Work Text:
The Gates
"My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours. For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one."
The hum reached her ears and instead of bothering to look up at the refugees by the gates, kneeled down and hopefully listening to the words of the Sister preaching her faith, she tugged forcefully at the reigns of the horse she was pulling after her.
People… too many people by the sides of the road; demons at the gates. It was quiet now, too quiet; she had replaced the fear in their eyes with hope and gave them the time to acknowledge their pain and suffering. When the terror of death went away it gave place to misery and pain. She didn’t mind the reality; she hated the way they looked at her, grateful to be alive but praising the Maker instead.
She quickened her steps down the road to the village, away from the eyes that had witnessed her ‘miracle’. She heard Varric protest, knowing that she was forcing him to match her gait. Her eyes fell on the flattened rocks under her feet and she started counting, pushing away the sound of dejection that was gripping the hills of Redcliffe.
…five, six, seven…
“…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, - “
“You know, there will always be forty-seven onyx stones on the road to the gates, no matter how many times you count them.”
“Not true!”
“Why are you even counting them all the time?”
“Steadies my breaths. My body protests less when we have to walk up the road.”
“Hmm…”
Two sets of steps became one. She stopped counting.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around!”
And she did, trying to stare at the sun through the rich branches of the trees protecting the village. She squeezed her eyes at the light.
Toc. Toc. Toc. Stone clashed on stone. Toc. Toc. Toc.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t turn yet.”
“Hmmm...”
Toc. Toc. Toc. She started to count. And then it stopped.
He came to her left and she looked up at the satisfied grin. Contagious. There was dust on his right cheek but she didn’t mention it. Her eyes went down to his hand, holding a large onyx stone.
“What did you do that for?”
“Next time you’ll count, the number will be different.”
“That’s silly! Now I know what the number will be.”
His grin dropped but then it was back again.
“Yeah, but you’ll have to figure which one is missing.”
She still found it pointless but didn’t say anything.
He stepped back and brought his arm up, above his head, throwing the rock high, between the trees. They watched it land heavily in a muddy pond, splashing dirt all over the clean white sheets that a woman was carefully hanging near her house.
They froze when she turned, both horrified and angry, to look at them.
“Andraste’s ashes! Come here you rascals!” The woman forgot the road and in rage started to climb up the hill after them. “If I get my hands on you I’ll make you lick those stains!!!”
They were too scared to move.
“Hey… you know what?”
“What?”
“Race you to the ruins.”
“What?” Panic gripped her voice.
But the boy had already sprinted up the road, leaving her to do the same.
“I hate you!” she yelled after him. “And I hate running!”
“The loser has to crack all the acorns!”
She tied the horse to the fence outside the village and waited for the rest to do the same.
Heh... I don’t like this place one bit. I was expecting more people. Where are the children? Don’t you find it strange that there is not a single one around?”
Bull was right. The gloom and careful whispers were unnerving.
“What are you thinking?”
She went ahead and secured her belt.
“There are forty-two onyx stones on the road from the gates to the village.”
Bull exchanged a confused look with Varric but decided not to say a word.
The windmill
“This thing has seen better days.”
Varric let the words out as she secured the banner, fixing it into the ground. It was a ruin. But it was a good watch-point over the village. She looked up at the fallen wall. Some wooden beams were still standing, marking the place where a higher floor should have been. There were no stairs, putrid wood spread on the ground.
“Should we go meet the Grand Enchanter?”
“Wait here for a bit.”
She jumped on the fallen rocks and started to climb on the outside wall of the mill. When she reached the wooden floor she stepped cautiously, testing the planks before bringing her full weight forward. She reached out for the chest that was abandoned there but preferred to pull it closer to the edge than risk running out of luck.
The lock was rusted and she brought the side of her fist down, easily breaking the hold.
His slim fingers pushed forcefully until the lock clicked closed.
“There. Now none of us can have it.”
She sighed.
“What a waste.”
“No. We decided not to fight over it anymore!”
“How do I know you don’t have the key?”
“You have to trust me! How do I know you won’t lock-pick it? I saw you do it on the chest of peaches when we were sneaking out through the kitchen… and you didn’t even share!”
“I lost them when your stupid dog pulled my tunic!”
“He smelled the cheese. And he’s not stupid!”
She let out another sigh.
“What a waste.”
“Well… it will always be here.”
He paused.
“So...truce?”
She stared at his extended hand. And took it. It was warm. Warm enough to keep on holding to it.
“Truce!”
She stared down at the opened chest.
“Found anything good up there, Trevelyan?”
The lid fell back heavily.
“That lying bastard!”
“What was that?” Her whisper didn’t reach the companions waiting at the base of the mill.
“Nothing.” She dropped down next to them. “It was empty.”
Market
He watched her step inside the shop. Varric decided to take that moment and find a rock where he could sit and take care of that pebble that had found its way inside his boot. They had been on the road for days. Maybe for once things would go just right and he’d have the chance to drink something once they got inside The Gull and Lantern.
Who was he kidding? He knew the moment he prayed for that, things would go anything but smoothly. Here’s to hoping. From the stories he heard he really thought that Redcliffe would be a better place. Instead, it looked like any ordinary piss-hole of a village that they usually went through. Chances were with the rebel mages there he simply picked the wrong moment to visit the place.
He looked at the rest of the companions he was traveling with and none of them seemed thrilled to be there. Bull was on his edge as if an abomination could jump at any time at him. He couldn’t blame the qunari. There were strange rumors of Tevinter mages in Redcliffe and colour him suspicious but that was a bit far from home for someone like them. And then there was Solas… well there was not much telling what went through the elf’s mind. He was not exactly the talkative type but he knew how to read people. That’s how he knew he was agitated, hating their slow pace at covering the village. He probably had his mind set on finding what was happening with the rebel mages and every wasted moment in the village was making him grow more impatient.
Funny lot they made. Come to think of it, this was definitely not the usual travelling choice that the woman would make. Varric had grown so used to the Seeker’s presence that more than once he had found himself with a joke on the tip of his tongue and realized that it would not have the same outcome if Cassandra was not there. He’d think that since this was a mage situation it would have been a smart thing to bring Vivienne with them – not that he fancied the idea – but still, a smarter choice. Instead the woman picked an apostatate, a charge-first-ask-later tank and well...him. It’s as if she wanted someone who would not care enough to question her.
And if their mood was bad hers was simply terrible. Ever since they stepped inside the village he watched her getting worse and worse. He would not be surprised if someone came flying out of that shop because the woman was at a point where she looked as if she was searching for a fight. She was acting a bit strange but he knew better than to get into people’s heads in moments like these.
He watched amused as Bull found a new best friend. Heh, storytellers… if you want the facts you need to know how to pick through their words. But the qunari was already caught in the woman’s stories of walking dead around Redcliffe and Maker knows what else.
“The Grey Warden Alistair grew up at Redcliffe. He used to play in the fields outside this very village. And now the boy, who once begged me to make him toy soldiers, rules all of Ferelden.”
Varric found himself grinning. Oh the things that you learn every day. He had quite a story to tell as well about His Majesty, the special snowflake. But he didn’t think said man would appreciate him sharing it with the people of the Inquisition.
He looked up at the woman. Time had put a visible mark on her. She seemed genuine; from a storyteller to another she seemed kind, with stories that kids would enjoy… until the stories would become all sorts of creepy and unnerving. Aye, she seemed like the type.
“Did he now? Bet it feels important to know the King personally.” He dragged himself into the conversation.
“I do not know the man he has become but I know the child that he was.” She stopped and judging from her eyes she was going back through old memories. “He was kind and cheerful; curious and by the Maker, he loved getting into trouble. There was not a single summer day without someone chasing him down through the village. Always with that dog on their tail.” If Varric wanted to question her last words she did not give him the time. “He was quiet during winter, barely leaving the castle; when spring was here he’d spend most of the days pestering me for more stories and toys… but by summer he’d completely forget about it. Each and every Andoralis, at the beginning of summer, everyone was celebrating while the boy was sitting in the market, first thing in the morning, waiting all day long for the carriage.”
“Carriage?”
“There was an Antivan scribe coming to Redcliffe each summer. He used to rent an old house in the village, close to the hills. Quiet man, that one was. Traveled with only few servants and his little girl; about the same age as young Alistair; they were inseparable during those hot days.” The woman was content with the attention her stories were getting. “Right there – where now they built the tribute for the Hero of Ferelden – he used to stay there and wa-' her voice slowly faded and whatever she was saying seemed to be forgotten.
The sun was high up in the sky. He closed one eye and opened the other; and repeated. The shapes of people were changing in a funny way or so he thought as they passed by him. His feet hurt a bit but not enough to sit down. He would not get his pants dirty; at least not until later. He needed to look good. He opened one eye and closed the other; and repeated.
The villagers were too noisy to hear anything coming from outside but he could still see the top of the hill. The smell of candy apple reached his nose and his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten anything since morning. But he did not leave his guard post.
Suddenly a hand extended and a warm, still steamy, piece of sweet bread appeared in front of his eyes.
“There’s no need to starve yourself, boy. That road won’t disappear if you take your eyes from it for a moment.”
Catarin, the storyteller. Her patience was endless. She was now arm locked with her husband enjoying the festival like the rest of the villagers. Yet she found time for him. She always did even if after that day he’d stop visiting her again until the summer was over. She was kind; she always took him back in autumn.
“Thank you!” He grabbed the gift with hungry eyes and took a full bite, thinking of the scolding back at the castle if anyone would see his antics.
And he caught sight of it; the carriage rolling down, past the big gates and disappearing behind the trees protecting the road. He froze and his eyes grew wide. The woman laughed. She must have. His feet were rooted to the ground, waiting for the carriage to appear back in sight at the base of the hill, in the village. It stopped. There was no passing further when the market was full of people. He panicked when he could not see the entrance anymore past the fretting village.
The boy sprinted, dodging and hitting people in his way, muttering apologizes while trying to swallow the food in his mouth.
He reached the wooden archway where the carriage was stationed and his heart beat faster when the door opened. He held his breath and it seemed like forever until the small silhouette of a girl gently stepped down.
Her eyes lit when she looked up and she lost not a second to walk to him.
They shared silence as the people around them were discarding the luggage.
He grinned and she mimicked the gesture. With a blink the spell was broken and they were back together; time never separated them or so they felt. He extended his hand.
“Sweetbread?”
She frowned.
“It’s bitten. And you have crumbs on your chin.”
He stopped and looked down at the offering. That was not how he had wanted her to see him. With determination he pulled the bread in two, keeping the smaller part from where he had already bitten and tried again.
Her amber eyes did not leave his. It was not hard to read him. Not for her.
“Have you eaten today?”
“This morning, at the castle.”
She said nothing. The bread looked delicious.
Finally she grabbed a piece but went for the one he had kept for himself. /p>
He stared at his empty hand but did not mind.
They looked up again.
The carriage was back. It meant summer was finally there. There were fields waiting for them and forests to run to and ruins to explore. There were castles they could conquer and dragons to slay. There were treasures they would claim, still hidden in the hills of Redcliffe and they had a summer to find them all.
They shared the same grin. The village felt a bit more like home again.
“One, two, -”
They shoved the pieces of sweetbread in their mouths in one go.
“Cheawterh!!!”
With full mouths, they both laughed but it mattered little as it got lost in the animated village.
Varric looked at the sturdy monument and was not really impressed. He could not find a single reason why the storyteller suddenly looked as if she had seen one of the walking dead from her stories. Something did catch his attention though as the Trevelyan was now out of the shop and looking for them. When their eyes met she nodded her head asking him to gather the party.
He only needed to start making his way to her to have the rest follow.
The woman was waiting for them with her arms crossed in front of her chest.
“When will you stop talking to people who look at me as if I am something that came out of the Fade?”
“Funny you'd say that Trevelyan. And if you find that person point me to them. I'll put social skills to the test.
She still had her sense of humour. That was good. But there was a weird mix on the way she carried herself, he came to notice. The situation in the village definitely had her on the edge and yet her steps were steady and relaxed.
“Did you pick anything useful?”
“No, not really. The remaining villagers are avoiding talking about the mages like they’re the plague.”
The group went further inside the village, towards the tavern.
“Did you know that King Alistair grew up here?”
“I am sure the entire Ferelden knows that.” Her voice carried as she was leading them.
“Ah, but we’re from the Free Marches.”
“I travel a lot.”
Of that he was convinced.
“I was simply thinking that this situation might not sit well with him. He granted shelter to the rebel mages here and things didn’t turn that great.”
There was silence and that was his cue that they were back to serious business.
Cranberries
“You think it’s a trap?”
Bull was not much for playing coy.
“Could be; make you think there’s more to the story so that you could let your guard down.”
“Or the boy really has something to say.” Solas balanced their arguments.
"We saw the chantry from the room at the tavern. There are no other entrances that could let more venatori in without us knowing.“
Varric kicked a rock and watched it bump down the cliff and get swallowed by the calm lake.
“All you need is one of them inside and they can get enough demons to give us a headache.”
She was probably thinking the same. The woman glanced at the chantry. They had circled the place a few times and gathered near the cliff in the garden to make a plan.
Instead of answering her gloved hand went for another red cranberry. She plucked it and pushed it inside her moth. Her eyes were set on the chantry.
Plup. She smashed another grain with her lips.
The sweet perfume of ripened fruits covered their crouched little bodies. He stared with big round eyes at the red trail of blood on her right cheek and the thorns piercing through her skin.
“There is a- ”
“Shhh!”
Her hand clashed over his mouth as she brought a slender finger to her lips.
“Stop hiding you idiots! We’ll find you and once we do we’ll teach you a lesson. Strip you down and give you to the wolves!”
Through the rich branches of the bushes he could see the worn out boots and the torn trousers of their pursuer. He forgot how to breathe.
“Won’t we, boys?!!!”
A long howl left various throats.
“Yeaaaah!”
They waited and listened. His lips were thin and his breath hot on her hand. When everything was quiet again he felt the pressure leave his mouth.
She shared a glance with him and moved, ready to step out when his hand gripped her wrist in panic.
“What if they are still out there?”
She turned to him and went back to the place she had left.
“We’ll sneak past them.”
“No! They are probably searching the entire village for us!”
The girl sighed and looked at his bruised chin and the dirt in his hair.
“If you’re so scared of him why did you pick a fight? You know what Gavin and his gang are capable of!”
He remained silent and looked down at their touching feet.
“They were beating up that mabari! I just… wanted them to stop.”
“They only ended up beating you instead!”
He said nothing.
She had taken his hand and ran with him, trying to lose Gavin and his band of bullies. They went past the chantry and the girl pulled him in the tall cranberry bushes near the cliff. She only had on one shoe. When her tutor was going to see her like that they would be in more trouble.
He frowned. She had gone first into hiding, making a path for him. There was a withered branch with strong thorns under the corner of her right eye.
“There are thorns caught in your cheek.” He let out his first thoughts.
As if she only noticed it, the girl winced.
“Can you get it out?”
He bit his lip and gauchely brought his hands up. Unsure he gripped the branch but it was not coming out as easily as he had hoped. Two of the thorns had pierced deeply through her skin.
He grimaced at the thought of the pain but she didn’t even flinch when he started pulling. Her eyes were following his with easiness.
“It’s ok. It doesn’t hurt that bad. Stings a lot more when I take my treatment.”
He swallowed; hated when she talked about it.
The boy mustered courage from his previous feeling and pulled the thorns out. She didn’t flinch. He did it for her.
He started to wipe her cheek of blood, concerned that he couldn’t stop it.
The more he insisted the more it stung but she didn’t find it in her heart to tell him that. She focused on the pressure of the side of his palm and the thin lip he was biting.
Her eyes looked around their green shelter. They were sitting on the wet ground and their clothes were already tainted with the red of the rotten fruits at their feet.
Another sigh. She brought her arm up and gripped a bunch of cranberries, making the entire shrub tremble.
They shared it in silence.
Plup.
She grinned and did the same, trying hard to crush the grain between her lips.
He watched her efforts and did it again.
Plup.
Plup.
From their hiding place they shared a muffled giggle.
Their small hands, cupped to hold the tiny fruits, the dirt under his nails that she noticed each time he’d take a grain and bring it to his mouth; he kept making her smile just to catch a glimpse of the red peel stuck between her pearly teeth; she enjoyed his foolish antics and she liked to pick up on them, but she cherished more the silence and the shy freckles on his cheeks.
The woman pulled a full bunch of cranberries and started to make her way to the Chantry.
“Let’s be done with this.”
Docks
“Ah demons! Why does it always have to be demons?” Bull had been eager for a fight but he’d rather taken an army of venatori instead and he was not making a secret out of it.
Rift inside the chantry. That had been new for all of them. Well-kept secret had the people of Redcliffe.
She was frowning, taking in Redcliffe castle from her place on the wooden planks of the docks.
“They are in there.”
“Man, to have the Arl kicked out as well… that’s twisted. The Magister practically owns this place.”
Varric had been wrong earlier that day if he thought the woman was in a bad mood. He did not like the current glint in her eyes. After learning of what was actually going on, she was visibly furious.
“We should turn back to Haven and present the situation to the Inquisition. If it is too risky maybe they will decide to approach the Templars.”
“No. If Alexius used magic to get the alliance before we could I want those mages; and I’ll get them.”
Varric finally decided to do something stupid and satisfy his curiosity.
“You seem awfully worked up about this. Anything you’d like to share with us, Trevelyan?”
The woman turned and looked down at him.
“Yeah; let me do the talking back in Haven.”
He had to give it to her; she was terribly good at making her point clear.
“Fair enough.”
Her eyes went back to the castle. Fortified, well-guarded, impenetrable.
“It looks so dull…”
“It’s also very cold.”
The planks creaked as the boy dropped down next to her.
Her eyes were still fixed on the castle. She heard him move next to her but only looked down when something tickled the skin of her left foot through the cold water.
He was dangling his bare feet next to hers.
“Do you live in a castle too?”
“You mean back in Ostwick?” the girl looked back up. “No, not really. The place is still big… tall white walls.” She shrugged. “I never spent much time there anyway. My tutor takes me there from time to time to see my father… and when brother misses me.”
He looked down at their feet.
“Tell me more of the sea…”
She hooked her leg around his.
“It’s... like this lake… but bigger… and bluer. And the sand is softer, but you need to be careful where you step because there are shells hidden and they really hurt when you step on them.”
“…and if you look up, there is nothing but the sea and the sky.”
“Will you go to the sea again after the summer?”
“No, I don’t think so. Gregorio says that we’ll stay in the Dales, in Orlais.”
He frowned.
“I hate Orlais.”
“You’ve never been there, how can you hate it?”
He did not answer. His hands gripped the wooden edge.
“Lady Isolde is from Orlais. She always looks at me as if I did something bad. I don’t think she likes me.”
In the silence she lifted his leg with hers from the water.
And laughed. “I think it’s just her. I’ve seen Orlesians before. They all walk with their noses up in the air and look as if they are always smelling something bad.” She made faces, holding her head high up and touching the tip of her nose with her upper lip.
It made him laugh.
“I bet they fall down the stairs all the time. You can’t see anything like that.”
He continued to laugh.
“She never trips. She’s quite pretty.”
“She looks like cheese.”
“I heard people talking at the castle. The Arl wants to marry her.”
She stopped and let their legs back in the water.
They heard giggles not far from them and both kids looked at the couple standing on the nearby deck. The man took the woman by the chin and started to kiss her.
“Ew!” he turned around but the girl tilted her head a bit more, continuing to look past his shoulder.
“Stop starring, it’s disgusting.”
Her eyes were fixed on the silhouettes.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes it is!” He peeked one more time and rapidly turned around. “It’s gross and wet. Bleah!”
She looked back at him and grinned.
“I bet you haven’t even kissed someone. How would you know?”
“Well… how do you know it doesn’t feel disgusting; have you?”
She thought she had outsmarted him. It was so much easier at the beginning. It wasn’t fun anymore.
“No.” She bit her lip. “But she seems to like it. She has the same look as the maid when Gregorio kisses her.”
“Your tutor kisses the maid?”
She raised her chin up as if she knew things that he didn’t.
“He kisses a lot of women. And men.”
“Eww! I thought only people who loved each other could kiss.”
“Gregorio says that there are many types of love. He says that there is nothing wrong in loving more than one person as long as you respect them.”
The boy frowned. “That makes no sense.”
“I’m going to try it.”
“What?”
“When I grow up! Of course I’ll love my brother most, but Gregorio’s lovers are always nice around him. I want to have that as well.”
“Your brother is mean.”
“No, he isn’t!” her eyes narrowed with determination.
“Yes he is! He only sees you when he needs you!”
“That’s because he’s busy doing very important things for the Chantry!”
He froze and his eyes went wide.
“Your nose!”
“What?”
“You’re bleeding!”
The girl brought her hand up and stared down at the red tips of her fingers.
He felt his heart beating faster and started to look around.
“Giselle is in the market! I’ll go get her.”
When he pushed his body up her hand desperately went for his wrist.
“No, don’t!”
The boy stopped.
“But you’re bleeding again. It happened yesterday as well and two days ago.”
“Stay down… please don’t tell her.”
Slowly he let himself pulled back. She brought her both hands up and started to clean the thin line of blood.
“She’ll tell Gregorio.”
“But… he needs to know. He’ll make it better.”
“He’ll want to leave.” She looked down at her knees. “I don’t want to go.”
The boy let his shoulders fall and he started to play with the hem of his shirt.
“I just need to look at the sky and it will stop.”
He looked up and with his hands he pulled his body closer to her. Even seated the girl was taller than him.
“You can use my shoulder.”
With her face up she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.
Gently she let her weight on him and rested her head on his right shoulder.
Their legs dangled in the water, their toes meeting from time to time, and their feet crossing in a repetitive game.
“When Gregorio will be too old, will you travel to the sea with me?”
“If the Arl will let me.”
“Don’t be silly! When we’ll grow up we won’t have to do what they say anymore.”
He grinned.
“I’d like that.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. Getting inside the castle would not be that hard; she’d done that before. She just needed to get the Inquisition to agree with her.
The mark on her hand grew warmer, visible through the glove, for the first time making her understand the power it was granting her; it wasn’t like they had much of a choice. The Tevinter mages were there because of her. She’ll get them out of Redcliffe, breathing or not. She owned him that much.