social gatherings. She never knew how to broach proper conversation or crack jokes to lighten the mood. Her life experiences were the definition of abnormal, so it was hard for a lot of people to relate to her and it shortened possible conversation topics to frightenedly small numbers. And the one thing she knew she could chat with her colleagues — work — was something of a conversation killer. People went to social gatherings to relax and forget about work, after all. 

There was also the sad fact that the few that could relate to her weren’t the kind that her colleagues would approve of her to be around. Or she.

“Come, sit with us!” Verana said, cheerfully leading her to a medium- size bonfire full of familiar faces. “Most of them will be happy to see you and never mind those who don’t!” 

“Of course,” Ciara answered, trying to ignore how dry her mouth felt.

Together, they reached the warm area where the rest of the group were chatting and laughing. Predictably, all conversation died out when she approached, but Verana didn’t let that stop her.

“I brought her, just as I said, now move, move!” Verana said, pushing the twitchy hunter Netras away from Ellara and sitting in his place, but not before patting the small opening next to her — an open invitation in all forms of perception and, if her guess was correct about Verana, a statement or power play. In general, Ciara didn’t care for power plays but now she was in the relatively unfamiliar territory of social interaction, where she seemed to have only one ally—Verana. So she sat, with stiff movements, in the solid but battered log and got ready for a night of relaxation.

If only people would stop looking at her for just a second.

All eyes were on her and she hated it, she hated the attention and how she was surrounded by strangers, she hated how her hands were surely trembling, and how she felt calm and confident in the face of danger but completely nervous in situations like this one. It was ridiculous. 

“So happy you could join us,” Ellara started. “For a second we weren’t sure if you would come.” 

“We bet if you were coming,” Verana pipped at her side, earning a quick elbow jab from Ellara. “I bet five silvers and now, thanks to you, I’m ten silvers richer.” She popped the cork of the mead and served herself. “Anyone want some? The Keeper told me this is good.” 

“Please, drink.” Ciara added. “The drink barely counts as alcoholic and it’s quite sweet.” 

“The Keeper is crazy about it,” Ellara said, giving Ciara a  brilliant smile. “She compares it to one rare wine made in Antiva that she received a few years ago as a gift.”

 “I’m glad to hear that,” Ciara said. “Is she joining us tonight?”

Before Ellara could say anything,  Verana spoke. “She’s probably fucking the huntmaster, so no.”

Netras sputtered, face full of flushed embarrassment and spit. Verana, reveling in his reaction, just laughed. “Don’t be such a prude. Did you really think your father needed to have so many ‘strategic reunions.’ They’re probably making the Evanuris blush right now.”

Ciara just smiled, feeling a little bit sorry for Netras. The lad was nice, if expectedly twitchy, and she still remembered the scarred elf from the clearing that resembled Netras quite a bit. She crossed him a few times around the camp and if his treatment of her was barely hostile before, now it was just cold. Not like she really cared – as long as she helped the sick and weak she knew he would just complain about her status as a ‘shem’, whatever that meant.

In a poor attempt to change conversation topics, Mahanon, courteous as always, said, “I could do with a drink. Verana, could you pass it here?” 

The aforementioned girl pretended not to hear him and passed the bottle to Netras who, after serving himself with a guilty expression on his face, quickly passed the bottle to an unruffled Mahanon.

Ellara just sighed and directed her eyes to Ciara. “I hope you don’t find us too unruly for your tastes. The customs of your people are unknown to me — but you carry yourself as a lady of noble birth — so I hope the lack of manners of some of us-” she directed a look to Verana who just took a sip of her drink, “- aren’t unseemly.”

“Not at all,” Ciara said, her stiff face struggling to articulate something resembling a smile. “I’m not a noble lady, so I don’t mind at all.”

“Really?” Mahanon said, arching an eyebrow. “No offense, but you just seemed so… regal.”

“Yeah”, a young elven woman murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Always pretending to be better than us and all of that.” Her words earned her a quick punch from Verana, who didn’t even try to be subtle. She shouldn’t have bothered, Ciara was used to it.

“Believe it or not,” Ciara said. “But I’m not a noble. In fact, my origins are rather humble.”

 “Really?” another elf piped up, dubious.

“Really,” Ciara echoed. “I was just a normal girl.” Until one day I broke and became something else. 

“Would you like a drink?” Mahanon offered, kindly. “We have water, juice, and something resembling wine if the wine was flavorless. Nothing as good as this delicious mead of yours, but…”

“No need to apologize. I’ll take water please.”

She drank the water greedily, even though she wasn’t thirsty, if it meant she had an excuse to not talk for a few seconds more. 

Conversation trickled around her,all of them relaxed and about topics she was thankfully unfamiliar with — from the hunting patterns of the orlesian grey bear, to complaining about the lack of good valassin colors, and the classic talk of who was with whom.

For a second, she thought she was lucky enough to blend into the mass of bodies and live through the night without being the center of attention, but, alas, the gods weren’t that merciful with her.

“So Valkyrie, you need to share with us — what do you do for your homeland? Verana told us you were some sort of Keeper for your people?”

Ciara froze like a deer in the headlights, a smile on her face as she tried to parse what to say. She didn’t want the Dalish to panic or enter into an existential crisis at the existence of the multiverse, so instead of explaining the reality of the situation, she… muddled things a bit.

“Umm, for all the things you’ve said I thought you were something like a hunter — fighting and providing for your clan or city.” Ellara said. “Either way, it’s nice that your people treat their mages with respect. The humans here should learn from that.”

“I’m a bit of both things,” Ciara said. “Both Keeper and hunter. People like me, in my homeland – we have responsibilities to protect and help those that need it most.  That can mean either guide them when they’re in need of it, or provide for them when they can’t do it for themselves. It’s a… calling, you could say.”

“So you’re basically like a hero, then?” Verana asked. Ciara didn’t stir, but if she hadn’t been as watched as she was at that moment she would’ve given the elven girl a look. The huntress shouldn’t have had a way to know but for some reason that question felt leading, like if she was teasing a secret only known to them both.

She would check that later.

“Uh,” Ellara said. “I guess that does  sound a bit like one of those fairytales heroes  you used to love, Verana. Please, tell us more.”

Ciara gave her a small strained smile. “Of course.” 

The night moved on, but her honest responses opened a flood of questions and curious inquiries that she wasn’t ready for and would avoid in other circumstances.

“Do you live in one of those big human cities?”

“How many elves live in your homeland?”

“Do you have alienages there?”

“How do your mages live?”

“To what human god do you pray?”

On and on, questions without end tickled her and made her feel like a hollowed-out doll. Her insides were exposed to the world in all of their gory glory as she tried to desperately go back to her shell of isolation and solitude. People being interested in her was an interesting change, but it didn’t feel genuine.

She felt like an interesting curiosity, one that was to be discarded and thrown away once all of its secrets were bereft for all to see, and that made her feel more drained, more tired, and desperately trying to find a way out while still trying to be polite. Elves from distant bonfires came to theirs just to gawk at the interesting new thing and as the volume of people around her grew, so did her exhaustion.

Conversations blurred with one another, and somehow she found herself playing a nonsensical game of cards — Wicked Grace, Ellara called it — that she didn’t know how to play, and didn’t quite understand the rules, but somehow still managed to win something.

Eventually, though, the pressure of the ever-growing crowd was too large and she had to leave. Calmy, she expressed she needed to leave and the elf next to her simply winced and acquiesced, saying she understood what Ciara felt and that the bushes near the west side of the forest  were ‘perfect for going without someone noticing’. 

Ciara simply nodded, ignoring that they all probably thought she was going to relieve herself and walked away from the fire and warm company to the calm darkness.

She leaned at the side of a lonely blue aravel, that was far away from the congregation of elves and, taking small breaths, she let the night and its orchestra drain away all of her bubbled up nervousness.

The mighty Valkyrie, Ciara thought, with some bitterness . Defeated by the evil conspiracy of friendly strangers that just want to know more about her. What a joke.

She wondered how Legend and Chevalier did it, how they managed to juggle the interviews, the constant questions of her private life, and the unending PR events. 

She remembered the few interviews she had to do with nothing but dread and boredom, thinking what combination of powers could save her from this situation and not get her reprimanded by the Wardens. 

She came with nothing and, as such, half of that day was spent rebuffing questions about her private life, what kind of diet she had done to enter her costume and what were her long-term plans as a hero.

To all inquiries, she gave nothing but inane PR-approved responses, all intentionally crafted to throw attention away from the fact she was a former mass murderer still trying to reform. A wolf trying to blend in sheep’s clothing.

I could kill you all, she thought at that moment. Burn you all to cinders, pull out the entrails and leave the corpses empty. Destroy everything and everyone and finish that Scion started.

At her side Chevalier was tense, almost ready to bolt. Was it because he was nervous at how fragile everything was and he knew they needed to get this right ? Or because he knew what she was thinking and how easy it would be for her to carry through her fantasies?

Either way, she managed to conquer her more base instincts and she counted that as a small victory to becoming a better person.

However, there, at the bonfire, surrounded by people metaphorically poking and prodding, she felt like she was back at Gimel, with the amber lights of the fire becoming luminous flashes of cameras and the curious questions thrown at her transforming into a vital interview she couldn’t mess up. 

The anxiety produced by all of it was just unbearable. It was a parasite, one that fed off her misery and grew inside of her like a child. A selfish one that wanted nothing but consume everything until only bones covered in tattered skin remained. Every time she felt her invisible boundaries being crossed, she could feel how it grew and matured, how it threatened to overwhelm her and turn her into something she wasn’t proud of becoming.

It was a monster she couldn’t slay, only let it die on its own. So she did. Every second away from the inquiring crowd was a mortal wound to it, one that came as easy as breathing and served as further validation to something she had been pondering for a time. The fact that destruction came to her as easily as breathing, while trying to build something lasting seemed out of her control.

Twisted and defeatist, maybe. But not untrue.

Valkyries weren’t healers or saviors. They were harbingers. Heralds from a higher power, they carried warriors’ souls to an eternal paradise before they were called again to the final battle. 

They were also warriors and killers. And those were only celebrated from certain points of view. Just like her — a savior sometimes, but mostly a killer and destroyer that was not fit to be a Legend, a Chevalier, or a Narwhal.

Not fit to live a normal life like the elves, curious yet so cynical at the same time. Their innocent questions underbellied a pessimistic outlook on life that made Ciara feel weary of her surrounding world and how its  humans' inhabitants treated those similar, yet paradoxically so different to them. Racism was nothing new, but it was still very disheartening to hear that people kept finding excuses to hate one another. 

It made her wonder if she could help in other way. Could she ease their suffering without complicating things down the line?

She didn’t know, so she stood there on her own, losing the track of time and letting the night sonnetta calm her nerves and ease their worries. She watched how the wind ruffled the treetops and how small creatures ran along the ground and green bushes.

Outside, a small fennec played with a nug. The fennec tumbled the nug down and wagged its tail playfully to the little rabbit-thing that stoically got up and hopped down to the small fox, smelling it. The fennec took this as an invitation to keep playing together and they moved away from her view.

Ciara smiled. It was truly beautiful out here.

“A penny for your thoughts?” 

Surprised, the heroine turned to Verana, whom she never heard approach. The elven woman was casually leaning against a tree trunk, a nervous smile on her face.

“For how long have you been there?” Ciara asked. Calling on her powers, she reinforced her senses and her skin. Verana shouldn’t have managed to sneak on her, was she so focused on her thoughts that she ignored the surrounding reality?

The girl shrugged, “Not for long, just a few minutes. Wanted to see what you were doing.”

“You were snooping, then?” Ciara asked, raising her eyebrow.

“No! No. It’s just….” The girl stopped, looked around for a few seconds, and then slowly approached Ciara. “ I wasn’t snooping, I was trying to see how to approach you. Because, well, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you’re not exactly the most approachable person. You’re a bit…aloof.”

Tell me something I don’t know, Ciara thought.

“You could’ve just asked,” she pointed out.

“Well yeah, “ Verana fidgeted. “But this isn’t exactly the easiest question to make, you know?”

Ciara sighed. “You could ask now,” she pointed out.

“I am! I will! But first…” The hunter looked at the nearby bonfires, their warmth fairway, yet so close. The night was cold but, somehow, Ciara found it more appealing than the welcoming fires of the Dalish.

The silence stretched and Ciara, with curiosity burning inside of her, couldn’t help but speak.  “When you said I was like a hero, what did you mean with that?”

“Oh! That…” The girl sheepishly smiled at her and nervously fidgeted for a bit before answering. Ciara was honestly puzzled – in the small time she had known Verana the girl had been nothing but confident. Seeing her being so…timid was odd. 

“I knew a man that liked that kind of thing. Helping others, I mean. He was really big on always  doing the right thing. Or at least what he perceived as the right thing.  He was a really strange human, just like you.”

“I’m strange?” Ciara asked.

“You’re…different. New. And I like new things.”

“I thought Dalish were wary of humans, or shems. Whatever that means.”

“Oh, you heard that? Sorry, then. It’s nothing personal just… our clan was always a bit divided about humans and their affairs. Being chased by a bunch of insane Templars hasn’t improved the standing of your race in the eyes of many here.

“So is it an insult, then?” Ciara asked.

“Kinda. It means “quick children” and it dates back to the times we were immortal and everlasting. The legend says that contact with your kind made our lives shorter and shorter till we lived the same years as you.”

“So contact with humans made you mortal?” Ciara asked, fascinated. 

Verana just shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a legend. Some of us — like that old timer, Darevas — take it as if it was the immutable truth, but I call bullshit. It’s just another way for us to shift blame to you. Humans, I mean.”

“That sounds quite critical of you,” Ciara questioned. 

“That’s because it kinda is,” Verana said. “Your kind stole a lot from us, but we’re not completely blameless. In war, no one is.” Then she paused, a doubtful expression on her face. “Besides, I like humans. Or, at least I like a human .”

“He must be a remarkable person for you to admit this.”

“He is. He was. You’re very similar to him in that regard.”

Verana got a few steps closer and pointed to the bonfire party. 

“Do you know that I know everyone near those fires since birth? I could tell you ten true things for each person and that wouldn’t even be scratching what I know about them.” Verana was near to Ciara now, practically touching shoulder to shoulder, and yet her voice seemed far away. “I was born in this clan, lived here my whole life and I will probably die here too. After bonding with a nice man and having many children, of course.” 

Ciara said nothing, even though she was curious about what Verana wanted. Why was she saying all of this when they barely knew each other? Why did she approach Ciara in the first place? What was the point of all of this?

“I used to escape, you know.” Verana rambled, still not looking at Ciara. “I got bored, or annoyed, or just so…. exhausted by everything. By Mahanon, by the clan, by my mother and her magic . Everything made me angry and I couldn’t deal, so I… went away. Easier to not have an argument if you’re not there.”

“I traveled around all the Free Marches. Went to Antiva and Rivain and even took a small peak to Nevarra before they ran me out. I saw many human wonders and horrors. Lived in their cities and experienced firsthand how my kind lived there. It was terrifying and… exhilarating, in a way. Nobody there knew me and that meant I could be anyone I wanted.”

But of all the things I experienced, one was burned in my memory so thoroughly that even today I can still recall it. I met a man, a shemlem just like all the others, except… he was different. Decent, even. And…” Verana turned, and looked straight into Ciara’s eyes. “You two have a lot in common. He liked to wear a weird suit of armor and had extraordinary powers, just like yours.”

 “He said his name was Hero and that he was a parahuman.”

For a second Ciara stilled, her heartbeat stopped, and she thought that even the forest itself was listening in on them.

“Are you a parahuman too?”

Chapter Text

A/N: Sooo, I'm rewriting the last few chapters. I'm gonna take them down for a while and fix them a little. This is the new Canon chapter and it takes right after chapter twelve. Also lots of thanks to Bloody, Ridtom and Redironwolf! They made this chapter readable.

Chapter 13: In Hushed Whispers.

Ciara

⊙

His name was Hero and he was a parahuman.

Are you a parahuman too? 

"What," Ciara said, tone dry and hollow. Was she dreaming? Was she trapped again in tht virulent alien nightmare, or had Verana had just said–

Parahuman . 

Verana wasn't supposed to know that word. No one here was supposed to. She was a mage to them, not a cape. How did she know? How could she even conceptualize that word — the Dalish didn’t even know the difference between their powers and what they called magic. 

Parahuman. Parahuman. 

The word ran through her as pure cold – her entire body shivered, her face paled and she hugged herself, hopelessly trying to find some comfort in the action. 

It was useless, as those things ended up being.

And…Hero? As in the Hero? One of the founders of the Triumvirate?

His death had resounded across the entire world— everyone felt it, from the young children buying plastic toys modeled after his image, to the members of the cape community, his Wards and those that simply looked up to him, who wanted to be him.  Everyone grieved, how couldn’t they? He was more than just a man, he was a symbol, a superhero — when that word was associated with something more than a pair of colorful tights and flashy powers.

He was both a paragon and beloved friend, and she was sure that his absence was felt most deeply in one place in particular.

Inside of her a ghost stirred from his slumber  confirming her thoughts — Eidolon still mourned his long departed friend.  Hero’s death was still a festering wound crisscrossing his existence that would never leave. In life, it was his crucible; the beginning of a long series of events that embittered him and doomed him and now, in death, it was his brand — he would never move on, never grow because the High Priest would never let him forget. 

Unnerved by his sorrow, Ciara silenced the ghost before his grievances would spill onto her. She had enough trouble on her own to let a dead man’s last wishes to gain prominence in her life. 

Now, she needed to focus on this unpleasant surprise and wasn’t that a constant patron in her life? 

Most surprises in her life had been of the unpleasant kind; from the harrowing experience of battling the Warrior and watching him kill Eidolon to the embarrassing fact that Ingenue, of all people, managed to get the upper hand on their fight with a new function of her power had made her grow to dislike surprises and what they implied.

"What did you just say?"  Ciara repeated, heart hammering in her chest.

"I think you know." Verana’s voice was coy and playful, treating the implications of her knowledge with a worrying amount of irreverence. It made Ciara worry — the playful ones were the worst, treating everything as if it was a game, until the consequences of their actions appeared and then they were nowhere to be seen, leaving her to clean up the mess as usual. Glaistig Uaine used to be playful and teasing and everything she touched turned into nothing more than madness and ashes. 

Some of her annoyance must have shown on her face, because Verana's expression suddenly turned nervous and she raised her hands in appeasement. 

‘Finally ,’ she thought. ‘ Some seriousness.’

"Sorry, sorry!  I didn't mean to annoy you. I wasn't threatening you in trying to be shady or – fuck, Creators, I'm bad at this. Please don't be offended, serah. I really don't want you to turn me into a frog or whatever you truly do."

Ciara's icy expression could've shattered pure steel. "If you want me to calm down then you can start by explaining yourself."

"Shit, yeah sorry." Verana's face seemed genuinely apologetic but Ciara didn't let her guard down. Not yet, at least.

"How do you know about Hero." Ciara asked, again.

"I met him." 

 "That's impossible." Ciara pointed out.  "He was bisected twenty years ago — he's dead."

"Twenty years? Really?" Verana said, voice tinted with disbelief.  "Fuck, that explains a lot, but no, he isn't dead. I reckon that the first time I saw him he was almost dead, but a healer I knew fixed him up the best she could."

"How long was this?"

"Since I first saw him?" 

"Yes."

"Three years. I was sixteen when I first met him."

'Three years , Ciara thought. ‘ How? He died in the eighties in Bet.' How was it possible that a man died over two decades ago but then appeared alive in another world seventeen years later?

It all gave credence to her theory that this wasn't the real Hero.  He was 

either a copy-cat inspired by the real deal, or a Cauldron‐made clone that was somehow never deployed. But then again he was injured when Verana first saw him…

"How was he? Physically, I mean."

"You say he died bisected by all things? Well he wasn't cut in half when I found him but he looked like shit. He had cuts all over his body and bleeding from every one of them.  I still think it was pure luck I managed to get my friend there as fast as possible."

"Your friend," Ciara said. “How did she help him?"

"The healer? She's pretty good — an apostate and spirit healer that enjoys playing the wandering savior. She owed me a favor and helped him without making many questions. It wasn't easy though, she had to drink like half a liter of lyrium in order to fully patch him up."

"And how he appeared in —"

"Kirkwall."

"In Kirkwall. Last time he was seen in public he was in pieces , yet he somehow managed to appear in your world still alive?"

'Doormaker and the Clairvoyant ?' She thought. 'Did they throw the real hero here and leave a prop on the place of his death?'

That made no sense and she was sounding like a crazy person. 

"I haven't the faintest idea, da'len," Verana said. "I know as much as you do when it comes to his miraculous survival. The mage I know said that Maker himself intervened to save him, but Hero had other ideas. He said his friends helped him. How, I don't know."

"His friends? How did they – oh. Yes. I understand now."

Cauldron, then. Her theory about the clone grew more and more on its certainty.

"Something you might want to share?" 

"Perhaps later. Now it's your turn to answer all of my questions."

"True to that. I guess I owe you a little bit of truth for springing this for you. What do you want to know?"

"You said you met Hero. How?"

"Not a great story there but you have a point. A while ago… something happened that made me wanna leave the clan. Things were hard for me here, and I didn't know how to cope so I took my bow, a bit of food and hitched a ride to the closest city to our campsite — Kirkwall, the city of chains."

"On hindsight it was really stupid to go there, but I was younger then and eager to be anywhere from here," She breathed  anxiously  and shifted on her feet. "I did some stupid shit to earn a living and one specially shitty night he was there  – manifested from thin air, in pieces and bleeding from every pore. I took him to my mage friend and she did the rest."

"She saved his life," Ciara stated.

"She did more than that. She stitched him together and made him resemble a human being again. It wasn't easy, and it was a lot of gold, but he managed to pull through and when he was stable, sleeping there, dead to the world, I…stayed. For some reason or another I chose to stay and from there on I stood by him for a while."

So he was still around, Ciara realized. And he maybe knew more about how to contact other realities.

"Thank you," Ciara said. "I appreciate you telling me that."

"Glad I could help," Verana said. "Now it 's my turn. Tell me about cars."  

Ciara blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on. I know it was petty of me to drop this on you but I need to know more about your world. Hero was really shifty at explaining how things worked there and I really want this. Pretty please, with a cherry on top?"

"I– why cars?"

"Because they sound incredible , that 's why. A self –moving carriage that can get you faster whenever you want to go? It's a dream come true for me."

"You seem to want one."

"Fuck yeah, I want one." she said, voice excited and chipper. "Hallas are cute and anything but they lose a lot of their majesty when it's your turn to clean their shit."

“Hero promised you a car?”

“Not really, he just said that one day he might make me one as a reward for helping me.” Then she blinked and a smile broke on her face. “Can you make me a car?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No. Next question.”

“Pretty please?”

“ Verana.”

The girl flinched and pouted — a gesture that would’ve been slightly more adorable if she wasn’t such an annoyance.

“Okay, fine. Next question.”

“Where’s Hero now?”

The girl opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Umm, that 's a bit complicated to answer.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know exactly where he is but I know where he may be.”

Ciara rubbed her eyes. Why was it never easy? 

“Where?” she asked. She was eager to retire from the evening and return to the warm embrace of her covers yet the mystery of the Hero still called to her. She had to know.

“The first place I can think of is Tevinter,” she started. “Marcus got a really angry and then sad when he learned that they still praticed slavery and he wanted to inmediataly to set sail there and free every slave he saw.”

Ciara frowned. Tevinter. She had heard of the slaving empire ruled by mages and she wasn’t happy of their existence either — she could understand why Hero would try to do something.

“You don’t sound happy about that either,”  Ciara pointed out. 

“Because no one likes Tevinter. That’s all everyone can agreed on but there’s a reason why no one there and freed all the slaves.” She passed her hands through her hair.  “Hundreds have tried and none have succeeded. Slavery is the lifeblood of Tevinter, without it they’re nothing .”

Ciara sighed. Slavery as an institution wasn’t nothing new in the long story of the human race, but it was still depressing to hear that mankind still felt the need to dominate and utterly own others dimensions across from one another.

“So you convinced him not to  go.”

“He would’ve died if he ever set foot in Tevinter,” Verana pointed out. “He has the subtlety of a dragon and the patience of a child in the face of injustice. He would’ve tried to challenge the magisters and died.”

“I see.  Where else.”

“Ferelden,” Verana said. “Land of the dog lords and recent host of a Blight. Marcus got pretty smitten with the Hero of Ferelden and her deeds — he praised her for vying for mage liberation and elven equality and he expressed his desire to go there and help her.”

Ciara frowned. “Ferelden issues seem more political and…less urgent than slavery. Something that requires more long term planning than rushed action.”

“It’s what Helena — my mage friend — told him. It didn’t deter him though. There's a lot of stuff a man like him could do in Ferelden with his powers —  our people were given the Brecilian forest as an enclave and refuge for all the members of the People but the land is corrupted and broken thanks to the Blight. It needs all the help it can get in order to make the land more habitable again. Besides that he could help the starving peasants, maybe kill some bandits of roaming darkspawn. The country is recovering so I would guess all help is welcome.”

“And lastly?”

“Wait,” Verana stopped her. “I've answered all your questions until now, so now It’s my turn. I want to ask something.”

“As long it’s not about cars,” Ciara warned. She didn’t really know anything about them and, besides that they had four wheels and could drive her places, she didn’t feel the need to know more. Of course, others had expressed an interest in such matters — a young Warden had wondered aloud how a tinker-made car would be, how fast it would go and how stylish it would look. Others however were far more esceptical — they pointed out that tinkertech was notoriously temperamental and that cars were already hard to maintain when they were made of mundane materials and by non-powered workers. And if a normal car was prone to already deadly accidents then a power made was a ticking time bomb for many.

The young Warden got quiet after hearing that stopped wishing aloud a parahuman car.

Verana pouted. “It’s not about that, you spoilsport,” then her eyes started glistening. “Tell me about  your cities and organizations. Hero said he was, well, a hero but I never understood much about it. Are you paid to do good deeds like in those Chantry Boards or are more alike to mercenaries – interested only in the coin?”

Ciara felt a pang of irritation at being compared to a mercenary, though she knew it wasn’t Verana’s fault at that. In a way, it was refreshing being able to talk openly about a subject she knew well. She still had to be careful in what she said, but she found relief in stopping her use of double meanings for a small night.

“We’re not mercenaries and you should be wary of using that term with other heroes nearby. Some would consider it offensive.” At each of her words, Verana nodded her head fiercely, her eyes alight with interest and thirst for knowledge. This was a girl eager to learn of the world surrounding her, Ciara realized. It seemed to differentiate her from fellow clan members, who all seemed to yearn for a world separated from the humans.

A young girl trapped by tradition and expectatives, but still yearning for a way out.  Just like in a book. 

“Mercenaries work only for the payment — they don’t consider the moral implications of their actions or the lives affected by them. As heroes we stand opposed to that.” Ciara tried to be factual, trying not to idealize what being a hero meant – it was dangerous to make of her kind these larger than life figures. In many cases it led to a profound misunderstanding of what they were and what they could and should, and in the worst escenario it could end up in delusions of grandeur. 

She knew that well.

"We focus on protecting the citizens of our nation from harm, while keeping law and order – we stop other parahumans who identify themselves as "villains" from using their powers to cause harm and break the law in their selfish pursuit of power and riches. It's not always an easy path, but it's the one I chose."

It felt right to say it this way, she thought. Clinical and clean – focusing on the cold facts without trying to make her own side sound grand and perfect, like some PR expert would try to convince her to do. She wasn't trying to sell Verana anything and she often found that creating illusions just led to a bigger sense of disappointment later.

'Would she be so eager to talk to me if she knew what I was? If she knew of the things I've done and the things these hands can still do .'  She had forgotten how long it was since somebody had spoken to her so freely and searched for her opinion on a matter without reserved wariness or barely repressed fear. She barely knew Verana and, while overwhelming, her attention was… surprisingly nice in a way.

How dreadful to crave something so small, something she had deemed so unnecessary long ago.

Ultimately it was a curse of her own making; she was the one who had wanted to become more human, after all. Not fully human, but a parahuman — now she knew that the distinction was meaningless. She, more than others, was cursed to walk a fine line of having the needs of a person, while still feeling disconnected from the large majority of her peers. A state of being brought both by the closeness with her power and her own inherent self.

More human than before, but never human enough.

Maybe, if she had been more human she wouldn't have been consumed by the Keeper of the Dead. She wouldn't have been buried in that crystalline grave, with million of blood red needles tearing into her, leaving her in an alien Purgatory, where time was both fast enough to be meaningless and yet too slow to be  nothing else but torture. 

In there she had nothing to do but watch her power shatter everything  she had fought for over so long and then, watching the struggle of her fellow parahumans, muse of the chaotic asymmetry that her life had been in all of its glory. All while it passed by in front of her eyes, like a macabre slide show.

A while longer in that strange form of insidious symbiosis and she knew she would either become to Keeper in the Dead in fullness, or go crazy once again. 

Her biggest dream from when Glaistig Uaine still existed now turned into the nightmare of the Valkyrie. How truly ironic.

"So, you're like those shem Knights," Verana said, happy. She looked younger like this, more childish."You fight for the innocent and the weak like in the tales."

"If that's what is needed of us. Then yes."

"When you told us your job was similar to the hunters I thought it would be slightly more bloody and visceral,"  she pointed out. Did you lie?

" I didn’t lie. It can be bloody, like the work of a hunter," Ciara said. "But it often is for a good cause."

Verana was practically vibrating with excitement now. The light of the moon reflected on her eyes and made them look eerie — like the eyes of a bird. 

"Tell me more," she said.

"Later," Ciara said. "I have another question. "What powers the Hero had."

"Umm," Verana said. "He didn't have powers like yours but could do some pretty freaky stuff – he once made a lightning crossbow with some trash and some broken parts that he found on the street. When I wondered how he did that he just told me he could ."

So he's a  tinker. The clone and body double theory grow in strength .

There was still the issue of what kind of tinker he was. 

Only Legend probably remembered Hero’s specialization and I don't think Verana understands.

"Did he ever tell you what kind of tinker he was?" 

"Not really," Verana shrugged. "But in his defense I never cared enough to listen. When he began all the technical chat I usually fell asleep. Helena might know more, though. She loved her talks with Hero."

"And where is Helena, If I might know?" 

"I think she's in Val Royeaux"

Val Royeaux. The capital of the Orlesian Empire. 

She had hoped to avoid those large cities, but now it seemed she had no option to go there.

Verana glanced at her face, searching for something written in it, and, by the looks of it, she had found it. She smiled, and it was the kind of smile the cat gave before trapping the innocent canary on its claws. 

"…I can take you there," she said, mischievously. "Since you don't know how to get there."

Ciara narrowed her eyes. What had prompted that?

"Why?" She asked.

Verana lost her smile and looked at her sides, dedicating a  glance to the distant fires of the gathering and the laughter that came from it before turning back to Ciara.

Ciara had forgotten the presence of the others during the talk.

"Because I need you to get me out of here, '' the elf girl hissed, taking a few frantic steps to Ciara. All of the previous mischievousness was gone now and, in its place, anxiousness had settled in. "I'm driving myself crazy stuck here."

Ciara tilted her head in confusion. "Isn't this your home?"

"Yes, and it's fucking boring.  There's nothing to do here but watch the sick and hunt prey." Verana's voice gained a desperate tint, her hands touching each other in a clear sign of nervousness. "I miss the open road, the excitement of uncertainty and, Creators, I even miss the stench of piss, shit and cum that some of the cities have. Those were the smells of freedom.

“It was hard living in the city. The humans were mean to me and the other elves were split in how I fit in their worldviews, but it was mine. My life, my decisions.   Now I feel stuck in someone else's story, becoming someone I don’t recognize and hating that person. Maybe it’s selfish of me but I can’t stay — this was supposed to be a few week’s visit and it turned into a half–year of running around, caring for the sick and watching my friends die. I’m tired , Valkyrie, just like everyone is tired but they don’t know better. They don’t know what true freedom is.”

Ciara looked at the younger girl in front of her. Really looked at her. She was younger than Ciara, happier and from a different species even, but for a fleeting moment, she felt as if they shared something.

Ciara had also wanted to be free and unrestrained a long time ago. 

Nonetheless, she couldn't take the girl. She had to make haste and find Hero. This had stopped being an humanitarian mission the moment Hero’s name was mentioned. Now, it was official Wardens business.

She was also quite certain that the Keeper would be displeased if she poached one of the members of her clan.

"I don't think the clan would be happy If I took you in," Ciara pointed out.

'You have a family here,' Ciara thought. 'People who love and care for you. Why are you so ready to throw it all away? Do you want to be free so badly that you leave behind something that many others crave so much?'

"Fuck the clan. I love them but… fuck them," Verana said. "There's no future for me here. You don’t even know what fate awaits me If I stay. Do you even want to know?

"I do," Ciara said. If only to calm her down.

"I'm gonna have to marry Mahanon and breed for the cause," she said, derisively. "Instead of doing what I do best I'm gonna have to take care of a bunch of mewling brats that will cry and shit all day. That if I don't die when I push them out of me – it happened to my aunt. She bled out and no magic could help her."

"You're promised to someone?" Ciara asked, incredulous. She'd expected arranged marriages from noble houses, not from a group of nomadic elves.

"We don't call it that," Verana said. "That's how shem do it and we're not like that. We call it bonding. Apparently I played with Mahanon when I was a baby and that made us destined lovers."

"I-I'm sorry. Ciara said. "Can't you do anything about it?" She didn't know what to say. No one had ever complained to her about arranged marriages.

"And what will I do? The Keeper won't budge. She has too much riding on this." Then her eyes met Ciara. "But she will if you ask her."

"What?"

"Think about it! You'll be the clan's savior! She'll ask you what you want in return and then you can say you want me. She won't like it but she'll have to."

Ciara took a step back. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you need help! You don't know the ways of the land, it's customs. I do. I've been to Ferelden, the Free Marches and Orlais. I'm well traveled. I can help you."

"I-" Ciara took another step back but Verana advanced relentlessly. 

"I know how to shoot a bow, how to hunt. I can speak several languages and I have contacts all around the continent and, most importantly, I know Hero. I can help you find him."

"I think I can handle myself quite well." Ciara said.

"Really? Okay, then." Verana said, smugly.  "Tell me who's the current ruler of Orlais then and who won the Landsmeet in Ferelden years ago during the Blight."

Ciara didn't know. She knew Deshana had told her when she was teaching Ciara the alphabet and told her about the last happenings in this world but she just couldn't   remember. There were lots of things to do.

Moments passed in silence before Verana smirked in victory.  "The current ruler of Orlais is Empress Celene Valmont, who ascended to the throne in 9:20 of the Dragon Age, our current age. Meanwhile King Alistar Therin won the Landsmeet in 9:30 Dragon thanks to the help of the soon-to-be Hero of Ferelden — Solona Amell. In the Landsmeet King Alistair announced he was going to marry the Widow Queen, Anora Mac Tir, daughter of the traitor Loghain Mac Tir. The Landsmeet was capped off by the controversial decision of the Hero to turn Loghain into a Grey Warden, which caused the new King to storm off in anger. It was later rumored that the King had been bedding Warden Amell and was heartbroken at her decision, while others claimed she was sleeping with everyone but him, with the list of her potential lovers including, but not limited to: a drunk dwarf, an ex-orlesian spy, a forest witch, a qunari, an assassin that had been sent to kill them, only to be seduced and a rock golem.”

Ciara looked at Verana, mouth slightly open . That had been…something.

“So you see you do need me. I can help.”

“You don’t even know if I’ll manage to heal your people.”

 “If you’re half as determined, powerful and decisive as you’re beautiful then yes, I’ll know you can do it.” Verana batted her eyelashes while saying this while a sultry smile let the message even more clear.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Ciara said, frowning. She still didn't know how to respond to flirting. Perhaps she should read a book about it?

“You’ll be surprised the places it has gotten me in,” Verana stepped close enough to touch her. Just a brush, a single caress on Ciara’s empty hand but, somehow, it was enough to make Ciara’s cheeks warm.

The heroine stepped back as Verana gave her knowing smile.

“Even so, it could be dangerous,” Ciara said, grabbing the hand the elf had touched.

“Even better. I’m dangerous too.”

Ciara sighed, tiredness seeping in. She did need guidance; she only knew the barebones of this land and Verana seemed capable enough, if slightly insubordinate.

She wasn’t a civilian but her lack of powers still made Ciara feel ambivalent at taking her — she had no doubts that Verana would be able to defend herself from normal enemies but powers tended to touch everything and taint it; this situation seemed reeked in powers and considering where she was she couldn’t discount the possibility of sorcery. 

But without her Flock and only with her shadows she knew she would need more help.

“I’ll - I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

Verana smiled. “Then it’s a deal,” she said. "Once you find a cure for Bane, I’ll take you to Val Royeaux and then to Hero. I can’t wait!”

“I said that I’ll think about it.”

“Sure, sure! It’ll be a pleasure to travel with you, partner. Have a pleasant night!”

Ciara just sighed. Already regretting her words.

Chapter Text

Verana Lavellan

 ⊙

Before.

In the Dalish everyone had a place, a path to walk on that would somehow benefit the clan in its entirety. In the eyes of the Creators they were all small  seeds, growing in the lush garden of the Elvhenan, all enmeshed and blooming as one so, one day, their little grove could grow and thrive. 

As a child Verana always liked to imagine herself as a tiny sprout; a little green weed that one day would grow to a giant ancient tree, covered in moss and solid as an oak; a pillar of the Dalish.

But for that to happen, for all to grow into strong oaks, they all had respective roles and grooves to fill. In the Dalish everyone had to work, there was no other choice, after all. The last true elves were few in number, so they all had to do their best to ensure the survival of the clan. Some roles were even chosen from before their birth, an act Verana found quite abominable since it gave the Dalish elders the incorrect notion that their desires could somehow mutate the harsh realities of their lives. 

She always took great pleasure in reminding others, and herself, that the path of a huntress was one she chose for herself, it wasn't one she had intended to take originally or one the clan expected it would fit to her. 

Verana was, after all, born of magic. She came from a long line of mages and Dalish sages that had been bred with a care and caution that would make a Tevinter magister proud. Her mother had come from the womb of a mage married to a hunter with mage blood in his bloodline, and it was expected that she would bond and marry someone with magic in his lineage; all in order to assure that at least one of her children would carry the gift.

Their hopes were fulfilled with Verana's sister, sweet Mahiel. With her honey eyes, perfect smile and skill with magic, she was the clan’s perfect heir and Verana’s perfect sister. Everything Verana wanted to be but never would. 

“You should be more careful, Vee,” Mahiel said, as she healed Verana’s scraped knee. “Mother already said that you shouldn’t climb trees. It’s dangerous and you could get seriously hurt.”

Verana remembers sniffing and crying. She wasn’t a crier, she was a quiet child, but her sister had a special spell where she would act all worried and sad and that would make Verana sad in turn but it couldn’t be helped .  She was an active child; all she wanted was to run and play, but no one ever paid her any attention, and she was stuck listening to harhen Paivel boring stories every day.

"Oh, don't cry, you dummy. Here, I made it all better," her sister finished healing Verana and then kissed her cheek with a tenderness a mother should have. "I will not tell mother of this, okay? This'll be our little secret as long as you promise you won't do it again."

Verana just kept sniffing, grateful for her sister's kindness and embarrassed that she had been caught. She trusted Mahiel, though; she never went back on her promises and always had time for her little sister, even when the elders and her mother told her that she had more important things to do.

There were others that could have filled the shoes of First of the Keeper, but they were ancient costumes in place. A tradition that made Verana’s family vital for the continuance of the clan and the special magic that ran through their veins. Mahiel’s birth assured that the rituals and bindings would be preserved for another generation and, along with them, the future of the clan.

Magic was, after all, the lifeblood of the Dalish. Without it they were nothing. 

 But then the fire claimed her sister and everything unravelled. Mahiel’s death disrupted centennial spells that needed to be remade fast so, as the second daughter, everyone expected Verana to pick the role and preserve the clan.

This time, their hopes went unfulfilled. Several attempts were made to unleash her supposed talent for spellcraft, each one more humiliating than the other, but they were all for naught. Verana was as magical as a potted plant one could find on a shem market. 

“Focus on the smoke, Verana. On the way it moves and waves. Focus on the smells, the whispers of the herbs and their combined fragrance. Can you feel it, how it opens your mind to the wonders of the Beyond? How the power of your bloodline becomes unlocked?”

Elder Vehari was a contemporary of Verana’s mother. A mage powerful and wise enough to become a Keeper in another clan and, if it wasn’t for the omnipresent chains of tradition, she could’ve even challenged Deshana for the role of guide of the clan. Sadly, she had chosen a life of teaching and child rearing, with multitude duties aside. One of which, apparently, was to create the last desperate attempt to make Verana a sorceress of great power; drug Verana with “ sleeping vapours” in order to unlock the inner magic everyone was convinced she possessed.

The ritual was also supposed to use ancient herbs and hymns to send her to “trip between the realms”, so she could see what lay beyond the Veil and connect to the Beyond, finally continuing with the family tradition of casting spells. Sadly, all what the smoke gave her were rummy eyes and a cough that threatened to steal all of her breath away.

In the end, it was all a disappointment; Verana’s hand never sparked with the warmth of fire, or with the coolness of ice. The ancient scrolls that all apprentices needed to learn only made her snooze and, eventually, it didn’t take too long for rebellion to replace obedience and for Verana to stop doing whatever everyone wanted her to do and start doing what she desired. 

“Verana! Masal din'an, child! You better come back here, before I tell your mother.”

That phrase became her oath, for what it felt like weeks. Verana walked and ran around the camp, both grieving and acting out as the teachers and elders passed her around like an unwanted potato sack, because her mother was too busy grieving her favourite daughter to remember she had another one. Grey and blue tinted her days, she had nothing to do and no one that needed her. 

Unwanted and unnecessary, she was adrift and filled with malaise. Until, one day, her eyes and ears were drawn to an elegant pinewood red bow wielded by a hunter with a strident voice.

“Remember, take a deep breath as you draw the bowspring and then release it alongside the arrow! Don’t let failure discourage you! Everyone struggles the first time.”

Huntmaster Parel was a kindly old man, whose ability to inspire respect seemed to grow when teaching the young the arts of the bow and arrow. Verana had always been curious of the hunters, how they were free to run and climb the branches of the tallest trees, with everyone singing praises to their actions, while she got nothing but punishment and scorn when she did the same. 

The father of her mother had been a hunter, an accomplished tracker and killer with a talent in skinning prey and inspiring his fellow warriors but, equally poor at husbandry and fatherhood. He tried to apply the rules of the forest and the wilds to parenting, as if Deshana was an animal, but instead of obedience he only earned hatred and banishment. Either way, he marked Deshana in more ways than one before leaving.

Verana knew that while her mother didn’t blame all the hunters for the actions of one, she also didn’t have much appreciation for the members of her generation. When news arrived that Verana’s grandfather had finally died, no tears were shed, the grave was shallow and the tree planted above it was from another climate; unsuited to the lush greenery of Orlais and born to die.

The wake was brief and tightly controlled as well; no one wanted to make an enemy of the Keeper and, after enough time had passed, Deshana made a bonfire of  everything that belonged to him, with his aravel, in particular, making a particularly big fire on that chilly night.

From then on, Deshana swore that no child of hers would become a warrior, something Verana knew very well and just made her want to pick up the bow and take a shot even more. 

 She finally acted on her passion one sunny afternoon; she was sneaking through the bushes during the waning hour of the sun, the time when the people in the practice zone were the fewest and, with great hesitation, she went and picked the red wood bow she had seen days ago and now  couldn't get out of her mind.

It was a beautiful piece; made of a rare red tree and shaped by the magic of an old witch that owed the clan a favour. Its curved shape made her want to hold it forever and the unnaturally beautiful carvings of animals chasing and killing each other drew something in her she couldn't properly describe; it was an inner part of herself she wasn't aware that existed until now. One that had been waiting for a situation like this, where Verana would find something that really made her heart beat faster and faster with every second that passed.

For some girls it was flowers, others liked the cute critters of the forest, while a small minority of the clan girls just went straight to talk about boys and forbidden naughty things like kisses and adult stuff. 

Verana had always gone along in those moments; the fear of ostracization drove her in those scarce instances where the other girls in the clan forgot who she was and treated her like their friend, so she usually nodded and agreed to whatever the group had collectively agreed that was "cute" or "beautiful" that week. 

Verana caressed the almost translucent bowstring and shivered at the sensation it caused on her fingers. A warm feeling rose from the depths of her heart to spread to the rest of her tiny body and she almost gasped at how long it was she had felt so certain of something, so safe.

In that moment she realised that other girls could have their flowers, their cats and their cute boys, because she had found the most precious thing in the whole world and in those scant seconds it was all hers.

Everything faded away and, with trembling fingers, Verana strung an arrow. It was quite difficult, she was still young and weak, and the bow was clearly designed for someone older and stronger, but she had nothing else to do and, with the clarity that only the very young possesed, she knew she'd rather eat halla shit that return to the healing lessons, or crafting classes or even the ones about halla care. Verana tried each of her mother’s requests and she failed in each of them.

She wasn’t focused enough to learn how to mend wounds, she found the art of crafting objects boring and the majesty of hallas faded away the instant they lifted their hind legs to take a long yellow piss.

But maybe she could do this. Maybe this i s what she was meant to do.

She knocked the arrow, took a deep breath and, with shaking arms, she let go.

The arrow never reached the target, failing at least several feet away from meeting the target.

Verana stared at her failed shot. That was it? 

For a second, tears threatened her eyes and her lips started trembling; the sting of failure digging deep in her heart.

“That was a good attempt, da'len, but that bow is a little too big for you.”

Verana turned, surprise overriding her sadness. Hahren Parel stared at her, a kindly smile grazing his wizened face.

Then she looked down at her hands and surprise gave way to shame. Right, the pretty bow wasn’t hers and she took it without permission.

 She bowed her head and offered the bow to the elder hunter. “Forgive me hahren. I just saw it and– forgive me. I just wanted to touch it.” 

She felt the wave being taken from her arms and then a gentle hand ruffled her dirty hair. Verana  rose her head, fully expecting a lecture and a punishment, only to find the elder smiling sadly at her.

“You’re a very bright girl, Verana. You know that, right?” There was profound sadness underlying his words but, at that moment, Verana didn’t realize it.

“Hahren?”

“Do you like that bow, da’len?”

“I –” she stopped. baffled at how the conversation had turned. “Y-Yes,” she said, hesitant. “It is quite beautiful, hahren.”

“It was a gift from a very old friend of mine, little one. She owed us a few favours and this was one of the ways she chose to repay us. “ He caressed the bow lovingly and then turned to look at Verana again. “It is very precious to me so I can’t promise I will lend it to you, but –” He stopped, doubt briefly flickering in his face. A short internal battle passed before he nodded to himself and spoke again. “Would you like to learn the way of the bow and the blade, da’len?”

The question struck deep. Verana took a step back, unsure what to answer. A refusal was ready on the tip of her tongue, the excuse half-formed and starting with “my mother wouldn’t like that.” She was ready to say no, but then a memory floated to the limits of her consciousness and anger flooded in.

Her mother, always praising Mahiel, while ignoring Verana. Her mother, disappointed that Verana hadn’t shown magical potential yet. Her mother, grieving alone and ignoring the one daughter she still had and needed her and, lastly, her mother passing Verana like an unwanted sack  to all adults in the clan, dismayed and angry that she wasn't, and would never be, her dead sister. 

Why should she care for the opinion of a woman that never cared for her at all? 

Weeks later, when Dhesana managed to wake from her torpor, she tried to turn her last daughter on a halla keeper, only to find a hunter apprentice in her place.

 ⊙

Now. 

Verana hated reminiscing about the past. She always thought that some things should remain buried and still. Sadly, in her current position, there wasn’t anything better to do.

She watched her prey from her place above the ground, laying still in the tick and green branches of an ancient oak. Her whole body was camouflaged; the extensive foliage and her green light armour providing the necessary cover in order to do her job. In another time, another world, she would’ve enjoyed this — there was nothing better than the hunt in her humble opinion. To stalk a predator and challenge the odds, that was her joy in life. Hunting prey was well and good, but Verana hadn’t experienced all the things she had by being safe and cautious. 

She craved those seconds of pure action, those instances where the world stood still while her arrow flew,  but even after years of practising her craft she learned she still lacked patience for the eternal waiting that preceded the killing stroke. By now, she would’ve already moved and finished her tail thrice over, but both Ellara and that wrinkled bastard Darevas had made clear that no killing was allowed, which made Verana quite unhappy since it turned her, an excellent tracker and killer in her humble opinion, to an annoyed and tired spy with a sore ass.

Her discomfort couldn’t be helped; she had been stuck in an uncomfortable position for what it felt like hours — with her back leaning against the rough bark of the tree's trunk and her legs  carefully positioned in two diverging tree branches that split at the same place, she was sitting in a pretty good position, if your intention was to pass beneath notice. Sadly, whoever marked the tree didn't account for comfortability — she had just enough space to sit, but not enough to feel safe and her ass was starting to hurt thanks to the roughness of her friend, the oak tree.  Worse, she couldn't distract herself with anything: not only was she alone, but the success of her task depended on remaining as quiet as possible for an unreasonable amount of time. Nine hunters were chosen, which made four teams of two and one unlucky bastard that had to brave the whole afternoon on their own.

Sadly, Verana proved herself to be that one bastard without a partner after she literally drew the short stick in the selection process. 

Unfortunately, her plan of escape hadn't worked either. The poor scrub she was thinking of shoving watcher duty, Nithras, got a better offer by Ellara, which he obviously accepted since he was hopelessly in love with her since they were thirteen.

Not like Ellara noticed. Her friend tended to like men with balls and Nithras, sadly, was born without a functioning pair.

And he probably wouldn't know how to use them if he got a pair.  Hells, If I showed him a pair of tits he would probably faint.

For a second she entertained the idea of actually doing that, just to shake things up for a bit but immediately discarded after a few seconds. Not really worth it.

Verana sighed and took a peek below.

Speaking of men without balls…

The two Templars moved with quivering caution as they searched for their mysterious apostate. Every bush was poked, every tree touched and all animals treated with weariness as the two knights walked in circles, pointlessly searching for a man that wasn't here.

Unless he knows the spell to turn yourself into a daisy or nug.

The two idiots had been doing this for the last two hours, so they either really believed that the mage had turned himself into shrubbery or they were just killing time until nightfall came and they had to return to the safety of their camp.

Probably a bit of both. The one with the mace seemed to genuinely believe we kidnapped shems to eat them, so they aren’t very clever.

In between rounds of circling the same terrain over and over, the two would stop and start talking shit like a pair of stable boys, which served as further proof that they had no idea about what they were doing. She guessed they would stop walking in a few minutes and then spent the next half-hour gossiping about this and that.

Well, at least this activity wouldn’t be completely worthless. Thanks to such enlightening conversations she would be able to inform her mo- the Keeper about important topics like: Mother Eloise love for carrot cakes and how fat she had gotten recently, how aparently the Knight–Commander was fucking the guard captain and had the bones of an abomination on his living room, also apparently elves liked to eat grass like rabbits and, that somehow, the mages and templars from the White Spire did massive orgies every full moon where demons were summoned and used to sate the most base needs of everyone participating. 

Truly illuminating stuff, all of it. 

Above her, a squeak and the slight movements of branches revealed a  red squirrel that chittered and ran along the branches, watching her with wariness from its superior position as it probably searched for some tasty nuts.  Verana smiled at the small beast. 

Finally, some good company.

Verana was tempted to call it down and offer some of her food; hers was a lonely and droll task, and some quiet company would be appreciated. She would have to be careful that the little one didn't bite her or tried to squirrel inside of her armour like the last one tried to but, eh, she could handle it, if her furry friend tried. 

She grabbed a pair of dried fruits from a pouch on her belt and the critter tilted his head, curiosity shining through its black eyes and its cute button nose. Verana smiled as the little guy approached timidly and, for a second, she thought it was going to bite her finger and ran away but, unsurprisingly, it smelled the druid fruits and began eating one with gusto.

“Are you hungry sweetie?” she whispered, watching how her new friend ate. “Eat all you want, I have that and more to give, if you’re interested.”

The little guy did so and quickly grabbed another piece of fruit.

“Aren’t you cute?'' she cooed. “You are. You are, my sweet.”

The squirrel stopped eating and turned to look at the Templars on the ground. As predicted, they had stopped their pointless patrolling and replaced it with more inane talking.

 Verana sharpened her ears. 

“— and apparently he told me that they make discounts for members of the Order in the Blushing Beauty. Can you believe it? I’m telling you, we should go there. There’s a antivan whore there and, let me tell you, everyone tells me she gives the best—”

“Is that even an appropriate way to refer to a lady?” his partner interrupted him, voice indignant and embarrassed. “As members of the Order we have sworn an oath of celibacy and duty. Referring to a woman in such a way is unsightly and a blemish to our sacred vows.”

“She ain’t a lady, Aloïs. She’s a whore and a good one too. Worth her coin.”

The aforementioned Aloïs made a disgusting sound and his partner snorted.

“Are you seriously telling me you'd rather be an eunuch, like the Knight– Captain?” The  unnamed man laughed, an strident sound that rattled across the clearing.  “He asked for a permit to marry a girl he met in the city and those crones told him where to shove it. Those hags in the Chantry; they want your prick to be as dry as their wrinkled cunts. Don’t give them the satisfaction. Enjoy life, blueblood.”

 Aloïs just crossed his arms and said, “No.”

They started squabbling again and Verana decided to ignore them for now. As usual the conversation shed absolutely nothing of use besides explaining why Templars were always so moody and grouchy. Besides the lyrium addiction.

I'd be mad too If I needed to ask a dried-up corpse of a priestess if I can have some fun. She thought. 

The squirrel eventually stopped eating and Verana took the opportunity to softly caress his (because he was a he, she checked) fluffy head. The sweet critter took well to her touch and closed his eyes.

“Aren’t you a charmer,” she murmured. The little beast gave a soft purr in response and, for a second, Verana let herself enjoy the peace of those brief moments and forget the meniality of her daily life

Unfortunately the quiet also dredged long delayed issues and uncomfortable questions she had refused to answer before. 

Why did I come back? she asked herself. She was happy travelling, doing whatever she wanted, free as a bird. What drove her to come back to a clan she knew she wasn’t welcome? To the grave of her relationship with the Keeper and how, from their points of view, she had betrayed the clan by not adhering to her chosen destiny. 

She had been content as a mercenary, in the dirty cities of the shems but, somehow, she had let that fool of a man convince to go back to the hold of a clan she had left years ago.

“Family is important, Vee,” the voice of Hero whispered in her ears. “ What we’re doing is dangerous and you could get hurt. You should go find them at least one more time and clear the air. I’ll be waiting for you when you get back but you need to do this.”

Liar, she thought. You just thought I was weak. That I couldn’t help you because I didn’t have powers, or any sort of magic. 

She could see it in Ciara as well. The reluctance; that insidious poison whispered to them that she wasn’t capable. That she couldn’t help them because she couldn’t summon spirits to help her fight or build strange trinkets built on imagination and common trash. 

That she was completely useless because she had been born wrong.

But they need me and I can help. I’ll prove it to them.

She could see it as well in them. The power, the adventure. Both Hero and Ciara were people that made waves, even when they didn’t want to. Whatever they went ripples happened and she wanted to be part of that. She wanted to be important, necessary. 

But, most of all, she wanted to get as far as she could from the clan and never return. To leave the trappings and responsibilities Verana Lavellan, daughter of the Keeper and burn everything behind that tied her to her previous life and to her sin to be born without magic.

“ The ancient rituals must continue, child,” the condescending voice of her progenitor repeated, in the depths of her mind, “As you well know, the future of our clan depends on it.”

She didn’t remember much of that fight. Only scattered pieces and words. She had been angry, so angry. She remembers pulling her knife breaking some old nicks knacks that Deshana had lying around but, besides that…everything went black and she couldn’t recall the precise conversation. Only the end was spared of such forgetfulness.

“Mahanon is a good lad,” Deshana had pleaded. “ He’s kind and skilled, he’ll treat you well and make you happy. Please, da’len. Would you just consider this? ”

But Verana didn’t want to marry him. She hadn’t bonded with him and she barely knew him. All of her life he had just been Ellara’s twin brother, and now this? 

“Would you just listen!? I won’t marry him, mother! I don’t care about him and I have no desire to have children!”

“We all have a duty to the clan, daughter. In order to survive we must sometimes do things we do not want. You will do as you’re told and marry him for the greater good of the clan. Is the only way.”

Those words triggered something dark in Verana. Something ugly she barely managed to contain, before she spoke again. “No,” she said and then left.

That night she grabbed everything she could and left the camping site never to look back.

And now, I’m back. My best friend still hates me for leaving her behind, I’m still engaged to her brother and now we’re under risk of dying by red lyrium. 

Oh, Ellara didn’t say that she was still really angry, but she’d shown her displeasure in a multitude of subtle ways. Forcing her to a watcher’s duty without no one to talk to had been the latest and most blatant of them. 

She’s truly become the First of the Keeper, Verana thought. Refusing to talk to me about the issue between us, while being passive–aggressive and a pain in the ass? Classic Keeper behaviour. Deshana must be proud.

In the end it was pointless; she wasn’t planning on staying long enough for her mother and the elders to organise the wedding. The second Ciara finished her cure she was going to take them both to Val Royeaux and then to Hero where she could do something else than take care of the sick and mope about a past long lost.

She promised herself that she wouldn’t become like the rest of her kind; complacent and coward. She would escape the dark woods and leave a mark upon the world, one that not even the humans would be able to deny. 

Nodding to herself, she checked below to the Templars who, surprisingly, hadn’t resumed their rutinary walking. Instead they were just sitting back, relaxing on the soft grass, while they kept talking. However, this time, the topic was infinitely more interesting than before.

“So, is it confirmed? The potions, I mean.” Aloïs, the Templar asked.  

His companion grunted, pulling the helmet of his face to reveal a tanned and bearbed face with a scar running on one side. “The Knight–Lieutenant confirmed it this morning. A whole new batch; it should last us until we capture that abomination and see about the elf issue.”

“That sounds a bit…excessive.” 

“That is because you never were in the field for so long without lyrium. You an’ me? We'll be fine. We only started taking it recently but, the commanders, captains and lieutenants? They tend to get…twitchy without their regular dose of the blue.”

“How so?” Aloïs asked.

“Believe me, you don’t want to know. Just thank the Maker that the new potions arrived fast from the capital.”

Yes, thank the Maker, Verana thought. Because he provides for even his most unloved children. Even when he doesn’t intend to.

  The mages had complained about a lack of lyrium potions hadn't they? They were all rather nervous about the Keeper using more of her precious blood to maintain the barrier and risk the chances that a nasty demon would come from the Fade to feast, but now… a solution had appeared

 The Templars just received hundreds of lyrium potions, all ripe for the taking. Surely they wouldn’t miss a few of them, right? Didn’t the Maker teach generosity to the most poor and despondent?

It was an unforgettable opportunity; one Verana knew Deshana would never go after. She was too careful to properly act on it, but she had always taken certain pride in being as different from her mother as she could.

She thought of Ciara and Hero, how they doubted her capabilities, then her mind differed to the rest of the clan, to Ellara and Deshana; how they pitied her for her lack of magic.

They never gave me a chance. 

The clan didn’t trust her, Ciara was doubtful about taking her when she left and, in a way, that was alright. Verana would just need to prove what she could do. To prove them all, one last time, of her worth.

Mind filled with ideas, Verana waited until the Templars started moving away from her tree. Then, silently, she moved away from her hiding spot.

To the direction of the Knight Templars main camp.