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Chapter Text

Basya Aeducan had to be dragged out of the chantry. The Seeker held her by the scruff of her neck and the dwarf stole another glance at the nightmare. 

“By the Ancestors…” It was an enormous crack along the blue sky, it’s emerald hue was blinding and matched the strange magic on Basya’s hand. She trembled at the sight of it, her heart palpitating in her throat. Her instinctive reaction, had of course been to sprint back inside, much to the Seeker’s displeasure. 

“It’s a simple mission,” Basya recalled her father’s words. The sky rumbled like an earthquake above.  “You just have to go to the surface and figure out who needs lyrium. Just observe. It’s a peace talk. No danger.” He had said. Bull. Shit.

“You cannot hide from it.”

“What that actual fuck is ‘it’?” Basya demanded, her anger a transparent substitution for her fear. 

“We call it ‘The Breach’. A massive rift into a world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion of the conclave,” 

“An explosion?! Normal explosions don’t do...that!” She’d been scared enough of the sky before it decided to vomit demons. 

“This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world,” The Breach boomed as if responding to its name and Basya’s hand erupted in green sparks. It felt as though she were holding a crackling fire in her bare palm and she screamed. Her veins burned as the magic pushed itself further beneath her skin. Her knees buckled and she panted as the Seeker knelt down to her. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” 

Looking at the Breach made Basya gulp. It could swallow the whole world? Orzammar? What would become of her kalnath, her family? Her King Father and Queen Mother. Her little brat brother? And that was just her family. What about all the surfacer Fathers, Mothers, Parents and bratty siblings? She knew she couldn’t leave them to perish. Not while she could do something about it. She took a long inhale. 

“I understand,” 

“Then-?”

“I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes,” The Seeker nodded approvingly and hoisted her up. She guided Basya through a sea of glares and waves of racist slurs. 

“They have decided your guilt-they need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinina, head of the Chantry. The conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together. Now they are all dead.” 

“I’m sorry. But her name won’t be forgotten. And you’ll sit Templars and Mages down again soon. Once all this is over, I’m sure of it,” Basya said. The Seeker stared at her solemnly. 

“I can’t tell if that is optimism or naivety,” 

“I never said it wouldn’t be hard. I just said it will happen.” 

“Optimism, then. Blind as it may be...I do hope you are right,” She said. “Many lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves. As Most Holy did. Until the Breach is sealed, there will be a trial. I can promise no more.” 

“Stitch the sky, save the word, prove I’m innocent. Okay, okay I can do this.” Basya said. The Seeker seemed to find this equally admirable as she did sad. 

Basya matched the Seeker’s jogging pace. She didn’t like the feeling of running on dirt. Squishy and uneven. She craved the sure sturdy footing of stone beneath each step. At least then she would feel slightly more comfortable before she fell into the sky. Basya’s eyes lingered on corpse’s that lined the pathway. One that’s face was still recognizable was a toddler still wrapped in a blood stained blanket. Basya averted her gaze. 

“How did I survive the blast?” She asked, the Seeker seemed to know the dwarf was seeking distraction, but complied. The two took a left and began a trek across a cobblestone bridge with several soldiers scattered about. Relief flooding her soles at the more familiar material. 

“They say you...stepped out of a rift and fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was-” The Breach whined and sent a ball of green sparks hurdling into the bridge. Adrenaline coursed through Basya as she had the terrifying sensation of the stone being pulled from under her. And falling. Down, fast and hard. Her father’s voice in the back of her head brought her to her senses. 

“Remember this. It could save your life, little Urtok. If you are falling from a great distance. Tuck your chin to your chest. Protect your head and roll to prevent an ankle injury.”

Basya did her father proud, maneuvering in the air and rolling forwards on the ice. At first she liked this ice. It felt more solid than the grass and dirt. Until another green blur crashed, a Shade emerged from the dark green puddle reminisce. The pressure caused the ice to creak and crack. 

“Stay behind me!” The Seeker yelled, charging forward. But there was a puddle closer to Basya that was bubbling. She looked around wildly and scrambled back to a soldier. While she was struggling to unsheathe his two handed weapon, she checked a pulse. 

Silence. 

“I hope you find peace with whichever G-d you wish,” She whispered. She freed the weapon just in time to slash the Shade in his face. Then with another deft swing, the Shade shriveled in the wind. The Seeker wrenched her own blade from her enemy. “It’s over. Are you alright-”

“Drop your weapon! Now.” The tone sounded a little too familiar. Firm, demanding, but not aggressive. Not unlike her Mothers when caught with something she shouldn’t have. Instinctively, Basya dropped the weapon on the ice with a clatter and raised her hands in surrender. “Wait...I cannot protect you. And I cannot expect you to be defenseless. I should remember, you agreed to come willingly.” She sheathed her sword and bent down to pick up the two handed weapon on the ice. 

“Thank you, Seeker,” 

“That title is not necessary. Cassandra, if you please,” 

“Thank you, Cassandra,” The Seeker offered it tentatively, before simply thrusting it into the dwarves arms and hurrying onward. Basya smiled at her from behind and hurried to catch up. The two quickly discovered each other’s fighting techniques and blind spots. Without need for communication, they began to fall into a rhythm. Basya decapitated the last Shade in the area. She glanced at the Breach as she propelled her feet again. It was so massive. Could this mark thing actually close that? 

“We’re getting closer!” Cassandra called. “You can hear the fighting,” 

“Who’s fighting? You’re soldiers?” 

“You will see soon enough,”

The two dropped off a steep ledge into a chaotic battle. Wraiths and Shades poured out of a small rift. By small, Basya meant, smaller than the Breach, but it was still at least the size of an adult human. Jagged green spikes raised and contracted and the familiar buzz of magic emanated from it tenfold. The group of people fighting were doing their best, but every time they dispatched one wisp, three more would fall from the rift. 

Basya lunged at a wisp, slashing it until it faded into smoke. She turned swiftly, years of sword training nearly giving her an automatic attack. She thrusted her blade through a demon’s chest, just before it’s claws landed on a dwarf. He nodded a thanks before he continued to launch bolts from his crossbow. 

Something clasped her wrist. A tight, ridged, unmoving grip. Fearing a demon, she swiped at it. Twisting, she realized it was an elf. Bald, oval faced, splattered in blood. She quickly diverted her blade, narrowly avoiding amputating the poor elf’s hand. Basya grunted as he pulled her up so hard, she thought her shoulder would pop out of it’s socket.

“Quickly! Before more come through!” He shouted over the clang of claws on steel that echoed across the snow covered mountains. Basya’s hand burned and the green sludge shoved and plowed itself further in her veins past her wrist. She cried out, but tried to focus the line of emerald sparks from her hand to the rift. She didn’t know exactly how to. It didn’t seem to close without guidance. She tried to maneuver, moving, pushing, pulling- Pulling! She felt the line grow taught and with a crackle, the rift was gone. Everyone seemed to pause and stare at the empty air. Basya’s feet still dangled, before the elf seemed to realize. He rushed to put her down, looking apologetic. Basya looked at the mark then to the vacant space the rift had previously occupied. 

She hated it. She wasn’t supposed to be able to do magic! Dwarves were not meant to do magic! She hadn’t been trained at all. Basya had no problem with magic in general. Hell, if she had grown up a mage she was sure she wouldn’t have been as scared of it as she was now. At least then she would have been educated. She held her arm away from her, keeping her fingers stiff. 

“What did you do?”

“I did nothing. The credit is yours,” 

“At least it's a good something.”

 “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake - and it seems I was correct.” He explained slowly. Cassandra brightened. 

“Which means it could also close the Breach itself,” She said. 

“Possibly,” He replied. “It seemed you hold the key to our salvation,”

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever,” The dwarf from earlier approached, putting his rather impressive crossbow on his back. “Varric Tethras: rogue, story teller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong,” Varric winked up at Cassandra who scowled in response. 

“Atrast vala. It’s good to meet you, Varric.” 

“You may reconsider that stance in time,” The elf scoffed. “I am Solas if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.” Basya couldn’t remember anything. Had she met Solas before? At the conclave perhaps? Varric shook his head. 

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

“Oh. In that case, thank you. Now can you take it off?” She asked, still glaring at her hand as though it had offended her. Solas raised his brows. 

“...I’m sorry?” 

“I’ll still help fight and do whatever in my power to close the Breach, but you can take this off and give it to someone who actually knows anything about magic.” 

“I’m afraid I cannot help you,”

“But you’re a mage. You can take it off and use it. It would be safer for everyone and yes I also just really really don’t want it.” 

“I tried!” He said, anger coding his firm tone. “Many times in fact. This magic cannot be shaken off like dust. It is a part of you now. Just as a tattoo or scar cannot be removed, this mark cannot be either.” 

“You mean I’ll have it forever? As in forever forever?”  Basya whimpered and shook her hand. 

“Given that I can keep you alive after closing the Breach, yes.” Her expression made Solas soften and the anger dissipated. “Take heart. I will teach you how to use and control it. You mastered your blade the same way once.” Basya nodded. He had phrased it well. If learning swordsmanship was similar, she could do it. She didn’t want to, but she could. Especially with the guidance of a wise and powerful mage. 

“Yes, thank you. Let’s focus on the Breach. Time is rusting and we’re on loose sand.” Basya said, pushing back her copper curls. She hadn’t been all that prepared to fight, going to a peace talk in all. It was beginning to irritate her, in battle, that her long locks would obscure her vision. 

Cassandra nodded and the four hopped over a wooden beam obstructing a thin dirt pathway as the road ahead was blocked. They walked nearly straight into another batch of demons. But with the four of them, they were all dispatched with relative ease. Basya was hurrying down the steps when Varric spoke. 

“So you're an Orzammar dwarf? I’m guessing nobility.” 

“What makes you say that?” Basya asked, uncertain as whether or not to be offended. 

“I can spot a proper Orzammar dwarf from twenty paces. Fresh out of the underground huh? You must be loving this whole Breach thing,”

“Ugh, I’m so angry at human’s right now.” Basya said. 

“What have we done?” Cassandra asked defensively. 

“All throughout the Conclave, every human I interacted with was all ‘Oh, please, little lady dwarf, don’t be so foolish. Stop looking so frightened. For the tenth time, no one falls into the sky. There’s nothing bad about the sky. No, nothing falls out of it either except for the weather.’” Basya mocked. Varric laughed and Solas tried to contain his snickering. “It’s not funny! They lied to me!” Solas smiled gently. 

“Trust us when we say this is not a common occurrence. Though I doubt that will put such fears to rest,” 

“Varric, are you kalna or ascendant?” 

“Ascendant. I never cared for much of the whole caste and ranks,”

“That is fair.”

“Okay, now I know I must be wrong about the noble part.”

“No, you were correct.” 

“What house are you from?” Varric asked curiously. 

“Aeducan,” 

“Come again?” 

“I’m of House Aeducan.” 

“You-You’re Basya Aeducan?” She glanced back at Varric’s wide eyes. Cassandra looked frustrated.

“What does her origin matter?” 

“Seeker, do you know who this is?” 

“All I know is she blew up the Conclave. What else matters?” Basya frowned. She had hoped Cassandra wouldn’t think too badly of her. It’s not that she didn’t have every reason to suspect Basya. She understood how guilty she looked. For all she knew she was. Her brain drew only fragments and a whole lot of nothing. She was sure that if she had, she would have had a damn good reason. She just couldn’t think of anything that would push her to cause such destruction. “She’s King Bhelen’s ward.” 

“The King of Orzammar?”

“Yup, wow. Even I heard the stories. I actually thought of writing about you.” Varric said. 

“Of me?”

“Oh C’mon, ‘Homeless dwarf kid, overcomes odds, survives over a three weeks in the deep roads-”

“One week,”

“-then saves the King who takes her in and instates her in his house-”

“He was a Prince at the time and I had no idea who he was.” 

“You’re no fun.” 

“Neither was that experience.” She said quietly. Varric put a hand on her shoulder. 

“I-I didn’t mean-”

“I know…I...Maybe after I stitch the sky back together, we could get a drink and I’ll tell you what really happened. Probably not nearly had badass as your version though,” 

“No. I bet it’s way more,” Varric said. Basya smiled and as she climbed the staircase the mark flared. She cried out and she had to dig her heels in the rock to keep from falling. 

“We must hurry before the mark consumes her,” Solas said, stabilizing her with a hand on her back. 

“Shit, are you alright?”

“I know it’s difficult, but we must keep moving.” Cassandra insisted. Basya gritted her teeth and trudged up the steps. Some soldiers were scrambling to contain the demons that came through another miniature rift. 

“Hurry, use the mark!” Solas barked. 

“We’ll keep you covered!” Varric reassured, shooting an arrow through a Shade’s head. Basya reached her hand and braced for the pain. Hot and flaming as before. Both this one and the rift from before resisted. It was like trying to pull her hairbrush from her little brother, Endrin, while he pulled the other end with the same force. Only, Basya had a pit in her stomach that she was the hairbrush in this tug of war. Pull too hard and the mark and rift would snap her in half. The more she pulled, the louder the mark sparked. And then the pressure released. Basya nearly flung on her face, but she only stumbled forward a few steps, Cassandra steadying her with a firm grip. 

They filed through the gates and walked past more soldiers. Basya watched as some tending to the injured. Others were running up and down the cobblestone bridge barking orders at each other. 

Talking to Chancellor Rodrick was worse than the nobles in Orzammar. He was already convinced Basya was guilty and he didn’t seem to hold Cassandra or Lelianna in high regard. Basya thought that was odd. If they were the Right and Left hands as she understood it, why wouldn’t everyone default leadership to them? If her father, Stone forbid, were to die, herself or her Mother would lead and people would listen without hesitation. Especially during such a crisis. 

The Breach erupted and Basya’s hand crackled to life, shooting violent sparks. She gripped her wrist for stability with a hiss of pain. Everyone’s eyes were on the dwarf. Cassandra nodded once as though she were making a silent decision. 

“How do you think we should proceed?” 

“The mountain path. We have to work together, Chancellor. We can’t fight now. Not with what’s at stake. I’m going to seal that Breach. Then throw me in whatever chains you wish, I don’t care. But people are dying. I have to stop it.” Basya wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not, but she could have sworn she’d seen a proud smile flash across Cassandra’s face, but she blinked and it was gone. 

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.” Rodrick had spat as the four of them headed out. 

As they climbed the mountain, Varric watched with mild amusement as Basya cursed the wretched snow, which she learned for the first time, was frozen water. When she had first arrived in Haven, she avoided it as though it were acid. Now her boots were soaked through to her feet by the time they reached the mountain pass’ entrance. 

After dispatching a few more demons, Basya halted in her tracks leaving Cassandra backpedaling to avoid plowing the dwarf down. She paused in the dimly lit cave, ears perking. That whisper, that tune. Familiar and yet foreign, like a bard playing a song in a different key. 

“What is it?” Solas asked. 

“I hear isana, but it’s not isana?” Basya frowned. 

“Isana?” Cassandra kept her sword at the ready. 

“Lyrium, I think.” Varric said. “What do you mean it’s not Isana?”

“It is, but it is loud, wrong, and warped. It melody is...disturbing,” 

“Shit,” Varric muttered. 

“Is she speaking of Red lyrium?” Solas asked. 

“You hear that, Seeker?”

“I heard, Varric,”

“What’s it doing here? Where is it, can you tell?” Varric’s face was twisted in a concoction of fear, guilt, and pure terror. 

“Four point two miles northwest of us.” She answered without missing a beat. Cassandra was impressed. 

“That must be in the temple. How do you know so exact?”

“Yeah, Seeker, that’s the whole Stone-Sense jargon. Uh, no offence,” Basya shrugged, still too perturbed by the song in her ears to care. “Underground dwarves can hear the lyrium and use it to navigate. From rumors, I’ve heard, Princess Aeducan is even keener than most,” 

“The sound of the red lyrium seems to have shaken you, Lady Aeducan,” Solas observed. “What does normal lyrium sound like?” 

“Cooling, soothing, but only for magic. For non-mages it’s too alleviating, addicting, but it sings so openly to warn users.” Basya tried to explain. Varric shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m going to regret asking, but what does the red stuff sound like?”

“Famished, starving, ravenous. It wants to consume,” She said, voice trembling. 

“Consume what?” Cassandra demanded. 

“Everything,” A beat of uncomfortable silence blanketed the old mines.

“Well that’s fucking terrifying. As expected, I regret I asked,” 

The tainted isana was loud indeed. After saving the missing scouts, the whispers became distant speech, then became shouting. By the time they reached the temple, Basya had to block her ears with her hands as the red isana shrieked it’s haunting melody. She clamped her ears shut as she passed the burnt bodies, many in eerily similar positions as her, their arms raised, protecting their heads. The scent of charred flesh stung her nostrils and she prayed to the Stone for all these people to be at peace in whichever religious afterlife they believed in. 

Looking up at the Breach, Basya felt small. She was always small. Considered a runt to most dwarves, she was often mistaken for a child, despite being twenty five. But adult’s glares and rude comments had only made her train harder to prove them wrong. She was small, but she had never actually felt small until the Breach loomed over her as it did now. 

“Now it is the hour of our victory.” A low voice boomed, over the isana’s wails. 

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra looked around puzzled, but it was clear it had originated from the rift beneath the Breach. 

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

“Someone help me!” 

“What’s going on here! Let her go!” Basya hopped down the broken stairs and the mark buzzed. A scene played before them. She saw herself. Tiny, even for a dwarf, long thick red curls down to her waist, brilliant lyrium blue eyes, and a traditional underground dwarvish pasty pale complexion. Even without a weapon, this version of herself prepared to fight. “I said let her go, you tainted bastard!” 

“No! Run while you can! Warn them!” 

“We have an intruder,” The deep voice said. “Slay the dwarf.” A blinding green light flashed and the scene dissipated. 

“You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine is she…?! What are we seeing?!” Basya backed up and Cassandra stalked closer with each question. Basya shook her head. 

“I-I don’t know, I’m sorry. I-I can’t remember.”

“Echoes of the fade bleed in this place.” Solas said. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily. I believed that with the mark it can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.” 

“That means demons! Stand ready!” Cassandra ordered. Basya waited anxiously for Leliana’s men to take their positions. She craned her neck to get the full view of the Breach above the rift. Was leaving Orzammar the last hug, she’d ever received from her father? Was the brown knit canvas bag, the last overstocked bunch of provisions her mother would make for her? Had she read the last bedtime story of Paragons and Heroes to Endrin? 

“Cassandra, can you do one thing for me?” 

“What is it?” 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, but...can you make sure my body is returned to my parents so I may be buried in the Stone?” 

“If the worst should happen, I swear it,” Cassandra said firmly. Basya felt relieved. Free almost. And she even smiled. 

“Thank you,” And she extended her hand. If closing was to pull, opening was a push. Of course she barely had to push and the rift tore open with a monstrous Pride demon dropping down. It roared and the soldiers charged. Arrows whizzed by, but for some reason, they bounced off. Swords were only toothpicks. Panic was rising in her chest, but Basya stuck to the plan and reached her hand up again to the rift to try and close it. The pain forced her to one knee and she panted. The Pride demon roared and Cassandra screamed for everyone to attack. This time, it seemed blows were landing. 

A Shade fell before Basya and raised it’s claw, but she blocked it with a clang resonating with the shrieking isana and the howling demon. She killed it with one precise stab. She sprinted behind the Pride demon, the soldiers and Cassandra keeping it preoccupied and aimed a deft slice on the back of the ankle and it collapsed to one knee, the ground shaking at the impact. Basya fought through shades back to the best angle under the rift and tried to use the green spark rope to try and pull it closed, but it resisted harder than last time. It fizzled and zapped her already burning hand. She screamed and collapsed again. Basya tried to stand and the whole world lurched. Solas placed a warm violet barrier around her, just in time as the Pride Demon smashed his fist down on her. She struggled, but managed to reach her feet and stumbled out of the demon's line of sight, Cassandra sliced it’s other ankle and once it was level, she drove her blade through its chest. 

“Now! Seal the rift!” Cassandra screamed, only barely audible over the red isana. Basya extended her hand and made the mark pull again. The other soldiers looked on in awe. She saw Varric shooting another shade, before he turned to look at her. Solas stared with an unreadable expression. Cassandra peered over her shoulder anxiously as she tried to pry her weapon free. 

With a newfound determination, she pulled the crackling strand toward her, toward the mark. The rift hissed and tugged. The temple was spinning. Basya dug her heels in the dirt and pulled harder. Harder. And the familiar release in pressure sent her hurtling through the air, but everything was black before she even hit the ground. 

Chapter Text

The first thing Basya felt was the horrible aching soreness from her left hand down her wrist to her forearm. She grimaced and pried open her eyes. She lay on a comfortable bed, tucked under blankets. The room smelt of wood smoke and healing poultices. A fire roared in the hearth, warming the little house. 

Basya sat up abruptly causing a lanky elf to drop her box, logs and kindling spilling out onto the floor. The only information she managed to extract from the skittish person was that the Breach was stable and Cassandra was waiting for her. They had dashed off before Basya could ask anything further. 

She found some light armor in a chest and changed quickly. Her stomach growled, but she’d prefer to be a little hungry, then to risk angering the Seeker, so once she was ready, she headed out. Eyes followed Basya every direction she went and she shivered at the gaze. Even as a Princess, people never looked at her like that. They whispered things after her too.

“She saved us,”

“She stopped the Breach from getting any bigger,”

“A dwarven savior,” 

Basya squirmed under the gazes and walked faster to the Chantry, allowing her long curls to cover her face. She pushed past the Clerics and the large doors. For a moment, she wondered how the hell she’d be able to find Cassandra, but then she heard her shouts snapping back at the angry Chancellor from the bridge. 

“Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial!” The knights Rodrick had barked at looked to Cassandra with uncertainty. 

“Disregard that and leave us.” They saluted with an arm across their chests and left. 

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.” 

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” 

“I’m sorry. I’ll try again.” Basya offered. The Chancellor scoffed. 

“Right, conveniently you can try as many times as you want without ever actually closing it.” 

“Have a care, Chancellor.” Cassandra hissed. “You have nothing to apologize for. You did everything we asked of you. We will need you for a second attempt. But the Breach is not the only threat we face,” 

“Someone was behind the explosion at the conclave,” Leliana had been standing in the corner and Basya was startled at her presence. “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the other- or have allies who yet live.”

“I am a suspect!?” Rodrick gasped. 

“You, and many others.”

“But not the prisoner?”

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

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

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.” Basya was at a loss for words. One minute she was leaving Orzammar for the first mission on the surface. Now the humans were calling her a savior? 

“I’m flattered, truly. But I’m a dwarf, you know?” 

“That has not escaped my attention,” Cassandra said. 

“I-I don’t even really believe in your Maker. Sort of. How could I be sent by Him?” 

“Yet, there is doubt in your voice,” Leliana chimed. 

“That’s not what I mean. I worship the Stone. I always will, but I believe all religions are true. Like our first Paragon appeared to you as the Maker or vice-versa.” Basya tried to explain. “But, by the Stone, I’m not divine. Thank you, big ego boost, but that’s not me.” Cassandra seemed to mull over what Basya had said. 

“You have a unique perspective, my Lady. But no matter what you are or what you believe, you were exactly what we needed when we needed it.” 

Rodrick was at it again until Cassandra slammed the book down in front of him. The Chancellor left, still fuming. Cassandra turned and put her hand on her head in frustration. “We have no choice. We must act now. With you at our side.” 

“I can’t pretend to be anything I’m not. I don’t want to lie to anyone. But I’ll help anyway I can to restore order. With or without this stupid mark.” 

“Well put,” Leliana smiled. Cassandra shook the dwarf’s hand. 

***

Basya was difficult to anger. Even with her little brother, Endrin. Her father had been so proud of how she handled him stealing her favourite dagger. She knew fear gripped him that they could end up like how his siblings were. He was terrified of it. He cared for both of his children dearly and she couldn’t dream of hurting or worse exiling Endrin in a million years. So she had to learn to roll with punches. And with a shit ton of patience, she had. Basya was great at dealing with loose tongued nobles and threats. 

It wasn’t anything new, so she wasn’t angry, but she was growing weary of the incompetence. As the familiar paths of Haven returned into view she recalled her conversation with Cullen and Rodrick before she’d left. 

“The Mages and Templars are fighting even though we don’t really know what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” She had asked. Basya couldn’t understand why anyone would point fingers without a scrap of evidence. Before Cullen could respond the Chancellor inserted himself. 

“Exactly why this should all be left to a new Divine. If you are innocent, the Chantry would prove it so.” Cullen stepped in front of her almost protectively. 

“Oh bullshit. You just want to use her as a scapegoat. Who better to pin it on then a dwarven woman?” The Commander defended. 

“You think nobody cares about the truth? We all grieve Justinia’s loss.”

“But you won’t grieve if the Herald of Andraste is conveniently swept under the rug.” 

“I’ll make sure they see reason in Val Royeaux,”

“I pray you’re right.” Cullen had said. 

She snapped back to the present as Cassandra pushed past the Chantry doors and they began down the long stone hallway. Leliana appeared from behind a pillar, Cullen and Josephine both walked out of a room as if on cue. 

“Commander, so about them seeing reason…” Basya began and all the advisors cracked a weak smile. 

“It’s good you returned. We heard of your encounter.” Josephine said. 

“You heard already?” Basya asked. 

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course.” Leliana said. Of course, she should have known that. 

“It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their sense as well as reason.” 

“Not all of them,” Basya said. “There was a young Templar who was clearly questioning his orders.” 

“Surely there are more like him in the Order who do not support Lord Seeker Lucius,” 

“Or the Herald could simply meet the Mages in Redcliffe instead.” 

“You think the Mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse,” 

“Whoa, hold it!” Basya intervened. “We’re going to get both,” 

“Both?” Everyone echoed.

“We have to get them to negotiate again some time. Why not when they both have a common cause to rally behind. A Breach to seal, a Divine to avenge. Someone was in that temple and I don’t think it was a Mage or Templar.” 

“Is this your final decision, Herald?” Josephine asked. “I’m just not certain you fully realize the difficulty of pursuing one group, once we have the other.” 

“It’s my final decision. Write the Order and the Rebel Mages and offer them both the Inquisition as an ally and a place to negotiate freely and safely.” Basya said. Cullen blinked a few times. 

“That...might actually work,” He said. 

“Will it? The Lord Seeker is not the man I remember. Years ago, I would have been confident he’d accept such an invitation, but now?” 

“Maybe I should deliver it? Personally?” Basya asked. 

“That could put you at great risk,” Cullen protested. 

“Everyone’s at great risk until I seal the Breach.” 

“True enough.”

“I’ll start dictating the letters,” Josephine said and skittered back to her office. Cullen and Cassandra peeled away. Basya sighed. Why couldn’t the Templars stop oppressing Mages? Why couldn’t the Mages stop using blood magic to retaliate against said oppression? Why couldn’t the Circle be more like school instead of a prison? Leliana waited until everyone had left before approaching the dwarf. 

“There are a few other matters. Several months ago the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t even consider they’re involved in all this, but the timing is...curious,” 

“What about your friend?”

“Queen-Consort Warden Cousland is also gone.”

“She’s Queen of Ferelden? How can a Queen just disappear?”

“No. She went on her own quest to find a cure to the Calling. Though her recent silence worries me and King Alistair.” 

“Okay, so what can we do? Do you have any leads?” Basya asked. 

“The others have disregarded my suspicion, but I cannot ignore it. Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can set my mind at ease.”

“And if he can’t?”

“Then there is more going on than we thought.” 

“I’ll find him. What else?” Basya asked. 

“I received word from King Bhelen. He didn’t believe my letter or the dwarven messenger. He intends to wage war with the surface if we do not release you by the end of the month.” Leliana said, frighteningly calm. 

“Oh by the Ancestors! Let me write to him.” If she wrote him in dwarvish, he’d be convinced. As it was a dying language most dwarves didn’t know much of it. Allowing her to write in secret words meant only for her kalnath. 

“Thank you, Herald,” 

***

Basya found herself back in the Hinterlands. The hot sun beat down on her skin and she sighed. The first time she’d been subjected to a sunburn, poor Solas stayed up nearly the whole night, to soothe the bubbling blistered skin. She had insisted he get some sleep, but he had refused and continued to heal her throughout the night. She had also received what the surfacers called sun poisoning, an itchy rash that was impossible to scratch as it was over the painful burns. How could the sky burning flesh be a casual way of life? 

“So is it never hot underground?” Varric asked as Basya cursed the heat once again. 

“No. I mean, I suppose if you hang around lava pools. The earth is insulated in such a way that no matter the temperature of the surface, it always around comfortably cool below. That’s why most creatures like mud splashers and rabbits prefer to burrow in soil.” She said. Her eyes locked with a ram and she put her lips to her mouth and pointed to Varric. He took it down with a clean shot through the head. 

“That should be enough to feed the refugees for now,” Solas said. Cassandra stood next to him with three deep leather bags that she carried the other nine ram in. Sure, Basya had skinned them and only taken essential parts of the carcass, but that still would have been over two hundred pounds of meat. Cassandra carried it all with little to no strain. 

Basya started skinning the ram. It was a little different than what she was used to, but mostly, bronto skinning wasn’t too far off. There were a few other things Varric pointed out that could be used even if not eaten. After Solas had stuffed the last of the meat in one of Cassandra’s bags, they headed back to the crossroads. The hunter’s jaw fell to the ground as Basya and Solas unloaded Cassandra. 

“Will that do?” Basya asked. 

“More than, my Lady. You know I didn’t think much of the Inquisition, but you're the only ones actually helping. A lot of hungry people are gonna have a meal tonight, thanks to you lot,” 

It set Basya’s spirits higher for a while. Between the blankets and food, she was actually starting to feel like she was making a difference. Leliana’s agent had marked on the map where he’d overheard where the Warden Blackwall was. Although, with Basya’s Stone-sense, Solas hardly ever pulled out the map. 

“How has the mark been treating you, Child of the Stone? You closed many rifts today,” Solas asked as they trekked to a Lake nearby, Basya assumed the agent had been referring too. She found it funny that Solas called her that. ‘Child of the Stone’. At first she was certain it was meant to be a little insult. But as the weeks passed, Solas’ tone had developed a softer edge as he said it. 

“It’s alright,” She smiled, appreciative of him checking in on her. Her hand still burned from pulling that last rift closed. When it wasn’t aggravated the pain dulled, still chronic, but not so debilitating. A day of closing rifts was hard on her body and Solas seemed to be the only one to know without Basya speaking up. He would always suggest easier quests after she closed a rift. Like hunting ram for the refugees for instance. Her smile froze on her face and she stiffened. “There's more red isana.” 

“Terrific, my favourite,” Varric grumbled. 

“Where is it?” Cassandra asked. “Perhaps we could destroy it.” 

“Five miles, dead north of us.” Basya said and they continued forward. She gritted her teeth as they jogged further and further. In the silence that fell over the group, she could only hear the red isana slowly increasing in volume. There were shouts and clangs and smoke in the distance and Basya thanked the Stone for anything to block out the isana. Guilt washed over her body when she reached the edge of a cliff peering out to the battle below. Mages and Templars were killing each other. Blood magic whizzed, shields bashed, and crazed people with glowing red eyes mauling each other. Both of which, Basya was pretty sure, were Templars. 

“There’s nothing we can do for them right now. Not until we secure an alliance.” Solas said. His bare feet made no sound on the ground regularly, let alone with a raging battle and the red isana’s cries. She nodded. “Have you given it much thought? Which ally to choose?” 

“I’m going to help them both,”

“I admire your determination, but I am not sure that will be possible. What are your views on mages?” he asked as she turned away from the ledge overlooking the slaughter. 

“Same as my views on anyone else. They’re people. Some are mud splasher dung and some are pretty great. But the only way to know that is by talking to them. I think the Circle as it stands should be demolished. But there should be some mandatory schooling to educate young mages, but it should be taught by other mages and treated as any training or schooling,” She shrugged. 

“You are far more sympathetic than most. Perhaps the lack of magic where you're from gives you a fresh pair of eyes on the conflict.” She nodded numbly, the isana’s screams difficult to block out whilst so close. 

“Maybe. I still think blood magic is too risky, but it would still have to be handled on a case by case basis.” Solas stiffened, clearly unhappy with that declaration. “Sorry, I’m far from an expert on this sort of thing. It’s just as I understand it. I don’t mean to offend,” He breathed in deeply. 

“No, I can understand your hesitation even if I do not agree with it. Besides, I think you are the first person to treat me as you said. As a person,”

“Don’t worry, you’re in the ‘pretty great,’ category.” 

“I should hope so if those are my only two options,” Solas and Basya chuckled. It occurred to her that Solas was trying to distract her from the shrieking isana. “Come, let us begin the search for that Warden.” Basya took a deep breath and the elf followed behind her. A few Inquisition soldiers began setting up some large tents in the small clearing beside the waterfall. As they trudged up the path toward the lake, Basya tried to focus on the sound of the rushing water as she crossed the rickety wooden bridge. 

“Remember how to carry your shields.” A low voice said firmly. “You’re not hiding your holding. Otherwise it’s useless.” She saw him once she reached the other side, in front of a quaint cabin. The man matched the agent’s description. Tall, sturdy shoulders, well built. Thick brown leather armor under a silver chest plate with an intricate sigil of a griffon. A large bearded goatee covering half his face, black hair tucked behind his ears. He paced in front of a group of nervous looking men. All of which had little armor and poorly crafted weapons. 

“Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?” He took only a few long strides to stand in front of her. 

“You’re not-How do you know my name? Who sent-” Blackwall’s raised his shield in front of Basya’s head, grunting at the arrow that thudded against it. The corrupted isana was really affecting Basya. She couldn’t believe that with all her training, she hadn’t heard any arrow coming. “That’s it. Help or get out. We’re dealing with these idiots first. Conscripts, here they come!” 

Basya gritted her teeth as the red isana crescendoed. She still managed to knock a sword from one of the opponents and plunged the blade in his stomach. The sheer numbers overpowered the attackers and the battle was over quickly. 

She watched Blackwall slash one with enough force for him to spin in the air before rolling over on the ground dead. Blackwall stabbed his sword into the dirt and crouched down to look at the man he’d killed. “Sorry, bastards,” He muttered before standing to address the skittish men. Basya waited patiently and not until the men started to saunter away to loot the bodies did she approach again. She felt somewhat embarrassed that Blackwall had saved her, but no one appeared to mention it. She tried to tune out the isana as Black wall spoke up. Cassandra took over, asking most of the questions. Varric glanced at her a few times with mild concern. 

“So where are the rest of you?” Basya asked. 

“I haven’t seen any Warden’s for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest, because the Archdemon is a decade dead. No need to conscript because there’s not Blight coming. These idiots forced this fight so I conscripted their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won’t need me.” He was kind. He was helping people. She felt her respect rising for the man, but this didn’t get them any closer to the answers Leliana was seeking. And the isana still shouted it’s haunting song through the hills and the waterfall behind them. She wanted nothing more than to smash it as soon as possible. 

“Well, thank you, Warden Blackwall, but now where does this leave us?” Basya looked to Cassandra, Varric, and Solas. The four began to walk past him. 

“Inquisition agent, did you say? Hold a moment.” He called. Basya turned back to him as he jogged to catch up with her. “The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

“No offense, but what can one Warden do?” Basya asked, the isana causing her to be irritable. 

“Save the fucking world if pressed.” Blackwall replied without missing a beat. Basya smiled. 

“Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.” 

“Good to hear. We both need to know what’s going on and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long.” 

“Lucky for you I have excellent company,” She said. 

“That is not true,” Solas shook his head. Varric beamed, 

“What are you talking about, Chuckles? Me and Mini are delightful company and Cassandra’s the friendliest!” He announced and Cassandra scoffed. Basya breathed a laugh through her nose and the Warden smiled under his beard. 

“Okay the red isana is half a mile out. I think Solas and I saw the ruins it was in from the camp.” 

Basya led the group to the collapsed castle, navigating carefully around the battlefield. They dispatched a few Mages that attacked on sight, but then she had to quickly cover her hands over ears again. They walked forward and she nudged Varric, indicating for him to take the first shot. The isana howled in pain, but it’s song quieted. Enough so Basya could pry her hands from her ears. 

She made it somewhat of a game at first. Who could destroy the most in one hit, or in Varric and Solas’ case, one shot. Cassandra batted up and with the loud crack, a decent chunk fell to the cave floor. The song’s volume lowered even more. Cassandra nodded in approval at her own work. Basya looked to Blackwall, but he shook his head. 

“After you, my lady,” She smiled and gripped the shaft of the two handed sword. The red isana’s song, though softening, still rang sharply in her ears. Almost more desperate, knowing it was under attack. She hated it. At this point almost as much as Varric. Basya swung with all the loathing she had for the stuff, also breaking off an impressive piece, only a shy smaller than Cassandra’s. Varric cheered and Basya high fived him. Once everyone had taken turns and Basya dubbed the Seeker, the winner. Although she had repeatedly said it was a foolish game, everyone could tell she was pleased. 

Then Basya and Varric went to town. Breaking it down, Grinding it all into dust. Hyping each other with each crossbow bolt or blade’s clang. Solas, Blackwall, and Cassandra, sat on the decimated staircase, occasionally critiquing one of the dwarves' stances or cheering along when they got a particularly big piece of the tainted isana to crash to the ground. 

It felt good. Not just to punch the red isana’s song, but to get out everything. Basya had to close the Breach. She had to gain an ally and walk on eggshells while doing so. She had to close all the rifts, ignoring the unpleasant burn with each one. She had to leave her family and have no idea when, if ever, she’d be able to return. Everything was crazy and terrifying, and fucked up on this strange surface. She’d needed something to get it all out on. And so did everyone else. She could see Varric enjoying the catharsis too.

“Come on. It’s fun,” Basya beckoned, encouraging the other lounging on the broken stone steps. “I’m in charge aren’t I? It’s order,” Cassandra and Solas shook their heads with a smile. Blackwall grinned and stood. They all hesitantly joined, everyone finding a vein to hack at until Basya finally only heard silence within the ruins.

Chapter Text

The five of them went on for another few weeks Closing rifts, helping refugees, and getting to know their new Warden companion. They’d be trekking back to Haven in the morning. Basya had to send soldiers to build the watchtowers for Master Dennet and a few other missions to assign Leliana and Josephine. She was excited to see Cullen at the least. Not excited about the snow. 

Back at the camp Basya ate her stew, mildy enjoying Varric and Solas teasing Cassandra about having to once again clean up humans’ messes. Varric had no qualms while Basya put all of the chunks of meat from her portion into his bowl. Blackwall sat next to her, watching with a peculiar expression as she picked out the meat. He had just finished telling her a fascinating story about the Grey Warden artifact she had helped him recover, when her hand around the bowl sparked painfully, causing her to drop it. The wooden bowl hit the ground, soup spilling out on the dirt. She inhaled sharply and shook out her hand. 

“My lady?!” Blackwall exclaimed. 

Cassandra tensed at the noise and Varric frowned in his stew. The conversation stopped abruptly as Solas hurried and sat next to Basya. He offered his long bony fingers, asking for permission, before Basya placed her knuckles in his palm. Solas muttered a few spells. Though the pain subsided some, it still crackled as loud and burned as bright as the roaring fire. It took a few minutes, but the mark slowly simmered down and Basya let go of her breath. 

“Thank you, Solas,” She said. He scoffed a laugh. 

“You needn’t. My spells didn’t work. It settled on it’s own.”

“Well, thank you for trying.” Solas’ old gray-blue eyes seemed to stare right through her. 

“You-you’re welcome.” He finally said. “The most it seems I can do during these attacks is lessen the pain.” 

“Hey, that’s something.” Basya said. She bent down over the log they sat on to retrieve her bowl. She walked to the large cooking spit where the Inquisition soldiers, who had been eating their dinner together a little way away, jumped up alert. 

“My Lady, Herald,” One addressed. Basya always found it so awkward. 

“Uh, at ease. I just was wondering if there was any stew left,” She shrugged. The soldier’s face twisted in agony. 

“I am so sorry, Lady Herald. It’s all gone. B-but we can make more-”

“And go hunting, at this hour? That’s far too dangerous. It is not a big deal, I promise you. Enjoy your supper,” Basya said. No, it wasn’t a big deal, but it had taken her so long to separate the meat into Varric’s bowl, she’d only gotten to eat a couple of spoonfuls before the mark had decided to throw it on the ground. She shrugged, nothing to be done about it now and sat back down next to the Warden. She used a handkerchief to wipe the soil off the rim of the bowl. 

“Hold it, my Lady,” Basya, confused, held the bowl firmly and Blackwall about half of his stew into her bowl. 

“You don’t have to-”

“I wanted to,” He said. 

“Thank you, Ser Warden,” She smiled up at him and he held it for a moment, before averting his gaze. Then she guided his bowl back toward her, to spoon back the chunks of meat before digging in. 

“So, Varric tells me you’re a Princess,” 

“Varric tells a lot of things. Surprisingly, that’s actually true.” 

“It must be...strange. Being on the surface for the first time.” 

“‘Strange’ is not the word I’d use,”

“Scary? Terrifying?”

“Now you’re getting warm,” Basya said. Blackwall chuckled. “But I mean, you guys let a giant ball in the sky determine when you do things and let it burn your skin. You all claimed my fears about the sky were silly, only for it to tear open and vomit demons. There are trees. What do they even do? Are they just there for surfacers to chop them down? I don’t know. Cassandra says water just falls from the sky. Like just falls. Everywhere. Not looking forward to that.” Unlike most humans, Blackwall didn’t laugh. He just nodded along to her grievances. He took a bite of soup and chewed thoroughly, the bulge in his throat bobbing as he swallowed. 

Cassandra and Solas seemed to have turned in. Varric sat close to the fire, flames licking his tan skin as he scribbled vigorously with a quill. Probably a new story idea. She watched him place his hand under his chin, smearing it with ink, but didn’t say anything. Basya scraped down the inside of her bowl. Once she was finished, Blackwall took it from her and placed it on the pile of dishes. 

“Have you seen anything from the surface you do like?” He asked.

“Strawberries...that’s about it. Well and some of the people. The Inquisition is great.” 

“Can I show you something?” 

“What is it?” 

“The fire is too bright to see it.” Blackwall said. “Varric, we’re leaving the camp, just a little ways.” Varric, still deep in his writing, gave a thumbs up to show he understood, before dipping his quill back in the ink. Blackwall stood and beckoned for Basya to follow him. Curiosity itched her mind so she followed. They climbed uphill. Much to, Basya’s surprise, the Warden tripped over a few roots and rocks. In the day, he was so sure footed, but now she had to warn him of the obstacles. “You have keen eyes, my Lady,” 

“You couldn’t see that, but-uh right in front of you.” She said, Blackwall stepped over a divet in the ground. 

“I believe underground living has made you far more accustomed to the dark. Humans don’t see well without light. Ah, here we are.” They arrived at the base of an old fortress. A tall platform, still towering over the trees despite the overgrown vines wrapped around the cobblestone. Blackwall indicated for Basya to climb the ladder and she did. The Warden trailing just below her. 

“So is there something impressive at the top?”

“You could say that. I’ve been coming often, since I traveled to this area. I’ve found it the perfect spot at night for-” The wooden rung of the ladder beneath Basya’s feet snapped. Blackwall’s strong arm flew and his warmth pressed against her hip bone. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” She said, using his support on her waist to stabilize and continue up the ladder. 

“I apologize. There had yet to be any issues when I climbed it. I shouldn’t have assumed it was safe.” 

“It’s okay. Just makes this venture all the more exciting.” She said. Basya pulled herself up at the top, then reached down to Blackwall. He accepted the assistance and she pulled him up. They were up high and it made adrenaline flood her system, but not quite the way it did in battle, with fear. But in an exciting and exhilarating way. Blackwall sat down, dangling his legs over the edge. Basya mimicked his motions. And then he laid his back down on the stone. Basya did too. And that’s when she saw them. 

Little lights peppering the midnight blue sky. Glinting, glittering, dancing. Her eyes scanned back and forth. Some were big, some were dim. Some were bright and twinkling. Other’s tiny or clustered together. All of them shimmered across the vast horizon in every direction as far as she could see. She could feel Blackwall staring at her as she scrambled on her elbows, as if it could get her closer to the beauty. But she was far too enamored by the sky to care. 

“Beautiful, aren’t they,”

“By the Stone, they’re gorgeous. What are they?” Basya asked in awe.

“Stars. That’s what we call them. I only know they’re similar to the sun,” 

“Can they burn us!?” 

“No, no. These are much smaller than the sun.”  

“Good, because I don’t want to leave. I can’t believe I never noticed them.” 

“Well, light, like fire, makes it difficult to see. Besides, there aren’t many reasons to look up.”

“Well now I have thousands.” Blackwall grinned

“Are stars as good as strawberries?”

“No, nothing beats strawberries.” She said. “But they certainly come close.” He pointed to certain ones, teaching her of constellations and stories behind some of them, many relating back to Andrasian religion, which was unsurprising. She didn’t care though. Be it the Stone, Andraste, or the Creators, none of them or all of them who had made these stars, she loved them. And she thanked the Stone for such a piece of beauty through all the violence and chaos. 

“That doesn’t look like a star. It’s so big,” She said, pointing at the sky. Blackwall followed her index finger at the crescent shaped glow amongst the glistening. 

“That is the moon. It’s a good way to tell time, it changes phases throughout every month. Sometimes you can see the full circle of it or half. Or a quarter like now.” 

“It’s incredible. This is my favourite phase. This shape.” She declared. 

“But you haven’t seen the others,”

“So? This is the first one I’ve seen. And I’m with a really amazing guy while seeing it. Thus, my favourite.” She pressed her lips together. She could have been coming on a bit strong. So she let the quiet blanket them and just took in the breathtaking night sky. 

“I’ve been meaning to thank you.” Blackwall said, breaking a comfortable silence that had settled between them. “There are a hundred things that need your attention. You didn’t have to take the time to help me and yet you did.” 

“It’s no trouble. Besides, history you pursue benefits the Wardens. It’s worth it.” 

“In just a short month you’ve proven yourself to be an honourable woman. Principled. I have great admiration for you. And I have never been more certain in my decision to join you.” Basya was glad humans didn’t see well in the dark, because she was certain her pale cheeks probably looked like that of a tomato. 

“I never would have guessed that you admire me,” She said, trying quickly to recover. 

“Of course I do. You have the world at your feet. Myself included.” 

“I-I don’t deserve that sort of reverence.” 

“Modest too. Your list of qualities continues to grow.” Basya watched the trees rustle and thanked the Ancestors for the cool breeze on her hot cheeks. She was melting at every compliment and he only seemed to enjoy her fluster. They were quiet again for a while and she tried to find shapes in the glinting stars. 

 “You’re oddly charming for a man I found wandering the woods.” She said once she’d recovered. 

“I find myself more odd than charming, but I’ll take a compliment from a lady. They’re in short supply these days,” 

“Compliments or ladies?” She asked innocently, turning to watch the way Blackwall’s face crinkled pleasantly as he laughed. 

“Both. So is there something large and heavy you need moved?”

“On the top of the tower? No, I don’t think so. I was just looking to chat to fill the silence. No ulterior motives. ” 

“I do enjoy our chats.” He said. “I have to say, my Lady, you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met. I’m flattered you’d spend any time with me. I enjoy your company,” 

“And I yours,” He smiled at her in the dark and she held it for a moment before darting her eye back to the stars. Basya took a deep breath and tried to savor the night sky and the company that admired it with her.

Chapter Text

“Cullen, stop laughing!” Basya grinned. 

“You have a crush on the Warden-!” Basya had to yank his head down by the ear to cover his mouth with her hand. She glanced in the direction of the stables, but Blackwall stood leaning against the wall, watching the blacksmiths at work. A few of the recruits training around Basya and Cullen appeared to be distracted by the Herald of Andraste shushing the Commander. 

“I never said that. I just said he was sweet.” She said, releasing him. 

“...Right. So you have a crush on him.” 

“Oh, shut it, Salroka.” 

“Still have no idea if that’s an insult,” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Basya wiggled her brows. 

“Maker’s breath, you’re just like Mia you know,” 

“Yup, we’re both pretty amazing. Did you write her yet?” 

“Uh, I’ve been...busy…” He said scratching the back of his neck.

“Cullen, I’m like your boss. I am ordering you to take one hour out of your day, to write a letter to your family.” Cullen laughed. 

“I will make some time for it, but then I’ll have to cut our chess game down shorter.” 

“With how brilliant I am at chess, I can guarantee you’ll have plenty of time. And I swear, if you don’t write Mia, I will.” 

“How on earth would you find where she lives,” 

“Leliana, of course,”

“Oh. That would-that would actually work.” 

“Speaking of work...I guess I have to go save the world or something.”  

“I’d been meaning to discuss that. We’ve gotten responses from both the Mages and Templars.”

“Really? When?” 

“The day before yesterday.” Before she could demand why he hadn’t said anything sooner, he answered, “You needed to catch up on the sleep.” He said. 

“Call a meeting in the war room. I want to see these.” 

“Yes, Herald.” 

“How’s your sleeping been?” She asked. 

“I have to say, I prefer it when you're here.” The two had scared each other, nearly half to death, when Basya had a nightmare and went to take a walk. When she’d opened the door, the Commander, too, had been walking off his own bad dream in front of Basya’s quarters and the two had jumped several feet in the air.  Cullen shared a little more about his nightmares and their tie to what the blood mages had done to him in the Ferelden Circle tower. 

Basya didn’t quite feel comfortable sharing her own, but Cullen was more than accommodating, never pressuring. Basya did however introduce him to the system that Endrin and her had used. Whenever one would have a nightmare, they could go to the other and play a game of knucklebones until they were grounded, before attempting sleep again. It always seemingly worked out nicely as Cullen and Basya both woke from bad dreams at similar times of the night. 

“I prefer it too.” She said before turning away and hurrying up the icy steps. 

Chapter Text

There was an awkward silence as Basya, Varric, Blackwall, and Solas hiked. The clouds loomed overhead, gray and dreary. She preferred it to the sun. The sun always seemed so blinding, but the gray sky never seemed to burn her retinas. Basya jumped, nearly drawing her weapon, when a small splash hit her arm. Varric attempted to keep a straight face as he informed her of the ‘rain’ the Seeker had talked about. 

“Solas, can we talk?” Basya broached, still flinching at every drop of water. 

“What is there to discuss?” 

“Do you want to hear my thought process? Or would you rather just be mad at me?” She asked, genuinely. 

“Don’t think I cannot do both. I am quite a multitasker.” 

“I deployed people to send food, blankets, supplies, and other necessities to Redcliffe. But all those Mages are just innocent people. Kids, families. It wouldn’t be right to force them to close the Breach. Templars aren’t civilians. They train for this kind of stuff.” Basya explained. Solas seemed to mull it over in his head. 

“And after the Templars help seal the Breach, you would take in the Mages?” 

“Yes.”

“I suppose I do see your point.” He relented. 

“Are we good?” 

“I may disagree with things you do and even resent you for them. But I never resent you as a person and nor would it sway our friendship, lethallan.” Even Solas seemed surprised at the wording he’d used, but it made Basya beam even if she didn’t know what it meant. 

“Thanks, salroka. That means a lot.” She fell back in pace with Blackwall. They’d been spending a lot of time together. Stargazing was a routine activity most nights. Blackwall had found a perfect spot on the docks overlooking the frozen pond in Haven that they had stuck to. Which made it all the more adventurous when traveling and having to explore together to find a new spot.

 They weren’t official or anything, but he was becoming somewhat of a calm in the storm. She needed the extra time and was comfortable at this stage in their relationship. Just having Blackwall walking at her side was reassuring in of itself. 

Therinfal Redoubt was getting closer and the unfamiliar sensation of the rain had Basya on edge. She hoped the Orlasian nobles would come. With what she understood of them, they might not show up just because they didn’t have the right blouse to wear to the event. Basya’s stomach knotted and her heart beat in her throat. She tried to swallow it down as the multiple tunes whispered their cravings. 

“What is it, my lady?” 

“Red isana. A lot of it.” She shuddered. From the chill of rain or fear, she didn’t know. Varric tensed and Solas went on alert. It was only another few miles before they arrived at Therinfal. The isana cried from beyond the gates as this annoying Lord Abernache informed her that the Lord Seeker had changed his mind. She was used to nobles and she could tell he was intrigued by her. Lord Abernache bowed and went up ahead. She looked at her friends. 

“The Lord Seeker changed his mind about me rather quickly. Is he known for that?” 

“Maybe he thinks you’ll save him from the sea of petticoats?” Blackwall said. 

“Proceed with caution, lethallan.” 

“Yeah, because on top of Lord Seeker Indecisive, there’s red lyrium in there. That’s never good.” Varric said as he fiddled with his gold chain necklace. They pushed passed the nobles and even Basya, as worried as she was, found amusement in them working the Templar guards. Lord Abernache was trying to say something to a familiar faced Templar, when he walked right past him up to Basya.  

“I’m the one who sent word to Cullen. He said the Inquisition actually works to close this Breach in the veil.” 

“Atrast vala, Ser Barris. The Commander told me of you.” Basya said. “I am going to close that Breach, but not without help. Do you have any idea what the Lord Seeker’s up to?” 

“I wish I did. His actions make no sense. He promises to restore the Order then marches us here to wait? A Templar should know their duty, even when held from it,” Barris shook his head, exasperated. Blackwall nearly sighed in relief. 

“A Templar who remembers duty. I thought we’d never find one.” Lord Abernache huffed impatiently and Barris led the Herald and her followers inside the fortress. The red isana’s music overlapped echoing louder weaving through other eerie tunes. Basya’s skin crawled. 

“The Lord Seeker...has a request before you meet him.” Barris explained the ritual and she furrowed her brows. 

“Fancy title aside, I don’t actually command the Inquisition.” She said.

“That doesn’t seem to matter.” Barris turned to her. “The Lord Seeker changed everything to meet you. Not the Inquisition - you. By name.” 

“Why?” 

“Honestly, I don’t know. He’s been fixated on you.” Lord Abernache scoffed again insisting to refuse the ritual. But, it was a reasonable request, so she obediently raised the flags as she saw fit. “Traditionally, the participant now explains their choice of those assembled.” 

“The Order is the least important because it would not exist without the other two and has a constant reputation of corruption and prejudice within the ranks.” Basya stated bluntly. Solas’ mouth curved slightly upward. Barris nodded, face washed in shame. A few of the Templars watching shared his expression, others scowled. “The People are first and always will be as the Andrastian religion would not exist without them. And the People’s welfare and lives come first and foremost before any religion or Order.” Barris bowed respectfully and finally led them across the courtyard to a door. 

There was a melody coming from the Knight-Captain and his second. But it was muffled, muted, protected by flesh. Basya grimaced hearing the isana’s song of hunger and heat resonate in their bones. 

“Lord Abernache, step back! He sounds red inside!” Basya warned. “By the Stone, they all do.” Barris had had enough and didn’t seem to understand the Herald’s babbles like her companions did. 

“Knight-Captain, I must know what’s going on!” 

“You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning knights!” He ordered. Barris backed up and an arrow flew through Lord Abernache’s skull. Flesh squished and several Templars from the courtyard were dead before Basya could even draw her sword. With Barris’ help they dispatched the corrupted Templars.

 She took a deep breath, the red isana was gone mostly from this room. But she could hear other tainted isana echoing all through Therinfal Redoubt. Barris accompanied them and they fought their way through a never ending amount of red Templars. Basya wasn’t sure which was better. The sound of raw red isana or the corrupted Templars in large numbers. 

“Prepare them! Guide them to me!” A voice cut through the isana like a knife. 

“Was that the Lord Seeker?” She asked. 

“What are you talking about, Mini?” Varric reloaded Bianca with another bolt. 

“That voice.”

“What voice? We didn’t hear anything.” Blackwall said, concern creasing his brow. Basya shook her head and they went on. She cut, slashed, and stabbed, wishing she could clamp her ears. The voice continued, barely audible over the crisscrossing song of haunting and hunger. 

Basya was relieved to see how many Templars were not infected. They saved several of them as they fought through the continuous swarms. Giving all the healthy Templars a chance to regroup and kill their traitorous brethren. 

Finally, Basya caught a glimpse of the Lord Seeker. His back faced the stairs she came up. His body didn’t sing of red isana. This made her more confused and more cautious. She marched up to him and he whirled around, both hands gripped tightly around her neck, the pads of his fingers bruising her throat. She had no choice to follow as he dragged her forward to avoid him snapping her trachea. 

“At last!” And she was blinded by white. Yet a small part of her relaxed as the red isana’s songs halted. Any bit of victory gained by the lack of isana was null in void when Basya was next able to open her eyes. 

The place was covered in a thick green fog. It was dim, but a light flickered to life when she stepped forward. It wasn’t a torch as she had thought. On closer inspection she realized it was a charred corpse aflame. The seared flesh’s scent wafted through the air. Where the fuck was she? 

“Is this shape useful? Will it let me know you?” Leliana asked. Basya jumped. No. This couldn’t be. “This will let me know you. Watch?” She said. A dangerous glint in her eyes and she put the knife to Cullen’s throat. He writhed in Leliana’s grasp, begging for Basya to save him. Basya hadn’t even been able to take more than one step before Leliana glided the knife across. No. Basya couldn’t be. This wasn’t possible. And yet here she was. In her own head staring down an Envy demon. What. the. fuck. Basya wanted to scream at the Stone. Bellow into the scary sky. She’d never been taught anything about a demon except how to kill it. And that was when it was standing in front of her, not in her head! She had no weapon! What was she supposed to do?!

Then she saw Cullen again. Or Envy in Cullen’s shape rather. He plunged a blade through a mirror image of Basya and she could feel the icy pain in the same spot on her own stomach. 

“It’s not Cullen. It’s not Cullen. It’s not Cullen,” She repeated to herself. The reminder, lessening the fear when Cullen stabbed her copy again. With nowhere else to go, Basya ran forward. She watched Envy in her body destroy the Inquisition from within. “That’s not my body. That’s not me. I wouldn’t do that.” Basya reassured herself. 

“Is that fear I detect?” Envy asked then cackled. All her friends had turns of torture. She saw Josephine imprisoned. The Iron Bull had glowered, not divulging any information, while the fake Basya cut his shoulders to ribbons. Varric was hung in chains. Solas screamed to her that he was wrong to have ever called her a friend. She watched Sera get beaten to a pulp, tears welling in her large eyes. Cassandra was abused with a flaming orange iron. Basya’s copy laughed maniacally at everyone’s pain. Basya watched on in horror as she waterboarded the Commander. 

“You monster!” Cullen shouted. Envy smacked him. 

“You’re right. I always was, you know? When I was a kid, I was exiled to the deep roads. Fun place really. Do you know what I did to survive?” Her copy grinned madly, tilting her head to the side. Basya shoved her fake self to the ground and the whole scene exploded. 

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up you stupid demon!” Basya shrieked. Panic swelled in her chest and her hands trembled. 

“You’re hurting, helpless, hasty. What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?” A soft voice said. 

“What are you? Get out!” Envy shouted. “This is my place!” She didn’t know what that voice was. But it wasn’t like Envy. It was soothing, gentle. She had to keep going. She couldn’t let this future happen.

 Basya walked through another door, but it was empty. A bed on the floor, sideway shelves, and a chair on the wall. Nothing? No new nightmare. She shrugged, uneasily and turned to go. 

“Wait.” The voice called. Basya walked back in with caution. “Envy is hurting you. I want to help. You, not Envy. I’ve been watching. I’m Cole. We’re inside you. Or I am. You’re always inside you.” Basya looked up to see a young human man. A big brim hat covered some of his face, but she made out the wisps of blond obscuring his eyes. “I’m here. Hearing, helping, I hope.” He said. 

“The least I could ask is for things to make sense in my friggin head!” Basya kicked the bedpost the boy sat on. Cole laughed. 

“It never works like that.” 

“So it would seem. I’m sorry. I’m not upset with you.”

“I know. You’ve watched your friends hurt and it makes you hurt. Hurting is what Envy craves, but I don’t want you to hurt. Or your friends.” He said. 

“Alright, Cole, do you know how I can get out of here?”

“No. I thought you would. It’s your head.” He paused as if to think. “You’re frozen, Envy is trying to take your face. But all of this is Envy. People, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches,” 

“Okay, okay that’s a plan. I can do that.” Basya said. It had seemed like she’d been watching her friends suffer for hours, days even. For the first time, in who knew how long, Basya grasped at this ray of hope. However feint it was. 

“Maybe. I hope it helps.”

“It does, Cole. Thank you.” 

“Any chance, and hope. No matter how small or far makes you brighter, bolder. I am helping.” He smiled. 

She listened to Cole’s advice and ran. When things were blocked by fire, he told her envision water. And it worked. She was able to have her axe securely on her back. The further Basya went, the more flustered she could tell Envy was growing. 

She stepped too far. Farther than what Envy had planned once again and she had to wait impatiently with a blinding white light. Basya blinked and she could see clearly. Though she wished she couldn’t. Demons roamed as common as mud splashers. Bodies lined the paths of the forest, civilians and soldiers alike. Screams of battle thundered through the thick mist. When soldiers spotted her, they attacked on sight. 

“You summoned this army of demons!” One yelled. 

“No, I didn’t!” Basya said, even though she knew it wasn’t real, guilt chewed at her innards when she slashed the woman's stomach. She gave up fighting and just began to run. Sprinting through the fog and past the fires. Ducking and dodging around shades and other demons. She bolted up the crimson stained staircases and pulled a lever to a gate. 

“You’re almost there. Just keep going up.” Cole encouraged. And she did. Using corpses as steps she climbed another set. 

Before she could finish her stride, white flashed and she stood next to Envy’s version of her. Blackwall knelt in front of Envy. His dark hair was matted to blood that dripped down his temple. He gazed out in the distance in defiance as Envy backhanded him. 

“What happened to you? Ever since the Templar’s you’ve descended into madness. I can’t believe I once said I admired you. It sickens me!” He bellowed. Then Envy thrusted a knife into Blackwall's neck. Basya reached for her axe, but she blinked and was standing directly in front of Blackwall, bloody knife in hand. His wide eyes looked up at her in anger, shock, and horror. He gasped for air, but he only made a wet gurgling sound. Basya dropped the knife as though it were a spider. She watched Blackwall choke on his own blood and just as she reached out to catch him, he collapsed on the ground, his brown eyes vacant. 

“NO!” Basya snatched the knife, whirled around and stabbed the Envy. Another flash of white and she was back on the steps. Her copy wrapped her hands around Basya’s throat once more slamming her back into the door. 

“Unfair! That thing was helping you!” 

“It’s frightened of you.” Cole stated. 

“Get out of-” Basya used the distraction to push the copy and with all her might, then slammed her head into Envy’s.

Basya watched as Envy was thrown, crashing through the enormous red doors. It’s true hideous form standing on it’s four legs, it’s head bending through unnaturally to roar at the dwarf. Time hadn’t seemed to pass. Varric, Solas, Blackwall were okay. Standing ready behind her, weapons still drawn. Utilizing the fade, the demon zipped past behind a barrier. Basya was disoriented enough coming into the main hall, now she was being overwhelmed with the red isana’s songs rushing back into her ears. It took her a moment to stabilize herself.

“The Lord Seeker!” Barris exclaimed. 

“No.” Basya said. “An imposter.” 

“That monster ensured we weren’t prepared. I still don’t know what we’re up against.” 

“An Envy demon.” She said, disdain dripping from every syllable. 

“Envy? Maker, then the real Lord Seeker is caged or dead. It used the red lyrium to corrupt the Order, didn't it? From the top so we couldn’t question when it began.” 

“Knight-Templar, we’re going to avenge your Lord Seeker and all of your fallen brothers and sisters. Are you ready?” Barris seemed to assess he was now the one in charge. He barked a few questions and orders to his men. Basya and her crew set off to find the lyrium and the missing lieutenants. 

With Basya’s Stone-Sense, she was able to find the untainted isana rather quickly. It’s cool humming a blessing amids the starving flames. Thankfully, Basya had made it in time to save the other Templars. It was good news that she dearly needed at the moment. With every note the red isana uttered, Basya could feel her muscles wound tighter. She couldn’t get the images the Envy demon had showed her out of her head. Each flash of a torture friend or a demon torn Orlais, made Basya fight harder. The Herald found all the Templars she could and hurried back to the main hall.

They knocked the barrier easily and Basya charged at Envy. It cackled and taunted, but she didn’t care. She was difficult to anger. But Envy had figured out the buttons needed to be pushed and now Basya was fuming. 

Tears streamed down Sera’s face and mixed with her blood. Basya’s axe swung, slashing the demon's leg. It howled and shriveled into the ground, surfacing behind her. Varric’s feet dangling from the chains, Solas’ cries. She planted the blade in Envy’s fleshy underside. But, her focus was too driven on attack and she lacked the defense to block as Envy swiped a claw at her. She tried to move, but she was too late, the sharp nails digging into her thigh. She cried out, but used the opportunity to chop off the demon’s arm before it was able to retract. It’s piercing shrieks crescendoed with the red isana. 

Gritting her teeth, she took a running start and sprang from the ground, embedding her axe in Envy’s face. She dragged it down, then raised the weapon again and it split the demons mouth in two. Cassandra squeezed her hands into fists as Basya had burned her. Basya drove the axe in the beast. The Iron Bull’s glares as she had twisted the dagger further in his shoulder. The blow splatter blood and brain matter on Basya’s face. 

“Hey, come on, Mini. I think it’s had enough.” Cullen’s desperate gasps to realign himself after swallowing water. Basya kept swinging. Blackwall. The choking sound he made while she held the murder weapon. She screamed and hit down again and again. Her taut muscles finding release with each blow. Basya couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to pulverize this beast into paste. 

“Friends, companions, hurting, helpless. I did this? No, it did. It must suffer.” Cole’s gentle voice cut over the deafening red isana and rage, “But it did. You made it suffer and you killed it. He’s there. He’s right next to you. Safe, sound, soothing.” Something halted Basya’s swing and she looked up angrily. Even on one knee, he was still a few inches taller. 

“My lady! It is dead! You saved everyone. You saved us.” Blackwall said. She stared at him. It was him. His big pleading brown eyes locked with her as she breathed heavily. His muscles began to tremble against her strength. She released her pressure abruptly and let the axe clatter on the ground. And then she hugged Blackwall. Surprise made him falter, but only for a second, before he wrapped his arms around her. Tight, firm, warm. Safe. His scent of fresh cut wood and smoky cinnamon managed to cut the tang of copper. She hadn’t killed him. She hadn’t hurt any of them. Envy only manipulated her. 

After a long moment, she stood and slicked back a few loose curls. She looked back at the Envy demon’s corpse. Or what remained of it. It was a mushy puddle, concocted of smashed organs, broken bones, and blood. She had done that? She didn’t regret what she did to Envy. She only feared her control. Or lack thereof. Basya had no time to dwell, she could see the Templars coming from the hall. So she picked up the axe, careful to avoid eye contact with any of her companions, before limping back up the steps. 

“We are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us.” Barris said. Basya glanced up at the Breach. She sighed. Solas was not going to like this. Though, his passive aggressions would be welcome compared to what Envy had done to him in the hypothetical future. She’d take them in stride. 

“If that thing hanging over our heads doesn’t terrify you, you’re braver souls than I. Your Order is a symbol that holds respect. Though I can’t understand why, it is. That can’t die today. The Inquisition offers an alliance. Root out the rest of your corruption and help us seal the Breach.”  

“Do we accept these terms, Brothers and sisters?” Barris asked.

The crowd of Templars cheered in response.

Chapter Text

Basya didn’t feel very much victorious. She was. She knew she was. She had saved the Order and secured their alliance to seal the Breach. This was good. The Templars had stayed behind to destroy the red isana and they were on their way back to Haven. Even though she was oriented and knew how to sort what had been Envy from her, it didn’t make the memories much less awful. 

The group was quiet leaving the soft patter of the rain to fill in the silence. The rain no longer made Basya flinch. In fact, she welcomed the cold liquid. It doused the fire that had raged around in her chest at the harm of her new family. It soothed her adrenaline, giving her a sharp awareness to the sting of her thigh, that made her wince with each step. 

Her skull ached as if in response to the demon and Cole going in and out, but she was calmer now. She wished Cole had come with them so she could thank the boy properly. She strode over the wet leaves on the path, the forest trees providing a small canopy of protection. A slick, rock made her boot slide, her bad leg stomping down to catch her. Basya inhaled audibly and held it with the torment. She gripped the wet trunk of a tree for support, having a moment before the other’s behind her caught up. She released her breath and limped forward with everyone for another few minutes. 

“We should rest here.” Blackwall said, indicating to a cave. “That leg needs attention.” Basya had refused medical attention at Therinfal. She wasn’t trying to be stubborn, she just needed to get out. Away from the disturbing melodies, away from where she had reduced a demon to a puddle. She just needed to get away. 

She finally looked back at them. They were all absolutely warn. Varric’s feet had begun to scuff on the dirt, Solas’ mana appeared depleted, and Blackwall had been using his sword as a walking stick for the last mile. On top of that they were all soaked through to the bone. It was still another six miles or so to the Inquisition camp so Basya nodded once and they took shelter in the cave.

It was a lot bigger inside than it had appeared. Solas started a fire with dry kindling from the pack to illuminate the familiar structure. Blackwall discarded his armor and stretched. Varric fiddled with Bianca to ensure no water damage on the unique bow and Solas just stared vacantly into the flames. Basya used the wall to slide down at the entrance. The rock ceiling over her head, comforting and the sound of the rain was peaceful. Blackwall approached eventually with a small leather case, kneeling next to her. 

“May I?” He asked, pointing to the injury on her right thigh. She nodded and he gently lifted the leg on his lap. He had asked her to pull back his hair into a bun before the battle and she liked it like that. It made his big brown eyes more visible and gave his face a more youthful appearance.

 He cut the trousers carefully revealing the four vertical slashes. The two on either end were shallow, but the middle claws had cut deep. “I apologize, but this is going to hurt,” And before she could even comprehend the words, the wound sizzled. She thrashed, but Blackwall gripped her securely. He had poured alcohol to disinfect it.

Blackwall’s hands were big, but his didn’t stop his fingers weaving the thread in and out of her flesh in a delicate dance. He glanced to check on her in between nearly every stitch, but Basya would nod, clench her jaw, and squeeze his arm. After what felt like an eternity he placed some large pieces of elfroot on the fresh stitches and Solas used the few healing spells he knew. Blackwall wrapped it in a fresh bandage and then gently moved her leg back on the cold stone floor. Varric was the first to speak.

“So all we saw was the Lord Seeker grab you and then all the sudden demon. What actually happened?” He asked. The pop of the fire was the only thing to break the silence. 

“Well the main takeaway is this ‘Elder One’ plans on murdering Empress Celene and summoning a demon army to take over Orlais,” 

"Oh? Just that?" 

“Celene?” Solas said. Blackwall raised a brow. 

“Her death alone would cause chaos. Politics aside, as I hear it, she’s the only thing keeping the country standing.” Basya rolled her eyes. 

“That’s why we’re going to stop it from happening. Duh,” She said. Her friends all laughed and the sound was like sinking into a hot bath at the end of a long day. Her friends were all okay. She was going to be okay. Knowing sleep wouldn’t come to her, she volunteered first watch.

 It continued to rain, heavy fast fat drops splashing down. She got up a few times to add wood to revive the fire. After a little over three hours, she roused Blackwall for his watch. 

She settled comfortably and her lids began to droop. The soft patter lulling her to sleep. Her body and mind both beyond exhausted. Just as unconsciousness creeped in, the world boomed so loud the spot she lay on rumbled beneath her. Basya launched up, axe at the ready, adrenaline replacing any lingering drowsiness.

Her first thought was it was the Breach. They had taken too long, had one too many victories, so it decided to activate itself. When her mark didn’t flare or spread she assumed it was an explosion. A big one at that. She turned to yell back to warn everyone, but Varric and Solas continued to snooze. Blackwall had jumped up, but he remained unarmed and defenseless without armor.  

“My lady, it’s only thunder,” He whispered urgently as if to not wake the others. What was the point?! If that loud noise couldn’t wake them, no noise could! 

“Thun-der?” Basya said breathily, testing the foreign word on her tongue. She lowered her weapon. Even if that thing was a concern, she feared her axe would be useless against the enemy.

“It’s weather. But it’s just a noise-” A blinding, blue flash sent Basya fleeing from the cave entrance and clinging to Blackwall.

“What was that?!” She begged softly. 

“Lightning. It’s a zap across the sky. Like Solas' electricity spells. It’s so fast it makes that sound.”

“Could it hurt us?” She tensed. 

“It’s highly unlikely.” 

“But it can?!” 

“Sometimes it can strike a tree and cause a fire or electrocute a person if they-”

“You people are scared of magic and mages when the sky can cause wildfires!?” The thunder followed another flash and Basya buried her head in Blackwalls abdomen. He chuckled softly. 

“I suppose it is pretty silly when you think about it,” He guided her to sit down and she followed, not daring to let go of her protector. “What did your family do for you when you were scared as a kid?” 

“I was very frightened of darkspawn…my father would give me a hug and then teach me a new sword move or training. My mother would help my little brother, Endrin make me something, often involving strawberry jam.” 

“Sounds like a good childhood,” 

“Well, yeah. Only after...” She paused. She had only divulged this to Cullen. And she hadn’t even told Cullen everything. The lightning lit up the cave and she dug her face into Blackwall’s stomach. He held her close, blocking her ears, the thunder’s boom muffled. After a moment, he released. Basya relaxed and repositioned her head on his lap. 

“You don’t have to talk about anything you’re not comfortable with. That being said, I’m always here if you need to.” He said. She took a shaky breath and watched Solas’ stiff lanky figure on his bedroll. 

“What about you? You don’t talk about your past much.” She said. 

“There isn’t much to talk about,” 

“You carve wood. Josephine showed me the little boat figurine you made for her desk. Very skilled work.”

“Thank you,”

“Where did you-?” Basya squeaked at a flash and Blackwall’s calloused palm covered her ear as she pressed the other down, probably bruising his quadricep. “Where d-did you learn?” She asked. 

“As I traveled around I came to an elderly woman, Lady Reend. When she saw my Warden crest she begged me to help her. She made toys and carvings that her grandson would sell in the village and should have returned hours ago. I made her no promises, but I hurried to find the boy. I picked up his trail, one of his customers saw him heading off with a well armed man. I followed and found them shaking him down. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old.”

“Assholes,” Basya murmured. 

“In a word. I killed the bandits, none of them trained well enough to pick on anyone who could fight back. The boy, Tannin, had a black eye and a broken rib, but overall he was okay.” 

“Why did he go with the man?” 

“The bandit had told him his friend had a special order to lure him. I brought him to a healer, was going to leave, but Tannin insisted I go back with him. So I did. Lady Reend had no money to spare. She offered nearly everything to me as payment, save the clothes on her back. I told her, I would settle for supper and staying the night. And any debt she seemed to perceive would be gone. I couldn’t sleep that night though,”

“Grey Warden nightmares?” Basya asked. She had heard they have awful nightmares of darkspawn and Archdemons. Blackwall seemed to hesitate. 

“Probably. I don’t always remember my dreams. But I got up and saw Lady Reend carving away at a new toy for Tannin. I’m a fair carver, but believe me when I say I am nothing compared to this woman. I was fascinated by the way she could turn an old fire log into a detailed masterpiece. So I asked her to teach me. She was only too happy to. I stayed in that area for a while. Chasing away dangerous apostates and bandit thugs, but every few weeks I’d return for lessons in woodcarving and to teach Tannin his way around a sword. One day when I returned and showed her my latest piece she smiled and said. ‘There’s nothing else I can teach you, Ser Warden. You are a woodcarver,’” 

The story had to be put on pause with every clap of thunder and strobe of blue lighting as Basya would gasp and he’d cover her ear. A particularly loud crack overhead had her jump up and she pressed her face into Blackwall’s sternum. He held her protectively as she trembled in his arms, before she slowly, cautiously sank back down to his lap. 

“She sounds sweet. Lady Reend,”

“She is. I still visit from time to time.” 

“After I close the Breach, you should introduce me,”

“Agreed. They’re a great family,”

“They’re really important to you,” Basya said. 

“I guess, they’re also a reminder. Of something good I’ve done. At least once.”

“Just once? But you’re a Warden. You’ve saved countless from Darkspawn. Not to mention all the people you’ve saved and taught to defend themselves like Tannin and those men at the lake when I met you,” 

“I-yes. I suppose I have trouble feeling the good I’ve done.”

“Well then, I’ll just have to remind you,” Basya said with a nod. The thunder came again, but distant and she hadn’t seen a flash first. “It’s moved?”

“Yes, sounds like it’s quite a long ways away now. You’re exhausted, my lady. Perhaps you should try and sleep?” 

“What if that loud light comes back?” 

“I will not leave your side, my lady. If it should come back, I will be here,” Basya’s heart fluttered and despite how scared she was of the thunder, despite how tired she was, she smiled. She retrieved her bedroll from the entrance and laid between Blackwall and the fire. She curled up on her side, knees to her chest, her axe in front of her, beside Blackwall’s foot. With him watching over her, she allowed her eyes to close once again. 

Chapter Text

As soon as the party had entered Haven, Basya was bombarded with questions by her advisors. She gave them the watered down version she’d given Varric, Solas, and Blackwall, before returning to her Quarters. It wasn’t until much later that night, Cullen came in to check on her.

“Blackwall told me how you killed Envy,” He said carefully. 

“Leliana needs a report?” 

“Yes, but that’s not why I came. Blackwall was worried and he thought as your friend, I should come. You once were a listening ear for me to talk to. I can return the favor if you wish,” He was one of the few people who would understand how it felt to have your brain invaded. To have personal memories used against you.

“Shut the door,” Cullen did. “Repeat it to whoever you wish, but I’m only going to say this once. I don’t-I can’t relive this again…”. She told him everything that had happened while trying to retrieve the Templars. Everything Envy had showed her. Her tyrant copy, her friends torture, the widescale demon battle in Orlais. Cullen’s torture, killing Blackwall. Murdering him. The gurgling sound he made still ringing in her ears. 

Cullen was patient, giving her all the time she needed. She had to stop talking a few times and force the words out like tearing off an old bandage. It hurt, but getting the air on the wound was freeing. When she was finished, Cullen held her hands. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. You know I’d never hurt you. And you’d never hurt me,”

“Yeah, of course. Just doesn’t always help when the images look so real.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ll take a hug if you have any spare,” Cullen gave her a big brotherly hug. 

“So, what’d Mia say?” Baysa asked.

“Uh...about that…” Cullen scratched the back of his neck. She lightly smacked his shoulder. And he braced himself. 

“Come on! You were supposed to write to her weeks ago! That’s it, I’m going to ask Leliana Mia’s whereabouts-” Basya hopped from her bed and went out the door, Cullen chasing after her. 

“No! Wait! I’ll write her a letter! I promise!” 

She ran right into the war room. Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana were all in the midst of conversation. They all had difficulty containing their laughter as the Commander attempted to cover the dwarf’s mouth, but she deflected his attacks and demanded to know where Cullen’s sister lived. Basya left victorious with the address, while the advisors asked him to stay behind, no doubt so he could tell them all that happened with the Envy demon.

‘Dear Mia Ruthford, I’m sorry your brother is a dumbass. I’m the Herald or who they claim to be anyways, nice to meet you. I’m letting you know that he's alive and well and annoying as always.’ She began. Varric was ready to run interference on Cullen in case he finished early. So she took her time, asking questions about Cullen and the family and more. Basya sealed the envelope with hot wax and passed it onto the courier. 

It had been just in time too, because a young cleric summoned the Herald. Her advisors were looking for her. A discussion about the Templar allies no doubt. She returned to the war room and pushed open the door. 

“Officers betraying their soldiers,” Cassandra yelled, she seemed even more angry at Basya’s presence. “Templars without leaders, a demon imitating the Lord Seeker...We should have taken them to task. The crimes they’ve committed-”

“Were committed by their officers,” Cullen said defensively. “ The soldiers of the Order will serve.” Leliana pursed her lips. 

“These crimes put them at our mercy. Yet the terms of this alliance do not benefit the Inquisition as they should!” The spymaster sighed. “You should have consulted us Herald,” Basya crossed her arms. After all she’d gone through to secure this alliance, somehow they were still mad at her. 

“What? What was I supposed to do? Tell them to hang on while I send a raven?” 

“When will the Templars be here?” Josephine asked. 

“A few dozen veterans are coming ahead of the rest to help seal the Breach.”

“How soon until these veterans arrive?” Basya jolted as a puff of the Fade mist smoked around them, revealing a familiar wide brimmed hat. 

“They’re almost here.” Cole said, seemingly mesmerized by one of the markers on the war table that he held. “Templars don’t like to be late.”

“Maker!” Cullen exclaimed stepping directly in front of Basya aiming his sword. Cassandra followed suit. 

“Wait!” Basya said. She pushed past Cullen and put her arms up protecting the boy. 

“I came to help. I would have told you before, but you were busy.” She peered over her shoulder. 

“You came with me? I wish you had said something, I wanted to thank you.” 

“Call the guards. This creature is not what you-” But Basya ignored the Seeker already offering a hand that Cole accepted and used it to hop off the war table. Leliana didn’t appear bothered. 

“A moment please, Cassandra. I would like to hear why you came.” Cole looked down at Basya through his wisps of blond bangs. 

“You help people. You made them safe when they would have died. I want to do that too. I can help,” 

“Of course you can help. I never would have gotten past the Envy demon without you.” 

“Yes you would have.” He said. “You have been through darker.”

“Let’s not overestimate my abilities.” Basya laughed uncomfortably. “Maybe I could have, but certainly not without my sanity. I have you to thank for that.”

“You’re welcome! I’m just glad I helped.” Cassandra’s face scrunched suspiciously. 

“Cole saved my life in Therinfal. He stays.” Basya said firmly. 

“But-” Cullen and Cassandra both began. 

“He stays.” 

“I won’t be in the way. Tiny, no trouble-”

“Cole, don’t listen to them. You don’t have to hide.” Cole smiled at her. 

“Small, but big. Brave, but soft, sweet. Like the strawberries that you like.” He said squeezing her hand. Cullen and Cassandra didn’t approve, but Josephine and Leliana were more accommodating. Spirit or not, Cole had helped. And he still wanted to. That’s all Basya cared about.

When the meeting was over, She ate some bread and soft cheese, met up with Blackwall for some stargazing before he walked her back to her quarters. She had a fitful dream, running from Envy's hideous form in the dark corners of the deep roads. She awoke abruptly, Cullen knocking lightly on the door. 

His face was pale, his hands were cold and clammy and she sat him down with a glass of water before retrieving six small rocks. Basya gently threw the rocks and flipped her hand, catching three of them on her knuckles. Then she threw them again, quickly catching them in her palm. 

“You must be cheating,” Cullen said. 

“How can you cheat at knucklebones?” 

“The rocks must be weighted.” 

“Right, with my dwarvish powers, I chiselled the pebbles to be the perfect weight.”

“See I knew it.” They both laughed. “How does the mark treat you?” 

“It’s not too bad. We’d be worse off without it.” Basya said. “What’s wrong?”

“Solas said there’s no way to know how closing the Breach will affect you,” Cullen’s face was washed in worry.

“There’s no way to know. I’ll seal the Breach and walk off like a badass. Varric can even write a whole cool scene.” Basya said. She hadn’t really given it much thought. She’d been prepared to die at the very beginning. And she was just as prepared then as she was now. Not that she didn’t want to live. Basya had a very biased opinion of her survival. But if her death closing the Breach saved everyone, she’d do in a heartbeat. Not to be stupid and selfless, but to do the basic right thing. However, she could be okay. There was a chance it could kill her, sure. But there was also a chance she’d be fine. Hope against hope, it’d close just as any other rift she’d faced. 

“Does anything ever shake your optimism?” 

“Nope. Unshakable. Glass half full or half empty? It doesn’t matter. You have something to drink no matter how you look at it.” She said. The corner of Cullen’s mouth tugged upward and he nodded. She passed the rocks to him and he tossed them, catching only one on his knuckle and when he flipped it back, it bounced off his thumb to the floor. 

“Just, wait. We’ll play chess tomorrow night.” He said. And Basya laughed again. 

The next morning Basya was in the mood for practice. So she began her search for The Iron Bull, her favourite sparring partner. She found him in his usual spot, overlooking Cullen’s recruits, watching their form with rigor. 

“How you doing, Boss?” He asked as she approached the Qunari. 

“Can’t complain,”

“Have to say, pretty glad I wasn’t there to help round up the Templars. Cullen said a demon was in your head. Sounded fucked up,” 

“That’s why it’s dead now. A pulverized puddle. A paste smeared on the dirt.” She emphasized. Iron Bull grinned. 

“That’s what I love about you, Boss.” With that, the two headed to an open clearing, a little farther up the road from the blacksmiths. It was good to have Bull. Cassandra and Cullen were always too lenient, holding back for fear of actually hurting the Herald of Andraste. But the Qunari gave it his all. He had given her good pointers and advice of using her height to her advantage. She listened to every scrap and as Iron Bull lunged she ducked under his legs, smacking his hamstring with the wooden sword. 

“Yes! Good.” He said. 

“Any more tips?” Sweat beaded on the back of her neck underneath her braid.

“Not really. Just remember you're small. It gives you an advantage of speed most warriors, particularly two handers, don’t normally have.” Basya nodded. “Although...there is one thing I’ve been meaning to try, but I don’t know.”

“Well now you have to tell me,” 

The next thing Basya knew was that she was high in the air. She could see her target a few yards ahead. Sera stood a little ways to the side of it. She moved her hand to indicate how close the aim was to the wooden figure. 

“Issa bit off! Left a bit!” Sera ordered. They had acquired quite an audience throughout their attempts. Varric was grinning and Cullen looked on in a combination of concern and amusement. A few soldiers and Clerics' curiosity had also appeared to get the best of them. 

“Ready, Boss?” 

“This is the best idea any surfacer has ever had.” 

“This time you’ll get it. I think I’ve worked out the kinks.” 

“Shall we then?” She prepared herself, real axe in hand. Bull pulled back as far as he could, then he launched Basya through the air. The frosty air whipped her face, her hair tailing behind her in the wind. At the right moment, she brandished her weapon and smashed down, the head of the axe splintering the target down the chest. She used the weapon to break her fall, her feet still landed hard, the impact stinging up her calf, but she only stood and grinned victoriously. The soldiers clapped and cheered. 

“Haha! Nice one, Boss!” 

“That wos awesome!” Sera said. “Throw me next!” 

“Tomorrow. My arms are getting tired,” He said, stretching out his shoulder. He turned to Basya. “You’re always complaining about armour not being cute. Ben-Hassarath sent me some goodies, if you’re interested.” 

“You had me at cute armour!” Iron Bull went back to his tent to retrieve it and Basya changed into it quickly. “How’d you get it my size?”

“Qunari toddlers have to wear something. I may have requested. Looks amazing on you, Boss,” Cullen frowned, scratching the back of his neck. 

“It seems like it would be cold. And not very protective,” The antaam-saar was only a tube top held up by an intricate weaving of strings, but the pants and boots were sturdy and warm. 

“Only if her defense it shit,” Iron Bull said. 

“I love it,” She declared. Cullen sighed. 

“Of course. You throw out every chest plate we offered, but take the strings and simple leathers.” 

“All those chest plates were either way too big or were so ugly, it’d rather just get stabbed.” She said. 

“Maker, how have you survived?”

“My defense isn’t shit.” Iron Bull gave her a large high five. 

“Besides,” Sera chimed in. “If she gets cold she always ‘as her Warden to warm her up,” Basya’s cheeks flushed. Since her natural complexion was pale, it was quite obvious to everyone. 

“Sera!” She scolded, playfully smacking the elf's side as everyone laughed at their leader’s fluster. She glanced subconsciously toward the blacksmith, where Blackwall was helping the workers move materials. He looked up as if aware of her gaze, but she turned quickly back to the group, still teasing. Instead of dwelling, she joined in on the laughter, thankful for some moments of levity amidst it all. 

Chapter Text

“You can do this. I’ll be with the Templars, their lyrium should make it easier. Cassandra and Blackwall will be your supports,” Solas said, then he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Be careful, lethallan.” Basya peered up at the Breach above her.

“No different than any other rift.” She said. Solas gave her a gentle smile. He turned to address the Templars. Basya’s mark was already flickering, but once she stepped too close, the magic spurred. It was as though she were trudging through molasses. She stumbled, finally close enough to allow the mark to leash the Breach. Basya pulled and her palm to her forearm burned hotter than any of the smaller rifts combined. She grunted, but stood her ground. She could hear the soft tune of the clean isana cracking the Breach’s defense. 

With one more last and desperate pull, the magic flashed a light green sending everyone hurtling back. Basya breathed heavily, propping herself on one knee, but the whole world lurched so he halted her movement. Basya felt Cassandra’s firm hand on her back. 

“You did it,” She said. Basya looked up at the sky to confirm and she could help, but let the corner of her mouth smirk upward. 

“Well done, my lady.” Blackwall said. Solas sprinted to Basya, his feet as light as a doe. He reported that only two of the Templars had minor injuries from the blast. There were tests he needed to do to make sure the Breach was sealed, but he sounded pleased. Basya finally attempted to stand, but dots swarmed her vision 

“Lethallan!” Solas and Blackwall caught her on both sides, gently lowering her to the ground. Her breathing was heavy and the mark stung. Yet despite the horrible faint feeling, Basya was hyper aware of Blackwall’s hand on her bare abdomen. Solas examined her with his magic, muttering a few spells. Cassandra stood in front of them, concern being an unaccustomed expression on the Seeker’s face. 

“Is she alright?” She asked. 

“Basya does not have mana the way mages do. Thus the mark must feed on her to work. She needs rest and medicine, but I suspect a full recovery,” 

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra whispered. “I will stay here with the Templars to clean up. Would the two of you take her to her quarters please.”  

“Can you stand, my lady?” Blackwall asked. She nodded and this time even though dots clouded the edges of her sight, she could indeed stand thanks to Solas’ spells. Both of them kept themselves ready to catch the dwarf at any minutes. But with only a few stops to rest or to lean on Solas, Basya was able to walk back to the main settlement, to her quarters. 

They sat her down on the bed, Blackwall unlacing her boots while Solas put together a quick potion. Basya was drained. Like a raisin left in the sun for too long, all the energy sucked dry and pruny. Her mark flared and Basya feared she’d pass out again until. Solas ordered her to lay down and she did, obediently drinking the potion that tasted of woodsy valerian and lavender. Basya was instantly sleepy and that last thing she remembered was Blackwall pulling up the covers over her. 

The first thing Basya noticed when she woke up wasn’t the loud music or laughter. Not the stringent stench of alcohol and feast that wafted through the air. Not the cheers or what she presumed to be a crackling bonfire. No. 

The first thing Basya heard was a haunting melody of starvation. 

It was so deafening, blaring. Splitting her eardrums in two. She lurched up crying out, gripping her head. Blackwall had been sitting in a chair by the fire. He crossed the room in an instant. He put a comforting grip in the crook of her elbow as she scrunched her eyes shut. 

“What is it?!” He said. She took a deep breath like her father had taught her. Her Stone-Sense had always been strong and even regular isana could sometimes overwhelm her if close to a vein. Focusing on her breathing, the sound softened. 

“Red isana. But it’s different. It...thinks? Red isana only sings to consume, b-but this sings of Tevinter and G-ds. I don’t-It’s moving. Toward us. Towards Haven.”  Basya pushed the covers aside and struggled to put on her boots. “Get your armor! Tell Varric and Solas to get ready too! Anyone you come across for that matter,” 

“But, my lady!?”

“Now, Blackwall!” She ordered. He stared at her for a few moments before he nodded. Basya burst out of the small house. She spotted Cassandra talking with an Inquisition soldier and sprinted to her. 

“Ah, there you are. Solas confirmed the heavens are scared, but calm. The Breach is sealed-”

“Great, someone is coming to attack with red isana-uh lyrium.” 

“What?!”

“I can hear it in the mountains!” Basya turned to the soldier. “Tell Flissa to close the bar by my order!” She saluted over her chest and hurried away. 

Cassandra barked commands at others to evacuate those who could not fight in the chantry. They were getting well underway, when the bell rang. Basya was relieved to hear Cullen's voice, though not his words. 

“Forces approaching! To arms!” Both of them ran down the path. Blackwall, Varric, and Solas regrouping with her. Cullen explained the situation. She could hear the leaders strange humming thoughts. It did want to consume Haven, but for an ultimate goal. It wanted the Herald dead. Basya did not care for this extremely sentient red isana. An explosion from beyond the gates pulled Basya from her thoughts. 

“If someone could open this, I’d appreciate it!”  Basya hurried down and pushed the door open herself. A man, tanned skin and a twirling mustache, knelt on the ground. A dozen bodies surrounding him. “Ah, I’m here to warn you. Fashionably late I’m afraid.” He nearly collapsed, but Basya and Cullen both lent him a sturdy hand. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Mite exhausted, don’t mind me. I’m Dorian Pavaus. I came to tell you the mages at Redcliffe are now under the command of the Venatori. In service to something called the Elder One.” When she followed the man’s finger she watched that massive thing walk to the ledge on the mountain. It’s red isana screeched in her ears of its craving to be a true G-d. 

“Cullen, give me a plan! Anything!” 

“The trebuchets. Defend them!” Basya and her group tore through any mages that attacked. Red isana whistled from their rib cages. Basya and Blackwall controlled the field. They cared for each other’s blind spots and the power that exuded from the pair of warriors was near impossible for the Venatori to defend against. Especially with the barriers and showers of arrows from behind. Basya pushed her loose hair from her face and chopped a mage's arm off. She hadn’t had time to tie her hair in the intricate braided bun it normally was in during battle. She had just stabbed an opponent when the Inquisition soldier fired the North trebuchet. It hit it’s target with precision.   

“We’ll reload. Get to the other trebuchet. It isn’t firing!” She said. Basya nodded once and sprinted down the icy paths. Something chewed at her innards when Basya saw the soldiers slumped on the ground. Her soldiers. The Inquisition's shiny eye symbol splattered with red. Venatori had taken the trebuchet, but Basya chopped her axe into one’s skull and wrenched it out, squirting blood everywhere. They took back the trebuchet, for but a moment. But it was enough for Basya to begin turning the wheel. 

Varric, Solas, and Blackwall did their best and more to keep off enemies. They were all preoccupied for the moment so Basya was keeping alert over her shoulder. 

“Herald, behind!” Blackwall screamed as he bashed his shield into a Venatori. Basya ducked, a sword embedding itself in the trebuchet, then she stood, slashing the attacker dead, before continuing to spin the mechanism. And then she launched it, Varric shooting a Venatori in the head before it could touch Basya. The rock slammed the side of the mountain and they watched as the snow tumbled down like the waves of the Storm Coast’s ocean burying the army. 

Varric gave her a light nudge on the shoulder. She smiled briefly, but applaud and thankful shouts were cut short by a ball of flame decimating the trebuchet. Basya hit the dirt, but recovered quickly, jumping to her feet. 

“Everyone to the gates!” She demanded. Watching the blacksmith struggle to get inside his house, Basya gave the obstructing box a swing. She didn’t have time to hear him thank her as she kept moving. Cullen held open the doors long enough for everyone to sprint through. The dragon roared to the red isana’s song in it’s organs. They had to get back to the chantry, but there were too many people who needed help. 

While her companions fought, Basya climbed a ladder and dropped into a burning building. She kicked down the door to let the man out. Blackwall called to her as she raced into the flaming tavern. She coughed as smoke coated her lungs, but uncovered Flissa and carried the woman out. 

Adan, the potion maker, and Minaeve, the researcher were both trapped under a cart of explosives. Basya had little time, but tossed her weapon down and reached under the wooden carriage. She lifted it with all her might, giving room for Adan to wiggle free. Her muscles strained, but she held the cart up as Varric pulled Minaeve out. Basya groaned and let the cart fall and dove out of the way while it exploded into splinters. They fought off more enemies with the quartermaster until Solas grabbed her wrist.

“But there could be other survivors,” She protested.

“That’s all you can do right now!” She relented, no time for arguing and headed into the Chantry. Cullen was relieved to see her. 

“We’re overrun, Cullen. To hit the enemy would bury Haven. I won’t do that.”

“Good,” Dorian said. “I didn’t run all this way for you to drop rocks on my head.”

“There is a path,” Chancellor Rodrick said. “The people can escape,” 

“How about it, Cullen? If I distract it can you get everyone out?”  

“Yes. But that would leave you with no escape.” Worry washed over his expression and Basya didn’t respond. “Maybe you’ll surprise it, find a way…” 

“Definitely,” Basya said. “I’m always full of surprises.”

“I’ll pray for you,” Rodrick said. She smiled and nodded gratefully as Dorian put one of the Chancellor’s arms around his neck. Cullen grabbed her forearm. 

“If we are to have a chance - if you are to have a chance - let that thing hear you,” He squeezed once before turning to help the other soldiers. Varric, Blackwall, and Solas were still with her. She instructed that if anyone is separated to make for the passage no matter what. It pained her to say it, but even if it was one of them, she’d have to leave them behind.

To aim the trebuchet was another battle. Swarms of Venatori and red isana addled swordsmen came wave after wave. Basya’s group was beginning to tire, but it didn’t make them less of a force to be reckoned with. Just as Basya shifted the trebuchet where it needed to be the red isana dragon shrieked. 

“Move! Now!” She bellowed. It’s fiery breath made a wall between Basya and her companions in front of her. She didn’t even get a chance to tell them to keep going before an explosion knocked Basya into the air and she rolled onto her back. She stood just in time to watch the enormous ‘Elder One’ approach. No. The red isana that judded out of his skull sang ‘Corypheus’. That was his name. 

“Whatever you are, I’m not afraid!” She called, steadier than she thought it would be. 

“Words mortals often hurl into the darkness. Once they are mine, they were always lies.” His low voice reverberating over the isana. 

“What do you want, Corypheus? The Imperium? To be a G-d?” Even the monster seemed to pause. 

“I already am a G-d. That is besides the point. I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now,” Using the orb, Corpheus tried to take the mark, the emerald sparks hissing at the attack. Basya cried out and her knees buckled as the Corypheus tried to remove the magic deeply embedded in her glowing veins. He angrily snatched her forearm, her shoulder screamed, popping out of its socket from the force as Corypheus dangled her before him. 

“Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the throne of the G-ds, and it was empty!” As if in retribution her mark crackled to life and a rift appeared behind him zapping him with a burst of green energy. It disappeared and Corypheus was furious as he tripped forward. He threw her like a rag doll, her back smacking hard against the trebuche’s wood and metal fastenings. “The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” Basya crawled forward and leapt for the sword on the ground. She scrambled to her feet pointing the sword at the ready. Corypheus and his tainted dragon cornered her. But then she saw it. Just past his shoulder a red spark in the sky. She glanced at the trebuchet. Thank the Stone! Praised Ancestors! Basya was going to save them. 

“Your arrogance blinds you. Enjoy your victory. Here’s your prize!” And before she even finished her sentence, Basya kicked the trigger and the trebuchet launched into the mountain next to them. As soon as she saw she’d hit her target, she turned and ran. Her feet propelled her forward and she didn’t stop until the snow had taken over. Basya felt the terrifying sensation of gravity, hair ballooned above her. Her head cracked on a wooden beam and everything went black. 

The first thing Basya was aware of was cold. She was still in the antaam-saar. Jokingly, she had told Bull if the Breach killed her, she wanted to go out looking hot. Now she was regretting it. She had fallen down in a cave, the rubble protecting herself from being buried. Basya tried to move and cried out, her shout echoing in the tunnels. 

A sharp piece of wood impaled the side of her abdomen. Her father had taught her never to remove a penetrating injury, but the other end of the stick was stuck under so many layers of debris and ice. She took a deep breath before surging forward. She screamed at the pain and pressed her hand quickly over the wound. The hot sticky blood warming her frozen fingers. 

Her marked hand fizzed, the shoulder it was attached to was dislocated and hung limp at her side. Basya had to get out now. Simple task. Get out of this tunnel. She saw a few demons and halted. Her axe and the sword she’d snagged briefly were gone. Most likely buried until seven feet of snow. Basya approached cautiously, but the mark sprang to life and created another rift, zapping all the demons until the tunnels were quiet. It had saved her twice now. It would only be more useful when Solas taught her how to control it better. 

She kept walking forwards, thinking it wasn’t too bad. She could get through this. But as soon as she stepped out of the cave the harsh wind whipped across her face. She staggered as it pushed her around like a school yard bully. All the familiar routes and paths around Haven were buried under a mound of snow. Basya took a deep breath and listened. If she could hear the clean lyrium in the Templars, she’d be able to find where all the survivors had gathered. 

Nothing? Nothing! Why couldn’t she hear anything!? Was it too muted by their flesh over the raging wind? Or had the bang on her bloody temple knock the Stone-sense right out of her? 

Shaking her head, she began to trudge through the snow. The frozen powder reached her upper thigh and it took considerable effort to climb through. Her shoulder throbbed and her abdomen screamed. Cold was officially Basya’s least favourite weather. Her breathing grew heavier with each stride. The snowy wind stung her cheeks as she plowed against it. 

Basya’s Stone-sense had always been heightened. Stronger than any dwarf she knew. When she had first come to the surface, she had been nervous she would be able to hear the lyrium veins so deep under her feet within the earth. She could. Feinter and it took a little concentration sometimes, but she could hear it and judge the distance from range. 

Basya remembered her father’s cuddles when she was overwhelmed by the songs. It had been how she survived her exile in the Deep roads. She was often in charge of finding new veins to mine. However, her Stone-sense could be auditory overload one moment and gift the next. She relied on it so much, she didn’t know what to do without it. She’d take the bad of it, if the alternative was nothing. 

Basya had been terrified of Envy and the visions it had given her. Yet, somehow she found the lack of the soft soothing isana far worse. She had never in her life been confused or uncertain when it came to directions. No matter what the situation she always knew where she was, allowing her to know which song to follow to lead her to a destination. 

She paused in a lunge, straddled between a snowbank and tried again. Clearing her thoughts, pushed the wind to the back. Only the whipping wind and the sound of her heartbeat. She cursed the Stone before continuing, wandering, in who knew what direction. With her luck probably the opposite of where she needed. 

Basya was so cold she stopped shivering. Or maybe bodies had an on and off for it. Her waist down was numb and it felt as though she were walking on stilts. Her fingers were tinted blue at the tips, the only warmth from the crimson that seeped slowly between the cracks in her hand. 

Her father had taught there was always a way out. No matter how difficult the situation, no matter how much it would hurt, there was always a way. There was always hope. So Basya continued. 

It had been nightfall when Haven was attacked. Now Basya could see the sky’s shift of pinky orange. Dawn, she believed it was called. How long had she been walking? Several hours? Did Cassandra send a search party for her? Knowing the Seeker more like ten. 

Basya’s boot caught on a sheet of ice and she keeled face first into the snow. She rolled on her back and stared up. A few twinkling stars could be made out, but most had vanished with the coming sun. The horrible image of her falling into the sky made her stomach knot and she shut her eyes quickly. That still happened when she looked at it for too long in the day. For some reason it’s vastness was harder to swallow when it was so visible. 

Was this it? Normally Basya was ready to fight. To find a way out. Anything for her friends to embarrass her in front of Blackwall or to laugh at one of Endrin’s notes written in horrible dwarvish grammar. She wondered what he’d be doing now. Sparring with their father or going through Basya’s belongings without permission. Her frozen heart ached for the warmth of home. 

Without navigation, without Stone-sense, there was no hope. 

She was gone. Dead. Left to freeze to death. Or perhaps bleed to death. Whichever found her first. This was it. She took one last look at the sky and thought of her family, her new surface friends. Blackwall. Then closed her eyes welcoming the darkness that surrounded the edges of her vision. 

Her eyes snapped open. What was she doing?! She hadn’t survived the Deep roads like this. She had friends and family! People who needed her. An Inquisition who needed her! 

With as much effort as she could muster she pulled herself to her feet. She placed one foot in front of her, her boot sinking in the snow like quicksand. She muddled through the cold numbness tingling throughout. She continued, one foot in front of the other. One step at a time. She went as slow as she needed, she just made sure she didn't stop. 

Then she heard it. 

Cool, soft, blue, soothing. Songs echoing beneath the snow. Three quarters of a mile out. Basya laughed out loud, the sound absorbed by the vast horizon. She followed the tune. It was east of where she’d been wandering, but she climbed the snow, as fast as she could bring herself, her numb legs trudging on. She saw it. A fire pit. A beautiful, wonderful, miraculous fireplace with dull embers clinging to kindling and smoke still wafting above.  

A chorus of sweet muffled, muted, melodies sang behind armor and innards. Templars! Clean ones. She was close. They were a few miles away and she tried to run, but the snow slowed her. There was no feeling in her knees and they buckled. She had just pushed herself, she had to keep going. She went so far as to drag herself with her elbow several more feet, before exhaustion refused to allow her to maneuver her frozen muscles. She rolled back over, falling to the side, still guarding her the wound.

“It’s her! Cullen’s announced. 

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra said. 

Blackwall sprinted ahead of her advisors. Snow peppering his dark beard as he carefully helped her up, she didn’t even have strength enough to cry out at the jostling of her injury. Blackwall produced a thick wool blanket and wrapped it around her bare shoulders as her head lulled against his warm chest. 

“We have you get you warm. I know you’re going to want to sleep, but you can’t do that yet, okay. Stay with me, my lady,” Blackwall picked her up, one hand under her hamstrings, the other cradling her neck. Her vision blurred as Cullen placed his signature cloak on top. “We must have Healers on standby! I want a surgeon by the gates as we get in!” The Seeker barked. She could feel the gentle bounce as Blackwall began to run and she shrank into his warmth. 

“Stay with me, damnit, hold on,” Blackwall said, shaking her gently, but as much as she tried, Basya couldn’t keep her lids open any longer. 

Basya awoke briefly, her hyperventilating, confusion as to where she was. She couldn’t hear the isana. Where was she? What was happening? She couldn’t move. Everything hurt. Blackwall turned away from a steaming basin, his hand tinged pink as it wrapped around and warmed her cold one. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re safe now,” Blackwall said and she calmed, slowing her breathing and slipping back into the void. 

When she awoke permanently, Basya was shivering. Not the small chill running up the spine or some goosebumps. But violent uncontrollable spasms as her body desperately tried to warm itself again. Each jolt sent a wave of pain down her body. Her shoulder and stomach, she remembered when she had received the wounds. Not the bruising aching pain in her ribs. She could hear noisy arguing. Her advisors seem to shoot venom at each other. Mother Giselle glanced at her and pulled the covers further over the dwarf. 

“Shh, you should be resting.” 

“How long have they been at it?” 

“Three days. Time is a luxury we have thanks to you.”

“Three?!” Basya sat up alarmed, but winced until Mother Giselle guided her back down. 

“Even if it was not for your severe injuries. We would need the times to figure out what to do next,” Her Olaisian accent lilted with her words. Basya relaxed reluctantly. 

“Severe?” 

“Had it not been so cold you would have bled out. Though due to that exposure, there was a very close call when I left to tend to others. You stopped breathing, but the Grey Warden used compressions until Healers arrived. It broke your rib, but very well saved your life. Indeed it seems it was hard to separate him from you after that.” Mother Giselle said, her lips tiled in an amused smile. 

“Where is he now?” 

“Resting. Though it took quite a lot of convincing. News you have woken will surely help. Everyone’s spirits for that matter,” Mother Giselle called the Healers who had operated on Basya to give her another round of medicinal spells. She was a model patient. The quicker she was healed the quicker she could start helping again. Wrapped in her blanket, Basya was allowed to limp to a pole. Her legs were pin and needles, still walking off the numb. Mother Giselle looked at her curiously. 

“It must be hard to accept, no? What “we” have been called to endure? What “we” perhaps, must come to believe?” As much as Basya respected Mother Giselle, her gentle push toward Andrastian religion was becoming less gentle. Basya loved the Stone and her culture very much and that wasn’t going to change and she didn’t appreciate the expectation for her to just up and drop her religion and heritage for a new one.

“With all due respect, Mother Giselle, no.” She said calmly. “Perhaps the Stone helped me. Maybe the Ancestors guided me. But I am no Herald. Certainly not of your Andraste. Even if the Stone meant me for this, it did nothing for anyone at Haven.” With that Basya walked forward to the other pole, away from Mother Giselle.  

It only took her first verse of a pretty melody, no doubt a chantry hymn, before everyone was singing. Many went so far as to bow to her. She didn’t like when people bowed to her as a Princess, let alone a prophet of a G-d she didn’t even worship. Basya felt wrong, like she was secretly deceiving them all. But she just stood there uncomfortably as they all sang, praying to the Ancestors for it to end quickly. 

“Faith is made stronger by facing doubt. Untested, it is nothing. That speaks true for all religions, no?” 

Chapter Text

Everything was in a roar when they reached Skyhold. Solas’ knowledge of the place was much needed and although it hadn’t looked like much when Basya had first arrived, the place was coming around. Now Basya was Inquisitor. Inquisitor! Cassandra had decades of experience, had fought several dragons, and had started the whole thing in the name of the Divine as her Left hand. Yet Cassandra refused to even consider anyone but Basya. 

What choice did she have? Leadership wasn’t particularly new to a dwarven princess. Besides that, she had a lot of soldiers to avenge. Corypheus wasn’t going to get away with any of it. 

Basya waved to Solas as she walked up the steps to the library where the Tevinter mage stood browsing the shelves. He didn’t turn when she approached. 

“Brilliant isn’t it? One moment trying to restore order in a world gone mad. Then out of nowhere an Archdemon kicks you in the head. “What? You thought this would be easy?” “No, I was just hoping you wouldn’t crush our village like an anthill,” “Sorry about that! Archdemons like to crush, you know.” Am I speaking too quickly for you?” 

“I suppose it wouldn’t make you feel better to know it’s not an Archdemon?”

“Oh? You have a better explanation?” 

“It’s a normal High dragon. Or at least was once. Corypheus corrupted it with red isana-red lyrium. I could hear it.” 

“That sounds rather dismal. Corypheus was a Tevinter Magister. A darkspawn. I knew what I was taught couldn’t be the whole truth, but I thought perhaps there had to be some kernel of it. Somewhere. But no. It was us all along. We destroyed the world.”

“You’re not responsible for what Magisters hundreds of years ago did.”  

“Maybe. But no one will thank me, whatever happens. No one will thank you either. You know that yes?” 

“That’s not why I’m doing this. Someone needed to bring Corypheus to task and no one else is stepping up.” Dorian smiled warmly. 

“You know now that we're done running for our lives, at least for now. And you’re not dying, perhaps we could grab a drink?” 

“I’d like that, Dorian. Whenever your free,” 

“Tonight then. I’ll pick you up from your quarters. Perhaps discuss a certain Grey Warden?” 

“Sod it! How does everybody know?” 

“I have my sources. We’ll talk more later tonight,” 

Basya shook her head and left back down the spiral staircase. She went to her room to do some work. They had pulled it together rather quickly. It was so big, she hated such a large open space. Maybe she’d ask Cullen to sleep on the luxurious couch. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to fall asleep otherwise. 

Basya spent the day productive, writing her report of Haven in triplicate. Though she had debriefed her advisors, Leliana wanted a copy on file. So she wrote out the in her mother’s matching flowery penmanship and delivered a copy to Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. 

After comforting Cullen that she was okay and suggesting a sleepover, she left back down. Blackwall was stretching, overlooking the bustling castle. His neck craned to look up at the full structure. When she caught his eye, he smiled as she made her way over to him. 

“Come, if you're up to it, let us walk the ramparts. I want to inspect our fortifications.” He said. Her recent injuries were beginning to ache from her busy day, though nothing compared to her trek to Skyhold itself. She nodded enthusiastically and followed him up the stairs. Basya realized he was slowing down for her whenever she needed it. At the top her eyes widened. It was even higher than the old fortress in the Hinterlands.

The snow covered mountains stretched out for miles over the horizon. The snow glittered and shimmered from the reflection of the evil sun. People and trees appear as small as specks of dust in the distance. 

“I never got a chance to thank you properly. Mother Giselle and the Healers said you performed heroically.” Basya finally said after taking in the view. 

“You saved all of our lives. Someone has to look out for yours,” He said. “With this view we’ll see Corypheus coming from miles away,” 

“Yes, it’s good defence. Higher ground. And by the time Corypheus finds us we’ll be stronger.” 

“Corypheus made a hundred enemies when he decided to knock down our door. When he went after you-” Blackwall paused. “He made it personal. I swear I take the twisted bastard down. Even if I have to die to do it,” Basya shook her head. 

“I’m not losing anyone to Corypheus. Especially not you.”

“You can’t afford to think I’m special. I’m no different than any soldier lost at Haven. I am fond of you. It’s true, but we can’t let this go any further,” Basya’s heart ached harder than her broken rib at his words. She had been doing a lot of thinking. Almost dying back at Haven made her want to come clean with Blackwall. He was special. 

“We don’t need Cole to read our minds to know we both have feelings for each other.” 

“My lady, don’t.” He said firmly. “You’re the Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste,”

“How many times do I have to say, I am no Herald!” 

“They believe you are. Because they need to. They need that hope. We are both bound by duty. Our lives are not ours to live. Please. Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Avoiding Basya’s hurt expression, he hurried away. She stood there for a moment on the battlements, still stunned. He must have had his reasons. He needed time to sort out his issues, that was okay. But the rejection still stung so she finally pried herself away from the ramparts to get ready for Dorian’s arrival. 

The Tavern had a warm fire in the hearth. The soft echoes of multiple conversations overlapped with the stench of alcohol that permeated the room. Dorian pursed his lips together to keep from laughing. 

“Menaresostupid!” Basya said, taking another sip of the fermented taste she never liked. 

“Agreed,” Dorian said. 

“They’redumbansaytheylikeyoubutthen jus don’t!” A pleasant feeling buzzed throughout her sluggish body, dulling the pain of her fresh scar. “I’msorry. This probly isn’t whatyou had inmind,” 

“Nonsense. I’m always here for you to vent about trouble with men.” Varric and Iron Bull saw them at the table and pulled up chairs to them. 

“Whoa, you got the Boss plastered? She never even wanted to drink with me at Haven.” 

“I can see why,” Dorian said. Basya giggled. 

“Wanna knowasecret?” She stood on her chair and reached up on her tippy toes to pull The Iron Bull’s head down by his horn to whisper in his ear. “Imma totallightweight,” Dorian couldn’t contain his laugh. 

“Hardly secret! All you’ve had is a few glasses of watered down sweet wine.” Varric howled. 

“The great Herald of Andraste, the fabled Inquisitor can’t hold her alcohol. Who would have guessed?” 

“I thought dwarves are natural drinkers,” Bull received his own mug and took a swig. 

“Maybe that’s only the normal sized of us,” Basya stuck her tongue out at the author before sipping the wine then. “Curly, is gonna go into mother hen mode if he sees you like this.” 

“Shhhhh!!! Don’ttellhimplz!” The table laughed again as Basya continued to shush them. Iron Bull looked down at the smaller dwarf. 

“Man, can’t even hit her with good stuff,” 

“Savesme alotofmoney.” She said. She hiccuped. Dorian stood, taking away Basya’s empty glass. 

“Alright, I take responsibility. Come on, to bed.” Dorian helped her stagger back to her room. Up the stairs and to her quarters. “If you don’t mind me asking. Even the bartender said you never drink. Why now? I don’t think it all has to do with your hot and cold Warden.” 

“Itsalldumbstuff.”

“Try me,”

“Haven. Lottapeople died…” 

“You’re a Princess of Orzammar. Surely you’ve made a decision or witnessed people dying before.” 

“Yeah. Got drunk thentoo,” Dorian’s face softened as he tucked the Inquisitor into bed. 

“You saved more people than you lost, you know. That should mean something.” Basya nodded seriously. 

“Itdoes. Thankyou, Dorian.” 

It was another full week before Basya worked up the courage to see Blackwall again. She hovered outside the stables. Preparing herself. Taking a deep breath, she knocked lightly even though the barn doors were wide open. Blackwall look up, tools in one hand and a partially done rocking horse on the table. The parts that had been to complete were smooth and chiseled to near perfection. 

“You were quite a dwarf before you became Princess from what I hear.” 

“Whatever you heard isn't true.” Basya said defensively. 

“Really? You didn’t survive three months in the Deep Roads, killing darkspawn with a wheel of cheese?” He asked. 

“No.” 

“Hm, shame. I was hoping that rumor was true.” Blackwall actually sounded disappointed as he put down his woodcarving tools. “‘You are who you choose to follow.’ Someone told me that once.” 

“There’s wisdom in those words. Who told that to you?”

“A good man. Powerful knight. We were competitors in the Grand Tourney.” 

“The Grand Tourney is a Proving, yes?” Basya walked next to him by the fire. 

“Similar from what I understand, though not usually in honor of anyone in particular. Anyhow, those were his words to me before we parted. Helped me win the Melee. I don’t think I ever thanked him.” Blackwall said. 

“Sounds like a good man. Generous of him.” 

“Said I stood to gain everything while he’d lose nothing. When it was over he offered to mentor me. Teach me to become a Chevalier like him. And I, young and stupid, turned him down flat. I had just won the Melee at the Grand Tourney. I didn’t need him.” He shifted to look down at Basya. “My life would have been very different if I had went with him. I regret that, but now I believe I made the right decision after all.” 

“What changed?” Basya asked curiously. 

“You.” Blackwall said without missing a beat. “Our paths may never have crossed if I had gone with the old Chevalier. I could never regret this life. Not with you in it.” She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. 

“I’m glad you turned him down too,” She said. 

“I should never have pushed you away. Forgive me,” 

“I figured you had your reasons and that you’d sort them out,” Basya said. 

“It doesn’t excuse it. And I still owe you an explanation. You deserve to know who I am. Next time you go to the Storm Coast, can we go somewhere. Just us.” 

“This is important to you. I have business there soon anyways. We’ll leave tomorrow.” Basya said. She reached for his hand. Her fingers were so small in comparison. “Whatever is, you’ll get through this. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.” Blackwall breathed deeply, moving to squeeze her fingers.  

“Thank you, my lady.” 

Basya didn’t know exactly how this could affect Blackwall so she made sure she did everything she could in the area first. Expanding Inquisition camps and challenging a bandit leader to a duel. 

Using her height as Iron Bull had taught she ducked under the mad leader and slashed his hamstring, crumpling him to his knees. His scream was cut off with a succinct decapitation. Basya caught her breath before leaning down to pick up his head threateningly. The Blades of Hessarian all bowed to Basya. She stowed her weapon and tossed the head to the side. 

“How may we serve you, Herald of Andraste?” 

“Just like that?”

“You are worthy,” Basya was not going to question it. 

“Protect refugees around the area if you can. And halt all attacks to Inquisition soldiers. Help them out.” 

“As you command, Your Worship.” The man said. Basya nodded once as the cult members cheered, free of their strange tyrant leader. She left the Hessarian outpost, victorious and her party hiked back to one of their Inquisition camps. Dorian complained the whole way that the rain dampened his mustache so much it prevented his curl. 

“Varric, with how much Dorian complains, I’d think you’d both get on well,” Basya said. They both laughed then sarcastically complained about the Inquisitor. Blackwall had been quiet and when they got to the Inquisition camp, they dropped off Varric and Dorian before heading back into the wilderness. It was only a mile or so away when Blackwall spoke. 

“It’s so quiet. I remember when it wasn't. I came here with another Warden. We were ambushed. I tried to save him, but...he died.” She stopped and looked at him as he fixated on a piece of greenery. 

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that was for you,” 

“His death was different it - changed me. Let go over there.” Basya let Blackwall take point, following his lead. The area was old. Skeletons and rusty swords scattered about. Blackwall bent down to pick something up. Shiny and metal, still somehow untouched, even though it too had been there for some time. “Warden’s constable badge.” 

“Your badge. You lost it in that battle?” Basya said. 

“My badge,” He repeated. “I did earn it, afterall.” He walked further onto the ledge overlooking the ocean. He was silent for a while and Basya let him be. Basya hated the ocean. More than snow, more than rain, more then-no not quite more than thunder, but the ocean made her stomach churn. She was not looking forward to when Josephine said she’d have to cross it. 

“Do you want to talk about it, Blackwall?” She asked finally. 

“This was my life before I met you. Crumbling ruins. Endless battles. Death.” He said. 

“It sounds like a hard life. I can’t promise you, there won’t be more of it all. Battle and death. But you don’t have to go through it alone.” Basya walked forward and hugged him. Her ear resting on his belt. He chuckled. 

“Nothing frightens you, does it,”

“On the contrary. I just plow through whatever frightens me. Though it’s a long long list. Starting with thunder and lightning.” He laughed again and she slowly pulled away from him. His brows creased again. 

“There’s nothing more for me here. We should talk back at Skyhold. I...I have to think.” 

Basya slept in Dorian’s tent. She asked him questions about Tevinter and the Imperium. Dorian was only too glad to answer. She was so uneducated about the Frostback Mountains, the only surface area she had planned to come to. Let alone anywhere else. But Dorian was patient and enjoyed speaking of himself. She understood his love for his home despite its downfalls. It’s how she felt about Orzammar before her father had taken the throne. 

“Yes, I’ve heard...rumors of your father.” 

“Bad ones?” Basya asked. 

“Very,”

“They’re probably true.” She admitted. Dorian raised a brow at her in the dark. “What? You want me to cry on my knees he’d never do something horrible? Please. He’s a good father to me and my brother. And adores our mother. But this does not make him a good person.”

“Is it true he framed his own sister for fratricide?”

“Yes. He didn’t know if my Aunt would fight for the throne and he didn’t want to risk it. She was exiled to the deep roads. It was the one thing he regretted the most.”

“Not killing his brother?”

“Trian was a tyrant and a bully. He was the one who-” Basya bit her tongue. “Trian deserved what he got. He never dwelled on that. But he was a wreck for weeks until he received word my Aunt had found the Legion of the Dead. Last I heard she was still there,”

“Complicated man, your father.”

“Most fathers are.”

“Agreed.” Dorian emphasized. “Well I will say this, Orzammar has prospered over the last decade. He’s a good King as well. Good on you to recognize his failings.”  

“Thank you. He said it was important for Endrin and I to know. So we wouldn’t end up as his family did. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but I know he fears it the most. That Endrin and I might try to kill each other. I talked to him about it and for a ten year old, he’s got a much bigger grasp of the situation than he lets on.” 

“Children often have that tendency. I assume he was appalled at the mere mention of harming his beloved big sister, so to speak. He’s probably taller than you-ow!” Basya reached from her bedroll to whack the mage.  

“He was devastated. ‘But who would read me bedtime stories?!’ and he started crying,” 

“Aw, poor bugger,” 

“He’s a little shit, but I gotta love him when he does things like that. He used to eat sticky cakes and candies and rub it all over my sheets. I never thought I would miss that.” 

“Strange things we take for granted. Who knows, maybe Josephine could arrange a visit.” Basya was quiet. “...or not. Well on the plus side, you’ve gained two annoying brothers, Cullen and myself. I can rub sweets on your blanket if you like,” He said reaching for her covers. 

“Dorian, no!” She laughed as they played tug of war with the blanket. But Basya was a warrior, far stronger than a mage and it wasn’t much of a fight. “We should get some sleep, we leave for Skyhold first thing. Goodnight, salroka.” 

“Goodnight, amity.” 

Basya had a long day at Skyhold. She had to make several reports about the Blades of Hessarian and her new responsibility over than and their actions. As well as several war meetings. She hadn’t decided if she was going to use Blackwall’s treaties. She didn’t feel quite comfortable forcing people to fight. Leliana reminded her they could be used at any time so it wasn’t an urgent decision unlike twenty others that she had to make. 

She was exhausted when Josephine finally called for a recess, late into the night. Basya thanked the Ambassador for bringing refreshments, because there was no way she would have survived without munching on the delicious antivan candies nuts. 

Basya climbed up the staircase still sorting the meetings discussions in her head when she saw Blackwall leaned against the open balcony door. She smiled. Any lingering weariness or frustration gone at the mere sight of him. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Basya asked politely. 

“I wanted to thank you for accompanying me to that ruin. I wanted to-I just had to see you…” He stood in front of her looking down, his brown eyes darting back and forth from her lips. She gently tugged him down, pressing her lips against his. He leaned into it, before pulling away abruptly. “No. This is wrong. I shouldn’t even be here.” 

“What is it?” Basya asked softly.

“I’m not what you want. I could never be what you deserve,” He was so sad. It pained Basya to know he thought so little of himself. She shook her head. 

“You’re wrong, Blackwall. You’ve helped the Inquisition - and me, so much more than you know. You’re a good man.” 

“Am I?” 

“I see it. All of it. Might take a while, but I’ll get you to see it too.”   

“There’s nothing I can offer you. You’d have no life with me. But I need you to end this. Because I can’t.” 

“Well I can’t either. I can’t let you go,” Basya said. Blackwall knelt down, his hand resting on her waist. 

“We'll regret this, my lady,” Basya pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

“Do you regret that?” She asked. Blackwall’s lips were on her own, hard, fast, and desperate. He scooped her up, her legs wrapped around his waist as he crossed the room, lips still locked, seating her on the railing. They both parted so they could breath, pressing her forehead against his. “Not too fast. I can’t be intimate unless I’ve been in a relationship for a while. I’m sorry.” She said, still breathless. She halted, a fear edging in her chest as she anxiously awaiting his response. He kissed her again, sweeter, longer, lingering. 

“Don’t ever apologize for that. We could carry on just as we are now and I’d be the luckiest man in the world.” He said. Her heart drummed in her chest. The few other people she had fancied in Orzammar had turned their backs on her as soon as she had revealed that information. Blackwall’s expression was of pure bliss on his face as he tucked a red curl behind her ear, his other hand sturdy on her waist, preventing her from falling off the railing. 

They kissed again. Basya savored every moment. The ticklish sensation of his beard on her chin, the lingering scent of cinnamon emanating from his coat, the warmth of his lips and the pleasant pressure of his hand holding her waist. The long day was gone. She was here with her Warden and everything was okay.

Chapter Text

Adamant had been victorious. She had hugged Varric and allowed him to cry for hours. Perhaps it was victorious, but it hadn’t stopped the unsurmounted about loss. She had noticed that Varric hadn’t cried. He had written to his friends of Hawke’s passing and he hadn’t cried. Grief was strange and for some reason it had been today when Basya and him were in the middle of cracking jokes, Varric had lost it. 

Guilt gnawed in her stomach. After Varric assured her she could go, she and Blackwall went stargazing on the battlements. The breathtaking view gave her something else to focus on and she revelled in the comfort of his arms.  

Basya moved sluggishly up her staircase and used the crates of boxes at the top to pull herself up the last step. She stretched and yawned, but she heard a song of isana. It was clean isana. Muffled my skin, not organs or rib cages, but skin. It couldn’t be a Templar. Basya reached for her current two handed sword normally sheathed and leaned against her couch, but it was gone. The isana was loud and directly behind her so Basya rolled to the side as a blade crashed through the wooden frame and cushions. 

“Looking for this?” An elf snarled. He was tall with snow white hair and big green eyes. He glowed blue with isana marking embedded in his skin like a tattoo. 

“Wait, are you Fenris?” Basya asked. The elf responded with another swing of his sword. 

“Don’t address me!” Basya ducked again and ran to the crates, pushed them all down the stairs so they fell in front of her door. 

“Trying to leave me with no escape?”

“No! I’m trying to make sure no one sees an elf fighting the Inquisitor. They’d kill you!” Basya pleaded. He was growing frustrated with her agile rolls and scurrying escapes between his legs. “Please, Fenris! Varric needs all the friends and support he has. You need it too,” Fenris paused and Basya thanked the Stone. She might actually be getting through to him. She was incorrect on this assessment as he backed her into the wall in front of the staircase, his fist glowing blue before plunging it into her abdomen. 

Basya’s eyes bulged from her skull. Her breathing quickened, but the elf didn’t drive it too deep. Agonizing pain waved through her stomach. He glared at her with a hatred, Basya never knew someone could possess. 

“You murdered Hawke!” He said. 

“No I didn’t. Surely, Varric said as much.” Though she was defiant, her words were coated in sorrow. 

“Don’t you regret your decision?!” Fenris hissed, he twisted his fist causing Basya to cry out, but she noticed he didn’t drive it deeper. 

“No. I did what I had to do for the good of everyone. I’m so sorry. Truely. But between someone who could lead the Grey Wardens and someone who’s politically dead. I made the choice that would help the most people. I don’t regret my choice.”  Basya said, a tear streaming down her cheek. “I only regret I had to make it in the first place.”

Fenris was pained and angered by her words. He wrenched his fist free from her stomach and she slid down the wall to the floor. Basya quickly pressed on the wound to staunch the flow of blood. 

“What do I do now?” He asked softly. “What do I do without Hawke?!” He screamed. 

“There’s a letter on my desk. For you.” Basya said, suddenly remembering. Fenris looked to her then stalked to her desk. It was unburied, at the top of a pile she’d labeled things to mail. 

“It’s unopened,” He observed. He sat next to Basya. 

“The words weren’t for my eyes.” She shrugged. Fenris carefully broke the seal and Basya watched his big emerald eyes welled up with water as his eyes scanned the page. The elf sobbed. 

“I’m sorry! Kaffas, what have I done? I’m so sorry.” He cried. Basya reached her free hand to Fenris and held it. He gripped it back as though it were a life raft on an angry ocean. 

There was a knock on her door before it opened. Basya had an open door policy with her friends regululary. If it was locked, everyone, even Leliana, respected her privacy. But if the door was open or closed, but unlocked, anyone was free to come in as they please. 

“Hey, Mini, I wanted to thank you for earlier-” The door swung on it’s smooth hinges, but smacked into the crate she had knocked down there. “Mini?! You okay?” He called, but Basya wasn’t sure she had the strength to yell. Things were getting fuzzy. She could hear him shouldering the door, pushing enough aside he could slip through. 

Basya realized what a sight it must have been. A destroyed room, a blood streaked wall above her as she held hands with Fenris. He sat unmoving, his eyes glazed over, his bloody knuckles clutching Hawke’s letter. 

“Shit!” Varric recovered quickly and snagged a fresh towel that draped over the basin beside Basya’s bed. He sprinted back and moved the arm that Basya guarded her wound with to slip the towel beneath it. The white cotton instantly bloomed red as Varric pressed down causing her to cry out. “What the fuck is wrong you, Fenris! Are you crazy?!” 

“Varric,” Basya tugged on his sleeve. “He’s had enough,” Varric’s face was still twisted in horror, but he focused on Basya. 

“You’re hurting!” Cole appeared behind Varric. “He hurt you! Why!” He demanded angrily. 

“Cole, listen to him. He’s hurting too.” She said. Cole paused. 

“He is. Badly. But he still shouldn’t have hurt you.” Varric looked up at him. 

“Kid, I need you to go get Dorian or Healer, okay?” 

“I will hurry.” Cole vanished. 

“Alright, alright, just hold on, okay?” Varric said. Basya cracked a weak smile. 

“Hey, Varric, I think Fenris came to visit,” She said. Varric laughed hollowly. After another minute, Dorian appeared at the top of the stairs. 

“Bassi!” He was crouched in front of her muttering spells without a moment to comprehend. As if things couldn’t get better, Blackwall, Cassandra, and Cullen all ran in the room. Blackwall knelt next to Varric, a pained expression creasing his brows, but Basya felt relief flood through her body as his presence. Cullen and Cassandra both drew their swords, Cassandra dragging the elf by the scruff of his neck. He didn’t react, remaining limp, allowing himself to be maneuvered.  

“No,” They were going to kill him. Basya used all the strength left in her to push herself forward. Her knees and one of her arms kept her upright. Dorian and Blackwall supported her. “No! Leave him go!” She screamed. Cullen and Cassandra stopped. “Leave him go.” She said again. Basya coughed wetly, then she saw the floor rush to greet her face. 

Basya’s eyes fluttered open. Varric was sitting in a chair beside the bed, writing. He looked up at her alarm. Her stomach throbbed and the light that shined through the balcony doors was blinding. Blackwall was sleeping on a new couch. Dorian was sitting upright next to her, his eyes closed. 

“Where’s Fenris? Did they-?”

“No. He’s in a holding cell.” Varric said. “Thank you, by the way. I’m pissed at the guy, but if you hadn’t…” 

“It’s okay,” 

“How does it feel?” 

“Like a punch, but worse.” She groaned. “How long have I been out?”

“Only a day. Fenris didn’t go too deep and with the two of us putting pressure on it, you didn’t lose too much blood.” 

“That’s good.”

“Sparkler and Hero haven’t left your side. Curly only did because Cassandra made him. I think he’d been doing some of your job today,” 

“If I untwirl his mustache while he's sleeping, do you think he’d notice?” With his eyes still closed, Dorian scoffed. 

“He would indeed notice,” Varric and Basya laughed, but Basya winced. Dorian looked down. Before, he started, he took a pillow and threw it, smacking Blackwall on the couch. “Idiotic girlfriend’s awake.” He said. Blackwall leapt up and sat at the end of the bed. 

“Idiotic?!” Basya gasped with feigned offense.

“You didn’t have to jump up and make the scene when I was in the middle of sewing you back together. Still not sure why you wanted to save him in the first place.” Dorian used a few more spells on Basya’s tummy. 

“He acted out in grief. While he was wrong, he’s not a bad person.”

“You have far more compassion than I, my lady,” Blackwall said. 

“He deserves a second chance. Everyone does.” she smiled hopefully. An expression flashed across Blackwall's face that Basya couldn't quite read. Varric left to go inform everyone of Basya’s consciousness and Dorian had to get more supplies from the Healer. Or so he claimed. Basya was pretty sure he didn’t. Blackwall leaned over and kissed her forehead. He let his lips linger for a long while. “You were really worried, huh?” 

“Terrified. But it was less than a half hour after you passed out that Dorian said you’d be fine. That made it easier. And I assembled a new couch to pass the time,” He said. She smiled and laced her fingers in his. 

“Thank you. Thank you for staying with me,” 

“I’m just glad the boy told me.” 

“Cole?”

“Yeah, he said you were hurt and - well he said you needed me. Cassandra and Cullen were talking in the courtyard on the way by. Cole was vague about the manor of injury just that someone hurt you, so I told them to come with me.” 

“I told you he’d grow on you. He’s a really sweet kid.” 

“I know. I have been harsh on Cole. I’ll try to be kinder to him. He really cares for you,” 

“Can you help me up? I want to go get Fenris out of the dungeons.” 

“Be careful, my lady,” He said. But she was a pretty good judge of her body. A little extra pain as she walked, but not too bad. If it was bad, she’d lay right back down. Basya had learned early on as a Princess, that you were no good to anyone by worsening an injury. 

Fenris stood as Basya entered the dungeons, still using Blackwall’s arm as a support. She ordered the guards to open his cell. He looked at her with confusion. 

“Varric tells me it is you who spared my life. After I hurt you?” He asked. 

“I know nothing can ease the pain right now. But I can give you something to do if you want,” She said. 

“In the Inquisition?” Fenris asked in surprise. 

“You don’t have to. If not, you’re free to go.” 

“What would it entail?”

“Varric said you like hunting Slavers. There are many Venatori Slavers that you could kill and free their captives,” 

“Yes. I could do that.” He said. Basya nodded. 

“Take your time in preparation to leave. I think you and Varric need each other’s company right now. He might smack you first though. Just a warning.” Basya turned to leave. 

“Inquisitor,” She looked back over her shoulder. Fenris smiled softly. “Thank you.” Basya reciprocated the smile and Blackwall helped her up the stairs. 

Chapter Text

Basya grunted as the Olesian seamster put pins into a leather mock she wore, the pattern he’d use to create her dress. Josephine watched on, almost in envy, as the Seamster measured and prodded.
“I thought everyone was going to be wearing the nice white formal wear with the gold sashes,” She said. Josephine nodded.
“Yes, but you are the Inquisitor. You must stand out, even amongst us. Incidentally, what is your favourite colour?”
“Pink,” Basya smiled. “Lighter pink, like the strawberry milk candies we got from Antiva,”
“That would look rather nice with the white and gold from us. As she says, my lord. A soft pink. This is for Empress Celene’s ball, so I expect the quality to reflect it.”
“Of course, lady Ambassador. Your Inquisitor will be the talk of the Winter Palace for weeks!” He said. Basya couldn’t help, but be a little giddy. Although she hated court intrigue, it sounded like the Game was little different from dwarven politics of fancy words to hide loose threats. She had one dress at home for certain occasions, but she’d always loved the excuse to get dolled up. The seamster disassembled the pieces and was off, on his way to begin his creation.
Josephine read a ridiculous list of things that needed to be done that day. More than usual, she noticed. But Basya wasn’t going to put up a fuss. She had accepted this position and she would do her best by it. She stared at the war table for a few minutes in silence.
“Leave the veterans.” Basya said quietly. “Going after the red isana will save far more lives. Send me a list of all the soldiers there so I can personally write their families.” The room was muted. Cullen looked at her across the table.
“You don’t have to...someone else can-”
“I will write to them,” Basya repeated.
“Thank you, Inquisitor.” Leliana’s face had a solemn expression. “That’s enough for now. You have been very productive today.”
Basya left her advisors and headed for the Tavern. The atmosphere was more dreary then normal, though she couldn’t tell if it was her own mood bleeding into the place. Sera was excited and she wasn’t entirely certain why. It dawned on her that the soldiers drinking in the corner were a little too quiet, but were all grinning into their ale. While focused on Krem biting down on his lip, a sticky gooey pie smacked Basya in the face and the Tavern roared with laughter.
Basya and Endrin often dragged each other into similar mischief. She told Sera of a time she’d tricked a coward noble, who left his whole expedition to die in the deep roads, into thinking that chewing on pebbles was a royal delicacy. He chipped several of his teeth while trying to speak to her father.
Basya was stunned for only a moment before she joined in the laughter as she whipped flaky crust and pastry cream from her eyes. The louder her giggles, the better Basya felt. As though the sound itself expelled the clouds over her day. So Basya laughed herself to tears. She took a bit from her face and smeared some pie guts on Sera causing everyone in the Tavern to lose it again as the elf screamed.
Basya and Sera had a drink, Basya’s non alcoholic of course, before she headed back to her room. She used a basin to wash her face and sticky hair properly. There was a knock on her door and it opened. Basya blotted her hair as Blackwall emerged.
“Shame, I was hoping I’d see you with decoration.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure someone is already painting a portrait of the Herald of Andraste post pied.”
“I’d certainly buy a copy.”
“They’d be sold out so fast. I’d have to try and collect some of the royalties.” Blackwall chucked and kissed her, lips still sweet from the sugar.
“Do you want to get out of here for a while? Just the two of us?” He asked.
“I don’t know, am I allowed?”
“I’ve gotten permission from Leliana.”
“Then absolutely,” Basya said. She packed a light bag as Blackwall said vaguely he had ‘made arrangements’. Then the two of them headed out of Skyhold’s high walls once the sun had set.
It was quite a hike, whatever destination Blackwall planned to take her. Basya didn’t mind. They talked and laughed all the way up the mountain. Her night vision, saving Blackwall’s footing several times.
Both of them rested, sharing a waterskin. It wasn’t much further, but Blackwall insisted it was a surprise so he went up first to make final preparations. Basya waited patiently, excitement at what was at the top. She could hear him moving things which made the anticipation even worse. Until finally, he walked back down the steep hill and reached his hand out to hers. She laced her fingers in his and the two climbed back up that last way and Basya’s jaw nearly fell on the mountain.
Dozens of candles illuminated a blanket that had been spread to sit on. A woven brown rectangular picnic basket sat on the edge still closed. Two wooden plates, utensils, and metal cups were neatly set. Bouquets of light pink roses bordered the blanket. The top of the hill overlooked the view of the beautiful mountains, still visible by the moonbeams. Glinting and shimmering stars stretched out for miles. Millions of tiny yellow lights floated around two bedrolls pressed together as one.
“By the Stone. All this...why…?”
“You’ve been working hard, my lady. You need a break.” Basya hugged his waist.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Blackwall.” He kissed her curls.
“Shall we? I think you’ll like the menu.” They both sat down on the blanket facing each other. Blackwall’s hair was in a bun. It had become common for Basya to put it up in the morning. The candlelight flickered on his olive skin. She watched him as he opened the basket and produced a loaf of brown bread wrapped in a towel. It was still warm and she watched it steam in the cool night. Blackwall cut the fresh bread and spread some soft cheese on two slices.
“This is so good.”
“I was going to bribe the chef, but when I said it was for you, he made it free of charge.”
“The only abuse of power I allow is for good food.” Basya said, taking a bite of the bread, the cheese melted like butter on the heat. The earthy grains had a sweetness to it, amplifying the flavour. “Are those fresh strawberries?!”
“Thought you’d like that. I cut them up and put a bit of sugarcane on them. They’re really delicious this way, but in case they’re too sweet for you, I brought regular fresh ones too.”
“You think of everything,”
“I aim to please.”
“And, please, you do.” She said kissing his cheek. Blackwall brought a strawberry to her mouth and she took a bite, grinning as she chewed. The sugared strawberries became Basya’s new favourite dessert in the world. Two simple ingredients and it was amazing.
“How are you, Bassi?” He asked. It was so rare he used her nickname. Never in public, still not so common when they were alone. Not that she minded. She knew formality was only a sign of endearment. It didn’t stop her from appreciating how it sounded in his low gravelly voice.
“Right now, I am so happy. How are you?”
“If you’re happy, then I am happy too.” He said.
“Smooth talker,”
“Is it working?”
“Definitely.” They both laughed. “What are the stars near the ground called? I’ve never seen so many of them in one place.”
“Fireflies. They’re one of the more beautiful of surface bugs.”
“They are. Hey look, our moon is out!” Basya pointed excitedly to the sky. The crescent shaped moon she’d seen with him for the first time in the Hinterland had been from then forth ‘their’ moon.
“Almost as pretty as you. That reminds me, I have something for you,”
“On top of all of this?”
“I wanted to give you something. You’ve been doing so much Inquisition stuff you’ve hardly taken any time for yourself.” Basya polished off her strawberry as Blackwall reached in the back of the basket to retrieve a small box. Basya accepted the gift and carefully pulled on the bow and opened the latch. Inside was a black rope necklace. It’s charm was a stunning wooden piece of a crescent moon, a star dangling from it’s top corner. She ran her thumb across the smooth finish. All the textures of the dark mahogany were still visible.
“This is amazing, Blackwall! Thank you,”
“May I?” She nodded and Blackwall gathered her hair to the side and used the clasp, his fingers brushing her skin. She kissed him, his mouth tasting of sweet and strawberries. When they parted she wrapped her arms around Blackwall’s neck.
“I just want this moment to last forever,” Basya whispered. He turned into her pressing his lips against her temple.
“Me too,” He said. They didn't part for a long while. She packed away any food, Blackwall tossing reminats away from their camp. Basya blew out all the candles, leaving them with the stars and moon for light. Blackwall laid down on the bedrolls and Basya joined him pulling up the covers, his arm wrapping around her waist, her head on his chest. Blackwall and Basya watched the stars until they fell asleep.
Basya awoke to the sun. She’d never get used to it. As soon as it cast a golden glow on the mountains, her body was up. It wasn’t accustomed to such bright light and nearly two years on the surface hadn’t changed it. She probably would never get used to it.
She had a nightmare once, but couldn’t remember it, so those she’d take it as a victory. It must have been Blackwall’s protective presence. She gingerly removed his arm from her waist and slipped out of the bedroll, pulling the blanket up over him. Basya reached into the basket and found what she’d been looking for. Beans and a grinder. She hiked a little ways to retrieve water from a stream, then headed back, collecting kindling on the way to start a fire.
Basya wasn’t sure, but she could swear Dorian and Blackwall were actually agitated and grouchier before they had this bean juice in the morning. Basya liked it well enough. She always appreciated a bitter flavour to balance her sweet tooth and the smell was indescribably good. But she never snapped at anyone if she didn’t have it.
She put the grounds in the hot water and let it sit for a minute, enjoying the soft chirping of birds as the wildlife too began to wake. Basya watched the sun caress Blackwall’s skin, enjoying his peaceful sleeping expression. She strained the water with a cheesecloth, avoiding any grounds in the beverage. Basya finished and sat down next to Blackwall planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. He stirred and opened his eyes. He instantly smiled at her and Basya’s heart fluttered. Basya handed him one of the steaming mugs.
“I made the, the hot bean water,” Even groggily, Blackwall chuckled.
“Coffee,”
“Yeah, that.”
“You’ve mastered making it, but you never mastered the word.” He said, taking a long sip.
“It doesn’t seem complicated, but I always forget it. We never had ‘coffee’ downstairs.” Basya said. She took a drink from her own, the bitter taste welcoming after a night of sweets.
“What did you drink?”
“Ale or water. Milk on really special occasions if imported before it spoiled. If our water supply was tainted by a darkspawn, which happened every so often, then just ale. And I’d be tispy for a month.” She sighed.
“That sounds like it’d be amusing.”
“My family certainly found it so.”
“Better you tispy than dehydrated.”
“Yes, that’s what my mother would say as she laughed at me,” Basya said. “Speaking of which you should write to them. If you want! No pressure or anything. I’ve told them a lot about you, but I don't know. I think they’d like it and it might be good for you too.”
“I could do that,” Blackwall nodded. Basya beamed. Her favourite people in the world should at least know each other. “Have you considered...uh. Going back. To Orzammar? After Corypheus is defeated, of course.”
“Considered? Yes, every day. But truly, I know that can’t happen. Josephine and my father have been in contact. He likes her, terrified of Leliana.”
“Smart man,”
“I’m going to be needed long after Corypheus is dead. Even though Orzammar will always be my home and the surface has about five hundred new things to freak me out with every week, I’m staying.” Basya said looking out at the horizon. Blackwall relaxed, clearly relieved. “Afraid I’m going to ditch you?”
“To go home is a good reason to separate. I would never have stopped you. Besides I’m sure there are plenty of dwarven men who have caught your fancy.”
“Not really. The few that did - as soon as I told them I couldn’t be intimate right away, they were gone.”
“Morons. They’re the ones at a loss.”
“I don’t blame them. The pressure of my grandfather’s reign still weighs on dwarves. Where procreation had to be rushed because his so called traditions were killing us. Even though my father’s rule has prevented our extinction and even caused us to prosper, many are still raised with such beliefs.” Basya shrugged. Blackwall took her hand in his. “So I guess this means you’re stuck with me.”
“That’s an honour,”
“If you wish to see a chore as an honour then that’s your prerogative,” The taste of coffee on Blackwall’s lips suited the smoky cinnamon scent he always wafted.
“Who’s being self deprecating now?”
“The difference is I make it funny.” Basya said. Blackwall picked up the dwarf and put her on his lap. She stared into his big brown eyes as they looked back. The sun was warm as it shined on her back. A normally uncomfortable feeling to Basya, but now a distant thought clouded by the affection in Blackwall’s eyes.
“Basya,” He said seriously. “You make me laugh no matter what mood I’m in. You always make me coffee in the morning even though you can’t even remember what it is. You just know I like it. When you sleep you curl up on a ball and it's adorable. The way your face lights up every time you see something wondrous that I’ve taken for granted. The way you spend hours putting flowers in my beard when you’re bored. I could list one of these things for each star in the sky. It truly is an honour to be with you.” Basya blushed at each sentence, her face now the same hue as her hair.
“Well you laugh at my jokes no matter how terrible they are. You always check in on me during long journeys. And you give me your cloak when it’s cold. There are many wondrous things on the surface, but many are fearful too and you explain them to me. Patiently and then help me through it. The way that seeing you, no matter the day, fills me with relief. It’s an honour to be with you too.” Blackwall kissed Basya passionately leaving them both breathless. “The Inquisition - I couldn’t do this without you,”
“You could.”
“Yes, I could. But I don’t want to.”
“You never have to.” They embraced. Their arms wrapped tightly around each other. This moment, she felt heard. She was protected, but free. Basya was safe in Blackwall’s arms and it was the best feeling in the world.

Chapter Text

Basya’s armor was heavy on her back. She’d worn long sleeves to protect her skin against the beating sun, but it only made her sweatier. She had tanned a lot since she’d come here, but the Hissing Wastes had really done it. She was thankful to be on the way back to Skyhold. If Dorian had to heal one more sun blister on her ear…
Basya was also, annoyed in part, that she hadn’t taken Blackwall with her. He would have made all the pain from her angry sunburns dissipate, but Cassandra had business in the area. Important business. And Basya knew that took precedence. Not that Cassandra was bad company. In fact, Basya and Cassandra would call each other friends now. They talked as Iron Bull and Dorian fell behind.
“Have you started reading Swords and Shields?” The Seeker had asked.
“Yes! I can’t believe Varric said it was terrible. It’s unironically good.”
“I told you. What chapter are you on?”
“Seventeen. When the Knight-Captain is accused.”
“I was so scared for her!” Cassandra paused her excitement. “Thank you, by the way. For asking Varric to write more.”
“If you were going to get me invested in a series, I needed it to be complete,” And the two laughed. Similar conversations on and off through their journey back.
Basya saw the familiar long bridge and resisted the urge to sprint across it. They had killed a dragon though, and it’s heavy head remained in Iron Bull’s pack. It had been incredible to watch a Navarran at work. Especially her delicate precision in comparison to Iron Bull’s brute excitement. Not that either way was better than the other. In fact, Basya had just finished her training in the way of the Reaver. Basya loved it. The sensation of mentally channeling physical pain to fighting harder on the battlefield was indescribably exhilarating.
Though it did confuse Basya even more on the mage discrimination. Reaver’s drank the blood of dragons and used it. Not unlike, say blood magic. Yet, Reavers were renowned brutal fighters on the field. Human’s double standards didn’t make sense.
When the scouts spotted them coming down the bridge she could hear the trumpet signaling her arrival. She promised Cassandra she’d meet up with the other advisors for a debrief in a little while. Cassandra only smiled and shook her head as Basya took a sharp right, making a beeline for the stables.
Blackwall was sitting on the hay by the fire, enticed by the flames. The sky was tinted orange, Basya recognized it as either the time where everyone got up or went to sleep. She still hadn’t figured out exactly how to discern the two.
“I’m back, zisbord,” She asked. He still had no idea what the dwarvish word meant, only that in context it had to be a term of endearment. The term roughly translated to ‘sweet beard’.
“About time,”
“Miss me?”
“Every second.” He said as she collapsed on him.
“I can’t believe I thought dirt was too squishy to walk on. Sand is the worst!” She said, pulling off her boots, the sand spilling out of them.
“That bad, my lady?”
“No, I suppose. I tend to wim and wam a lot. We did kill a dragon. Have to admit, that was pretty cool.”
“Any injuries?”
“Minor scrapes. The ones I usually let them jab a little bit so I can utilize my training.” Basya said. Blackwall frowned.
“I know Reavers are feared and respected warriors, but I can’t help, but worry. Cassandra’s warnings to me were…” He shook his head. “Forget I said anything. That won’t happen to you. I won’t let it.”
“If I even think there’s the beginning of problems, I’ll go to you or Cassandra straight away. So far I’ve been fine. My Breaker is quite pleased with my progress and abilities.” Basya said. Blackwall nodded and once Basya had discarded all her armor, he pulled her to him.
“I know. I trust your judgement.”
“So, want to grab dinner at the Tavern after my meeting? I think everyone’s going to be there. Bull said something about getting shitfaced after killing dragons is a time honored tradition.” Blackwall laughed.
“Are you going to?”
“No! I had my fill when we first came to Skyhold. I think I still have that same hangover.”
“Just dinner then. Go to your meeting,” Basya sighed dramatically.
“If I must,”
“Work hard.” He kissed her cheek before she departed.
It was odd to spend so much time deliberating over what to do with a dragon carcass. Basya was pretty sure there were far more pressing issues at hand. People’s lives, killing Venatori, closing rifts. But no. First order of business was what to do with a dragon head. Then they got to the list aforementioned.
Finally she was free and headed toward the Tavern. Blackwall, Sera, Varric, Iron Bull had all taken a table. They appeared to be just starting, food and drink was still coming to the table. She smiled and sat down next to Blackwall.
“I already ordered you something to eat. And some water,” He said.
“Boss! Thank you! Killing that dragon. The smoke in the air, it’s mighty roar! Damn! It was so awesome!” The Qunari held his drink well, but Basya could tell he was at the beginning stages of inebriation. Sera was cackling as Varric begrudgingly handed over some money.
“You won with a pair twos! Nice job, Sera.” Basya was impressed.
“It wos a total accident!” She laughed. Blackwall sipped on a pint beside her. The waitress placed food in front of Sera and Basya. She was hungry from such long path up the mountains and the vegetable pie was one of her favourites. She took a hearty bite and felt her spirit leave her body.
The laughter was gone. The bard's music mute in her ears. Her skin had tanned significantly in the Hissing Wastes, but it was all but drained of pigment. All Basya could feel was the horrifying sensation of tender meat in her mouth. She couldn’t bring herself to spit it out or chew it.
“Aww, why’s mine got no meat init?” Basya put a fist to her mouth and pushed her plate to Sera. “Oh, oop, she must’ve switched it. Sorry ‘bout that.” The elf said. Bile crept up her throat and Basya stood up abruptly. She left quickly, gagging it back down.
She ran across the courtyard, a queasy knot in her stomach as she raced past the emptying hall. Her shoulder bumped hard into a familiar mage. Dorian looked down in surprise.
“Someones in quite a-Bassi are you okay?” She didn’t respond, she just kept running. She didn’t even stop, even in her room until she burst open the balcony doors and hoisted herself over the railing. Dorian had followed her and rushed to collect all of her curls. His put a hand on her back to prevent her from tipping over the balcony as she threw up. The acid coated her throat, making her eyes water. “Did you have something to drink again? I told you to pace yourself. You’re tiny,”
“No. I didn’t have any-” Basya was cut off by another wretch.
“Are you sick then?”
“My lady? Is everything-” She could hear Blackwall freeze.
“Can you grab the yellow potion on my chair in the library for her.” Blackwall didn’t respond, Basya only heard his footsteps descending the stairs. Nausea pitted her stomach. That texture of the meat, the way that it - she vomited again and Dorian patted her back.
She appreciated his priority of saving her hair. Even by the time Blackwall had returned, she was still throwing up. When her stomach was empty of all contents she heaved for another eternity. Once her body finally stopped convulsing, Dorian let her sink to the floor of the balcony. She drank the potion Blackwall had been sent to fetch. It tasted strongly of spicy mint and ginger.
Basya sat there for a moment to catch her breath, while Blackwall brought the wash basin over to clean her face. He gently mopped away any remains from her upper lip. Dorian was checking her forehead. “No fever. Did you get hit in the chest while battling the dragon at any point.”
“No.”
“It must have been something you ate then.” Dorian concluded.
“Must’ve been.” Basya croaked. Blackwall remained silent.
“Well, whatever it was that was bad is long gone now. I’ll make another one of those potions for you before bed, sound like a plan?” Basya closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. She leaned on both of them to stand and walked to her bed, her legs wobbling with each step. Dorian left to make another potion. Miraculously, only her shirt had gotten anything on it. Blackwall helped her change unceremoniously, then propped her up with the pillows and tucked her in. He brought a small wooden bucket to the bedside just in case she needed to throw up again.
“Josephine tells me you're excited for Halamshiral,” Blackwall said. Basya must have looked miserable. She tried her best to pull up the corners of her mouth.
“Not for the assassination stuff. For dancing, pretty dresses, fancy food. Which right now I have to say is unappetizing.”
“Can’t blame you.”
“You excited?”
“I take it that means I’m going,” Blackwall said. Basya nodded. “Not fond of nobles of the grand Game, but the festivities could be fun enough I suppose.” Dorian returned with two other doses. One for now, that would make her sleepy and one for when she woke up. He sped up his instructions and left. Once the door had closed, Blackwall kicked off his boots and climbed over her.
“I could throw up on you,” She warned.
“Though I’d prefer you use the bucket, it’s worth the risk.” So Basya nuzzled down on his chest, lulled to sleep by the gentle rise and fall of Blackwall’s chest.

Basya was at home in the Royal Palace. Endrin's dirty blond blur barged open the door and tackled her on her bed. Both of them giggled helplessly as they tickled each other. Then she was at the table. Her mother’s airy laughter as her father hugged her from behind. Her father sat next to her, clearly in a good mood. Her mother’s red hair was a few shades off from her own. She watched as she put down plates in front of the family. Nug-gets. Made of nug. She loved them when she was on the streets and they were Endrin’s current favourites. She took a big bite, but froze, horror stricken. She removed it from her mouth and saw, it wasn’t a nug-get.
It was a dwarf’s bloody finger.

Basya jolted awake. Her breathing was shallow and nausea grumbled in her stomach again. She glanced at Blackwall. He stirred, but remained sleeping despite her sudden movement. Basya moved Blackwall’s arm and slipped from under the blankets, her bare feet on the cold stone floor. She patted to the balcony and gently pushed it open. The hinges cried, not happy with the early shove she’d given them.
The frosty night breeze made her shiver in the nightgown as it cooled the sweat that beaded on her brow. The railing was too high for her to lean on, so she kept a stool in the corner for such occasions. She thought about finding Cullen, but he was doing well these days. She didn’t want to interrupt that sleep. She stayed there for a while before the hinges protested behind her.
“My lady, it’s freezing out here.” Blackwall wrapped the blanket around the both of them, putting a gentle arm over her waist. “Come back to bed,”
“I didn’t tell you.” She finally said, her eyes still on the horizon. “About the deep roads.” Blackwall hovered beside her.
"I figured you would when you were ready."
“Before my father took charge, our people were destitute. My grandfather was a poor ruler, arguing tradition and the preservation of culture over lives and wellbeing. My birth...parents,” She used the word begrudgingly. “They figured me for a runt. My birth mother kept telling my birth father, 'she’ll grow when she’s ten, she’ll grow when she’s ten.' When I was ten and I hadn’t gained much more then an inch, my birth father abandoned me in Dust Town.”
“That’s horrible.” Blackwall said. She shook her head.
“On the contrary. I was fortunate. Most runts are left in the Deep roads as babies, for a fate far worse than I received.” Basya said flatly. Blackwall’s arm around her waist, squeezed tighter. “I managed. Barely. The rats often carry taint so I was hired to kill them. Got half a sovereign for each kill. Enough for food and I’d try to share it with the other homeless.”
“Selfless as always,” Admiration coated his tone. She smiled sadly.
“One day Prince Trian was doing his normal rounds in the commons, hurting Dusters. He was beating an old man and I intervened. I called him a coward and a bully. My father, Prince Bhelen, at the time begged me to get lost. But I saw the man was dead. I brave... and stupid. I called Trian a murderous craven and I told him to choke on darkspawn blood. Probably a lot of other things too. Prince Bhelen pushed me back and yelled at me to run, but I didn’t listen. I was sentenced to exile in the deep roads, to fight darkspawn until I succumbed to them.” Basya took a long breath and watched as it clouded up in the cold.
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“They allowed that punishment for someone so young,”
“Normally no. That would require a severe punishment, but despite Bhelen’s attempts to shoot it down, Trian got the assembly’s vote. It made all the deshyrs feel tough to put a duster under their foot, I suppose,” Basya shrugged.
“Politics doesn’t change unground,”
“At least not back then.”
“So what’d you do?”
“I had to survive the deep roads. I had killed rats before, but darkspawn? They actually fought back with sword technique. My Stone-sense was always strong, so I always knew relatively where I was. I decided to make a game plan. That I was going to track down the Legion of the Dead. There I’d have food, people, and I could redeem myself. Actually learn proper how to fight darkspawn.”
“It’s impressive enough to have a plan in such a situation,”
“Not so impressive when I tell you I walked straight into a deepcrawler web. A big one wrapped me up and I dangled for almost a full day surrounded by them. So many...eyes.” Basya shivered, but it wasn’t the cold.
“That explains what happened in Adamant. It appeared to you as spiders.”
“Not fond of them after that.”
“Don’t imagine anyone would be. How’d you get out?”
“I chewed my way through with my teeth.”
“You-you’re serious?”
“Yes. The hole I had created was big enough to stick my sword arm out and cut myself down. Then still half encased by web, I fought the few deepcrawlers and booked it.”
“Damn.”
“From there I continued. I picked up some trail of the Legion. Old campfires and such. Fought darkspawn. So many darkspawn. I’d allow myself to sleep no more than a five minute burst. Always behind an untriggered trap.”
“How’d you get through it?”
“Every so often I would affirm to myself out loud. ‘Survive until tomorrow and you’ll find the Legion. Survive until tomorrow and you’ll find the Legion.’ Even after several tomorrows came and went, I still said that. I don’t know why. Denial, I guess.”
“Optimism has always been your defence.”
“I never thought about that.”
“Go on.” He nudged gently.
“On the sixth day, I was starving. So weak. I could barely lift my sword. I had to lure other darkspawn into their own traps. I didn’t have the strength to engage them. I remembered I was so hungry. So famished, I genuinely considered...eating them.” Basya swallowed hard and Blackwall reached for her hand resting on the stone railing.
“You didn’t though. Otherwise you’d not be here today.”
“I knew they were tainted. As well as the deep mushrooms, I was no expert on which were safe. So hungry and ravenous, I went on. Then... I overheard two dwarves. I thought I was mad from lack of sleep for a moment. First voices, people voices, I’d heard in over a week. They were talking about an expedition. One of them wasn’t giving him an adequate cut. When they approached I hid.”
“Couldn’t you have gone to them for help?”
“I thought about it, but there was far too much risk they were law abiding citizens. They’d only call me an exile and move on. Or worse, try to attack me for the fun of it. So I hid. I just watched. I didn’t even flinch when the one underpaying, killed the complainer. He scoffed and left. And then when I was sure the other dwarf was gone, I came out and-” Basya pushed herself from the railing and shrugged off this blanket. “This is fucking stupid, forget it!” She said, walking briskly back in the dim room. Basya’s lip trembled and tears blurred her vision
“What happened?”
“No, no.”
“Bassi, look at me. Please.”
“I ate him!” She screamed whirling around her fist balled at her side. “I fucking ate a person!” She choked on her own sobs, gagging at the memory. Blackwall approached cautiously as if asking for permission, he knelt in front of her, slowly bringing her to his chest.
Basya cried.
She remembered when she met her mother. Then, Rica, a swollen bellied stranger. She had brought Basya food, her first meal back from the deep roads. When Basya saw the nug leg, she had slammed her palm on the underside of the tray causing it to crash on the ground and buried her head in the pillows. Bhelen had run in at the commotion. Neither Rica nor Bhelen had gotten upset like Basya had feared. They both just hugged her.
As she wept in Blackwall’s arms, she felt him pick her up and she felt the soft straw mattress beneath her. Basya knew the dwarf had been dead. She knew he hadn’t cared. She knew she had to do it to survive and she had. Yet, she couldn’t be rid of this feeling. Now now, not ever.
It didn’t make it any better, but Blackwall’s soothing circles on her back and tight embrace was comforting beyond words. With what she drowned in, comfort was all she could ask.

Chapter Text

Basya stared at herself in the mirror. The dress was stunning. It was a floor length pastel pink ball gown, adorned with white and gold roses. It sucked in at the waist with an attached corset and two off the shoulder sleeves exposed her neck. Her hair had been piled on her head elegantly with two strategic curls hanging loose. The powdery make up and bold eyeliner accentuated her big blue eyes.
Basya couldn’t help, but smile at her reflection. She even gave a small twirl and Josephine lit up as Leliana nodded approvingly. She completed it with the crescent moon and star necklace, her fingers tracing the smooth wood even after it was situated.
Her advisors dismissed the two women who had done Basya makeup and hair. The trip to the Winter Palace had been nearly five days from Skyhold so Celene had sanctioned three enormous rooms for her and her attache’s to get ready.
Blackwall opened the doors to the large guest room and his mouth opened slightly when he saw Basya before he quickly shut it again. Leliana pursed her lips as Blackwall gazed Basya up and down as though she were a g-ddess before him.
“You-you look ravishing, my lady.”
“You look pretty handsome, yourself.” She said with a blush. His white formal wear fit him like a glove, the gold sash wrapped once around his waist and fitted over his shoulder. His hair wasn’t in the messy bun that Basya normally did. It was tight and neat and his beard was freshly combed. Josephine cleared her throat.
“They are waiting for us, Inquisitor.” The ambassador said. Blackwall put his arm out and Basya hooked her elbow on his and they left together. Basya was trying to push down her excitement. She needed to focus on saving Empress Celene. She’d seen first hand what happened if they failed.
“Now introducing Her Highness Lady Inquisitor Aeducan, Princess of Orzammar!”
Basya was familiar with the ways of working nobles. She had her back straight, her head high, exuding a haughty confidence with each click of her heel. Many nobles gasped and whispered as she passed them. Crossing the long dance floor, she maintained her self assured presence, smiling sweetly at the Empress.
“I have heard of your exploits. They make grand tales for long nights,”
“Surely not as grand as living them.” Basya said. Celene laughed.
“Perhaps we will have to hear them from you then? Enjoy the pleasures of the ball room. We look forward to watching you dance.” She said. Basya curtsied low before moving to Leliana who gave her a knowing look. Regardless of how much Basya disliked the Game, she was very good at it.
She explored the vast palace. She wondered how many innocent elven lives were lost for such a fortress, but she had more pressing concerns. Leliana warned her of the apostate that Celene had been keeping at her side. The way Leliana talked of her...almost as if she was wary of her. If the spymaster was even the tiniest bit afraid of the mage, then Basya couldn’t help, but think they were doomed.
As Basya wandered the ballroom she realized she’d lost Blackwall. After they’d announced him and his impressive amount of titles and distinctions, he’d seemingly vanished.
Her eye caught on several men and women surrounding Cullen. They were crowding around him, asking about his marital status and dating life, others pleading for a dance. Basya marched up to them and gave them all a warning look.
“I have to have a word with the Commander.” She said cooly. Most of them backed away shyly, a few appearing to spy on her conversation. Cullen breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you, they’ve been jumping at me without rest in the short hour since we’ve arrived.” He said.
“Do you want me to poke back in every now and again and scare them off?”
“You have much more important things to attend to than myself. Though I appreciate it. You’re quite good at all this.”
“The Game isn’t all that different downstairs,” She said, fiddling with one of the roses below her collarbone.
“Well, as Inquisitor that's more than useful. I can’t stand it.”
“Oh, I hate it too. But it’s not too hard. You just smile and make a backwards compliment about someone’s dress.”
“Why backwards?”
“If you say someone has a nice dress, you come off too strong. Everyone knows your intentions and you’re the one with the least control. If you say they have a nice dress if only it didn’t have so many wrinkles, then they don’t know your intentions and they’re reaction tells you everything about them. Are they embarrassed? Or do they not care, a symbol of high status. Make sense?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“I tried. Just grin and bear it.” She shrugged.
“That’s all anyone can do.”
Basya left Cullen and although she didn’t drink, she took a glass of champagne to carry around with her. It would make her more approachable and feigning mild inebriation might allow for useful information to slip from loose noble tongues.
After schmoozing her way through and collecting gossip, Basya needed a break. So she decided to look for Blackwall. She finally found him in what appeared to be a trophy room, large plagues lining the grand walls. Blackwall stood in front of a roaring hearth, the reflection of flame flickering in his eyes.
“There you are.” She said. He peeled his eyes from the fire and smiled at her.
“Find anything?” He asked.
“Loads. I know of at least four affairs and two major scandals. Nothing on the assassination though.”
“You and Leliana seem frighteningly comfortable with all this,” He said.
“We’re both too accustomed to it. But when I think about it, it is pretty vakakta.”
“Come again?”
“Oh, uh screwed up.” She translated. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine. Besides the whole saving the Empress thing.”
“We’ll save her. What I saw when we got the Templars - It won’t happen. I promise you.” She said. Blackwall nodded, the knot still tense in his shoulders.
“I know, my lady.”
"Hey, make sure you save at least one dance for me." She said.
"All of them." Blackwall didn't hesitate. Basya left him reluctantly as the bell rang for her to return to the ballroom. She deliberately waited until the second bell, before waltzing back in.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, Basya hurried back to the trophy room, but Blackwall wasn’t there. Only a small group of people. Basya frowned. Where did he go? Was he okay? This seemed beyond the uneasy pressure of conversations in court intrigue. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well.
Basya quickly navigated the Winter palace and found, in a courtyard, a long table with quite the spread of rich dishes. Dorian hovered beside it, lapping wine, a pleased expression coating his face.
“Enjoying ourselves, are we?”
“What’s not to enjoy? It’s just like home. I’m half expecting my mother to materialize and critique my manners.”
“I could critique them to make you feel more at home.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. Besides, there’s nothing you could do to make up for the lack of blood sacrifices.” Dorian snickered. “I’m surprised. I would have thought your Warden would be following you around like a lost puppy all evening.” Basya rolled her eyes as she collected a small plate and began to pile it with an assortment of treats.
“Leave him alone. I think something’s wrong.”
“Oh? Trouble in paradise? Do tell.”
“Not much to tell. I just don’t think he’s feeling well.” She said.
“Pity. I was hoping for drama.”
“Sorry to disappoint. I’ll be right back. Keep your guard up.” Basya left with the plate and a glass, poking her head into every room, until she found him back in the trophy room.
“Your face looks so familiar,” A noble ask him
“I-I don’t think we’ve met, my lord. I’m just a Grey Warden.”
“Your face is so familiar. Particularly around the eyes. Perhaps without that beard? More wine. It will come to me.” When the man saw the Inquisitor approach he quickly bowed and took his leave. Blackwall let go of a breath.
“Many admirers?”
“Only those trying to get any information on our relationship. Apparently there’s a rumor that you and Dorian are together. As well as the Commander.”
“All four of us in one relationship or a scandalous affair?”
“Now that you ask, I’m honestly not certain.”
“I sure get around.” She joked. Blackwall laughed. “Why do keep hiding from me,” She said.
“Am I? Not intentional. I was just...looking for a restroom.” Basya put the sweets on a small table and tugged him down enough so she could put her hand on his forehead. It felt normal. She sighed and released him, letting him stand back up. Maybe it was the quizzing nobles that was making him so nervous.
“I brought you some water and some snacks. The little tea cakes with the strawberries and whipped cream are to die for. You should at the very least drink the water.” She said, putting the cup in his hand. Blackwall smiled as he took a sip. He peered over the rim at her with an impossible amount of fondness. “I have to go, but I’ll come check back on you in a bit.”
“Thank you,” He said. She smiled and turned. As Basya walked the spacious hallways something slick shimmering in the chandeliers light caught her attention. Blood. She followed a trail and saw it leading up the vine covered arbor. A few hand print’s of crimson, barely noticeable under the plants. Basya snapped Dorian’s attention. It only took a few her indicating she needed to climb it before he was all over distracting the nobles. Making a loud scene pretending someone was bad talking the Imperium. The gossipers quickly turned their attention on the screaming Tevinter, not noticing Basya hull herself up the arbor.
She couldn’t help, but feel like a character in one of Varric’s tales as she pulled a strange book and a secret door emerged. The exciting sensation caught in her throat when she opened the far door to a room of blood. Basya scrunched her face at the scent of the fresh bodies stacked in the room. She bent down to snag a blood splattered document. She needed to hurry. Gaspard? Was he behind this? That didn’t seem right. Why invite her then? Seemed too risky for a cover. The first bell chimed and Basy quickly crumbled the pages, sighing as the dress didn’t have a pocket. She crammed them into her stocking and hurried back to the ball room.
Arriving just in time for the second bell, a pretty human woman gracefully stepped down the stairs. Her big yellow eyes inspected her with curiosity. Morrigan. Basya was apprehensive to accept an alliance.
“You want something. What?” Basya asked. Morrigan laughed.
“You’re quite perceptive. What I want matters little at the moment. Keeping Celene alive takes precedence. Take the key I found on the Tevinter. I cannot leave Celene unprotected much longer.” She said. What choice did Basya have?
“Keep her safe. I’ll act with haste.” She said. Basya had to rally her companions. She found Solas first. It was a curious sight to see her mentor so happy. Normally, his irises would only have such a spark when speaking of the fade or when Basya had mastered something new with the anchor he’d taught her.
“You seem comfortable,”
“I could say the same of you, lethallan.”
“True enough. I have something. We need to get everyone.” Although Solas reluctantly put his drink down, he was eager to follow. She grabbed Dorian and then went to the near empty trophy room to acquire Blackwall and go through the door close by. The key fit.
A pile of buchard servants awaited them. The dress as much as Basya adored it, wasn’t much in the way of armor. She reminded Dorian and Solas. Now would not be the time for them to skimp on barriers. Solas had used some ancient spell to stow her sword in what she understood as a pocket dimension, allowing it to slip past guards unnoticed. Feeling rather content, with her long sword and dress, she marched on.
They found a body with a knife protruding from his back. The knife was engraved with a detailed crest she recognised as Gaspard’s family’s. It was starting to look rather poorly for the duke. However, Basya couldn’t shake that this was looking too clean. Nothing in this type of a court was ever to cut and dry.
“Venatori agents!” Basya called to her group. She was careful in her fight, avoiding slashes or any maneuver that would cause splattering. She didn’t want to get blood on such a beautiful ball gown.
Brialla was waiting for them. She too was offering alliance. Basya was far more concerned with getting elves a voice in the negotiations more than anything. But if she gained an ally from it as well, it could prove even more beneficial.
They arrived back just as the bell clanged. Basya had to shove her sword back in Solas hands and run, until she saw people, in which she quickly changed pace to a brisk walk. Florianne had been waiting for Basya.
“Care to dance, Inquisitor Aeducan?” Basya knew here, that meant to discuss something too dangerous for prying ears.
“It’d be a pleasure, your grace.” Florianne also pointed the finger at Gaspard. Now Basya’s suspicion was even stronger. Too much evidence. Besides, what would Florianne gain by preventing Celene’s assassination. It didn’t add up. Leliana and Josephine were thrilled by Basya’s dancing. But the compliment’s only lasted so long.
“You cannot stop Corypheus without a decision. You must support someone or all is lost.” Leliana warned. Once again, everything came down to Basya. For once, just once, she wished someone else would. But she knew that was a stupid thought. It didn’t matter what she wished or wanted. It was down to her and she was going to do the best she could.
“We’re here to save Celene. That’s what we came to do. Florianne said there was evidence in the royal wing. Get me access. In the meantime, get our soldiers ready.”
“At once, Inquisitor.” Cullen took a step toward her. “Hey, be careful, okay?”
Basya wandered, she talked to Gaspard. She loathed the man. All he cared about was battle. He wanted a military state. She understood her own father’s reasons for a strong military in Orzammar. Because those warriors were fighting darkspawn. But soldiers and power just to kill for something as unimportant as a little land? It made her sick. Though, Basya kept her pleasantries. His reaction to Florianne's blame to him was...interesting. It made her far more suspicious of Florianne than Gaspard however.
Basya left the chevalier and saw the Celene’s ladies in waiting. She walked to them a small smile etched on her lips.
“I made an interesting discovery in the vaults. The Empress keeps an elven necklace there.” The women looked to each other nervously.
“I will go get the Empress.” One said quickly. She was ushered by the other two onto a private balcony. The chilly breeze blew across her collar bones. It wasn’t a bad view from there. The expansive horizon of Orlesian architecture as far as the eye could see.
“The locket I found. It was a gift from Brialla, wasn’t it?” She said, hearing Celene enter. Basya turned.
“She gave it to me for my coronation. I don’t know why I kept it. It was a foolish thing to do.”
“I think we both know full well why you kept it, your grace.”
“I suppose I do. I know I failed her. But I cannot put her above all the people of my empire.” Celene said sadly. She suddenly straightened her posture and scowled under her mask. “Dispose of the locket however you like. It means nothing to me.” But the words sounded hollow.
Basya had an idea forming. It seemed cruel. To manipulate feelings and a relationship this way, but for the fate of Orlais and by association, the world, Basya would just have to live with it.
She found Brialla on another one of the hundred balconies of the place and without a word she just held up the necklace. Brialla hesitated before something in her eyes lit up.
“Where did you-”
“I found it. Amongst Empress Celene’s things. Curious place for it, no?”
“What was she thinking?! If Gaspard found this, it would have ruined her!” Brialla said, snatching the necklace from the dwarf’s hands. “Why would she do a thing like that?”
“Perhaps, Ambassador, it still means something to her?”
“She held onto it…” Was all Brialla whispered. Basya turned and walked away. She had planted the seeds properly. Now she needed something on Gaspard. After some shameless flirting with the Dowager, she collected her group once again and headed into the royal wing.
As Basya jogged to explore, her hand sparked and she cried out and she stumbled a few steps forward. Solas steadied her and Blackwall put a comforting hand on her shoulder, looking down with concern. “There’s a rift here.” She said.
“Of course there is.” Dorian sighed. "As if the night wasn't exciting enough." Basya hurried forward and pushed open the door and found several archers’ arrows facing her. Florianne stood up high looking proud. Basya wasn’t surprised.
“Corypheus has asked you to die tonight. I would hate to disappoint.”
“Between the Templars, not being able to take back the anchor, Haven, and Adamant, you’d think Corypheus would be accustomed to disappointment by now.” Basya grinned.
“Kill her. Bring me the marked hand as proof.” As the duchess sauntered away, Basya felt a warm purple barrier outline her body and the arrows that flew bounced off as though they had shot them at a brick wall. She opened the rift and demons descended quickly, slaughtering many of the Venatori.
Basya plunged her blade into a rage demon. There were little obstacles so she ran forward and her mark sparked a line to the. rift. She gritted her teeth at the familiar pain, before beginning her pull, gently adding more and more strength until the rift was pulled shut and the crack was sealed.
They had to get back to the ballroom and fast. Sprinting in the heels, made Basya’s ankles cry out, but she continued. The group made their way back to the vestibule. She slowed her walk and tried to calm her breathing before slipping back into the ballroom. Basya couldn’t help, but enjoy the panic that flashed Florianne’s face.
She ignored Cullen’s warnings and marched up the steps to Florianne. Between the approval she had mustered and her careful words, she destroyed Florianne with just a few simple sentences.
“You lost this fight ages ago, your grace. You’re just the last to find out.” Basya said, her back facing the duchess. Florianne sobbed behind and Basya was confused at a shifting commotion. Basya quickly stepped to the side, but, purposely not all the way allowing a sharp sting on her left bicep. The crowd roared.
“Control my cousin!” Celene ordered and Basya turned to see the guards gripping Florianne as she cried, a bloody knife in hand. Basya quickly covered the wound, narrowly avoiding a drop falling on her dress.
"Your Imperial Majesty, we must discuss in private." She said, already up the stairs.
Brialla offered Basya a seat and Celene barked orders for a court doctor. The cut hadn’t been deep. Florianne wasn’t used to having to do her own dirty work. Simple stitches and a healing spell left it a swelling puckered scar.
Her silver tongue still worked and by the time the doctor was securing a fresh bandage, she’d gotten Brialla and Celene back together. Executing Gaspard? She hated the man as a ruler, but death wasn’t a fitting punishment for him. The cost for elves having a voice she supposed, but it didn’t make her any less uneasy.
She stood at the public announcement of the alliance. After it was over she found another empty balcony and took a deep breath. Exhausting night. No matter how good she was. It was draining. The railing was low enough she could stretch her arms up and rest her chin on it. Well, one arm. The other throbbed vigorously at the attempt. It was a nice change for a railing. Most of them were the same size as her.
“There are at least a dozen young lords and ladies hoping for some time with the hero of the night. Yet here you are. Alone. Care to share your thoughts?” She didn’t look behind her as Blackwall leaned next to her. Basya was quiet for a moment.
“I just wished I could have saved Duke Gaspard. He was a dick, but he didn’t deserve…”
“You never do give up on people, no matter how lost they are.” He said, a strange mixture of admiration and sadness coating his tone. “How’s the arm?”
“Not too bad.”
“I was worried for you. When Florianne came for you, I-” Blackwall put his hand over hers.
“Oh, sorry. I let her.”
“You let her?”
“I have no doubt she was aiming to kill me. I could have dodged it entirely, but letting her get in a small swipe, makes her look worse and me look more heroic.” Basya sighed and wiped her eyes. “The Game and all that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Actually makes me feel a little better that you had so much control.” He said. There was clapping as a song ended and Blackwall took a step back. “Before we leave, may I have this dance, Lady Aeducan?” He bowed and stretched out his hand.
“I don’t know, are your toes ready for such a challenge?” Basya said, accepting his offer.
“I saw you with Florianne, you are not a bad dancer.”
“Being a bad dancer and stepping on toes are two completely different things- oh sorry,” She said, stepping on his toe. He only laughed.
“Can’t get used to the size of human feet can you?”
“You want to know a secret?” Basya asked. “I stomped on Florianne’s so many times,” They both burst into giggles and she pressed her forehead into Blackwall, closing her eyes, still swaying. When the song ended they both leaned on the railing again.
“I’d say you’ve earned the rest of the night off. Anything you want to do?”
“Talk, eat strawberry tea cakes. Just enjoy-oh sod it.”
“What?”
“I stained blood on my dress.”
“That’s your concern?”
“It’s so pretty and I ruined it.” Blackwall knelt to one knee to look her in the eye.
“It’s a lovely gown, but I think the wearer is far more beautiful.” Basya smiled and kissed his cheek gently “Another dance?”
“I don't feel much like dancing anymore. Just keep me some company? If you don’t mind?” He smiled before hugging her. It was a relief to feel his arms around her after such a long night.
“I didn’t know you danced.” She said as they separated.
“I did once. In another life.” Blackwall said. Basya figured that must’ve been before the Wardens.
“Okay, well I’m starving. I say we raid the appetizers and eat out here. Shall we?”
“It sounds like a plan, my lady.”

Chapter Text

Hilamshiral had been the talk of Skyhold for weeks since they’d returned. According to Josephine, it wasn’t limited to Skyhold either. Everyone knew Celene and Brialla owed their positions to the Inquisitor.
At the moment Basya was frustrated. Hands on her hips, she stared at her advisors as though they’d just asked her to jump in a river of acid. Josephine and Cullen winced in sympathy.
“Y-you want me to go back to the Fallow Mire?!” Even Leliana looked like she felt bad.
“Solas said those beacons could summon many of the undead. If you clear them out then we can utilize those paths.”
“But-but the Fallow Mire?! It’s thunder and flashy light city there!”
“Lightning,” Cullen reminded.
“‘Lightning’ zapped right in front of me when I was there last. Four times!!! Right in front!”
“You fought the Avvar leader with little difficulty though. The corpses shouldn’t be so bad.” Josephine said hopefully.
“What reason was there to worry about an Avvar trying to kill me when the sky almost did. Four times!” Basya insisted. Cullen sighed.
“Perhaps we should send someone else.”
“Yes! Yes. I agree with the Commander.” She nodded emphatically. Leliana crossed her arms.
“I suppose we have little choice. Now for the other matter. Commander, what’s the position?”
“There're Venatori agents on Lord Dranton’s doorstep. Though he’d been doing well to fend them off, there've still been countless innocent slaughtered.” He said. Leliana stepped toward the table.
“If we send you to clear them up it would save a lot of lives.” Basya frowned at the marker she indicated. Josephine was quiet and she refused to meet Basya’s eyes.
“No.” Basya said.
“No?” Cullen was taken aback.
“We’d be intruding on Lord Dranton’s land.”
“I’m normally the last to agree with such a frontal approach, but it makes the most sense, Inquisitor.” A frightening expression crossed Leliana’s face as she spoke. “Something to add, Josie?”
“Lord Dranton has always been...conservative of mind. To trample his land could be seen as an aggression.”
“Warden Cousland did similar assaults on darkspawn regardless of who owned the land.” Leliana said.
“I’m not Warden Cousland.” Basya said. Only Josephine seemed to understand. “I’m not human, Leliana! If I were to fight on Lord Dranton’s land, we risk him fighting us or worse waging war on the Inquisition.” Cullen scratched his neck and Leliana softened.
“I fear, even soldiers under a dwarven Herald will result in similar conflict.” Josephine added.
“Send in your some of your agents without any recognizable ties to us to dispatch the Venatori. It will take far longer than sending in our troops or going myself, but…” A lot of people were going to die and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Not unless she was willing to risk even more.
“I’m sorry, Inquisitor. I-I did not think.” The spymaster said.
“It’s alright. You don’t think of it because you don’t believe it.” Basya took a deep breath. “I’ve had enough for now. Can we reconvene tomorrow?”
“Of course. Thank you, Inquisitor.” Cullen said.
Basya hurried to leave, fearful her advisors might change their minds. Basya waved to Varric on the way by. It was unusual to see him standing there so late, but with the quill in his hand, he had no doubt lost track of time while writing. Basya hoped it was the new chapter of Swords and Shields.
She sped past her fellow dwarf, outside, and down the two sets of stairs. The fire inside was still lit, warming the stables. Blackwall smoked saches of cinnamon and the powerful scent overroad the horses’ odors.
“Want a drink? Non-alcoholic of course. I’ve been hankering for company.” He asked. She laced her fingers in his, but there was a thinly veiled layer of sadness beneath his smile. They began to walk to the Tavern.
“You look down. What’s on your mind?” Basya asked. He thought carefully about his answer.
“It’s nothing.” He said.
“Do you want to talk about it? You know I’m here for you.” She said sitting down at the empty bar. Leliana had kept all of them until nearly dawn. Since Basya’s never really adjusted to the surface sleep patterns, she never knew the difference of being kept awake all night. The spymaster utilized it to the fullest.
The bartender produced two cups. Basya’s new regular had become hot cocoa. Ever since Iron Bull had given her some to try, she’d been obsessed. She took a sip of the hot sweet spiced milk, peering at Blackwall, her concern growing with his strange behaviour. He stared blankly in his drink.
“I was thinking about when we went to that ruin.” He said finally. “When we found the badge. Everything was clear then. Like I could do anything with you at my side. Anything. That’s a hard word, you know? Means a lot.”
“You mean a lot.” Basya said. “Would you like to drink with our friends or would you prefer just the two of us?”
“Selfishly, I just want you.”
“Not selfish. Come on, let’s get out of here.” She tugged him back down all the way to the barn and pulled him down, kissing at him. Long sweet kisses that made her heart flutter in her chest. He stopped and held up the shiny silver badge, a great griffon’s wings flared.
“You need to know that I’m not worthy of you. There’s no future for us with me as a Warden.” She put her hand on his, supporting the metal badge's hefty weight. It hurt her to see him like this.
“I’m here for you. No matter what comes.” Basya said firmly.
“Then for now, let there be nothing else. Just you and me.” He said kissing her passionately. At first she was scared she’d have to reject a sexual advance, but it was fear from past relationships talking. He’d always been more than courteous of her boundaries and that didn’t change tonight.
Blackwall laid down on his side on a pile of soft hay beside the fire and indicated for Basya to follow. She liked seeing him up close like this. They kissed on and off, Blackwall holding her hand or running his fingers down her loose braid, but both were quiet. Silently enjoying the presence of each other.
“What are you doing?” She asked finally.
“Memorizing you. So I never forget how beautiful and amazing you are.” Blackwall said, his lips sliding between hers. They still tasted mildly of ale. He looked at her as though he never wanted to tear his eyes away.
“Okay. I’ll memorize you too.” She said. He smiled and she noticed how his beard shifted with the movement. She noticed how much younger he looked than how he acted. He was only thirty eight after all, he didn’t have many wrinkles. Just a scar from his nose to his cheek. His big brown eyes stared into her with a familiar fondness and a profound sadness that Basya didn’t understand.
She began to notice how each kiss felt like it was the last one. How strong his fingers wrapped around her small cold hands didn’t want to let go. The atmosphere was soothing. And she had just had a long day. Her lids began to droop as she felt Blackwall’s calloused thumb gently caress her index finger. The fire crackled on and she was half asleep when the warmth on her hand disappeared.
“Atrast nal tunsha.” A blanket was brought to her shoulders and a long lingering kiss to her temple. The pressure on her forehead faded. Reluctantly, slowly, it stopped and that was the last thing Basya could recall before sleep took her.
She awoke to the sun. As usual she hated that damn thing. With Blackwall not beside her the anger at it rose. He wasn’t there. Why wasn’t he there? She always woke up before him.
“Blackwall?” She called anyway. Where he had laid beside her was a piece of parchment on top of the Grey Warden crest. She remembered the sleepy kiss on her forehead. How it hadn’t wanted to let go. Basya’s stomach knotted. It had been a goodbye. He had even said it. ‘May you always find your way in the dark.’ A dwarven goodbye. She threw off the blanket and looked at the note.

'There is little I can say to ease this pain. Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would have hurt more to stay. I am deeply sorry.'

Tears blurred her vision as she tried to read the note. This wasn’t happening. Why would Blackwall leave? She knew he was self loathing and hard on himself, but this? Maybe he hadn’t left yet. Maybe he was somewhere else in Skyhold. She blinked away the tears, now on a mission.
As she ran through the quiet morning, most were still asleep. She could even see Solas stiff on his cot as she ran up the spiral stairs. She passed where Dorian usually roamed up to where the ravens squawked. Leliana was sitting at her desk reading a letter. Did the spymaster ever sleep? She looked surprised and rather concerned at Basya’s presence.
“Tell me if Blackwall’s still in Skyhold.” She said.
“What? Were you not with him last night?” Leliana asked.
“I was-but he left a note-I think he left. Maybe he didn’t. Check for me? Please?”
“Of course, Inquisitor. I’ll have my agents sweep through.”
“Thank you. I’ll be in my quarters.” Basya didn’t even remember the walk to her room. She shut the door and busied herself with missing reports and the never ending list of families she had to write. They were miserable enough regularly, but they somehow seemed even worse now. It wasn’t until the sun was high overhead that there was a knock on her door. “Come in.” She said. One of Leliana’s agents came up the stairs. Basya stood and looked at him expectantly.
“The Spymaster has confirmed it. Blackwall is gone.”
“When we were together he was...I should have seen this coming.” Basya crossed her arms and took a deep breath. The agent wore a sympathetic expression as he walked forward.
“Here. I have something that may help. Sister Leliana had us search the Warden’s quarters. I don’t know what Blackwalls interest in this particular matter is, but it could be a good place to start.” He said. Basya accepted the paper.
“Thank you,” She said. He nodded.
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do, Your Worship.” And he left. Basya had no idea why, but it seemed like he was attending the man’s execution in Val Royeaux. Cole’s fade magic, though feinter since he’d been slowly becoming more human, appeared in front of her.
“You’re hurting. You need to find him, help him, heal him. If he hurts, I hurt.” Cole said. She nodded. “Can I come? I want to help you help him.”
“Sure, Cole. We’ll be leaving shortly.” Cole squeezed her hand reassuringly. Basya needed at least three people to be allowed to leave Skyhold. She found herself climbing the steps of the spiral staircase once again. Dorian was sitting on his chair when he looked up.
“Blackwall’s left. We need to find him. Come with me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of not going.” He said. “Are you okay?”
“Save that question for when we’re dragging him back by his ear.” Basya said.
“I’ll start packing then, meet you in an hour?” Basya hurried to collect the others. As she was standing in front of the Tavern trying to wrack her brain of who she could take with her she heard a familiar voice.
“Oii! Blackwall’s gone, yeah? Please let me help you find ‘im.” Sera called from her room window.
“Okay! Meet at the gates in an hour.”
“Thanks!” Basya knew Cullen wasn’t normally allowed to go with her. He had asked. Several times. However, his duties were to the soldiers here. Both of them understood that. But right now, she didn’t care. Basya charged into the office, she must have looked ferschimmeled. Her braid messy from sleep and she was still in the same clothes as the day prior.
“Are you okay? Leliana told me that-”
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course, Bassi. You needn’t ask.” Cullen said.
The four left in the hour. It was a three day trip by foot. Blackwall had several hours on them. It was quiet on the way. Even Sera didn’t speak much. If she did joke, it was about the forest or the camp. Something completely unrelated.
It was raining when they saw the entrance of Val Royeaux. At least the weather was trying to brighten her mood. The sun only made her agitated. Basya could hear distant crowds from the gallows. She picked up her pace, Cullen, Dorian, and Sera trailing behind.
A noose was secured around a man’s neck. It must have been Mornay. He looked defeated. Ready to accept his fate. Cole frowned, his hat protecting Basya standing next to him from the rain.
“They’re going to kill him.”
“Good grasp of the obvious, this one.” Dorian said. Just as they were about to pull the lever underneath the Mornay’s feet, a shout echoed in the rain.
“Stop!” Basya watched as Blackwall climbed up the ramp to the gallow’s stage.
“A Grey Warden.” One executioner said with a hint of distaste.
“This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him!” Blackwall announced defiantly. “He followed orders like any good soldier!” The executioner scoffed
“Then find me the man who gave the order.” What was he doing? Basya sprinted forward pushing past the crowd.
“Blackwall!” She screamed. When he turned to her, she could see he was filled with regret. He clearly hadn’t wanted her here. The deep sorrow in his brown eyes as they looked at her. The shame that swirled in them. Even so far from the gallow’s stage, she could see it. She could feel it.
“No. I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall. Warden Blackwall is dead. I assumed his name to hide like a coward from who I really am.” Mornay stared at Blackwall in disbelief.
“After all this time?”
“I’m done hiding. I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier.” The spectators gasped and whispered. Basya couldn’t move. She couldn’t even comprehend what was happening. He was some shitty soldier who ordered a hit on a family. He wasn’t a Grey Warden. He wasn’t Blackwall. Paralyzed, she watched guards arrest Blackwall. Or not Blackwall.
Her head was spinning and everything was too confusing. Now clean isana potions that were for sale and even a vein, two miles out far beneath the crust of earth grew overwhelming in volume. She forgot how to stop it which caused her to shake with panic. A bony hand wrapped around hers. She looked up at Cole and squeezed his hand. With a deep breath, the isana quieted.
Cullen worked his magic with the guards and she was allowed to enter the dismal dungeon. A cold draft blew through the barred windows. Water dripped from the ceiling and the darkness beneath that normally was soothing, reminding Basya of home, now made her anxious.
Blackwall, not Blackwall, sat slumped in his cell. His hair loose, a strand covering his face. He was still as her footsteps echoed in the dungeon. Basya wasn’t sure what to say just yet. He sighed.
“I didn’t take Blackwall’s life. I traded his death. He wanted me for the wardens, but there was an ambush. He was killed. I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man, a man he was would never let another die in his place.”
“Did you really do what they said?”
“Yes. I’m a murder. It’s all true. Take a good look at who I really am. I lied to you. You weren’t supposed to find me. You were just supposed to think I was gone. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“Well tough! Because I am seeing you like this.”
“Don’t you understand?!” Blackwall stood abruptly. “I gave the order to kill the lord and his family! And I lied to my men about what they were doing! When it came to light I ran!” He rattled the bars, but Basya didn’t move.
“I know that.” She said. He slowly slid to the ground as if his legs could no longer support the weight of his guilt.
“This is what I am. A murder. A traitor. A monster. Wouldn’t you be happier thinking I was a noble man. A Grey Warden, instead of this. I would have saved you the pain from knowing that all you knew about me was a lie. That you loved a lie.” Something in Basya snapped like a dry piece of kindling.
“No! I wouldn’t be fucking happier! You’d be dead if I hadn’t bust my ass to get here! You think that wouldn’t fucking hurt?! How dare you use me to excuse your lies!” Basya shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks. Blackwall only slumped further at her yells. He bowed his head, avoiding her gaze.
“You’re right. It was selfish. I just didn’t want you to see me. The real me.” Basya was still fuming, but she softened. He was so guilty and sad. What use would there be to make it worse?
“I wrote to Endrin for his thirteenth birthday. It reminded me of the tales I read him when we were kids. Fairy tales of Paragons and heros. Many warrior princess’ fighting darkspawn and meeting a Grey Warden lover. I really...I really thought that was us.” She paused, but then angrily wiped her wet cheek. “But I was wrong! They’re just children’s stories.” Grasping the wooden moon charm, she ripped it from her neck, ignoring the pain it caused and whipped it in the cell. Blackwall turned to watch it clutter on the stone.
Basya left. She needed to get out. Away from Blackwall. Away from this dungeon, away from this whole blighted surface. As she hustled up the stairs and made for the door Cullen emerged from the corner.
“I received Leliana’s report on Thom Rainier.”
“Give me the overview.”
“He was a respected Captain in the Orlesian army before he was turned. Hired to kill one of Celene’s biggest supporters. His men were fiercely loyal and most of them took the fall. A few lucky ones like Mornay escaped, but-” Cullen stopped watching Basya’s gaze wander to the dungeon entrance. “I’m so sorry, Basya, I know what he meant to you.”
“Yeah, well... Thanks for this.”
“Blackwall-Rainier has already accepted his fate, but you don’t have to. If we get him released into Inquisition custody, you could pass judgement on him yourself.”
“Off the record, Cullen. What in the name of Stone should I do?”
“What he did to his men was unacceptable. He has to answer for that. Yet he gave blood for the Inquisition and has fought loyally for us. Even while he was on the run as Blackwall, he was helping people. I don’t know. Ultimately it’s your decision.”
“Release him to us, but in the meantime we have more pressing concerns. We’ll get a room for the night. Tomorrow we’ll inspect the lead Leliana wanted me to look into.” Basya also was eager to have a mission, something to take her mind off of all this.
Dorian insisted on shopping. She loved it regularly, but there was a strange mood of the trip. Basya could tell no one knew quite how to console her as much as they wanted to. A break up would be one thing, but this? It was beyond anyone. Ancestors, it was beyond Basya.
Dorian bought her nearly anything she wanted, insisting it was on him. That was a small perk of this bullshit, that she probably took advantage of, but he knew it. Dorian didn’t seem to mind.
Sera offered to get a drink with Basya and surprising even herself, she did. It didn’t taste so bad here. In the fancy Taverns of Val Royeaux, she’d gotten a sweet strawberry drink where pretty much no alcohol could be detected.
“Oi, slow down. You’re already smashed.” Sera giggled.
“But itso good! Tasteslike happiness!” Basya insisted.
“Alright, Inky, but then you're cut off. Cullen’s already gonna be stark ravin’ mad.” Basya watched the other nobles. A few were whispering about the Inquisitor. She was sure the news of Blackwall was spreading like wildfire and her getting drunk later wasn’t going to look good. But she didn’t care right now. She just enjoyed the pleasant buzz in her system.
“Shhh, it’sfine. No worries!” She took another sip.
“You mad at him?” Both of them knew who she was talking about.
“Are you?” Basya asked.
“I’m right pissed, but I dunno... He’s cocked up, but he knows it. You gave a second chance to the elf guy who literally tried to kill you.” Sera pointed out. It was true. Basya still had a scar to prove it. Yet Fenris’ fist hadn’t even come close to the pain of Blackwall’s words.
'That you loved a lie.'
It cut deeper than any knife and it twisted the blade inside. She put down her cup. Drink wasn’t going to do anything except give her a hangover. The dull buzz wasn’t worth it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make ya all sad again. Stupid. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Sera said.
“Itsalright, Sera. I needed to hearyour input anyway.” She said. Her words still slurred as she put the money on the table. “Now, doyou wanna cause some trouble?” Basya wiggled her eyebrows.
“Do you even need to ask? You oughta get drunk more often.” Sera laughed.
Post a night of mischief, Sera helped Basya stumbled back to the inn where Cullen had gotten rooms. It was a nice place. Basya didn’t like it. A large water fountain inside, the statue dedicated to the Hero of Ferelden. Another Warden. A real Warden. The inn had tall ceilings, white and gold. Spacious area.
Basya didn’t like big spaces. Too close to the vastness of the deep roads she wandered. She liked small cozy homes and cottages. For a while she was scared to sleep in her room at home because it was too big. Her parents, still strangers at the time, put a bed in their room for her. Even her room at Skyhold, Cullen or Dorian would sleepover. More often than not, Blackwall…
Suddenly seething, Basya splashed in the fountain, wading in at her knees. Sera gasped, trying to tell her to come back in a way that only egged her on. She pulled out her sword and swung it hard, the impact of the blade on stone stung her wrists. Her sword was a top quality so it didn’t warp.
It wasn’t just Blackwall. He’d just been the straw to break whatever thin shell that had been protecting her sanity. Princess was one thing. She’d trained for that. Herald and Inquisitor were a whole new set of rules.
She hated Blackwall and his lies and his murderous past. She hated Adamant and all the stupid Wardens and Clarel. She hated the Hero and the privilege she had of being a human. She also hated the Winter Palace, Celene, Brialla, and the whole fucking Game. Basya swung again and again, chipping the stone of the perfect human woman. She hated the anchor and Calpurnia and Corpheus.
But most of all, Basya hated herself.
With one last powerful swipe that made her biceps ache, the Hero of Ferelden was chopped in half at the waist. Basya watched in satisfaction as the Hero’s torso slid to the side, crashing down in the water.
“Maker’s tits! The fuck are you doing to my fountain, you stupid midget?!” As if the world had turned on again, Basya blinked as if looking for the first time at what she’d done.
“Sera, what did you let her do?!” Cullen grabbed Basya’s wrist, but she didn’t like the feeling and wrenched her hand free. He stared at her, unsure what to do, water sloshing as she stepped, dripping out of the fountain.
“She needed to blow off the steam. We can always pay back for a lousy statue.” Sera said.
“Dorian, get her to the room. I’ll deal with this. I’m so sorry for this, sir. We’ll give you men and money to rebuild this.” Dorian went to put a hand on her back, but she jerked away. She didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure if her tongue worked properly.
“Touching, tapping, tugging - too close to monsters and nobles. The darkspawn that gripped my wrist, I thought I was dead. Please don’t touch her right now.” Cole said, suddenly next to her. “Just follow. Please?” He asked her. She didn’t respond, but followed Cole and Dorian as they led her down the winding hallway.
When the pressure of the Inquisition made her get angry or rage, it was Blackwall she turned to. His big bear hugs, his reassurance, his shield at her side like rain on a hot summer day. It reminded Basya that she would get through it.
She closed the door on Dorian and Sera. Her mouth wouldn’t work and she didn’t want to have to attempt to communicate. She changed numbly into clothes and staggered into her bed. She collapsed, her shoulders aching from smashing the hard stone.
In hindsight she felt bad. She didn’t mean to make a mess and cause damage. She didn’t have anything against the Hero of Ferelden. Ancestors, she looked up to her. “It just bubbled over. Like a kettle left on the fire for too long. You’ve been hurting, but you push it back so deep, I can’t see it. Not behind that light. Brilliant and blinding.” Cole said. “I want to help.” He said.
Basya swallowed, her tongue still refusing to move, despite the urge to speak. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t. The only other times she’d lost control like this was with the red isana and Envy. She could talk well enough after those. “It’s okay. I can hear you. You don’t have to talk. The room is too big, too vast. Makes you feel too small. I’ll sleep on the couch. I won’t leave you alone.”
Basya took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes. She didn’t feel well or even better, but with Cole looking out for her, she could at least try to sleep.

***

Basya looked down at her lap as her advisors yelled. They’d been at it since she’d gotten back from Val Royeaux. Not that she hadn’t heard Cullen’s scolding all the way back, Though he and Josephine were beginning to wear, seeing how she never defended. She just sat on the edge of her bed in silence. Even Cassandra was growing concerned. There was a lull in the shouts so Basya finally attempted to speak.
“Please take it from my personal expenses.”
“Count on it.” Cullen said.
“I’m really sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Leliana asked. “Tell that to King Alistair whom I have to write immediately to assure him my boss does not intend to wage war with his beloved wife.”
“I could write to him.” Basya said.
“No. You have done enough.”
“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, but until this dies down, we have to ask that you don’t leave Skyhold. That said, not even your room too much.” Josephine was softer and they all awaited a protest, but Basya just nodded.
“Okay,” She could feel Cassandra’s eyes on her. Cullen shifted uncomfortably, but Leliana just scoffed.
“I would have thought the heir to the throne of Orzammar would know how her actions affect her people. We do not have the luxury of personal feelings taking priority over-” She said, tone biting.
“Enough, Leliana.” Cassandra said. Everyone was surprised by the Seekers interruption.
“She should have been more careful.”
“What of your own personal issues? You did not see Rainier for what he was. Are you not taking out your own mistake on the Herald?”
“But-”
“What difference does it make? What’s done is done. She broke the statue. Pay it back with her money. Leave it be. Within a few short weeks all the nobles will have forgotten and will be squabbling about some new scandal or another. There are more important things to do then to scold the Inquisitor.” Cassandra said.
Basya still couldn’t bring herself to meet any of her advisors faces. Leliana stormed out, followed closely by Josephine. Cullen and Cassandra appeared hesitant to leave. Basya still didn’t peel her gaze away from the spot on her pants. “Rainier is in the dungeons. Take time before passing judgement on him. I...I can’t even imagine how difficult this is for you.” Cassandra’s tone was soft and sympathetic.
“Is there anything we can do?” Cullen asked. Basya shook her head. Dorian had taken her shove off more personally than Cullen, but she could see it had still hurt him. They had each other since the beginning of all this. Be it isana addictions or the weight of being in charge, they’d always turned to each other.
“Sorry,” She said. “For pushing you away at the inn.”
“It’s alright. I understand.”
“If there’s anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask.” Cassandra said.
“Thank you,” The two reluctantly descended the stairs and Basya was left alone. She needed to think. She immediately wanted to lock Rainier up for life. No, no, putting aside personal feelings, if Rainier was just another soldier, what would she do?
Send him to the Wardens? Most were criminals anyways. However the joining ritual was a dangerous game. If he died, which there was a strong probability, there’d be no chance of redemption. Besides that, she’d just pulled the Wardens out of the hole they’d dug themselves in. They were so screwed up, still rooting out corruption. It’d be a waste of a strong Chevalier either way.
Basya sighed and laid back in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She’d judge him tomorrow. She already knew what she was going to do. Not that it made it any easier.

As she sat on the throne, her posture strong, the pose intimidating, Basya wanted nothing more than for the chair to swallow her up. Looking down at Blackwall - Rainier, it felt like one of the sick dreams Envy had concocted. The chains on his wrists rattled as he was shoved to his knees by two Inquisition soldiers.
“This is harder than I thought,” She said honestly, the crowd bigger than any judgement she’d done before.
“Another thing to regret.” He said, his head low, refusing to meet her eyes. Basya’s chest was tight.
“Thom Rainier,” She said, the words still foreign. “You deceived the Inquisition and myself.”
“Exactly why you should have left me there! I was ready for all this end!” He yelled. Basya’s heart jumped, but she didn’t move. He softened his voice anyways as if he had known he’d startled her. “What becomes of me now?”
“Though your title and past were falsities, your loyalty to the Inquisition has not and never will be in question.” She announced to the room. “You have your freedom.”
“It cannot be that simple.”
“Oh it won’t be. That I promise you.” Basya stood, her legs feeling that of jelly. “You’re free to atone as the man you are. Not the traitor you thought you were or the Warden you pretended to be.”
“You’d accept that? And what I used to be?”
“Corypheus doesn’t care about your past. If you’d fight him under me, why should I? Release him. We’re done here.” Basya, barely finished her sentence before nearly sprinting to the door on her right, up the stairs to her room.
So many things made more sense now. His inability to sense how many darkspawn were about, his ducking and hiding at Halamshiral, his stupid question dodges of his past. Yet, it wasn’t his lies of the Wardens or his past that bothered her the most.
It was them. Their relationship. Where did the lies end and their relationship start? Or did it? Had their relationship just been the easiest way for her not to question anything? She didn’t want to believe that. The stars they’d point out. Sleepy kisses to wake him up, carving her a necklace. She couldn’t believe that those were all lies, but doubt grated her spine.
It was hours later when she decided she couldn’t take it anymore. She sprinted from her room out the crowded foyer and into the pouring rain. It came down in sheets, soaking her curls and dripping down her head. Her legs took her to the stables. The many vendors and people that gathered were gone, most likely had taken shelter from the rain. The doors were open and Blackwall - no. Thom. Thom was adding logs to the fire. She didn’t enter the stables, she stayed out in the rain.
“I need you to tell me something!” Basya shouted over the rain. Thom stood and walked quickly toward the door, but stopped a few feet before the invisible line Basya had created.
“What do you need?”
“The truth! I promise, I won’t be angry no matter that answer, but I have to know! What was I in all this? What were we?!” She was glad it was raining. It was a lot harder to distinguish the tears streaming down her cheeks in the rain. Thom’s look pained.
“I lied about who I was, but I never lied about what I felt.” He said. Basya closed her and inhaled deeply, relief flooding through her as cooling and cleansing as the rain. She sniffled and nodded.
“Okay. Thank you.” She said. She turned and walked to the kitchen door, closing it behind her. She dripped a trail of water as she sauntered back to her room in a daze. Basya wasn’t ready just yet. She knew she’d forgive him and hope against hope they’d get back together, but she needed time. She would wait.

Chapter Text

Basya was beyond tired. Exhausted didn’t even come close. She’d just spent a week clearing the corrupted isana and soldiers in Emprise Du lion. It was freezing there and ever since Haven, Basya had a new vendetta against snow.
After a long day of thawing and writing several reports of their missions, she didn’t even have the energy to get from her desk to her bed. She rubbed her lids and planted her head in her arms ready to drop dead when the light flashed and Basya jumped.
“No. No, no, no, no.” A low rumble vibrated under her bare feet and Basya flew across the room, her hip smacked against the edge of the desk, but she ignored the clatter of several things. She dove under her bed, curling up in a ball, hugging her knees to her chest. She covered her ears with her hands, elbows stiff. Her whole body was locked and she cried with every flash of lightning and boom of the thunder.
Great. As if she wasn’t tired enough. She missed her room in the Palace in Orzammar where she never had to hear this blasted sound. Her hip throbbed with her heart. She could tell a new bruise was forming.
Basya didn’t know how long she was huddled under there when she saw a familiar pair of feet. She could see the knees which meant it had to be a dwarf. She watched as they knelt down and she saw Varric looking back at her.
“Hey, Mini. Maybe it’s just me, but I think the bed would be more comfortable.” He said. The lightning flashed, followed closely by a crack of thunder. Basya squeaked and shrank further back, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’ve been up here my whole life. Never been hit once.”
Varric stood, seemingly to collect a few things. There was a muffled rustle and he passed down a few pillows and a blanket. She sniffled and accepted them, while Varric propped up his own seat, leaning on the beds wooden frame, his back to her.
“Thanks.” She said, her shoulder was relieved at the pillow’s support beneath it and she pulled the blanket to her neck.
“No problem.” He said. “What else can I do?” Basya thought about it carefully, listening to the rain.
“Could you, maybe, read me a story?”
“Of course. Who could resist my soothing voice? You just started Hard in Hightown didn’t you?”
“Yeah, it’s on the desk.”
“Funny, because I see it on the floor.”
“Well that makes it easy to find.” Varric chuckled as he retrieved it and sat back down. The lighting lit up the room and Basya threw the blanket over her head. “It’s okay, you’re safe in here. Just listen to me.” Varric read and Basya found having a sound to focus on was an improvement. She stayed under the bed as the author read his story. Similar to how she read to Endrin, Varric acted out all the different characters. Even though her muscles were tense as she trembled and was terrified out of her mind, she couldn’t help, but smile as he read.
Varric read for hours, having to pause only once, to call for a servant to bring him water for his scratchy throat. He had trouble maintaining the voices he’d given to the female characters. He also called for a large plate of grapes, bread, and cheese that he’d slide under the bed every few chapters, encouraging her to nibble.
Varric paused at the end of the chapter to take a long drink of water and pop a few grapes in his mouth. Basya took deep breaths, trying to calm herself from the last big clap of thunder. Basya suddenly had a question on her mind.
“How did you know I was under here?” She asked. Varric halted the piece of cheese before he put it in his mouth.
“...Hero actually. Poor guy had been running frantically to everyone all evening. Curly and the Seeker slammed the door in his face before he could get in one word. Dorian gave him the cold shoulder. He was so worried about something, I finally asked what was up.” Varric said. “He told me the weather would have you freaked out. Reminded me of our little adventure into the Fallow Mire. He said you’d be either under the bed or in the closet.”
“Under the bed it seems.” She said.
“Yeah. First place I checked.”
“He really ran across Skyhold in this weather?”
“Yup. Looked soaked through.” Varric bit into his piece of cheese. Basya sighed. It had been a little shy of a month since she’d run to Thom in the pouring rain and she hadn’t talked to him since. She had a lot of time, but there was still so much fear and doubt. Not that there could possibly be anything else to happen that shattering in the future. Basya was still trying to figure out how to approach him.
“Has it stopped?” Basya asked.
“Appears so. We’ve gotten over halfway in the book. Next time there’s a storm we can finish it if you want.” He said. Basya smiled.
“I’d like that, Varric.” She slowly uncurled her stiff knees and crawled out.
“You look like you need a hug.” He said.
“I’ll take one, if you're offering.” Varric gave her a solid hug before standing up. He yawned and took his leave. It was already light out and she’d barely gotten any sleep. She hadn’t been able to at all in Emprise Du Lion due to the screaming red isana. Basya was asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.
She hated waking up alone in the massive room. It was still raining, but only a soft drizzle dripped on from the glass panes of the balcony doors. Basya got up and dressed. She’d probably slept more than half the day away, Josephine was always frustrated when she missed meeting important nobles. Basya made her bed, neat and tidy, a habit ingrained by her mother, before heading down.
Basya surprised herself by heading to the stables. She decided she should just be upfront. She had time to adjust, she knew what they had was real. Her legs sped up down the slippery stairs. This time looking at the line she had created at sliding barn doors, she consciously put her foot down on top of it before crossing.
“Thank you.” Basya said. Thom whirled around to see her. “For sending Varric last night.”
“I’m just glad you’re alright, my lady.” He said simply.
“I think it’s time we’ve talked.”
“Oh.” He offered her a spot to sit down next to the fire. He leaned on a stack of hay, one leg splayed out, the other knee pulled toward his chest.
“I just...can I call you Thom?”
“After what I put you through, you have the right to call me whatever you wish.” There was a long silence between them as Basya fought to put her thoughts into words while she stared at the fire. “Are we ever - I...No matter what I was, I’m just a man with his heart laid bare. I leave us in your hands.”
“I just needed time to process, Thom. I wasn’t quite sure how to- At first I thought we’d forget Blackwall and start anew, but I realized I really can’t do that. I really can’t forget all those memories. I don’t want to.” Basya said, picking up his hand.
“Me neither, but I don’t know how to be with you as Thom Rainier.”
“We’ll figure it out.” She said. Thom squeezed her hand as Basya moved closer.
“Together.” He was slow as if giving her every opportunity to pull away, so Basya closed the distance, lips between his. Thom’s hand slid up to her thigh as they kissed. He parted to look at her as if entranced by her beauty. Basya leaned forward, resting her chin on his shoulder, arms around his neck.
“I missed you so much.” She whispered and his arms wrapped tighter around her.
“I really am the luckiest man in the world.” Thom said. Basya thought they could stay entwined like this and she’d be in pure bliss for the rest of her life.

Chapter Text

“Bull?! What are you drinking? Cyanide?” Basya gagged at the burn in her throat. He had offered her one single sip and she genuinely worried about getting drunk off it. The Iron Bull laughed as she chugged down a few gulps.
“No clue. Not that a lightweight like you would know the difference.” Maturely Basya, stuck out her tongue at him as she continued to scramble to drink her hot chocolate, to soothe her esophagus.
Dorian rested his head on Bull’s shoulder and Basya wasn’t sure if he too had taken a sip of Iron Bull’s drink or he was just sleepy. Bull kissed the top of Dorian’s head and he murmured unintelligibly.
“Aww, you guys are adorable.”
“I know! We’re so damn cute. Thanks, Boss.” She laughed and took a bite of her vegetable pie. She’d cut it open this time before consuming. Today she’d spent most of her time with Bull and the Chargers. Sparring and celebrating a small victorious battle. A victory nonetheless. A loud crowd’s roars sounded from outside.
“What was that?”
“Celebration! Probably more people blowing off steam. I suppose a born leader like yourself is unfamiliar with the concept.”
“Not true,” Basya protested. Sera giggled from under the table.
“Yeah, not true. She’s got Rainier to blow off steam. Get it?!” Both her and Bull laughed themselves to hysterics as they watched their leader’s face slowly rise to the shade of the strawberries still on her plate.
“Your Worship!” Krem raced in the Tavern. Bull grinned as he looked up.
“Come on Krem dela creme, get a drink! Relax!”
“Your Worship, You must come quickly!” He insisted. Basya stood and the Iron Bull too frowned at Krem’s demeanor. She ran to follow him outside to see a large crowd encircling a fight. Cassandra stared blankly at the scene, but her eyes widened at Basya’s presence when she’d pushed her way through.
Solas threw a punch at a figure on the ground. He kicked and stomped and punched again, even as the figure didn’t move. Not even to scramble back or defend himself. Basya knew instantly who it was.
“Stop! Stop!!!” Basya shrieked. She sprinted forward, gripping firmly at Solas’ tunic and yanking him away, her warriors strength whipping him to the ground. Breath heavy, she moved to help Thom up, but he only slumped forward, his arm around her waist, the only thing keeping him upright. A mixture of blood and saliva dribbled down his lip. “We have a common enemy to fight and it is not each other!” She yelled.
“He lied and betrayed the Inquisition! He lied and betrayed you, lethallan!” Solas shot back. “And now you’d run back to him?!” It was unnerving to see Solas so angry. So filled with rage. He almost always remained calm and collected. The closet she could think was when they hadn’t rescued his friend in time, but even then, he didn’t have the same look in his eyes. The utter hatred and disgust that plagued them as he looked down at Thom.
“Our affairs are not your business! I don’t know what’s come over you, Solas, but I don’t want to see you again until you’ve cooled down!” She screamed back. “I expected better of you, salroka.” It was those words that seemed to slap Solas in the face and he appeared genuinely hurt. Then he turned on his heel, dispersing some of the crowd with his absence. Basya also scowled at Cassandra.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Like I just betrayed you?”
“Betrayal requires an action, Cassandra! You did nothing!” Basya hissed. The Seeker bowed her head in shame. "Thank you, Krem."
"All the Chargers have vast backgrounds. Some similar to Rainier. I wouldn't allow that to happen to any of my men, neither." He nodded. Thom coughed up a mouthful of blood.
“Alright, alright. I’ve got you,” She said, and using the strength she’d cultivated over the years, she positioned Thom over her shoulder and carried him all the way back to her quarters.
Basya propped him up on her bed. He watched her as she took off his shoes and carefully removed his shirt. Thankfully, the rib wasn’t jutting out, just a bruise. He had a nasty black and purple one on his eyes and a cut on his cheek. His temple bled rapidly and she used the towel and basin to clean the dirt from it. It appeared his injuries were torso and up.
“I’m okay, my lady.” He said.
“No thanks to Solas.”
“Thanks to you.” She retrieved an antibacterial poultice from the bag she usually took with her outside of Skyhold. Using a thin wooden applicator, she sat on Thom’s lap gently applying the goopy liquid to the gash on his brow. It didn’t escape either of their attention how close their faces were to each other. “Why are you still with me?”
“Because. I don’t know if it was Blackwall or Thom. A combination or neither, but there’s someone in there that I fell in love with.” Basya said honestly, glancing at his reaction. He smiled, resting her cheek in his palm. He kissed her tenderly, despite tasting the tangy copper of blood. Then he pressed his face in the crook of her neck. If it hurt his new injuries, he didn’t seem to care and she let him stay for a while, rubbing gentle circles on his battered body.
“Thanks for not lecturing me to fight back.” He said. She understood full well why he hadn’t. Why he couldn’t.
“Yes. I know you can’t. You could have at least put up your shield.”
“And risk Solas destroying it with a fireball?”
“I can replace a shield. I can’t replace you, Thom.” She said. His brow arched and she blushed at the declaration, ducking her head. Fingers under her chin, he gently tilted her back up to look at him.
“You're irreplaceable too.” They kissed again, longer, harder, but not less affectionate. Foreheads against each others as they both breathed.
“Keep getting me carried away like this and I’ll never dress your wounds.” She said. He grinned into another quick kiss before allowing her to finish cleaning and bandaging all his cuts and scrapes. Discussing it, she told him wearing the black eyes instead of going to see a healer could be a strategic move to create a little more sympathy and avoid similar beatings in the future.
Once all was done she curled up under his arm pulling the blankets over both of them. With her head on the uninjured side of his chest, they fell asleep nestled together, both teeming with a love and happiness neither ever though they’d deserved.

Chapter Text

Basya smiled as she woke up. Sun streamed through the balcony doors on Thom’s peaceful expression. She had enjoyed the quiet for a little over an hour now, revelling in the gentle rise and fall of his chest. His bun was loose and falling out. Basya rolled away from him to reach for her shirt on the ground to no avail. Her arms were too short. She pouted realizing she’d have to stand up.
Thom shifted, wrapping an arm around her. He kissed the scar on her bicep up her shoulder before she turned back to look at him. He kissed her lips. They held each other’s warm gaze for a moment before Basya moved to sit up on the edge, feet swinging over the floor. Thom hooked her waist in the crook of his elbow and flopped her back down on the bed.
“Thom, I have war meetings today!” She giggled as he peppered her rib cage with kisses.
“You’ve had meetings all week. They’ve all lasted from dawn until dusk.” He sat straddled her on the bed, one hand on her hip bones.
“Wow, it’s almost like saving the world requires planning.”
“Strange.” He smiled, pressing a playful kiss to her nose. He sank back a bit though and allowed the smile to fade. “You’re tired.”
“I’m always tired. At least last night there were only two nightmares.” She said. He still frowned at the information, but shook his head.
“Not just that kind of tired.” Thom said. Basya didn’t respond to that. During any of the breaks of the full day meetings, Basya was busy writing letters to the families of the fallen. She had done the same in Orzammar. It had been one of her duties as Princess. However, it seemed like a fraction of the numbers. Whenever she seemed close to finishing all the names on her list, Leliana would solemnly add a dozen. “Which is why you’re going to spend the whole day, in bed, with me.” He declared.
“As fantastic as that sounds, I do not wish to incur the wrath of a certain Spymaster and Seeker. They can and will kill us.”
“They would never. Well, they would definitely kill me, but you're too important.”
“Good point. Still too risky.” Basya said as Thom glided his fingers down her long hair. There was a knock at the door and Basya scrambled to throw on the blanket. This was the first time they’d done anything, so Basya never bothered to lock the door prior. Both her and Thom tried not to laugh as she covered herself just in time for an unfamiliar servant to appear up the stairs. He blushed, averting his gaze and quickly setting a tray of food on the table beside the couch.
“Incidentally, tell Lady Nightingale, the Inquisitor isn’t feeling up to it. She’s going to be resting today.”
“Of course, Ser. Feel better, Your Worship.” The poor servant’s cheeks were on fire as he quickly ran out the room, closing the door behind him. Basya and Thom burst out laughing. Basya retrieved the tray, then curled back up with Thom pulling the blankets over their laps, eating breakfast in bed together.
“What do you want to do, Zisbord?”
“Entirely up to you,” He said, setting aside the tray on the bedside table. Basya cuddled into Thom’s bare torso and he kissed the crown of her head.
She sat on the floor in her underwear and an unbuttoned blouse, tossing the rocks gently in the air before catching two of the six on her knuckles. Carefully, she threw them again, catching them on her palm. Then she threw one in the air and swiped the ground to collect the fallen stones. Thom took his turn catching four on both his knuckles and palm.
“In my defence my hands are small.” Basya said.
“Really? Cullen told me you were impossibly good at this game.”
“Anyone is impossibly good at knucklebones if their opponent is Cullen.”
“This is actually a game my men and I played a lot. Camping or long missions. Easy, since you could find pebbles anywhere.” Thom said, giving the stones another throw.
“Makes sense. Keep their morale up too.” Basya said. It was still a strange feeling for him to talk of another past. One she hadn’t known, but she could tell it was freeing to him. She came to love when something would remind him of a mission and he’d tell her all about it. Basya had learned so much about him on a trip to the Hissing Wastes. Thom stood and reached his hand down to her.
“Want to dance?”
“Dance?” She blinked. “There’s no music.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I suppose not.” Thom smiled as she put her hand in his automatically. Despite the lack of music, it was more fun than the Winter Palace. Even on the private balcony, she still feared anyone could pop in so her dance and posture had to be perfect. Here in her room, they both laughed and snickered as they spun around the room with no regard. Their goofy giggles brightening her quarters, pushing away all the tension of the last week.
Finally they collapsed on the bed still entangled with each other. Part of her wished this day would last forever, but she knew the assault in the Arbor Wilds was going to take place soon. They had to get there before Corypheus. Basya was still suspicious of Morrigan. She knew there was something she wanted and that was why she was helping, but she didn't know what it was. Basya yawned and rubbed her eyes.
“Why don’t you take a nap? Catch up on some sleep.” Thom suggested. Normally, Basya would protest, but she could barely keep her lids open.
“What are you going to do?” He selected a book from her shelf then sat, leaning against the headboard. He opened his arm and she snuggled underneath, his soft beer belly protecting her from the hard well earned muscles beneath.
“You are so tired.” He chuckled, giving her a sleepy kiss that she murmured into. Thom’s hands stroked her hair, only pausing to turn the page. It didn’t take long for sleep to come with the comfort all around her.

Chapter Text

Basya wrenched her sword from an enemy, the familiar weight of a wooden necklace bouncing beneath her armor. Josephine had pulled some strings and gotten a stunning pink dawn stone chestplate with pastel pink undershirt and pants. Cullen had been relieved she would be wearing protective warrior armor. It suited her well, both in combat and style. She felt both beautiful and deadly as she used her reaver training to dispatch one of Corypheus’ minions before it could reach Abelas. The elf shook his head. She knew before he spoke.
He was going to destroy the Well.
Morrigan knew too and raced at Abelas as he sprinted forward. She would kill him! Why had she trusted the blasted woman!? Leliana had warned her, but Basya had hoped that whatever she was seeking was something far less important to the fate of the world. As she sprinted, she watched in horror as Morrigan transformed into a human in front of him, pulling out a dagger.
“Abelas!” Basya yelled, stepping in front of him and disarming the mage with a deft swing.
“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor. The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows.”
“Can you blame him when people like you are possessed by it? How different are you than Corypheus?!” Basya hissed. Morrigan huffed.
“To keep it from your grasping fingers, better it be lost, than bestowed upon the undeserving.” Abelas said as Thom, Dorian, and Varric finally caught up.
“Fool! You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows,”
“I’d rather Orzammar fall in a sinkhole than let someone else ruin it.” Basya jabbed. Abelas turned to her, ignoring Morrigan’s scowl.
“You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny. Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’abelasan, as best you can, to fight your enemy?” He asked her curiously.
“To tell you the truth, not really. But if I don’t, Corypheus will and trust me, that will not end well for anyone. I won’t take it without your permission though.” Basya said.
“One does not obtain permission. One obtains the right.” Abelas looked pensive. “Brave it if you must, but know you this; you shall be forever bound to the will of Mythal.” Right no biggie. Just bound to an ancient Elvhen G-d. Sure, she might not be real, but with Basya’s luck she wasn’t going to bet on it.
“Thank you, Abelas. I wish you the best. Atrast nal tunsha.” Basya said. Abelas smiled sadly at her.
“The same to you, Child of the Stone.” Basya watched the old elf walk down the stairs until he was long out of sight. Morrigan was standing impatiently.
“I will drink from the Well, I am best suited to the task.”
“And what’s to stop you from taking the Well and leaving?”
“My word.”
“Right,” Basya scoffed. “If you did stay, what then? What would you abuse this power for? Another child? You are playing a dangerous game and if I recall correctly, Leliana told me you’ve already pulled something similar on the King of Ferelden.”
“Irrelevant, Inquisitor. I await a decision.” Morrigan demanded. Basya turned to her friends. Dorian shook his head. She knew why. A Tevinter taking Elvhen culture would be a dangerous line to walk on.
“I’ll drink it.” Basya felt her stomach knot as she said it. But she was fuming at Morrigan and Corypheus was in the temple. She could hear him. Thom took a step forward, furrowing his brows as he looked at her, concern layering his tone.
“My lady, don’t. I won’t risk losing you. Let the witch have it.”
“Do you trust her?” Basya asked. Thom hesitated so she looked back at Morrigan. “I’ll drink it.” She repeated. Morrigan scowled again.
“So you will take what little knowledge you understand and let the rest go to waste?!”
“Better some go to waste then be warped for the wrong.” Basya said. Morrigan took a long breath, no doubt trying to prevent herself from strangling the Inquisitor.
“Perhaps it is better this way. Do as you will with the Well of Sorrows, Inquisitor. But be careful.” Basya walked forward, wading into the water. It was cool as it lapped her skin beneath her armor. Blue wisps of magic and energy swirled around it. Basya cupped her hands, creating a small space for water in her palms. Still angry at Morrigan for nearly murdering Abelas, in a childish act of pettiness, Basya glowered at the mage while she brought the water to her mouth.
As soon as the water touched her lips, pain flooded her body and she screamed. It was almost like she was underwater, but darker and a smoke billowed around the thick air. Thousands of voices whispered in Elvish each overlapping each other’s echoes. One stood louder than the rest. Even though it was in a language she didn’t know, she somehow knew what it meant.
“‘Why am I here?’ Corypheus...a magister wishes to rip the veil open. I must learn how to stop him.” Basya said. She understood the elvhen whispers once again. “‘What can I give in return?’ Any price within my power to give you, I offer it freely if you can help me vanquish Corypheus.” She said.
They seemed to ponder before several glowing blue orbs began to flood her head. It was as though they were bolts inserting themselves into her skull. Basya shrieked and screamed as the anguish only grew, in both speed and intensity. Basya prayed to the Stone the agony would end, but it kept going and she feared her skull might crack open like an egg. Then there was relief in blissful blackness.
“My lady! Oh Maker, let her keep breathing.” Thom’s voice pleaded in a far off distance. She tried to reach for it, but it seemed a million miles away. Basya was determined however and kept following the sound. “Please wake up. Please.” He cried.
Without warning all the air flooded Basya’s lungs and her eyes snapped open. Disoriented, she sat up abruptly. Dizzy and breathing shallow as Thom tried to steady her. He sat on the ground where the Well had been, cradling Basya close to him. Dorian, Varric and Morrigan approached cautiously.
“How do you...feel?” Dorian asked, his brows knitted in concern. Nothing, not even the worst hangover, she’d ever received, could approach the feeling of the pounding ache that throbbed in her temples. Before she could even calm her breathing enough to respond, she tensed hearing a hungry tune singing of an assumed victory over the Well.
“Corypheus is here!” Basya tried to get up, with haste, but would have fallen, if not for Thom catching her. Varric and Dorian instantly had themselves ready to support her.
“To the mirror!” Morrigan called. Basya begged for the key and the Eluvian activated. She hurried forward, seeing Corypheus from the ledge. Basya pressed her glowing blue hand against the mirror and urged for the others to run through while the spirit within the Well distracted the Magister. Once Morrigan had passed, Corypheus flew through the air toward her. Basya slipped through just in the nick of time and found herself hurtling through the Eluvian.
It spat her out like a bad grape and she rolled across Skyholds familiar floor. She allowed herself to stay sprawled for a moment as her head screamed. She sat up slowly, watching Morrigan seal the Eluvian. Thom knelt down to her and clutched her hand.
“Cullen is going to be very confused when we send a raven to the front to tell him we’re back here.” Basya smirked. The joke even caused Morrigan to crack a rare smile while everyone laughed. Basya found her feet, despite the dots that swarmed her vision. Thom kept a stabilizing grip on her.

“Mortal bodies must adjust.”

The elvish words reverberated in her skull. Basya was already regretting her decision. Part of her wished she had allowed Morrigan. All this had done for her was scare the crap out of Thom, bound herself to an ancient deity for life, and may or may not have split her head open.
Basya shook her head. Morrigan was a mom. She needed to be there for her son. She could be prevented from that if she’d been the one to drink. Besides, she still didn’t trust Morrigan would have given her the full information.
“Alright, well, I’m going to go to sleep. Wake me up when Cullen and Leliana get back from the front.” Varric laughed.
“I assume you know that wouldn’t be for a least a week.” He said.
“In that case, don’t wake me up when they return either.” Basya said, messaging her temples. Thom followed her to her room and she sluggishly stripped down her armor. As soon as the both of them were down to their tunics, Thom enveloped her in a big hug. As if he never wanted to release her again. “Hey, I’m okay.” She said softly. She pulled back just enough to kiss him before returning his hug. Not wanting to part his hold, he carried her to the bed, keeping her on his stomach as he pulled the blankets over them.
“Don’t you dare do that again, you hear me?”
Basya didn’t say anything. She was optimistic about her upcoming battle with Corypheus. She was going to fight like hell and kill that monster. But as hopeful as she was, Basya knew better than to make a promise she couldn’t keep.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t come here to be a G-d, Corypheus.” Basya shouted back. He glared at her. The Well’s voices began their whispers.

“The dragon will come. We have called.”

Basya stepped forward with more confidence. Corypheus grinned madly as he summoned his red isana dragon. She didn’t move as it leapt toward her and their own dragon swooped forward and knocked Corphyeus’ pet off the ruins they stood on. The red isana protruding from his chin, shifted.
The battle had begun.
Basya found it quite funny that the only insults the self-proclaimed G-d could seem to conjure were racial slurs Basya had heard every day for the past three years on the surface. Somehow, they were even easier to shrug off from Corypheus than the humans.
Dorian, who’d been shielding Basya and Thom, was knocked back by one of Corypheus’ blasts. He lay on the ground unmoving. Watching the magister prepare one of his most brutal attacks, she sprinted in slow motion.
Basya reached Dorian just in time as the beam of red sparks shot at them. She stood it in front, planting her feet in the earth as it hit her chestplate. She grunted at the impact, feeling the magic tear up her skin beneath the armor.
Dorian sent a storm of electricity over Corypheus, careful to maneuver around Thom slashing at his legs. He released the attack and Basya dropped to one knee, her chest stinging with every breath. Corypheus screamed and retreated further. Dorian extended his hand to Basya and she accepted it. She winced as he pulled her to her feet.
“Ready to end this?” He asked.
“What? Don’t want to miss your bedtime?”
“I do get rather cranky.” Dorian smiled and she continued forward on Corypheus’ trail. He was cornering himself and he couldn’t even see it. The injury beneath her chest plate gave her hot, stinging, needle sharp pain. The reaver within her channeled it to her arms swinging her sword with a new ferocity.
Corypheus was done. Everyone could see it. When she ran toward him, he waved his hand, a shockwave slamming into her already aching chest. As he pleaded to the Ancient ones for no answer, Basya used the mark, pulling the Orb away from him. He lunged after it, as Basya impaled him with her sword.
Corypheus’ red eyes bulged at the impact. Reaching the Orb up and utilizing it along with the anchor, she pulled the Breach. The mark caused her hand and forearm to scream. She pulled again, feeling lightheaded. It was like pulling an uncooperative mabari hound. The red isana around them and Corypheus’ thoughts crescendoed with the final crackle and pull. The sky was sealed. Basya dropped the Orb and it landed with a thunk.
“You wanted into the fade?” She sneered, wrenching her sword free as chucks of battlements and large pieces of rock showered down from above, the magic no longer able to support its weight. Basya made a small rift that slurped Corypheus down like a starving animal. She tried to dodge a few of the raining debris, but one rock landed in front of her, the impact rattling her teeth. Something hit her temple and everything went black.
The dust was still settling when she opened her eyes. Something warm and liquidy streamed down her forehead. She struggled to stand, mutter several prayers to the Stone and the Ancestors that her friends were okay. They had to be okay.
Pressing a hand to her chest, she limped around the ruins. She found Solas staring heartbroken at a shard of the shattered Orb. Basya couldn’t quite read his expression, but there was something beyond that sorrow that she couldn’t understand.
“I’m sorry. I know how much the Orb meant to you.” She said.
“It is not your fault.” He frowned. “It was not supposed to happen this way. No matter what comes, I want you to know, you shall always have my respect.”
“Of course, salroka. I'm not going anywhere. You’re one of my best friends.” She said. “You know what salroka means? The direct translation? It means ‘one at my side’.” A tear slid down Solas’ cheek. Basya was confused as to why this only made the elf sadder. She moved to take a step toward Solas to console him, but it made her woozy. Looking down, she saw crimson dripping steadily out the cracks of her chestplate. She coughed, a metallic taste coating her tongue.
“Lethallan!” She blinked and then Solas was holding her up by her arm. She smiled meekly. He had done the same thing for her at Haven after she’d sealed the Breach then too.
“Inquisitor? Are you alive?” Cassandra called, tone edged with fear.
“Seeker, I have her!” Solas said as he half carried, half dragged Basya to the stairs. Cassandra hurried to meet him halfway. Just before he passed her off to Cassandra, he whispered something strange in Basya’s ear. “Goodbye, lethallan.”
She didn’t have time to comprehend what Solas had said. Cassandra was rushing her down the stairs and her chest pricked with an excruciating pain. Even with the partial support, Basya’s legs ceased to work.
“Inquisitor!” Cassandra lowered her gently to the ground. Basya’s breathing was heavy as Cassandra fumbled with the buckles and removed the armor, tossing it to the side. Cassandra tore away the blood stained pink undershirt to get a look at the wound.
Basya’s chest had been scratched to ribbons, from her collar bone to her breasts. Hundreds of small, but deep slashes, so numerous that they criss crossed and overlapped each other. Without the chestplate to cover, blood seeped out faster.
The air stung the open cuts and Cassandra scrambled to put pressure on it, but her hands were simply not big enough to cover the surface area. Overcome with fear, Basya lifted her head off the ground and gripped the Seeker’s arms.
“The others. Is everyone-Thom is he-” She panted, gagging on a mouthful of blood.
“He’s alive, Inquisitor! Everyone is. Take it easy.” Basya relaxed her head, finding herself looking up at the stars. They twinkled softly, unaware, untouched by the battle they’d witnessed.
“Boss!” The Iron Bull hurried into her line of sight. “Kadan!!! Cassandra move.” He said. Though normally, such an order would earn a swift kick to the groin, she obeyed and Bull put his whole hand over Basya’s chest. He pressed down firmly, causing her to cry out, but no crimson escaped between his fingers.
“Stay with us, Inquisitor.” Cassandra begged.
“Kaffas!” Dorian knelt beside Iron Bull quickly spouting off spell after spell. “You imbecile!” He said. Basya realized he knew it was the blast she’d taken for him. It didn’t matter though. Basya was pretty sure between her Reaver training and all the medical attention, she’d be okay. Dorian was a mage. His defences never would have standed against such an attack.
Dorian ordered for Iron Bull to pick Basya up as he continued to cast spells. She winced at the jostling of her wound. Bull wore a serious expression as he jogged at a pace where Dorian could keep a magic touch on her.
“Bassi!!!” Thom’s voice cut through the air and she could hear a scuffle. Basya tried to call out to him. To reassure him that she was okay, but she only made a pitiful sound that caused her to choke on blood. Bull gently pushed her neck up allowing the liquid to drip from her chin.
Basya saw soldiers making way, healers and surgeons bustling with cots and beds. Cullen’s lip trembled and he refused to look at Basya. His arm was stretched out to block Thom, holding him down firmly as he struggled. Sera solemnly helped his restraint on the other side as he screamed Basya's name.
Basya was placed on a cot and several people crowded her. A potion was shoved in her mouth. It had a familiar taste of the woods. It must have been valerian. She coughed and spluttered, only half the bottle actually getting in her system, but it had been potent because everything blurred to darkness.

There was a soothing patter on the balcony door as Basya pried her lids open. She was back at Skyhold. In her room, tucked neatly into bed. Dorian snored softly on the couch. A cozy fire crackled in the hearth. Thom stood staring out the glass door on the left as rain dripped down the panes. He glanced at her and he lit up, racing across the room to sit beside her.
They didn’t speak, she just put her palm against his bearded cheek. He put his hand over hers as she wiped away one of the tears that streamed down. He smiled, moving her hand to place a kiss in her palm.
“You’re awake. I can breath again.”
“I would hope you wouldn’t cease to on my account.” She said. He smiled again.
“Are you in pain?” Thom asked quietly as not to wake the sleeping mage.
“Some, but I can bear it.”
“Strong as always, my lady.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. They still tasted like copper, but it was a comfort for both of them. It meant they’d done it. It meant Basya had killed Corypheus and was still alive to tell of it. It meant this was all over.
“Now that this is all done, what’s next for us?” She asked. Thom shrugged.
“A house? A dog? Think that mark of yours can be used for cooking eggs?” She giggled, but stopped quickly, grimacing slightly at the pain it caused. He squeezed her hand. “Or we could carry on as we are. No eggs necessary. As long as you're by my side, I don’t care what happens.” She blushed and they kissed again. She pulled away, a sudden idea forming.
“Ancestors! We have to get a mabari. I could ride around on it!” Basya laughed with Thom even though it hurt. It still felt so good to laugh after everything.

After a lot of convincing, Basya and Thom were allowed to move to the Hinterlands for her recuperation. The quaint cabin had been built by the Inquisition and it had been made with the purpose of permanence, accommodating both of them.
It was a little less than a mile away from Lady Reend’s house. Thom had insisted upon it. They had discussed that he’d be going on trips on and off to offer money, food, and anything he could provide to the men he’d screwed over. He wanted to make sure she was safe when he wasn’t around. Lady Reend had been only too happy for a neighbor. Basya loved her. She reminded her much of her mother and she could tell she was lonely when Tannin was out selling toys in the village.
For the moment, Basya was still chair and bedridden without assistance, but Lady Reend visited often. She aided in Basya’s therapy, cooked meals, and gave her advice she wished she’d known long ago.
The two sat on the porch of the cabin and watched as Thom trained Tannin. The roof shielded them from the sun that beat down. A cool breeze with the promise of autumn shook the trees' branches. Occasionally Basya would call out a few critiques on stance or shouts of encouragement.
“You took it well. You didn’t seem to care about Thom lying.” Basya observed. The elven woman looked to be in her early sixties. Pointy ears protrude from hair as white as the clouds, her skin the colour of roasted chestnuts. She peered down at the dwarf and shrugged.
“When you get to be my age, you come to realize there are very few problems solved by anger.” She said.
“But I used anger when defeating Corypheus and other foes.”
“You used anger as a tool. Not a solution.” Lady Reend corrected.
“...Yeah, I suppose you are right. You are wise.”
“I’m an old woman, that’s my job.” Basya laughed “Lord Rainier is already planning to do his best to fix his mistake. Being angry at him won’t assist him in that.”
“That’s true. I tried it. It didn’t do much.”
“Exactly so. Though I suppose I am a bit bias,”
“How so?”
“Grey Warden or not, he saved my grandson. His actions were horrendous, don’t get me wrong...but, Creators, I would never have approached him had he not worn the griffon armor.” Basya watched as Tannin completed the sequence of moves on the dummy with excellent form.
“Well done, Tannin!” Basya cheered. The boy lit up and tugged on Thom’s shirt.
“The Inquisitor said I did good!” He beamed. Thom laughed.
“Funny, I get the same way when she compliments me. Let’s do it again to get more praise, shall we?” Thom said. Basya giggled as they went back to it. She wasn’t sure if it was the way she shifted in her rocking chair or the laugh or a combination of both that sent the wave of pain through her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut and put a hand over her chest. Lady Reend supported her arm.
“My lady?” Thom asked. Basya opened her eyes with a hiss. “Keep on, on your own, Tannin.” And he hurried up the steps of the porch. He knelt in front of her with a hand on her lap. Lady Reend stood.
“I’ll fetch your medication.” And she disappeared in the house. Despite standing in the sun, he appeared quite cool. Though it was beginning to set now, casting a golden glow on the trees.
“Did you read the letter from Cullen?” Thom asked in an attempt to distract.
“Yeah. Sounds like they’re preparing quite a party for my return.”
“All in your honour.”
“Hardly deserved. We defeated Corypheus together.”
“True, you deserve far more. We wouldn’t have gotten far without your leadership.” He insisted.
“Agree to disagree.” Basya frowned. “Still no sign of Solas.”
“I’m sorry. I know he was a good friend.”
It seemed like an understatement. He was her friend, her mentor, and teacher all rolled into one. Basya remembered while she had a full scale panic attack that first night back in Skyhold when she'd slept in the fade. He was patient and helped her control her breathing, and promised her he’d teach her how to dream properly. Solas was very excited to teach her and with that excitement, the fear of being a dwarf in the fade, slowly flaked away.
“I just don’t understand why he’d take off like that. Without even a goodbye-'' She paused. That wasn’t true. She had forgotten, but thinking back, Solas had said goodbye. She sighed and shrugged. Thom kissed her forehead.
Lady Reend returned with the white willow bark tea Basya had been prescribed for pain. She had hated the taste of it at first until Lady Reend had added some cinnamon and honey. She also produced the canvas medical bag that they’d obtained from the healer that came by every three days for some intensive treatment. It was Sterria, the same elven healer she’d asked to relocate to the crossroads years ago to assist the refugees.
Basya accepted it gratefully and took small sips of the steaming liquid. It wasn’t so bad sweetened up like this. She scanned the trees. Leliana’s agents were good, but Basya’s vision was well trained. Even if she only ever caught a glimpse, she’d seen them about. Lady Reend called Tannin.
“Come on, child. Let’s prepare supper for the Inquisitor.”
“She liked the vegetable stew! We should make that again.” Tannin insisted as he stowed his wooden sparring sword. Basya smiled weakly, wondering if all parents and guardians had a special stew for the children in their care.
“Thank you, Lady Reend.” Thom said. The tea was beginning to kick in and she relaxed some. Thom reached in the medical bag to retrieve fresh bandages. The best time to change them, always seemed to be after she’d consumed the white willow bark. He began to unbutton her blouse. “Sterria says with the next round of treatments, you’ll be able to walk on your own.”
“Really? Thank the Stone. When will we start heading back to Skyhold?”
“I want to leave plenty of time in case you need more rest stops. So probably before the end of the week.”
“I am pretty excited to dress up again.” She admitted. He smiled in response.
“I have it on good authority the Lady Ambassador had a surprise waiting for you,”
“What? Really?! Who told you that?”
“These lips are sealed.”
“Oh come on? Is it a dress? Shoes?”
“I’m afraid I just don’t know, my lady.” He grinned. She pouted playfully as he gingerly unwrapped the old bandage. The wounds were beginning to improve, but purple and yellow bruises surrounded the scar tissue. After securing a fresh bandage she leaned forward pressing her mouth against his.
“You’ll be leaving after the celebrations?”
“Yes. Will you be okay on your own?” Basya laughed.
“As if Leliana would ever actually allow me to be alone. I’ll probably hang back at Skyhold for a while and come here when I need a break. Lady Reend’s place is only a mile up the road. The crossroads aren’t far either and I’m sure our soldiers there will be briefed when I’m in the area.” She reassured. She still frowned. “I’ll miss you, zisbord.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
“I’ll write to you. Everyday.”
“You better.” Thom had a hand on her cheek as he kissed her before she buried her head in his chest. Lady Reend called from inside, that supper was just about ready. Leaning on Thom for support, Basya made her way in the cabin.
It was such a perfect house. A couch and angled chair sat in front of the fireplace. Next to that was a square table with four chairs. The whole back wall was a wooden kitchen countertop. At the far end, sheltered for privacy was Basya and Thom’s room.
Tannin was placing the last steaming bowls on the table when they walked in. He quickly pulled out a chair for Basya and she accepted it gratefully. Thom didn’t let go of her, until she was fully situated.
Once all of them sat, Basya closed her eyes making a quick prayer to the Stone and Ancestors for everything. Nearly everything was perfect right now. Even with Thom leaving, she was just so happy he was alive to help those men.
They ate, talked, and laughed.
Since it was dark when they’d finished eating, Thom insisted on walking Lady Reend and Tannin home. Considering the amount of wild bears that attacked on sight, Basya also urged for him to take them back. They relented and Thom kissed Basya before leaving her curled on the couch by the fire with her crocheting.
Basya was still smiling at earlier jokes and conversation as she looped the string over the other tucked under the hook. The emerald anchor sparked and hissed. She had to clench her jaw to keep from screaming, clutching her wrist.
An agonizing few seconds passed before the burning sensation died down. She took a few stabilizing breaths before picking up the crochet hook again. As if she wasn’t going to have enough chronic pain throughout life, she was going to have to deal with that forever?
Thom came back around twenty minutes later. He slid down on the couch, putting his head in her lap. She ruffled his hair as he looked up at her, then leaned down to kiss him. Any lingering pain in her mark or chest melted as his mouth pressed against her, both of them giggling as his eagerness caused their teeth to clash.
Basya continued to crochet while Thom started to pack for the both of them. She yawned as he would hold out certain garments or items and ask if she would need them. She leaned on the armrest and looked into the flickering flames, appreciating their warmth.
"Tired are we?" He asked.
"Nope." She murmured, eyes still closed. He chuckled and lifted her gently. He carried her to their room and laid her on the soft bed. He pulled the covers up and turned to leave, but she grabbed his sleeve. "Come to bed with me."
"I have to pack."
"Pack tomorrow." She yawned.
"I just can't ever say no to you." The bed dipped and he shifted to get settled. She still had to lay on her back for comfort, but Thom pressed close to her on his side, fingers entwined with hers. Basya dozed off, finding Thom's presence more warm than the fire.

Chapter Text

Basya hadn’t even stepped off the carriage when Dorian and Cullen had jumped on her. She didn’t mind though. She had missed her friends dearly so she accepted the attack hugs. Especially with all the bullshit she was going to have to deal with through the Exalted Council, she was going to need it.
It was surreal to see what her friends had been up to in the past few years. She couldn’t believe Varric was Kirkwall’s Viscount, Dorian was going back to Tevinter, and Leliana was the freaking Divine, mainly due to Basya’s own influence.
She had known about Varric, as he’d all but begged her to go to Kirkwall to close a rift on the harbor a few months back. Basya had braved the horrifying sea just for him. He owed her a lot of strawberries for the favour.
She had felt it then, along with each lingering rift she sealed. It hurt in a way it never had previously. Something was wrong with the mark. It kept her awake, sparking some nights without rest, particularly after closing rifts. She longed to talk to Solas about it.
It was getting steadily worse.
Dorian leaving was a disappointment. He’d still been coming with her on missions to destroy red isana, rescue missing villagers or soldiers, and of course, close rifts. She wasn’t sure what she’d do without the mage by her side. As upsetting as the news was, Basya knew she had to respect his decision.
The communication necklace was nice. At least this way she’d be able to hear his voice. Dorian had even given her a pretty pink case for it. With a longer chain, it rested beneath the wooden moon pendant.
Catching a glimpse at the necklace from Thom, she hurried to find him. She was giddy, when she saw him tossing knives at targets. He turned to see her and his whole face lit up as though he’d just received the best possible news in the whole world. She smiled and ran up into him. Thom picked her up in a hug, spinning her around before placing her feet back on the ground and kneeling to her height.
“There she is. I’ve missed you.”
“How could you miss me? You weren’t gone that long this time.”
“Everyday without you feels like a year.” He said, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips, his hands on her waist. She racked her fingers, through his hair, leaning into it. “I appreciated the letters, but I have to say, this is much better.” Up close she could see a nasty black and blue spot on his cheekbone.
“You got hit again.” Basya said, taking him to the bench nearby. Her fingers gently brushed the bruise as not to inflict any pain.
“I’d punch me in their shoes.”
“I suppose that’s fair.”
“The punches I can take. After what I did to them, my sorrys were worth as much as shit. I can’t believe I thought standing on the gallows stage was hard.”
“Did they accept anything you offered?”
“Most of them didn’t turn down the coin or food. I was glad of that at least. I wanted to help them.” He said. Basya rested her head on Thom’s shoulder.
“Have you gone to all of them on your list now?”
“Yeah, Aberson was the last one. Surprised even me, he wants to keep in touch.”
“He was your lieutenant. Sounded like you were close once.”
“We were. I always remembered him to be a good man. I was ready to be hit, but he only shrugged. He’d forgiven me a long time ago and was waiting for the day I’d show up at his door. Said if he knew me at all, I’d be beating myself up worse than he could. Then we had tea. It was a little surreal.”
“Keeps you on your toes.”
“He invited you there too.”
“Whoa, how did the topic come to me? I thought you went to apologize.” Basya asked.
“I always think of you. Besides, he asked if I was seeing anyone. He has a lovely husband and very nice dog.”
“How big?”
“Yes, it’s big enough for you to ride. Is one dog vehicle not enough?”
“Dragon is a very good boy, but he gets tired if he runs while I’m on him.”
“Tannin taking care of him while you're here?”
“Mhm, he’s taking his responsibility very seriously.” Basya said. “My parents sent some things. My father sent you a beautiful dwarven sword made by the smith caste. And some gift baskets and such. Apparently they named me Paragon.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It’s a tremendous honour. I...I don’t know. I grew up reading stories about Paragons. They're unobtainable heroes. Living, breathing Ancestors. With all the wisdom. But I-I'm not...I guess it’s the closest thing to how everyone else feels thinking I’m Andraste’s Herald.” Basya said. “Anyways, it’s nice to be back. If nothing else, to see our friends.”
“Agreed, but I’m not sure how I feel about this Council.” Thom said. He stood up and Basya followed. “Is it selfish of me to hope you’ll no longer need to be Inquisitor?”
“No. I want nothing more than to just settle down. If they find other rifts, I’ll close them, but I just want quiet and peace. With you.” She said. “But what I want doesn’t matter. If they still have need of me...I won’t abandon them.”
“I’ll wait. However long it takes.” Thom held her hands and she smiled.
“You want to get out of here?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He said. It had been getting late anyways. Basya tugged his hand, running around the water fountain and down the halls like children. To her suite.
Once inside, the door shut, she kissed him hungrily, but he too had the same craving for her. She giggled as he failed to unhook her bra and they both paused, breathless while she took it off. He laid her back on the bed and she awaited excitedly for the pleasure to come.
Basya awoke the next morning with a start. Her mark sizzled and she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. The anchor coughed green sparks and she gripped her wrist so hard, her knuckles turned white. She had woken a total of three times that night. Twice from the misbehaving anchor, and once from a nightmare. As if her own weren’t enough, ever since she’d drunk from the well, she was plagued with dreams of bloody elven battlefields of and torturous scenes of their slavery.
Thom snored softly beside her. She had thought about writing to him. Basya could see it was getting worse throughout the past year. However, this month alone, the amount of the marks attacks was growing exponentially. Both in length and intensity. Basya had feared he would have put his own mission on hold to go back to her and she knew that wouldn’t be good for anyone. The mark flickered and settled and she let go of her breath.
“Bassi, what’s going on?” Thom asked groggily, guiding her by the waist to him.
“Nothing. Just the anchor flaring up.”
“You okay?” He asked, sitting up immediately. She put her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
“Yeah, for now, it’s stopped.”
“Cullen said it acted up when you first got here too.”
“It’s been happening more frequently.”
“You should ask Dorian to take a look at it.” He said, rubbing her back.
“I...I think it’s getting worse.”
“We’ll figure it out. We’ll take care of it.” Thom hugged her tight.
Basya treasured the hold, but got out of bed to get ready. Josephine had left a present in the room that she had been too distracted last night to notice. It was a pink dress. Not as extravagant as the one she wore in Halamshiral, but beautiful nonetheless with a lacy top and flowy bottom that pooled around her feet.
She felt self conscious as she stared in the full length mirror. The scars from Corypheus were exposed perfectly by the low cut of the dress. No doubt a deliberate move to remind the Council what their Inquisitor went through while they decided upon her removal. Thom knelt behind her and put a chin on her shoulder. “You look stunning, my lady.”
“Thank you,” She said, trying to pull some of the cloth to cover the old puckered slashes. Thom gently stopped her hand and the fabric fell back to show the overlapping wounds. “I just hate having a stupid reminder of a stupid sun touched magister trying to kill everyone.”
“You’re remembering it wrong then, love.” Thom said.
“Oh? How do you recall it?”
“You heroically saved your best friend’s life.” He swiveled her toward him, his eyes gazing fondly into hers. He kissed the scars on her collarbone, so tender and loving, Basya had to swallow back a lump in her throat. She was so lucky to have this man.
“This Council would be a whole hell of a lot harder without you, zisbord.”

***

Basya had to get to the Darvaarad. One moment, she was at an obnoxious council navigating the Game, the next she was decked out in full gear and armour, hunting Qunari. Dorian, Varric, and Thom followed close behind her as they jogged through the eluvians. They were getting close. They were on the Viddasala’s heels. Basya slashed the Saarath’s stomach and cried out.
“Everyone get back!!!” She shrieked, trying her best to run toward the Qunari, before her knees gave and the anchor exploded, a shockwave rippling throughout her body. She rolled back on her knees, the last enemy defeated and Thom hurried to her.
“No...don’t-don’t tell me I’m going to lose you. I can’t lose you.” He pleaded, cupping her face. She squeezed his fingers.
“Whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together for anything. I could never replace you.” She said.
“This isn’t over!” Tears dripped into Thom’s beard. His voice softened. “You’re irreplaceable.” Basya hugged him and both of them clung to each other like life rafts within a raging ocean. It felt similar to the embrace he’d given her all those years ago before he left in the night to go to the gallows. Like it was the last one they’d ever share.
Basya found her feet. Sword in hand, she slipped through the eluvian after the Viddasala. She expected Thom, Dorian, and Varric to pop through behind her, but it had sealed. Basya gasped ready to dodge, but stopped. It was a stone statue of a Qunari in the midst of brandishing his weapon.
The place was full of them. She walked past them cautiously, half fearing them to activate like a golem. Basya heard voices. A familiar soothing lilted elvish voice that she had once eagerly listened to for hours when he told stories of the fade.
Solas’ back was turned and Basya ran to stop the Viddasala from killing him, but she didn’t have to. She was encased in stone before she’d reached her. Solas hesitated to face her. He clearly didn’t want to.
“Solas.” Basya said and he reluctantly looked at her. She cried out as the anchor flared, crackling it’s burning pain down her arm all the way to her jaw. “You-you’re Fen’Harel.”
“I was Solas first.” Basya swung her fist, but with the anchors sparking pain, all Solas had to do was take a quick step to the side.
“You hypocritical, sun touched, bronto’s hide-” She was interrupted by a painful crackle forcing her to her knees. It hurt so much she couldn’t breath. Solas’ eyes glowed and the anchor ceased it’s fit. She was quiet for another moment, inhaling quickly to make up for lost oxygen.
"You didn't hit me. You could have, but I suspect you don't really want to." Solas observed. Her silence was enough of an answer to him.
“The elves thought you a monster, but you were a hero. You freed your people from slavery.”
“They give me far too much credit than I ever deserve.” Solas explained to her everything. “I freed the elven people, and in doing so, destroyed their world. I will save the elven people even if it means...even if it means this world must die.” His eyes were old and sad. It wasn’t a game to him. It wasn’t for power or greed. Solas genuinely believed he was making the better or two choices.
“What about all of the people? Innocent people. What of our friends? You’d just let us die. For a world that, I’m sorry, but is no longer?” Basya said. “You don’t have to do this, salroka.” The word she had once casually called to him whenever she climbed up or down the spiral staircase, made him bow his head in shame. The mark hissed again and she grunted.
“I’m sorry. We are almost out of time.” He knelt down to her. “The mark will eventually kill you. I had to draw you here so I could save you.”
“You’d save me, only to let me die?” Basya screamed and clutched her hand.
“Save you at least for now…” This wasn’t the evil magister Corypheus she was talking to. Right now, looking at him. He wasn’t Fen’Harel or a G-d or the Dread Wolf. He was Solas. He was her friend.
“You don’t have to destroy the world. I’ll prove it to you, salroka!” She said, a tear streaming down her cheek. He stood, towering over her.
“Your optimism and compassion never waver for anyone. No matter how far gone they are. I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, lethallan.” Solas took her sparking hand, she cried out as he cast a spell, the magic being sucked out of her veins unwillingly. Still on her knees, she watched him walk toward an eluvian, he paused as if resisting the urge to look behind him, before he pressed through the mirror.
Basya wiped her wet cheek and went to stand, but something was wrong. She stumbled toward the mirror she’d come through for a moment anyways, in an effort to ignore the problem, but her boot caught on a rock, bringing her back to the ground.
She couldn’t move her hand.
Where the veins had once glowed emerald down her forearm, was black. She stared in horror and she grunted as it crept up. Basya scrambled for her belt and quickly secured it to her arm, just above the inky sludge, using her teeth to pull it so tight it hurt. So tight that she could already feel it cutting off circulation.
This was magic. What if a tourniquet wasn’t enough to stop the spread of this? Basya gulped, but reached for her sword. She looked at her blackened hand. She couldn’t even move her pinky.
She ripped off part of her sleeve and shoved in her mouth to keep from biting her tongue. She lay awkwardly, her arm over her torso, blade positioned above the crook of her left elbow. She could do this. She had to do this. Taking a deep breath, Basya chopped down and shrieked.
She wheezed, the blade halted by bone. Blood gushing as fast as the waterfall behind her. Controlling her short gasps, she braced and pushed downward again, a bloodcurdling scream ripping her throat. It bounced off the Qunari statues in the empty ruins.
One more. One more she’d be through it all. She blinked realizing she’d passed out for a second. She lightly smacked her cheek. Shaking, she made the final cut, amputating her arm followed by a worn cry into the rag in her mouth.
Basya lay there, hot sticky liquid, seeping from her stump. She quickly removed the cloth in her mouth, and covered the injury, but it soaked instantly. She couldn’t die here. Not now. She had Thom and Dorian and Varric and all her friends waiting for her. She had a mission. She had to prove to Solas that this world was worth saving.
Determined, Basya fell on her right side. Abandoning her sword, she dragged herself across the stone tiles. Painstakingly, she’d reach out her bloody hand, dig her nails into the cracks, and pull herself forward, rest, and repeat. She wasn’t sure if it had taken ten minutes, or ten hours, to haul herself in front of the eluvian.
Basya’s vision was blurring, but she fought through, putting her hand on the mirror, watching it activate. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to drag herself through, she protected her new stump, tucked her knees to her chest and rolled through.
She tumbled out the otherside, rolling down the steps, landing sprawled at the bottom. She didn’t have the strength to adjust herself and laid there unmoving, blinking into the dirt.
“Mini!”
“Bassi!” The three chorused. She felt someone turned her over to see Thom’s heartbreaking expression looking down at her. Dorian was on the left side, spouting off spells. Basya screeched as he used magical flame to cauterize the wound. Thom desperately tried to sooth her whilst pinning her remaining flailing limbs down.
Varric rummaged through a leather bag and produced a red potion. He uncorked it and Thom tilted up her head, while Varric tipped it back down her throat. Dorian cursed a slew of Tevine.
“What is this magic? We have to get her back, now!” He snapped. Thom picked her up, one hand under her knees, the other cradling her neck. She whimpered.
“Shh, I know, I know. You’re going to be okay. Just hang on.” Thom said. She was in and out the whole trip. Her arm burned and bubbled, bleeding less than before, but it thobbed with a ferocity even the anchor did not have. Basya was aware of Thom sprinting. Dorian glared at her.
“I swear, I’ll kill you, if you die on me, amity.” He said, casting another spell, before the running continued. She would have normally found that funny, but as determined as Basya had been, blood still coated her and her stump. Dots had swarmed her vision and she was having trouble staying awake. She feared if she succumbed to trapdoor pressing down on her consciousness, she’d never wake again.
“Stay with us, love. We’re almost there!” Thom begged. Basya thought she’d only shut her eyes for a few seconds, but when she opened the again there was an intact ceiling above them, no ruins and a lot of yelling.
“You’ve returned! What- Inquisitor!!!” Cullen hovered over her.
“What the hell happened?” A blurry Leliana demanded.
“I’ll run ahead and get help!” Varric said, dashing past. Basya couldn’t fight anymore. She was in the Stone’s hands and despite Thom’s desperate muffled calls to her, the trapdoor crashed down, leaving her in darkness.

Basya bolted upright, disoriented and gasping. Thom hurried to sit in front of her both hands over her ears as she panted. Confusion. She remembered cutting off her arm, but she could feel it perfectly fine. Her left arm hurt. Her hand hurt. Burning, tingling pain, like a fire in her palm. How was that possible? Had she not cut it off? Was it a dream?
“Look at me, my lady. Look at me. Breath.” Basya struggled, but looked in his eyes and followed his instruction. “That’s it. Easy.” When her breathing was controlled, Thom let one of his hands slide to her shoulder. She brought her aching left arm up and stared at the sleeves fold.
She had done what was necessary to survive, but amputee in Thedas was a terrifying thought. She was a two handed swordswoman. Over a decade of training, only to have to start anew? Basya couldn’t help, but let out a sob. Thom pulled her to him. She saw Varric and Dorian over his shoulder.
“H-how is it- I can feel it-how…”
“It’s called phantom pain. It happens to most people when they lose a limb.” Dorian explained. Basya actually took in her surroundings. She was back in her suite at the Winter Palace. Potions, herbs, and apothecaries were scattered about the tables on either side of the bed.
“Did Solas do that to you?” Thom asked.
“What? No! He - he lured us there because he knew the mark was killing me. He wanted to save me. I didn’t know what the black stuff was. I didn’t want to risk it. I don’t think Solas knew it had already killed the arm.”
“It was residue from the mark in your bloodstream. Without the power of achor, it just rotted away everything in its path. If you hadn’t amputated it when you did, even I...you would’ve-” Dorian cut himself off. “Let’s just say I would have been very upset with you. I’m glad you’re alright now, amity.”
“You look better, Mini. Are you better?”
“I don’t know.” Basya answered honestly. “Is the Exalted Council still in session?”
“Yes. The lady ambassador convinced them to continue until you were able to tell of what happened.” Thom said. She explained to them everything about Solas' plans. Basya felt anger bubbling inside her as she retold.
“So, what secrets are you guys hiding?! My boyfriend lies about his identity, my friend betrays us and turns out to be an Elvhen G-d! You two want to come clean now?” Basya spat at Dorian and Varric. They shifted uncomfortably. Thom ducked his head in shame.
“Nope, sorry, just a cleverly handsome Tevinter mage here.”
“And I’m just a glib dwarf, promise you, Mini.” She went to rub her eyes, mildly annoyed, that she only had one hand to do so. “I’ll go inform the council of all this. Take it easy, okay.” Varric exited the room. Dorian inspected the bandaged stump and had her drink a few potions. He also gave her willow bark tea, but Basya left it hardly touched as it wasn’t sweetened the way Lady Reend made it. Then Dorian gave Basya one long hug before leaving so get some healers.
“Sorry,” Basya said, crashing back into Thom’s chest.
“Don’t be. It’s well deserved.” He shrugged.
“Well then I’m sorry for scaring you.”
“Hardly your fault. But you can’t even go two years without giving me a heart attack, huh?”
“Apparently so.” She said. “We have to stop Solas, but...I want to help him. Shit. We might have to put settling down on the back burner for now.”
“Probably just as well. I know you, you would get bored of a quiet life.”
“Not if it’s with you.” Thom smiled and kissed her, holding his lips against hers for a long moment before slowly parting. Burying her face in his shoulder, inhaling the cinnamon dulled her adrenaline. He breathed softly in her curls.
“Maker, please don’t leave me like that.” He whispered. He stroked her hair for a while. She could tell he needed it. The fear of losing her was still fresh in his eyes and just as he needed the reassurance of her weight in his arms, she needed his sturdy arms around her.
Basya wasn’t sure how long she drank in Thom’s presence when the healers arrived. They changed the bandages, teaching Thom, who seemed eager to learn what ointments to apply and how often to redress. Before they left, she requested a hot bath be drawn.
Thom was testing the temperature of the water and laying out her dress. Basya sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on her bandage, staring at the empty space where the rest of limb once was.
He helped her in the tub, her skin turning pink from the heat. Thom pushed up his sleeves and knelt beside to assist her. He detangled her curls with a wide toothed comb and despite how matted it was with blood, only a gentle tug reached her scalp. How many things had she taken for granted? How would she fight one handed?
Tears blurred her vision and she cried. “Hey,” Thom wrapped his arm around her from behind. “I’m going to take care of you.” She nodded and put her hand over his arm as she sniffled. Of course he would. Basya was so lucky. She’d adjust. She could learn to fight one handed. It would suck, but she’d learn. She wasn’t alone.
Thom finished scrubbing off the lingering dirt and grime, still caked on from battle. She dried herself off, but Basya accepted the help into her dress. He rolled up the loose sleeve until it revealed the her stump, avoiding it getting in the way. Thom slipped his arms under hers again. She looked at her tired reflection in the mirror.
“I have to say, I don’t mind the scars from Corypheus so much now.” She laughed. Thom smiled.
“That’s a positive.”
“I’m not sure this is what the bitchy noble meant when she said I needed to lose weight.” She said, moving the remnants of her left arm. He chuckled.
“That’s better. This sounds more like you.”
“Still me, give or take. Well, take. Quite literally.” She turned and kissed him. Retrieving a familiar book, Thom helped her walk down the halls to the Council meetings. Her feet may have worked, but she was still dizzy from the blood loss.
The talks didn’t appear to be going well. Josephine looked surprised at the dwarf’s presence.
“Inquisitor! You should be resting.” Basya only held up the book in response as Thom reluctantly let her walk forward on her own. The Inquisition had become the thing they had stood to fight against. Corruption. Cassandra smiled at the repeating of her words.
“The Inquisition disbands.” She stated. With a few other compromises, the Exalted Council called the meeting adjourned.
Saying goodbye to her friends was brutal. She didn’t want to let Dorian go, But alas, Basya allowed him to leave. Cullen didn’t want to let go of her. Finally, she leaned against the white railing alone, staring up at the emerald scar streaked across the sky.
“How are you doing?” Thom said, she felt his hand on her back.
“You’re right. I can’t settle down.”
“I figured as much.”
“Beyond that, if...if I can’t talk down Solas and he is a threat, I need to be ready. Can you teach me to fight one handed?”
“Of course. In exchange for something. If you’re up to it?”
“Oh?” Basya arched her brow.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past years. About what to actually do now that I’ve done everything I can to help the men I’ve fucked over. There are lots of jails around Thedas. How many do you think want the chance to fix what they’ve done? How many others do you think there are in my position?” He asked.
“Let’s find out.” Basya said without missing a beat. “I’ll need the practice for Solas anyhow.”
“Surely, I alone provided enough.” Thom joked.
“You did provide plenty.”
“To practice your sword, we can take down any bandits or red templars on the way.”
“See, that’s far more fun than settling down.” Basya said, she hugged his waist. “As long as you’re at my side.”
“It would take some strength to separate us at this point, my lady.”
“You’re damned right.” Basya took a long breath.
She was uncertain about a lot of things. Uncertain about her friends leaving, uncertain about adjusting to her amputation. Uncertain about Solas. Something she was certain of was Thom. Ironic, considering once she hadn’t been. Though because of that, she was even more certain now. No matter what awaited them. Redeeming convicts, fighting thugs, or preventing Fen’Harel from destroying all of Thedas, she was certain Thom would be by her side.