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Max Trevelyan is five years old. Sorcha learns that as they both swing in and out of consciousness. He is a mage, and he is very scared, but he quite likes his blonde-haired angel. It makes her laugh, more of a cough in their fevered state. He tends to switch languages, and it always makes Sorcha confused when he lapses into something that sounds like Latin and yet too old to be Latin. They sleep, and Sorcha is running through New York again, in the middle of the battle against Loki, but there is something else there. Someone else there, a shadow with six eyes, and a tall man that she can’t ever see when she turns.
When she wakes properly, she and Max are in chains, and there are swords pointed at them. Her jaw jumps in irritation, what is a five year old going to do? Greenlight flairs and Sorcha shifts, looking at Max. He whimpers in pain and she shushes him softly, scooting closer so he can lean on her. He fairly falls on her instead, and she raises her arms so he can pillow his head on her thigh. It’s as much to calm him as it is to protect him.
But the swords are sheathed as a door opens from above and heavy steps come down. Heavy followed by lighter. Sorcha tenses, and waits, eyes accustomed to the low light of the lamps in here. Though, as she looks around, she’s confused. Wood beams, torches, Iron that is clearly eroding and corroding from the smell of it. Unwashed bodies, piss, and decay. This isn’t any jail from New York, or even her current decade.
“Sag mir, warum sollten wir nicht euch beide töten, genau jetzt.” Her eyes jerk to the woman standing before her. Women. A redhead and a very severe brunette. Though the redhead is making herself small, Sorcha knows better, she is the one to worry about. But the German. She knows it. It’s nor exactly modern German, some of the words aren’t right, but Sorcha can translate the gist of it.
“Die Konklave wurden zerstört und alle starben.” The woman circles them, and Sorcha splits her attention, glimpses of a metal that is purple, a tabard with an eye on it, sword on the belt, greaves, gloves. It’s all too serious to be acting, and the smell. They are both wreathed in death and snow. “Außer dir…”
It takes her a moment, before she speaks, stilling the child who is now cowering against her. “Ich weiß nicht, was passiert ist…” Her words are slow, clear but heavily accented. This isn’t her native tongue, but she’s doing her best. “Er hätte nichts damit zu tun. Und ich werde niemanden ohne Grund töten. Fragen Sie die anderen Avengers, wir retten Menschen, wir schaffen keine Angst auf der Straße!”
Her answer doesn’t seem to calm or please the women. The one with the tabard lunges grabs Max’s hand and shoves it into Sorcha’s face, making Max cry. And that? That’s enough for Sorcha. It’s nothing to break the cuffs, and they fall at her feet as she stands, pushing the woman away from Max.
“Berühren Sie ihn nicht!” She doesn’t touch anyone, and hastily retreats, putting herself over Max, one foot on either side of his body, they have to go through her to get to him, and she won’t let anyone kill a child. For some reason, that gets the Redhead’s attention.
“Cassandra,” Leliana calls to the Seeker, and the Seeker who’s hands are clenched tilts her head toward them. “Her common is terrible, or perhaps, she has learned a different dialect, but the boy is precious to her. Her armor is unknown, she healed very quickly, and she protects him. Best we just take them to the front and see what they do. If they attempt to run, we kill them, if they fix this… perhaps they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Had it not been a child and woman curled around him protectively that they’d found, Leliana may have been willing to torture them both for information. But children are rarely the cause of such terrible dealings as these, and the woman – with eyes like lyrium – did not attack, only protected the child when he gave sounds of fear and pain. Something they could use to their advantage, no doubt. That, and the strength in such a slight, unusually tall woman would be to their advantage in the field.
“Sorcha,” Max whimpers, and leans against the woman who had kept him safe. While the other women talk and speak of killing them, she’s crouched down, and broken his chains. She checks him over, not liking the ashen pallor of his skin.
“Max. It’s going to be all right,” she whispers to him, lilting syllables easy for her, her mother’s language it flows like English does from her lips, normal, unhurried. “I promise it will be all right.”
“They’re going to kill us.” He tries to blink away his tears, and Sorcha has him in her arms, rocking him without thought. She had always wanted children, always had a soft spot for them, more so after the serum. Everything about her turned up to maximum, the Doctor had said. Well, maternal instincts were on high alert here.
“No, little one, no. I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”
Leliana tilts her head at the pair, noting how the blonde has scooped the child into her arms. How she has freed him but not made to escape yet. It is not what most would do. It is not what she would do. Though, as she’s gotten older, what she would do has changed dramatically. She would have sacrificed the child for her freedom in a heartbeat. She would have slit throats and escaped far before Cassandra made it into the bowels of the temple.
This woman makes no attempt at any of it, not even at fighting her way free. The Marcher Gaelic leaves her lips with an ease that speaks of fluency, which Common had not. It’s curious. The woman is a soldier and yet speaks little Common. Her complexion is so clear it speaks of her being quite well off, her teeth are perfect, her hair long, soft. All of these things tell Leliana, this Sorcha is nobility. But Common is beyond her.
“Take them to the forward camp, Cassandra. I will meet you there. The child won’t survive much longer.” She speaks loud enough for the child to hear and he clings to the blonde, wailing in fear. It makes those eerie blue eyes snap to her face, and they promise pain for what has befallen the child. It is, strange.
Cullen has never seen a warrior such as Sorcha. When she showed up, Varric in tow, no child in sight, he’d been annoyed. Had they lost the child? But speaking with Varric reveals she’s told them to split up, she would come here, with him as her guard, and the rest were to go with Max, and find the scouts. She hoped, apparently, that it would be safer for the child, surrounded with warriors, than taking him through this. Odd. He barks an order at her and she levels a flat stare at him. She’s only got that strange disk shield they’d found with her and the child. He thrusts the handle of a sword at her, and she ignores him, instead, she throws her shield, and he is completely baffled. Enough that his concentration on the demons is cut and she saves his life.
The unknown Warrior is fast, faster than anyone he’s ever battled with, and strong. Her shield cuts down demons in seconds and she seems to be able to throw it in such a manner as it will always bounce back. He sees her pick up a sword once and takes down a terror demon in a swing. Even Qunari cannot do that, and he wonders if she’s been possessed. The glow of her blue eyes gave a certain kind of credence to such a thought.
But it is when she attacks the tear in the veil that the glow comes to make sense. It is otherworldly, her eyes flair, her shield is engulfed in flame as she slams it into the center of the rip. It’s like she reaches into the Fade, and then pulls the seam shut with the shield and her eyes. And it pains her greatly, he can see it as she grits her teeth, wrenching back her arm, eyes dulling for a moment. Even without the glow, her eyes are eerily blue. The kind that cuts right through you and sees your soul no matter how you hide it.
She speaks in lilting Marcher at him, and he regrets never having learned any off Rylen before she darts away toward the child who yells her name and breaks from the group around him to collide with her legs. There is a bloody gash across the child’s forehead, and she lights into the Mage, Solas, and the Seeker for it. He needn’t understand her words to know how upset she is.
Varric sidles up beside him, cleaning gore off the bolts. “She’s different, isn’t she?”
“Like no one I’ve ever met,” Cullen agrees gruffly. “Doesn’t she speak common?”
“Not well. It’s stilted and some of her phrasings is off as if she’s not speaking proper Thedas common.” Varric spits and hums. “But that kid, she speaks to him like he’s hers. Could be, were he as towheaded as her.”
“Will he survive this?” Cullen looks at the child that is on the Soldier’s shoulder. He doesn’t look good. Ashen under the blood as she carries him toward the temple. She carries him without issue, not that a child as slight as that would burden her. Still, it is worrying, and she is clearly worried, pausing, turning to call for Varric, her accent is odd, almost Dwarven, but with undercurrents of Starkhaven and Ostwick Marcher lilt. Solas is there as well, gesturing for the child and she is shaking her head, motioning for him to just cast his magic.
“I sure hope so, Curly. I heard she broke her chains when Cass made him cry. Imagine what she’ll do if he dies.”
Cullen does not want to find out what rage would turn that woman into.
A week later, and the Commander is meeting Sorcha and Maxwell properly. Though, it is Max who does most of the speaking.
“Her name is Sorcha Rogers, and she is sorry she slept so long. She was worried when she woke another hundred years had passed.” His eyes are as blue as hers, but the shape is wrong. Still, Cullen thinks they make a pair, especially as she smiles at the boy, holding him in her arms like she is worried he might disappear if she lets him go for a moment. She speaks, that lilting tone leaving her fluidly and it makes Max smile.
“She says she’s known mages in her world, that this is definitely not her home, but she will help us if we help her to get back to her people.”
“Her world?” Leliana leans forward, and Max’s smile dims a little. He nods, plucking at the collar of the dress, Sorcha has put on. For being as tall and as muscled as she is, the Ferelden dress makes her look almost delicate.
“Yes. She calls it Earth, and says that we must be near Svar-Svar”
“Svartelheimr,” interjects the blonde, looking over the table. Biting her lip for a moment and pressing her lips to the child’s head, setting him down on the floor.
“Max, go play.” Her common is heavily accented, something that still throws all of them. “I will talk with the Elders, yes?”
“Okay.”
“As one of the Sister’s to take you to Varric.”
He heads for the door, but it bursts open and five Templar pile into the room with Roderick at their head. Sorcha has Max up on the table in seconds and has placed herself between the newcomers and him.
“Chancellor Roderick, how good to see you, though we are here to speak with Lady Rogers and little Maxwell –“ Josie does her best to head this off at the pass, but Roderick is a devil in sheep’s clothing. Cullen knows the type. He’s been part of the chantry long enough to recognize the social climbers with a glance, not to mention the way he speaks.
“Chain her, and the child. I want them prepared for travel to Val Royeaux immediately to await trial.”
“You’re out of line, Chancellor!” Cullen comes to stand beside Sorcha, and Cassandra on the her opposite.
“Indeed. Disregard that order, Templar, and leave us.” Cassandra swipes her hand through the air, and the Templar hesitates only a moment before saluting and leaving. Sorcha watches them all with her eerily glowing eyes, teeth grit. It’s clear to anyone who may look at her, she doesn’t like being so unable to defend herself.
“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”
Cassandra snorts, her arms crossing over her breastplate now devoid of the tabard. “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat, Chancellor. I will not ignore it.”
Sorcha growls, and her words are stilted. “The breach almost take the child. You have Max die? A child for your sins?”
Cullen and Leliana look at one another. Surely Roderick would hear the warning for what it was –
“Yet you and he live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.”
Sorcha bursts into movement and has the Chancellor’s head bouncing off the wall in seconds. He has no hope of moving her as he scrabbles at the arm now braced across his airway. “You want children to win battles. Disgusting. Max is a baby. He will not fight. He will not answer for your folly. You have no power to make happen.”
Cassandra sighs. “As Sorcha points out eloquently. The Breach is not the only threat we face. Have a care, Chancellor, you were not in the thick of battle with us.”
“Someone was behind the explosion at the conclave.” Leliana strides forward, and her hand lights on Sorcha’s shoulder. In a breath, the Chancellor is free, but facing the spymaster.
“Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live.” Her eyes do not stray from Roderick and the man blanches. Cullen stifles a laugh. Only men like this, who never pick up the blade, who never answer for the things they do, can squirm so.
“You suspect me, then? Me?!”
“You, and many others.”
“But not the great savage of a prisoner?!” He thrusts his chin at Sorcha and she smirks. For all she cannot speak the language, she understands. The smirk – it’s feral and promises pain if he comes for her or Max.
“I heard the voices in the temple, the Divine called for her to help. Called for her to take the child and run, to warn us.”
“And her survival, that thing on the child’s hand, in her eyes – all a coincidence?” The way he sneers it, gesturing at Max, has the blonde bristling. It’s only the Senior members of their little group that keep her from smearing him all over the room, of that, Cullen is most sure.
“It is providence. The Maker sent them to us in our darkest hour. An Innocent and a Warrior, to banish the evil that stain this War and land.”
Sorcha reels back, looking pallid suddenly. Called by god? Brought here by God? She has met Gods, and they have the ability, and she’s seen the BiFrost… but had it been used to call her here? She hasn’t seen Thor in several years now. It was possible. But no, he wouldn’t just pick her up and toss her into another world without talking to her first. She’s sure of that at least.
“Your god does this? Take child and women and use them tools?”
“You are not the first in the Chantry’s history, no. His bride was touched to create the Chantry, so too will you do something of merit. It is not truly for me to say. His will is not mine to know.”
“Even a child and” Sorcha pauses, eyeing Roderick carefully. Her words are chosen deliberately. “A woman from land you have not looked at with eyes of yours?”
Cassandra nods, words solemn. “It is not just the people of Thedas who could be affected by our fate.” She turns from them, and walks away, Sorcha’s eyes on her the whole time. The Blonde is most curious about the book that is pulled from a shelf in the back corner of the room.
Leliana shakes her head. They were stumbling, and if they didn’t stop speaking, she would have to kill Roderick to keep the secret of Lady Rogers’ origins. She levels Roderick with a serious stare. “The breach remains, they are the only hope we have of completely closing it.”
“It is not for you to decide.” He goes to say more, but Cassandra slaps a book onto the table, making Max yelp, diving for Sorcha who plucks him up deftly. The Seeker shoots the child an apologetic look before continuing to deal with Roderick.
“You know what this is, Chancellor,” a statement of fact, not a question. Sorcha leans in a bit, eyeing the book which has the eye emblazoned on it that is also present on Cassandra’s tabard. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the Authority to act. We had hoped to have a more auspicious beginning, but you force our hand. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition, reborn.”
There is a heaviness in the room that makes Max still, looking toward the Seeker. So too is Sorcha looking now, not daring take her eyes off the woman for fear of missing something vital. That, and it is quite satisfying to see the brunette stalk toward Roderick and have him scramble away.
“We will close the breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order, with or without your approval. We are no longer a part of the Chantry, and they have no say or oversight here within Haven.”
Her eyes slip to watch Roderick. He seems to flounder, and grimaces before he just leaves the room. He is angry, she can tell from the way he walks and the set of his shoulders. This will not be the last encounter they have with him. Nor will it be the last of his push back and grab for relevancy. Sorcha’s lips pull into a frown, and her mouth opens to make note of what she’s observed when Leliana speaks.
“This is the Divine’s directive to us. Rebuild the Inquisition of ages past, find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no army, and now – no chantry support!”
“But we must. We have no choice, if we wait, Roderick will incite a mob to attack Sorcha and Maxwell. We must act now, with you at our side.” Cassandra turns to Sorcha and the blonde tenses. Her hold on Max tightens. He’s five. Five! Surely his parents would object. She’s a soldier, she can take her lumps, but a child?
“He is child. His parents will object.” She huffs, clearly annoyed at her stumbling. “I am soldier, I can do this. Send him home, safe.”
Cullen sighs. If Max was here, with the Mages, it meant his parents wouldn’t, couldn’t or just didn’t seek him out when the Circles fell. He was alone in this world. Save for Sorcha. Likely, his mentors had all died in the Temple. He may as well be the bearer of such sad news.
“Mama doesn’t want me.” Max says slowly, in Marcher. Cullen can tell because Sorcha’s eyes go wide and a little wild, her hold on him tightens.
“My lady,” Cullen begins, “Mages, they have a sorry lot in life. The Children are the worst off, though the Chantry likes to paint it as a mercy. I confess, I thought such as well, until many years into my service as a Templar.”
Her brows furrow and she stares as if looking at him will help her understand what he’s saying more easily. A few moments pass before she lets out a frustrated sound and some seemingly colorful language. “Cassandra, can we send him safe place?”
“No, my Lady. The war. It would find him.”
Her frustration grows and she looks at Max for a few moments. “I do this. He stays here, safe, all times. Stays with me, stays with nanny I choose. I am soldier, I fight for him.”
“Agreed.” Cassandra smiles in relief, a fleeting thing, and takes the woman’s hand. “Now. To your left, is our Ambassador. Josephine. I am Cassandra. That is Cullen the Commander. Leliana is our Spymaster.” Cassandra points out each person in turn, and they give short greetings.
Sorcha moves to Josephine and smiles a bit. “I need …mm. Teacher.”
Josie’s laughter lights the room. “Yes. I’ll find the best.”