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Chapter Text

Beau was no stranger to waking up in unfamiliar cells. Even the ache in her body wasn’t all that new of an experience, although she couldn’t recall the last time she felt this sore all over. The hard floor of the cell was cold against her bruised back, and when she unclenched her left hand, she felt an odd throb in her palm, not quite painful but decidedly uncomfortable. Rope dug into her wrists, cutting off her circulation and leaving her arms numb. Tying her up like that seemed like a dramatic measure for whatever petty theft she had committed last night after sharing a few too many wines with Tori. Her hand throbbed again, this time even more painful, enough for Beau to open her eyes with a groan. 

She was in a cell, her wrists tightly bound. A strange green grow lit up the room, although she could see no lamp. She gritted her teeth together and tugged at the rope in an attempt to break free of her binds, but the knots were too tight. Another green flash briefly lit up the cell brighter than before and just as Beau realised where the strange light was coming from, the door to her cell was swung open. 

“I didn’t do it,” Beau croaked before her eyes had adjusted to the sudden influx of daylight. “Whatever it is- I didn’t do shit, you’ve got the wrong guy, okay?” 

An elf, bald, lightly armoured, and their face bare of the tattoos that would mark them Dalish, stepped into the cell and crossed their arms. Behind them, two heavily armoured guards flanked the door, killing any hope Beau had of bolting up and running. 

“Give us one good reason to not kill you right where you are,” the elf calmly said, and Beau spotted the glint of a blade in her hand. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone is dead- the Divine, the Templar and the Soltryce leaders. All gone- except for you.” 

That shut her up. Beau could only stare at the elf in shock. The Conclave was a peace summit held at the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, meant to bring an end to the raging war between the rebel mages and rogue templars, an attempt to realign them with the Circles of Magi and the Chantry. Beau, as an initiate archivist, had jumped on the opportunity to accompany Grand Cleric Turray to attend and record the proceedings. She told herself it was only to get away from the never ending droning chants of the Reverend Mother, but in reality she knew this was potentially a historical event like the kind she studied at the Chantry’s expansive libraries at every chance she got and like hell was she going to miss out on that. 

To think Turray was gone, along with Knight Templar Prucine and Magister Margolin and the Divine was as if someone had pulled out the rug from under Beau’s world. There had been no night of petty crimes with Tori, no windows smashed, mail stolen or wine ruined that landed her in this cell. Instead, this. She brought her bound hands up to her head, cradling it as if that would soothe the building migraine. 

“I don’t remember,” she brought out as flashes of green danced in front of her eyes. A gloved hand snatched her left wrist, and pulled it away from her temple. 

“Then explain this,” the elf spat, and forcibly unfolded Beau’s clenched fingers. 

The room lit up in green as Beau’s palm was revealed. It was as if something brighter than fire was burning beneath her skin, burning cold rays of light breaking through to light up the room. Beau was speechless as she took a proper look at her hand for the first time. 

“I can’t,” she finally said, pulling her hand away from the elf, “I have no idea what-” 

“Lies!” the elf snapped, hoisting Beau up by the front of her shirt. 

“Commander Dairon.” The arrival of a new guard interrupted whatever the elf was going to do next, and Beau was unceremoniously dropped back onto the ground. “We have word from the Ruby. She has sent her daughter to the forward camp with pertinent information.” 

The elf, apparently called Dairon, simply nodded.

“We will join her there,” she dismissed the guard, before turning back to Beau. “You. With me.” They bodily hauled Beau back to her feet and with a light push shoved her through the door of her cell, into the bright light of day. Beau shielded her eyes from the sudden glare of the winter sun with her bound hands as best she could. It took a minute or so for her eyes to adjust, and she realised it wasn’t the sun illuminating the sky. 

A green rupture spread out across the sky, folding in on itself and cracking back open with a loud bang. The hole in the sky, for that was really how Beau would describe it, was as bright green as the light in her hand was. The constant low thrumming and bright flashes were nearly overwhelming, and if it hadn’t been for Dairon’s hand holding her upright, Beau’s knees would have given out underneath her. 

“Fuck,” she eloquently brought out. 

“Indeed,” Dairon agreed, continuing to lead her forward past a ragtag group of guards and wooden buildings. Everywhere, people glared at her and turned to whisper to their companions. Beau refused to let their judgement weigh her down- whatever they were blaming her for. Instead, she turned her face forward to the road ahead and the threatening sky overhead, jaw set and back straight. 

“We call it the Breach,” Dairon continued. “It appeared when the Conclave blew up, or perhaps it was what blew everything up. We have no idea what it is exactly, or how it came to be, but you fell out of it.” 

“This is mad,” Beau just said, following Dairon through a gate towards a heavily guarded bridge. 

“Wait until you see what else it spits out,” Dairon darkly said, “Demons and wraiths, beings not of our world but born of the Fade.” 

Beau halted to stare up at the Breach, squinting as if that would allow her to see any demonic entities tumble down from the sky. Almost mockingly, the Breach answered her curiosity with a blinding green flash that sent a shoot of pain up through her hand. She cried out and fell to her knees, breath coming heavily. 

This time, there was no harsh hand hauling her back up, or a push in her back to keep her going. Instead, Dairon seemed almost sympathetic as she knelt in front of Beau. 

“The mark is killing you. With every pulse, the Breach expands,” they said calmly, “With it, rifts open all over the land, and your mark grows.” The elf pulled out a sharp dagger, and before Beau had time to process any feelings of fear, she cut the restraints around her wrists and stood back up.  “Our Enchanter believes the mark on your hand is the key to closing the Breach, but he is not sure without an experiment on something smaller.” Dairon motioned for her to follow as they passed a group of retreating soldiers dragging one of their comrades behind them on a cart. His uniform was torn to shreds and more blood than fabric, his eyes staring ahead unseeing. 

“Keep going!” Dairon called out from ahead, but just when Beau took a step forward, the Breach pulsed, flashed, and exploded. The solid stone bridge crumbled down like it was nothing more than rotten wood, sending Beau flying and gliding out onto the ice underneath. The mark of the Breach on her hand pulsed and pulsed and hurt , the cold of the frozen river underneath doing nothing to soothe. She pushed herself up with a groan, and faced the gliding demonic form of a Shade. 

Beau pushed the part of her down that was a little excited to be face to face with a creature from one of her tomes of study, instead honing in on how its long clawed hands were swiping at Dairon with a horrid screech. The elf was too fast, dodging the attack left and driving a dagger deep into its seemingly non-corporeal back. 

With a curse, Beau leapt into action. She launched herself forward to where an abandoned and cracked open crate revealed a simple but sharp dual bladed daggers. That would have to do for now, Beau decided, and with the blade in hand she threw herself at the Shade. It didn’t take much for it to collapse into dust, leaving behind an odd ichor and a couple of coins. Beau pocketed them, but froze in her movement when Dairon pointed their daggers straight at her.

“Drop the weapon,” they commanded, and Beau rolled her eyes. 

“I just saved your ass,” she said, “That Shade would’ve drained your soul and possessed your body or something-” 

“You know a lot about demons for someone who claims to have nothing to do with the Breach,” Dairon interrupted. 

“Andraste’s tits, there’s not a lot more to do than study old books at the Chantry! Look- you’re gonna need me, okay?” Beau gestured to the distance, where a green burst of light revealed another shade, this one larger than the last. 

“Fine- but stay close!” Dairon warned her, “One funny move, and you’re done, no matter how much Yussa says we might need you.” 

Fighting demons was messy and not a very pleasant experience.Her muscles ached something fierce, and although the potions Dairon tossed her healed the scrapes and grazes the Shades and Wraiths left upon her, she swore she could still hear their shrieks echoing in her skull. Dairon threw a dagger at a distant Wraith blocking the way over a hill, and Beau rushed after the elf. The mark on her hand was flashing brightly, making her arm seize up in pain in shorter intervals. 

“Maker’s arse, good of you to show up!” A lightly accented voice called out from underneath a crackling green miniature version of the Breach. The owner of the voice, a purple skinned Qunari wielding two scimitars, shoved his blades through the back of a demon, cursing loudly when it exploded into black ichor staining his elaborately embroidered coat. Before Beau even had time to consider the implications of a smaller Breach, the rift rippled and more demons tumbled from it. One of them landed right on top of the slight Qunari, taking him by surprise. A hulking woman, face painted with the dark blue markings of the Avvar, launched herself at the demon with an enraged battle cry, a gigantic greatsword cleaving the demon nearly in half. To Beau's left, Dairon stepped in front of a blue Qunari woman, who chugged a flask and threw her dagger at an approaching demon. The dagger seemingly exploded on impact, coating the Shade in ice and momentarily freezing it in place. Beau saw her opportunity and sprung forward, bringing the lower side of her blade down onto its head and with a simple spin stabbed the other hand clear through the back. The demon shattered with a shriek, but there was no time to be smug. She ducked just in time to avoid one of Dairon’s flying daggers, which connected with a wraith behind her. 

The Qunari woman skipped- Beau swore on whatever was left of Andraste’s sacred ashes she skipped - over to her as Dairon came surging past to finish off the demon. 

“Hi!” she cheerfully said, “I’m Jester, it’s so nice to meet you! Now, quick, before there’s more.” She grabbed Beau’s wrist, and Beau sure was getting sick of that, and held her hand up towards the rift. 

The first time Beau had gotten drunk was when she was fifteen, on the eve of some sort of grand royal celebration. She hadn’t given two shits about whatever King Percival got up to no matter how much of a hero he had been during the Fifth Blight- she still didn’t- but her hometown loved any excuse for a celebration to distract them from their day to day misery. So she and Tori had stolen a few bottles of her father’s wine, and laid in the hills to watch the fireworks being set off overhead. It had felt magical, especially when Tori had turned to kiss her, but the bright flashes and noise were overwhelming at the same time. 

Her hand outstretched to the rift, she felt fifteen and drunk on wine, fireworks, and kisses all over again. The pain coursing through the palm of her hand was no longer isolated to her arm, but streamed across every nerve until she was sure it flooded out of her eyes and ears. The rift screamed, collapsed, reformed. The mark on her hand pulsed, seized, and with a blinding flash, absorbed the energy from the rift. The world went silent around them, and Beau pulled her hand to her chest with a gasp. 

“It worked,” Dairon whispered, an unreadable expression on their face when Beau looked up at them. The elf couldn’t hide the hope in their eyes, but was quick to school her expression back into a grave solemnity. “We don’t have much time, then. Come, everyone, this way.” 

“Wait, where are we going?” Beau called out, her own voice sounding distant to her ringing ears. 

“To the Breach,” Dairon called back, already running ahead. The Qunari with the scimitars pulled one of his blades from the snow and twirled it in his hand. 

“Well, today’s as good a day to die as any,” he said laconically, although the twitching of his tail betrayed his anxiety. “Name’s Mollymauk, this here is Yasha, she’s the charm.” He motioned to the Avvar woman, who just glanced up from pulling a dripping black heart from the disintegrated remains of a demon but said nothing. She stood up to join Mollymauk when he set off to follow Dairon, Jester fast behind them.

“Well, come on then, oh saviour of ours,” Mollymauk called out when Beau remained standing, still grappling with the enormity of what had just transpired. “You’ve got a world to save!” 

-x-

Turns out, one does not simply close a rift between worlds. Beau’s memories of the mad dash through a mountain path to avoid the demon infested valley were hazy at best. There were demons, more rifts she somehow closed, soldiers they barely managed to save, and then the ruins of an already ruined ancient temple, now left asunder by the destructive blast that had killed the Conclave. Strange green crystals cropped out from the walls, almost alien in the green hue of the Breach directly above them. 

There was another fight, a hulking behemoth of a demon that nearly killed them all if it hadn’t been for Yasha’s refusal to go down and Jester’s quickly administered healing potions. The last thing Beau remembered was her holding her hand out in desperation, and a blinding pain burning through her body. 

Then, darkness. 

She woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar town. The clothes she had been given by a kind elven servant were comfortable if a little too fancy for her liking, the blue tones of the leathers and fabric almost foreign to her after having spent so long wearing the white and red robes of the Chantry. 

The palm of her left hand still pulsed a faint green.

It hadn’t taken her long to find the building of the Chantry where she was told Dairon was waiting for her. Pushing open the heavy doors took a little more of her strength than usual. The inside of the Chantry was familiar, at least, with the same red carpets, woven tapestries and low burning candles as every other Chantry building. 

“-Should be tried at Val Royeux!” 

“Chancellor Zeenoth, need I remind you she is a servant of Andraste as much as you and I are. I do not believe she asked for this, nor that she is the reason why the Breach is still there. Rather, she was sent by our Our Lady Andraste, and we should welcome her as such.” 

“Seeker Dairon, with all respect, this is not for you to decide. Our duty is to serve the Chantry-” 

“Our duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. It would serve you well to remember that.” 

Beau cleared her throat, catching the attention of Dairon and a man clad in Chantry robes- Chancellor Zeenoth, she presumed. 

“Arrest her!” the Chancellor demanded immediately, spurring two guards at the door into action.

“Disregard that order,” Dairon cut in, “And leave us be. Dismissed.” 

“I would advise the Seeker to be careful in their choices,” Zeenoth said, not bothering to hide the threat in his voice. Dairon raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed.

“I could advise you the same, Chancellor,” she said, “Now, let us turn to the matter at hand. The Breach is stable, but not gone.” Both turned to Beau, who held up her hands, dimly aware of the green glow she cast around her. 

“I did what I could,” she defended herself. 

“Conveniently, you survived again,” Zeenoth sneered.

“A gift from Andraste herself, for without her surviving we would be without any way to defend ourselves against the demons,” Dairon countered, just as the Chantry doors opened again. In walked Jester, followed closely behind by a short elven man with golden Dalish tattoos curling around his eyes. He held a long wooden staff with a yellow quartz embedded at the top. Golden thread wove through the twisted carvings that made up the staff, a pattern continued on his white robes. He regarded her curiously with a tilt of his head, while Jester just waved enthusiastically. 

“Ah, Enchanter Yussa, Jester,” Dairon greeted them, “Welcome. Jester, is there any news of when your mother might be joining us?” 

“Oh- she’s really trying, but she’s very busy right now,” Jester said, “You know how it is in Val Royeaux this time of year, with all the people coming over to, you know, find some warmth.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively in a way that suggested to Beau she was not telling the whole truth. 

“Let us know when she can be here, her presence is invaluable,” Dairon said, “Until then, I trust you will act in her stead?” Jester saluted playfully, although she seemed to instantly adopt a more serious disposure. “Good. We have much to talk about.” 

Five minutes later found Beau openly gaping at the group gathered around a large table in a backroom of the Chantry.

“You can’t be serious,” she repeated for the fifth time. “No- You didn’t trust me with a dagger what, half a day ago? And now suddenly I am the saviour of Ferelden, sent down by the Maker to save us all?” 

“Thedas, even,” Yussa mused, the mage absentmindedly spinning a figurine around in the air just above his hand. “And beyond, if this is also affecting the Fade.” 

“Absolutely not,” Beau argued, crossing her arms and shoving the hand bearing the rift mark under her armpit where she couldn’t see it. “I’m an archivist, not some sort of a holy person. This is- this is insanity.” 

Dairon turned around from the impressive bookshelf in the back of the room, and blew dust off of a tome. She placed it on the table, and Beau instantly recognised the seal of the Divine even before Dairon spoke.

“This is a writ from the Divine, allowing us to restore the Inquisition. We will return it to its former glory, and close the Breach once and for all.” 

“Hold on, the Inquisition?” Beau repeated, “As in, the one from centuries ago that turned into the Templar Order? The same Templar Order that’s currently gone berserk and is killing mages on sight?” 

“A challenge,” Yussa said, dropping the miniature and leaning forward in his chair. He folded his slender fingers over each other and rested his head upon them. “We have no support, no numbers. There is a war going on, and I am certain this Inquisition has no real support from the Chantry.” He nodded towards Zeenoth, whose expression reminded Beau of that of a disgruntled but furious toddler. 

“There is no Chantry, not until they have a new Divine,” Dairon said, “We cannot wait for them to choose- there is nobody left to make the choice. No, we must act now.” They turned directly to Beau. “There is no time to waste. Are you with us, Herald of Andraste?” 

Beau looked around the room, at Dairon’s determined expression, at Zeenoth’s fury, Yussa’s baffling curiosity in the wake of the end of the world, and Jester’s barely concealed enthusiasm. She thought of Mollymauk and Yasha lingering outside the Chantry doors, pretending not to be eavesdropping or in Yasha’s case sharpening her blade and glaring at anyone who dared to come closer. She thought of the soldier on the cart, of the townsfolk here who regarded her with an odd mixture of respect and fear. She remembered the feeling of the wraith clawing at her and the sight of so many dead already. She opened her left hand and briefly looked at the gaping green void, much calmer than it had been before, and decided. 

“I’m with you,” she said, and held out her hand for Dairon to shake. 

Chapter Text

“Hail to the Herald!” 

The phrase, by now familiar but no less infuriating, welcomed Beau and her companions to the Inquisition camp on the outskirts of the Hinterlands. It was dark out, although the Breach provided ample light to see by, outshining even the full moon above them. Beau dropped her pack to the ground next to the tent that was marked as hers and attempted to stifle a yawn as she turned to face the dwarven scout welcoming them. 

“Still not anyone’s herald, but thanks,” Beau responded, while Mollymauk dramatically sat down next to the fire. Jester and Yasha weren’t far behind, with Jester carrying a mostly one sided conversation about the pastries a baker had given them in thanks on their way to the encampment. 

The scout raised a curious eyebrow, seizing Beau up from top to bottom. “Name’s Keg,” she introduced herself, “Inquisition scout, at your service. Welcome to the Hinterlands. We’ve done what we can in securing the perimeters, but there’s reports of demon sightings all over and, possibly worse, a bunch of apostate mages and Templars going at it as far as the Crossroads. The rifts aren’t doing anything to keep the refugees safe, either.”

Dairon had briefed them on the situation in the Hinterlands before their departure, warning them that their mission to secure horses from the local horsemaster might be complicated by both demons and the ongoing war between mages and Templars. They had confided in Beau that helping the people displaced by the struggles could lead to valuable intel, as well as potential alliances. Yussa, on the other hand, had warned to be careful of the warring factions. He seemed especially concerned about the reports of ruthless persecutions and fear of mages, but equally so about the silence from the influential Cerberus Circle in Redcliffe. 

“How are the refugees?” Mollymauk asked from where he was warming his hands by the fire. Keg shook her head. 

“Their numbers are growing every day. Mother Nila is caring for them at the Crossroads, but the roads are simply not safe. Mages, rogue Templars, bandits- and now demons. These poor souls have nowhere to go.”

“No time to waste, then,” Beau said wryly, and Keg snorted. She picked up an axe by her side and slung it over her shoulder.

“Best not,” she agreed, “Me and my scouts will be here when you need us. Just give a shout.” She winked at Beau in a way that was likely meant to be seductive, but she somehow managed to close both her eyes as she did, and walked off, leaving Beau and her party members alone but for a few remaining scouts. 

Beau sat down next to her companions, wordlessly taking the three day old pastry Jester offered her. She chewed on it, trying to sort out her thoughts and priorities. 

“We should help the refugees,” Yasha suddenly spoke up, her voice quiet but determined. Over the week travelling from Haven to the Hinterlands, Beau had learned to value her contributions. The Avvar woman never spoke much, but when she did, it was usually important- or a very deadpan joke. With all eyes on her, Yasha shrunk in on herself, hunching her broad shoulders as if that would make her hulking mass any smaller. She shrugged, not meeting anyone’s gaze in favour of staring at the fire. 

“I agree,” Mollymauk said, “Those bastards didn’t ask for any of this- and what’s the point of this whole Inquisition bullshit if we don’t help the people? What do you say, oh Herald of Andraste?” 

Beau threw the last bit of her pastry at the Qunari, who ducked out of the way with a cackle. “Not a fucking herald, but you’re right,” she said, “Plus, I’m pretty sure the Crossroads are on the way to the horsemaster’s last known location anyway.” She stood up, and stretched her back with a satisfying pop . 

“We’ll leave at first light,” she said, and flipped Molly and Jester off when they saluted her. 

Helping people turned out to be a lot of fetching posessions and collecting resources: elfroot, meat, wool, lost rings, cattle and potions; the list was seemingly endless. Mother Nila, the kind Chantry Mother taking care of refugees, wounded soldiers and anyone who laid down their weapons at the Crossroads, asked them to find abandoned caches of supplies left behind by apostate mages, believing them to be full of valuable healing herbs and potions. 

“Behind you!” Beau shouted at Yasha across the ruined apothecary where they thought a cache to be. Instead, they were met with a rift spontaneously opening the moment they set foot across the door. Yasha turned around just in time, lifting her sword to block the claw of the tall and spindly demon crawling from the rift. With a grunt that Beau found far too attractive for the situation, she pushed the creature away from her, sending it backwards, straight into Beau’s blade. Beau retracted the dagger from its back and flashed a grin at Yasha in the brief moment they had before the next wave of demonic creatures hit. To her surprise, Yasha briefly smiled back before she averted her gaze to the rift almost guiltily. 

Moments later, Beau lowered her hand as the rift closed above them. Jester and Mollymauk were already trashing the room, opening every crate and chest they could get their hands on. 

“Did you find it?” Jester asked when Mollymauk gasped. He held his prize up as if it was the urn containing the ashes of Andraste herself. 

“No, but this is a very fine and rare Tevinter wine,” he said with a grin, pocketing the bottle in one of the many pockets of his coat, and returned to raid the remaining shelves. 

“So no cache?” Beau asked, leaning forward to inspect a tipped over chair as if it held all the secrets of the universe. 

From the door, Yasha whistled a low note. “Incoming,” she said, stepping back inside and kneeling behind the door, sword at the ready. Beau and Jester shared one look and almost simultaneously stepped back into the shadows. Molly just cursed and pressed himself up against the wall, as if hoping to blend in with the faded tapestry that clung valiantly to the wall. 

For a moment, it was quiet. Then, a scuffle outside. Two voices, whispering in hushed tones. The door creaked open, and two people tumbled inside. From where Beau was perched in the shadows, they looked miserable. The human man was dressed in barely more than rags, his ginger hair caked in dirt and grime. He clung to a stick one could hardly call a staff; only the amber floating at the top identified it as a mage’s instrument. He sagged down to the ground, eyes staring blankly ahead as the short elf rested a bandaged hand on his shoulder. Her facial features were obscured, only strands of greasy black hair falling out from underneath the heavy hood she wore. She held a crossbow in her other hand, which she reloaded with a single hand as she peered out of the window. Somehow, neither of them noticed the woman pointing a massive sword at them until the elf woman turned around to say something to the mage. 

The elf let out an unholy shriek, and pointed the crossbow directly at Yasha, who stood up, ready to swing, to which the mage finally seemed to wake up and immediately conjured a hand of fire. Seeing that, Mollymauk stepped forward with a hiss and blood already staining his scimitars. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my house!” the elf shrieked, stepping protectively in front of the mage. “Are you Templars? You’ll die if you are!” 

“Not Templars,” Beau quickly intervened, noticing the twitch in Mollymauk’s tail and the tension in Yasha’s shoulders. “We’re Inquisition- not here to harm you, or your friend, if we can help it.” The elf didn’t lower her crossbow, although the mage extinguished the flame dancing in his hand. 

“If you’re not Templars, why does she have a Templar sword?” the elf asked pointedly. Yasha glanced at the Magician's Judge, lowering tue blade almost sheepishly. 

“I just found it on a dead guy,” she said with a shrug, “It’s really sharp.” 

“Nott, it is alright,” the mage said, reaching out to take her hand. “We can trust the Inquisition. They protected us before.” 

The elf- Nott- didn’t seem entirely convinced, but lowered her crossbow. “Why the fuck did you break into my house?” she asked again, tone still hostile even if she no longer had her weapon aimed at them. 

“We were looking for supplies,” Beau said, “We had intel apostate mages might’ve been using this place as a stockpile. All we found was some old cheese and wine, though.” 

“We moved the supplies,” the mage said, his voice rough as if he was unused to speaking. “The Templars are on our tail, and we cannot keep things in one place for long.” He sat up a little more straight, and Beau realised he was taller than she thought. 

“Why are they after you, exactly?” Jester asked, suddenly popping up from where she was hiding. She easily ducked out of the way of the crossbow bolt that flew her way, and sauntered past where the rest of her party stood, weapons back at the ready again. 

“Hi!” she said, holding out her hand to the mage, “I’m Jester, it’s so nice to meet you!” The mage stared at her for a moment, before he hesitantly shook her hand. 

“Hi, my name is Caleb,” he said, and Jester wrinkled her nose. 

“You know, you really stink,” she cheerfully said, “We should get you a bath, we have those at Haven. Do you know what a bath is?” 

“Jester,” Beau hissed, at the same time a loud voice boomed outside. Caleb and his companion ducked down below the window again, motioning for the rest to do the same. 

“They went this way, sir! In there-” 

With a  curse in a deep guttural language Beau didn’t recognise, Nott almost flattened herself to the floor and when the first Templar stepped across the threshold, she launched herself at their back with a feral scream. With practised precision, Caleb ignited a flashfire underneath the Templar’s armour. The Templar fell to the floor screaming, their anguish drawing in the rest of their squadron. 

These Templars fought like no Templar Beau had encountered before. Their blades and armour were encrusted with odd clusters of green crystal, one of them even had a shard of it protruding from his temple. Much to Beau’s surprise, another of them was holding a staff, firing off green bursts of light towards her. She weaved and ducked out of the way, just barely managing to dodge a spell that would surely have slowed her down. The mage wasn’t hard to bring down, and in the midst of the chaos Beau did not have time to wonder why a mage was working alongside the Templars.

Beau jumped from one Templar to the next, gritting her teeth through the hits they landed on her. Where she felt her stamina drain as the blades cut her, Molly’s fighting only grew more feral as he took damage. He darted back and forth, trying to lure the commander to the area of the battlefield marked with his own spilled blood. Next to Beau, Yasha charged towards a Templar frozen in place by the effect of one of Jester’s elixirs. She shattered the poor sod with a single blow of Magician’s Judge. Without hesitating for a moment, she tripped a Templar rushing towards where Caleb was casting a complicated looking spell, leaving space for Beau to jump forward and drive her double bladed dagger into the Templar's back. Yasha looked at her with a feral grin on her face, strands of her dark hair falling in her face. 

“For real, why the fuck are they after you?” Molly called out from where he, Nott, and Jester had finally managed to get the commander to stay down for good. 

“Long story!” Caleb replied, firing off his spell and doing something to the last few standing soldiers that made them drop to the ground like sacks of potatoes, blood seeping from their eyes and ears. It seemed to improve his own health somewhat, although he still clung tightly to his sorry excuse for a staff. “Me being an apostate is part of the reason. We should probably get out of here.” 

“We have a camp nearby,” Beau agreed as she hoisted Jester back to her feet.

Caleb regarded her with a long look before he nodded, and drew up a hood over his head. He held out his hand for Nott, who almost possessively took it. “We’ll meet you there,” she said, and the pair hurriedly snuck away from the apothecary. 

-x- 

After a brief detour to return a farmer’s Druffalo to him, they made their way back to the recently established camp. Caleb and Nott were huddled in a far corner of the camp around a small campfire, a number of Inquisition scouts not so subtly keeping an eye on them from a safe distance. Nott was whispering something in Caleb’s ear, although Beau couldn’t make out the words on her lips, her face still obscured in the shadows of her hood. There was something off about her, but Beau could not place what it was exactly. 

“For you, Herald.” A scout handed her a tin bowl filled with watery soup with one hand, and held out a missive marked with Dairon’s seal with the other. Beau pocketed the scroll and accepted the soup; she was starving, important instructions or information about whatever alliance she was meant to secure could wait. 

Sorry excuse for soup in hand, Beau sat herself down on the other side of Caleb and Nott's campfire, the hushed conversation of her new companions falling quiet. 

“You made it,” she stated the obvious, fishing out the singular carrot in the broth and popping it in her mouth. “Any problems on the road?” 

“Nothing we couldn’t handle ourselves,” Nott shot back, “Caleb is the best mage I know, Templars and those Cerberus bastards don’t stand a chance against him.” She crossed her arms defensively, a pair of startlingly yellow eyes peering at Beau from underneath her hood. Beau lifted an eyebrow at Caleb, who shrunk in on himself and fidgeted with something under his own cloak. Nott's mention of the Cerberus Circle set off an alarm; as far as Beau recalled, there had been no contact with them since the early days of the war. It was incredibly strange if they had allied themselves with the Templars.

“Yeah- about that,” Beau said, leaning forward, “Why are you running from the mages? Templars I get, they’ve been killing magic users left and right- but aren’t you apostates supposed to like, band together?” 

Caleb snorted. “You do not talk to mages much, if you think that,” he said, still not meeting Beau’s gaze. He lifted something from underneath his cloak, and to Beau’s surprise an amber eyed cat emerged and scrambled up around his neck where it began purring up a storm. Caleb brought a bandaged hand up to scratch the animal under its chin almost absentmindedly. 

“The Circle of Magi has not been stable in a very long time,” he began after a moment, “Even before the war, there was tension. Some believed we should have more independence. Others believed we were rightfully contained for our own safety. When the war broke out, the Circles fell apart. You know of the apostates; hedge mages and mages like myself, who do not wish to be allied to any Circle or government.” He fixed his gaze on the fire, not noticing Nott as she inched closer like an anxious guard dog. 

“But, there are those who still consider the Circle to be the best and safest place for mages to be,” Caleb continued, “The Soltryce Mages seek a continuation of the Circle, but with more independence for us. A collaboration based on trust, not fear.” He shuddered, and the cat butted its head against Caleb’s cheek, its amber eyes flaring up. Caleb lifted the animal from his shoulders, back onto its lap, where it immediately began kneading. “The Cerberus Mages are- They split from the Soltryce when the war broke out. Their master, Magister Ikithon, seeks unlimited power for mages. I used to… I used to live at Cerberus Circle. We had- we had a disagreement about his methods.” Nott reached out to take one of Caleb’s hands, stopping him from picking at the dirty bandages around his arms. 

Beau looked between the two, mind racing as she tried to put all the information together. The mage and his elven friend, looking like they hadn’t seen a day of rest in months. Their concealed faces. The clear fear in Caleb’s eyes as he spoke of the Cerberus Mages. The fact that the Templars who ambushed them in the apothecary had a mage with them- which, she really needed to figure out what was going on with the strange green glow the majority of those Templars and that mage were giving off. She didn’t think Caleb was a mere hedge mage, the magic she witnessed him wield far too well developed and dangerous for that. Nott’s deal she couldn’t figure out, but the pair of them posed a risk- or an opportunity.

“You need safety,” she said, and put the soup bowl on the grass next to her feet. “The Inquisition can offer that. If you join, we’ll keep you safe, in exchange for your help closing that damn thing.” She motioned to the sky above them, where the Breach crackled and flashed. 

Caleb looked at Nott, who stared at Beau for a long while with those unnerving yellow eyes before she turned to Caleb and shrugged. 

“You have a deal,” he said, and Nott thrust out her hand. Beau shook it, trying not to flinch at how clammy it was even against her glove. Dairon was going to be so proud of her. 

Chapter Text

“You recruited an apostate mage on the run from Magister Ikithon, the leader of one of the most powerful Circle of Magi before the war? Tell me why you thought this was a good idea.”

Dairon pinched the bridge of her nose, and Beau very much felt like she was eight years old again and being chastised by her teacher for not being able to find Orlais on the map.

“Not just him,” Beau protested, flinching when Dairon slammed her hands onto the war table.

“No, your other recruit,” she said, face scrunching up as if she had just tasted curdled milk, “Your other recruit hides in the shadows, was found black out drunk behind the Chantry, refuses to reveal her face, insulted our Dalish visitors and very nearly ruined a valuable alliance with the Voice of the Tempest for us, and she has stolen at least five bottles of whiskey from the tavern. She has also shot one of our new scouts when he approached your new mage to ask for directions.”

Beau sighed, and sagged down a little lower on her chair, her arms crossed defensively. “I thought it would be useful to have another mage on our side,” she said, “And Nott’s weird, but she’s good with traps and she's sneaky. That’s useful.”

“She has certainly livened up the place,” Yussa commented from his position at the head of the table. “I found your elven friend in my chambers last night, trying to make off with some of my spell components. We had a brief conversation.” He offered no more information, although the twinkle in his eye meant nothing good transpired. Beau suspected he wouldn’t have to worry about Nott breaking into his rooms any time soon, whatever he did.

“Look, Caleb has connections,” Beau said, “Whatever his history is with the Cerberus Circle and Magister Ikithon, he can lead us to many other apostate mages who would side with us and fight the Breach instead of running for their lives from the Templars.”

“Mages are volatile and unpredictable.” Dairon crossed her arms.

“So are the Templars,” Beau shot back, “Their faction is even more in shambles than the mages are. The apostates have no loyalty to any circle or oath.”

“What makes you think they’ll be loyal to us?”

“We can offer security. Protection from the Templars and from the Circle. All they want is to live safely and freely, and I want the Inquisition to build that world.” Beau stood up and leaned forward, placing both her hands on the war table to mirror Dairon. “Besides, Yussa, didn’t you say we would need an enormous amount of arcane bullshit to close the Breach? The apostates can offer that.”

Yussa hummed in agreement, looking between Beau and the Seeker with an expression of open interest, head cocked ever so slightly to the right.

Dairon held her gaze for a long time. Eventually, when she realised Beau wouldn’t budge, they just gave a short nod.

“Fine. Yussa, I want you to check any apostate that joins us,” they said, “We do not need demonic corruption or Cerberus spies among our ranks. Beau, you and Caleb are in charge of securing this alliance. I will contact the Ruby to send her spies to plant rumours among apostates that the Inquisition offers a safe haven. Dismissed.” She stepped away from the war table, and Beau let out a breath of relief.

Rallying the apostate mages took a while. They lived isolated, scattered lives, and most were hesitant to talk and even slower to trust. But as the Inquisition’s reputation as a safe haven for apostate mages got out through clever rumour and the continued protection offered by the Inquisition in the field, they managed to round up a decent force at Haven. It meant life was busier than ever for Beau. When she was not out in the field dealing with rifts or convincing apostates to join them, she was at Haven, making sure their new allies felt safe and settling any disagreements. Even so, she made sure to join her new friends in the tavern every night.

It was strange, having people to rely on, Beau thought. The concept of friends, true friends, was something alien to her. It astonished her that she had people now who she could joke with, who she fought side by side with, who bought her drinks and who she could trust. Sure, Yasha still didn’t speak much, Caleb was incredibly shifty, and to this day she hadn’t seen Nott without her hood, but Beau knew they had her back, and she had theirs.

A knock on her door woke her from her musings. She turned around to find Yasha standing in the opening, her tall stature almost dwarving the frame. Beau nearly tripped in her attempt to casually lean against a bookcase.

“Hey,” Beau said, drawing the single syllable out as long as she could.

“Uh, hello,” Yasha said, scratching the back of her head like she’d forgotten what she came here to do. “Caleb said to find you. He says they’re ready to go?”

Right. Business.

“I’ll be right down,” she said, and Yasha turned to leave. Beau hesitated for only a moment, before calling after her: “You’re coming with me, right?”

Yasha looked over her shoulder, an odd emotion Beau couldn’t place in her eyes; something akin to the joy she witnessed in the tavern, but mixed with a sense of grief and the rage of a hard battle.

“If you want me to, I will be there,” Yasha said sincerely, speaking the words like an oath.

“Cool, cool,” Beau drawled, “I uh- I’ll meet you at the Chantry.”

The right corner of Yasha’s lips twitched into what was nearly a smile and with that she disappeared down the hallway. Beau stood in her room for a moment, just staring after where she disappeared, before she shook herself out of it; there was a job to be done.

-x-

They did it.

Somehow, by the grace of the Maker or Andraste or whatever strange sky goddess Yasha worshipped during storms, the Breach was gone.

Though the sky was still unruly up ahead, below the people celebrated. The atmosphere in Haven’s singular tavern was joyous and downright rowdy. The small space indoors was packed with allied mages and most of the Inquisition. Those who didn’t fit inside were just outside of the tavern, holding drinks and dancing to a local bard’s upbeat music.

Beau was leaning against the back wall of the tavern, holding a lukewarm ale and observing her friends cause mayhem. Mollymauk waltzed by with a blushing mage Beau hadn’t seen before on his arm, clearly already three sheets to the wind. Nott wasn’t far behind, although she seemed to be taking advantage of everyone’s elation to empty as many pockets as she could. Jester was at the bar, chatting animatedly to the very busy barmaid. Caleb had excused himself a while ago, and joined Yasha outside. From where she was standing, Beau could just about see their backs from out of the side window. Their heads were close together, a hushed conversation held in a private moment away from the busy crowds. She wondered what they could be talking about, especially when Yasha drew her gigantic sword and held it for Caleb to see. There was no explosion of flames, though, so she figured it was fine- until they both simultaneously got up.

A short figure came running towards them from the direction of the gate. They said something to Caleb and Yasha that sent them rushing off straight towards the gate. Beau dropped her tankard and pushed away from the wall, through the crowd, towards the door to catch the figure. Before she could even make it to the door, Keg appeared in the doorway, out of breath and wearing a panicked expression on her face.

“To fucking arms!” she shouted, “Big force marching towards us! Come on, we’re under attack- Herald!” She locked eyes with Beau as the room around her dissolved into chaos. “We need you, now. Follow me!”

Beau looked around to find Jester already at her side. Mollymauk threw her the bag and weapons they had left by the door, and Nott scrambled over a table to get to them. With her party assembled, Beau felt an odd sense of duty take over the initial panic. She still refused to believe she was sent forth by Andraste, but these people saw her as the Herald, a leader to look up to. She had a responsibility to protect Haven and its people, and fighting things to do that was something she could do.

Beau, Molly, Nott, and Jester ran after Keg and whatever Inquisition members and allies still had their wits about them towards the main gate. Haven was eerily quiet but for the assembling soldiers and mages after the abrupt end of the joyous celebration in the tavern, but a familiar, crackling noise drew Beau’s attention. It was faint and distant, but when Beau dared look up, she saw that familiar, eerie, green glow in the sky, the Breach not yet the gaping hole it was before, but undoubtedly reforming slowly.

“We’re so fucked,” Nott commented, echoing Beau’s thoughts, as they reached the gate, where a number of guards and mages were already on the parapet, firing arrows and spells at the threat below. Dairon jumped down the wooden stairs, a grim expression on their face.

"Indeed," she said. "We have a report from one of your mother's spies, Jester. There is a massive force heading our way, coming from the mountains. They fly no banner."

Jester frowned, absentmindedly playing with the wooden unicorn charm at her wrist. Beau recognised the gesture as a silent prayer to the mysterious entity Jester referred to as her best friend the Traveller.

"Can we fight them from here?" she asked, hand closing around the unicorn. Beau swore she saw it give a brief pulse of pink light through Jester's fingers, but when she blinked it was just simple wood again. Jester stood a little taller, though, even as Dairon looked at the gathered Inquisition forces around them with a guarded expression that betrayed her inner despair.

"We will have to try," she said, "Beau, you are in charge of the trebuchets. Make sure they work, then aim, and fire. Now if you'll excuse me- Yussa! Take your mages to the east wall!" They clapped Beau briefly on the shoulder before running off towards where Yussa had emerged from his cabin, a number of apostates he’d taken under his wing trailing close behind.

Beau signalled for the gate to be opened, just as a loud popping noise and a flash of light set off just behind it, followed by guttural screams of anguish that suddenly fell quiet. She cursed, and drew her blade. The gate opened to reveal an elf, dressed in dark purple robes embroidered in silver thread with complicated geometric designs. Unfamiliar geometric markings, not like any of the Dalish tattoos Beau had seen before, marked his forehead, cheekbones and chin. They almost seemed to shimmer underneath his skin. Behind him lay a dozen or so lightly armoured corpses, their bodies crumpled and bent.

"Ah, hello," the elf said politely, summoning his intricately carved staff to his hand from where it lay on the ground with a flick of his hand. "I have come to warn you, although it seems I am late. My name is Essek Thelyss, and there is an army of Templars heading this direction."

"Templars? I thought they flew no banner" Jester frowned. "Are they seriously attacking us because we took in the apostates?"

"I doubt that is their entire motivation," Essek said, "They follow the Elder One, but they are not alone." He made direct eye contact with Molly as if expecting a reaction. When none came but for a challenging raised eyebrow, he looked back at Beau. "These Templars have pledged themselves to the Elder One, an ancient darkspawn, and use Residuum to achieve their ends. I suspect the Angel of Irons is with them."

That did draw a reaction out of Mollymauk. He cursed under his breath and drew one of his scimitars before Beau could intervene. He aimed it directly at Essek's neck, eyes flashing red briefly.

"What do you know of those fuckers?" he demanded, and for a moment an expression of confusion and fear washed over Essek's face before he schooled his expression back into one of practised neutrality.

"Not much, but there is no time for idle chatter," Essek said and with a brief tap of his staff to the ground, he floated up ever so slightly off of the ground. "I will explain all I know later. We have a bigger problem on our hands currently." He pointed his staff in the direction of the marching army, their forces drawing closer and closer with alarming speed.

Beau agreed with that, although she was reeling with the new information, trying to remember if she ever saw anything about an Elder One or an Angel of Irons in the Chantry records she had studied. She knew of Residuum as a way to enhance arcane abilities and increase magical resistances depending on how it was treated, although it wasn’t without risk. Reports of Residuum addiction amongst mages and Templars were relatively uncommon, but not unheard of. She had never known it to have a corrupting power like she was now realising she witnessed in the rogue Templars in the Hinterlands, though. Now that she thought of it, she’d seen Residuum grow from the ruins left behind by the initial blast that opened the Breach and killed the Divine. Something had to connect it all, but Beau could not figure out what there and then.

"Let's punch some shit," she said, and ran forward towards the first trebuchet.

Already Templar scouts were engaged in combat with Inquisition soldiers. The Templars fought like men possessed, the residuum embedded in their armour and skin boosting their abilities beyond what should be possible.

"Hold them off!" a soldier shouted from where they manned the trebuchet, turning a wheel to aim it to the marching Templars coming down the mountain path.

That Beau could do. Using a rock to launch herself up, she landed right on top of a Templar, sending him toppling to the ground. It was easy to drive her dagger through a weak spot in his armour, once, then twice. From a distance, a bolt of green sparks hit the Templar, jolting his body before leaving it motionless. She looked up to find Essek hovering some feet away, already firing off spells and summoning a green fist from the ground to smash a group of Templars down, leaving them prone.

"Fluffernutter!" Nott screeched and before Beau had time to duck safely away, one of Jester's more explosive vials soured through the air just past her head. Nott aimed her crossbow, following its arc, fired- and missed. The vial landed on the ground some metres away from where the Templars were scrambling back to their feet, erupting into flames but hurting nobody.

"Fuck!" Jester shouted, ducking down to avoid being hit by a poisoned arrow. Mollymauk jumped over her back, twisting in the air and landing next to the responsible archer.

"Hello," he said, not even dodging the dagger aimed at his chest. Rather, when his assailant drew back he tutted disapprovingly. “You really should not have done that,” he said, as he wiped some of the blood seeping from the wound on his sword and his eyes flared red. His enemy screamed in terror, scrambling back to get away from Molly’s terrifying fury. Unfortunately for her, Mollymauk was faster and cut into her with fast successive slashes.

Beau kicked a raging Templar off of the platform to the trebuchet, gritting her teeth together. “How much longer is this going to take?” she called over her shoulder as the same Templar got back up and tried to reach the trebuchet again. Persistent bastard, she thought, as she slammed her dagger to the side of his helmet and tripped him off again. A swarm of bees courtesy of Jester surrounded him, and his screams soon faded into silence. From behind her, Beau heard a twang, and with a heavy creak the trebuchet fired its load into the oncoming Templars.

“Go help the others!” the soldier commanding the trebuchet shouted, “It’s stuck, we got it here!”

It wasn’t long until they reached the next trebuchet, not with how well they fought together at this point and Essek’s powerful magic added to the mix. The soldiers stationed there were overwhelmed by a wave of Templars and cultists dressed in cobbled together armour, but that was a problem easily fixed. While her companions took care of the oncoming enemies, Beau focused on unjamming the trebuchet. She put all her strength in a last push, and with an Antivan effort the Trebuchet fired its load. At first, Beau thought it missed- but then, a low rumble from the mountains where the large stone hit. A stream of snow and rock came barreling down, the avalanche wiping out most of the oncoming force.

“Well done!” Essek shouted. Jester cheered, jumping up the platform to wrap her arms around Beau. Beau grinned, squeezing her back in the elation of a victory won. Just as she was about to give the signal for a retreat, suddenly, a shadow loomed overhead.

The sound of massive beating wings drowned out the cheers on the ground, and before Beau had a chance to look up, fire erupted everywhere around her. A massive dragon swooped down, spewing flames right through the remaining Inquisition forces. Its wingspan was larger than that of any beast Beau had ever seen or read about, its deep purple scales gleaming red and orange in the onslaught and reflection of the flames. Even though it was up in the air out of reach of any of the arrows or spells being flung its way as people began to flee back to Haven in panic, Beau could tell its eyes were bright red.

“What the fuck is that!” Molly was already hoisting whoever he could back to their feet, hurriedly directing them back to the town.

“The Elder One!” Essek said, and for the first time Beau could hear an underlying panic in his voice. He laid a hand on Beau’s shoulder. “We should probably go!”

The dragon above them recoiled, its underbelly glowing a fiery red as it prepared to breathe more flame over them. Essek was probably right, she thought as she stared up at the dragon rearing up.

“Fall back! Retreat!” Beau shouted as she finally came to her wits at the sight of flame seeping out of its maw. “Fucking- where’s Caleb and Yasha?”

They found their missing companions back in Haven. Yasha heaved up a heavy beam that blocked the door to a burning house, while Caleb sat on his knees in the snow, eyes locked on the flames and not moving.

“I think he’s broken,” Yasha told Beau as she dragged a young girl from the burning house. Beau coughed from the smoke and after confirming the girl could still walk sent her off to the Chantry. A quick look inside confirmed it was too late for her parents. She glanced at Caleb, who still wasn’t responding to his surroundings. His cat was circling around him, pawing at his knees but even Frumpkin garnered no reaction. At the door, Yasha dropped the beam, and looked up at the sky.

“It’s a very big dragon,” she observed, and pulled Beau to the side to avoid more fire raining down upon Haven. Caleb didn’t move out of the way of the flame, and had they not had a dragon actively trying to murder them all, Beau would have taken the extra time to be worried about him. Nott stood in front of him, ignoring the burning town around them, his hands clasped in hers. She whispered something to him, but her words had no impact. He stared right through her, eyes glazed over and unseeing, much to Nott’s increasing desperation. Mollymauk clearly had enough of it, and when the dragon had circled back he emerged from his hiding spot behind a barrel to haul Caleb forcibly up to his feet.

“No time for that,” Molly told Caleb, who blinked at him before wiping at his face and nodding. Molly grinned, and pressed a kiss to Caleb’s forehead before darting off towards the Chantry.

“We should follow,” Beau said, “Come on- everyone, to the Chantry!” Jester hooked an arm through Caleb’s, and Beau waited until they and Nott had passed her before following, Essek not far behind them.

“Quick, quick!” Dairon stood at the entrance of the heavy Chantry doors. When Beau stumbled in, they slammed shut behind her. Inside, it was chaos. Mages sat whispering in corners while Chantry layfolk regarded them suspiciously. Inquisition soldiers and scouts rushed back and forth with weapons and wounded compatriots. The wounded and the dying lay on the stone floor, healers tending to them where they could and Chantry brothers and sisters whispering prayers over the departed.

“We’re not safe here for long, this place is a death trap,” Beau said, and spat out some blood on the ground for good measure and also because nobody was going to tell her she couldn’t defile holy ground in such a way, not now.

“We can’t fight it either,” Jester said, voice desperate as she knelt down next to some poor sod with a gaping chest wound.

“What even was that thing? That was no ordinary fucking dragon,” Mollymauk said and craned his head to look up at the Chantry roof anxiously.

“No, that was an Archdemon,” Essek calmly stated, leaning on his staff. He flinched ever so slightly when the entire group turned to look at him.

“Impossible,” Dairon flatly said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

“There is no Blight,” Caleb spoke from where he was leaning on Nott’s smaller form, voice rough. Beau noticed Yasha’s jaw tense at the mention of a Blight, and Nott’s grip tightened on Caleb’s hand. “There has been no sight of Darkspawn away from the Deep Roads in years.”

“Then why the fuck is there an Archdemon here?” Beau demanded, pushing away the waterskin offered to her by one of the Chantry sisters.

“I am uncertain,” Essek admitted, “But this was not an attack on the villagers, Herald.”

The realisation dawned on Beau like the ice cold water in her morning bath. She looked at the anchor in her hand, flaring brightly once more after having dimmed upon the closure of the Breach. The Breach reopening in the sky, timed right with the arrival of an Archdemon accompanied by corrupted templars and an army of cultists linked to this Elder One. Her unique ability to close the rifts.

The Elder One was here for her.

“We can’t stay here,” Nott insisted, her shrill voice an octave or two higher than usual when the beating of the dragon’s wings was audible overhead. At some point in the mad dash, her hood had fallen off. Beau wasn’t sure if she had ever seen Nott without her hood up before. Her face was still mostly covered by bandages and a somewhat terrifying mask covering her mouth, but she could make out an almost sickly yellow-greenish tint to her complexion. Her sunken in yellow eyes were frantically scanning the room, wide with panic.

“We can’t fight either,” Dairon countered, “I will not send the Inquisition to its doom!”

“It’s doomed anyway!” Nott hissed back, “Look around you! We have to run- Caleb? Come on, we’re going.” She tugged on Caleb’s sleeve, but the mage stood unmoving.

“We cannot run from this,” he muttered, his shoulders sagging in defeat, although Beau realised it might also be relief.

“Guys?” Jester’s voice drew them to where she was still knelt next to the wounded man. He coughed wetly, and raised a trembling hand. With a shock, Beau recognised Zeenoth. His skin was pale and sweaty, the bandages around his chest soaked with red, but his eyes were clear.

“There is a way,” he said, although it was clear every word hurt. “Through the mountains- a secret path. I took it, once, on the Summer Pilgrimage.” He coughed again, a gross rattling sound coming up through his lungs. Jester wiped some of the blood away from his mouth, as Zeenoth turned his head to look at Beau. “Beauregard,” he brought out, and Beau crossed her arms. Zeenoth hadn’t said a single nice thing to her in all her time with the Inquisition; he criticised every choice she made, distrusted all of her decisions and refused to acknowledge her position within the Inquisition.

“I can show you the path,” he said, voice barely audible, “If it saves us, perhaps… Perhaps this is no accident, perhaps you were no accident.”

Beau did not like putting the fate of the Inquisition, of all of the people here, in the hands of Chancellor Zeenoth, but with the Elder One approaching, she did not have much of a choice.

“Fine,” she said, “Seeker Dairon, Enchanter Yussa. Lead the people to safety. Jester, stay with Zeenoth, make sure he is able to show the path. Caleb, Nott, stick with Jester, keep her safe. I’ll buy us some time.”

“How?” Jester asked, lifting Zeenoth up in her arms like he was a rag doll and weighed nothing.

Beau rolled her shoulders back and thrust her chin forward. “The last Trebuchet,” she said, “If it’s still standing, I can lure the beast to the ground. I need you guys to fire it, cause an avalanche, bury the dragon. It might not kill it, but it will buy us enough time to flee through the mountains.”

“Such an avalanche will bury the town, too,” Dairon pointed out.

“And what about you?” Yasha asked quietly, worrying at her lower lip. Beau forced a wry smile, but found she had no answer to that.

“It’s a plan,” Dairon said, “Distract him until we are above the tree line, then bury him. I wish you luck, Beauregard.” They briefly rested their hand on Beau’s shoulder in a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could, gave her one last nod, before they were off assembling the remaining Inquisition forces.

“Right,” Beau said, rolling her neck with a satisfying pop, “Let’s do this.”

-x-

Yasha stood watch at the edge of the camp. Her hands rested on the pommel of the sword, the point of which rested in the layers of snow beneath. Her tattered cape blew in the ice-cold whipping winds, but she barely felt the snowflakes hitting her face. She kept watch like a silent sentinel, eyes fixed on the horizon, like she had for the past three nights, accompanied only by the freezing cold and the Breach above.

Three days ago, they lost Haven to fire, snow, and rock. Their plan had not worked. The dragon one had flown off, never buried underneath the snow, holding its strange horned companion Beau identified as the Elder One in its claws. Yasha never got a good look at them when they emerged from the fire, but there was something oddly familiar about them that did not sit well with her. The way the horns curled back, the ominous red glow of their eyes- she tried hard not to think about who those features reminded her of. Beau had told them all to run when the dragon charged again and the Elder One unleashed hell, and like the coward she was, she had obeyed. She ran, following Molly and Essek towards the mountains, leaving Beau to face the danger alone.

She left Beau to face the dragon, and then stood on a mountain path and watched as the avalanche consumed all of Haven, with no sign of Beau anywhere and a dragon disappearing in the other direction. Chancellor Zeenoth grew weaker day by day, but led them through the mountains to safety as far as he could. The atmosphere during the journey was tense. Yasha was never one to pay much attention to politics, but even she noticed their leaders arguing about what path to take the Inquisition down next. Their disagreement seeped through to the tired and shattered soldiers, spies, and mages that made up the bulk of the Inquisition’s body and more than once she, Mollymauk, and Jester had to physically break up fights.

Once, she was the one needing to be restrained, when on the night of day one Essek suggested Beau had not made it out of the Avalanche and they should look for new ways to close the Breach. Even Caleb, who spent more and more time with the strange mage, had struggled to keep his composure. Yussa was the one to break them apart with a powerful spell, and Yasha hadn’t spoken to Essek since.

She couldn’t give up hope that Beau would return. She refused to lose any of her new companions, least of all Beau. As she stared up at the gaping green hole in the sky, she whispered a quiet prayer to the Lady of the Skies. She didn’t know if the Goddess would still hear her after all those years where she had forsaken Her, after the last knots of her marriage bond had come undone. Here, in these mythical mountains, she felt close to the Gods she once worshipped with her tribe and later with Zuala in the privacy of their home, when it was no longer safe to scatter bones to the wind lest the townsfolk saw. She looked up at the sky and prayed for the Lady of the Skies to guide Beau back to her. She had no bones to sacrifice, no offering to make, but if She returned Beau to her, Yasha vowed to slay a dragon in her name and dedicate its bones to Her.

Even when Mollymauk quietly asked her to rest, she refused to abandon her watch. This was her penance. He didn’t leave her side until sunrise, when they were joined by the rest of their group. Nott handed everyone a cup of flavourless porridge, and only then Yasha sat down. Her legs felt stiff, but that was a sacrifice she gladly made. Someone draped a blanket over her shoulders, and when she looked up she was surprised to see Essek sit down next to her. Frumpkin, Caleb’s cat, winded through her legs before jumping up next to her, butting his head against her elbow. She scratched the animal between the ears, much to his delight. Breakfast was a solemn affair, Frumpkin’s purring the only noise as they ate, until Jester gasped and dropped her bowl. Yasha followed her gaze and immediately got to her feet.

Stumbling from between the trees was Beauregard. She looked haggard, clutching at her arm. Even from a distance, Yasha could see the hurt and exhaustion she carried with her. Before her brain caught up with her, she was already on her feet, rushing to where Beau collapsed forward. She gathered her up in her arms, hands shaking as she pushed a strand of hair out of Beau’s face.

“Hey Yash,” the Herald of Andraste weakly said, a shiver running through her body.

“Don’t move,” Yasha said, her own voice shaking with emotion. “I- I’ve got you.” She pulled the blanket from around her shoulders and draped it over Beau, before she lifted her up. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt this relief; perhaps when she reached Kirkwall, or when she finally broke free from Obann and the Angel of Irons. It was nothing compared to knowing Beau was back safely, that she hadn’t lost someone again. She held her closely as she carried her to the camp, where Jester was already calling for help.

A flurry of activity surrounded her, but Yasha refused to let go of Beau even as the healers wrapped her physical wounds. Dairon, although clearly relieved to see Beau, made the call to keep the caravan moving towards Skyhold, an ancient fortress Essek had told them about. Yasha sat with Beau in the back of the cart they placed her in for the rest of the journey. She gently tipped a waterskin to Beau’s lips whenever she woke up, and packed fresh elfroot to her wounds before redressing them. At night, when Caleb or Molly would take up her vigil, she left to find a high peak and speak her thanks to the sky, scattering the bones of a hare to the wind.

Beau didn’t regain consciousness until their eight day of travel since the fall of Haven. They had buried Zeenoth two days before on the side of the road, and without his direct guidance travel had slowed down. Dairon assured them they would reach Skyhold tomorrow or the day after, much to the delight of Jester who yearned for a warm bed again. When Beau woke up, it was night. Yasha sat in the corner of the tent reserved for Beau whenever they made camp, sharpening her sword.

“What happened?”

Yasha nearly dropped her sword in surprise. She knelt next to Beau’s bed, leaving her sword forgotten on the ground.

“Are you thirsty? Hurt? I can call for a healer-”

A glowing hand on hers stopped more words in her throat. Beau looked at her with a serious expression on her face.

“We failed, didn’t we?” she said, and Yasha hesitated. Beau’s expression dropped, and she pushed herself up. Yasha instantly moved to support her as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pushed herself to her feet. She swayed for a moment, and leaned heavily against Yasha.

“Show me,” Beau said through gritted teeth, and Yasha found she couldn’t refuse her anything. She escorted the Herald of Andraste- a title she couldn’t shake, no matter how much she disliked it- through the tent flap to the camp outside. The camp was bustling as always: messengers ran back and forth, mages loudly discussed arcane theories, and right in front of Beau’s tent, their little group shared a meal and a drink around the fire.

“Beau!” Jester was the first to notice them appear and flung her arms around Beau’s neck. “You’re awake! Guys!” She didn’t let go of Beau, who now found herself sandwiched between Yasha on her left and Jester on her right. The others greeted her enthusiastically in their own ways, Nott with a shove to her knee, Caleb with a handshake, and Molly with a tight hug and a ruffle of her hair. Essek just gave her a nod from a distance, but even he seemed glad to see her back on her feet.

“It is good to see you up.” Dairon and Yussa approached. Her friends remained close, Jester still clutching her hand and Yasha’s arm still around her, a steady anchor.

“What happened?” Beau repeated her question from earlier, “Did we fail?”

“Opinions differ,” Yussa said with a smile that did not quite reach his tired eyes. “Haven is lost. The Archdemon and the Elder One, who we believe to be an entity known as the Nonagon, have escaped. The Breach is back.”

“But,” Dairon countered, her tone suggesting they had had this argument a number of times before, “The Inquisition remains. We can still fight, especially now that we have the Herald back.”

“Not the Herald,” Beau protested almost automatically. Dairon smiled, and shook their head. They rested their hand on Beau’s shoulder, a mirror of when they last saw each other.

“Opinions on that differ too,” she said, “But whether Andraste sent you to save the world or not, the Inquisition needs a leader.” Beau stared blankly at the person who had become her mentor in such a brief amount of time.

“Where is the Nonagon now?” Beau asked, looking around. Her gaze lingered on Molly for a second too long before she turned it back to Dairon and Yussa.

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Yussa admitted, “On the road, we have not been able to do much research. We know he flew south, but there has been no sign of him or the Archdemon since. Perhaps he is lying low, perhaps he believes you dead and us no longer a problem.”

“He claimed he broke through the Veil,” Beau said grimly, “He said heaven is empty and corrupted, and he wishes to take the seat of the Gods.” She felt Yasha stiffen up and when she looked up at her, the Avvar woman had her face tilted to the sky in concern. “We can’t let him succeed,” she said, determined, “I am no Herald, and I have never been a good follower of the Faith, but I have this-” she held the hand with the Anchor up- “And I’m really fucking pissed.”

“Use that anger,” Dairon said, “The Inquisition needs a leader and a cause. You could be that cause, Beauregard. Unite us; lead us, Inquisitor.”

Beau looked around her, and for the first time she noticed the crowd gathered around them. Some were familiar faces; she noticed the young girl they saved from the burning building, Scout Keg, and many of the apostate mages who had stood with her when she closed the Breach. Others she had never seen before; soldiers, refugees from Haven and its surroundings. They all looked at her with hope and expectation, and for a moment Beau wanted to do nothing more than run far, far away from here. But Jester and Yasha’s touch kept her grounded, and she exhaled.

Inquisitor had a better ring to it than Herald, anyway.

Chapter Text

Skyhold had many advantages. Essek claimed it was built on the foundations of a sacred Elven temple that would provide protection against any rifts and help stabilise the Breach somehow. It had fortified walls, and enough space to accommodate the rapidly growing Inquisition. Beau’s favourite improvement however, was the library. It was massive, and when Jester’s mother arrived after a long journey she had brought a cart full of rare books with her to expand the library. Every day, scouts brought in new tomes from Andrastian ruins and fallen mage towers. She, Caleb, and Essek spent much of their free time in between missions pouring over the tomes, looking for any information on Archdemons, the Nonagon, the Angel of Irons, Residuum- their research list was endless. So far they had only discovered that the Angel of Irons worshipped the Elder One, and was determined to bring him back and to full power. Their leader was a mysterious entity called Obann, who had once been a Templar but who had been stricken from the Order for “shaming” their principles. Further information about him or his exact relation to the Nonagon was scarce. 

Thankfully, the arrival of Jester’s mother to Skyhold brought some much needed reinforcements along with the new tomes and scrolls. With her came an accomplished circle of spies, that blended right in with the Chantry archivists already methodically combing through the tomes. 

“Inquisitor, look at this.” One of the Ruby’s spies, a beautiful young man with a horrendous scar across his face, called her over to where he was pouring over recently recovered correspondence from an abandoned Angel of Irons camp in Orlais. 

Beau picked up the scrap of paper, eyes flying over the coded text. Before she had even reached the end of it, she was running down the stairs two steps at a time. 

“Assemble the advisors!” she called over her shoulder as she pushed through the door to the War Table, where she already found Marion standing at the window, watching the courtyard. 

“Oh- hello, Beauregard,” Marion said, clearly surprised to see her. 

“They’re in the Forbidden Oasis,” Beau said, slamming the letter down on the table. “The Angel of Irons- they’re planning something at an elven temple there.” 

Dairon entered, still shrugging on the sleeveless coat denoting her status. “We can send our troops to scout ahead, set up a camp,” they said, “It will be fastest, and time is of the essence.” 

“My people can infiltrate their camps,” Marion suggested, “Find out more about why they follow the Nonagon and their locations.” 

Yussa arrived in an arcane flash, brushing off dust from his robes. He took one look at the war table, cocked his head, and nodded. “An odd, desolate place where the Veil is thin,” he said, “I could send some of our mages to fortify it and make your journey safer.” 

Beau considered her options for a moment, before giving Dairon a nod. “Send our troops,” she said, “Marion, I want your people investigating the rumours of a Grey Warden being sighted at the Storm Coast. Yussa, Essek has requested you to research that shard we found in the Fallow Mire.” She moved the tokens representing her advisors to the relevant locations on the map, and picked up her own token and placed it in the Forbidden Oasis. 

-x- 

Beau jumped from one rock to the next to reach the rage demon firing bolts of flame at Jester and Yasha from a distance. Essek had already gone down, but Beau couldn’t close the rift until this demon was gone. The demon wailed loudly when she appeared behind it, but before her dagger could make contact it dashed away to the ground. Thankfully, it was within reach of Yasha’s sword now, which gave Beau time to hold up her hand to the rift, disrupting it enough to paralyse the demon. She jumped from the ledge, and using the fall to her advantage, drove one end of her dagger deep through the demon’s head. It crumbled to ash, leaving Beau on the floor. Yasha held out her hand to help her up, and if Beau held onto her a little longer than necessary, nobody needed to know. Closing the rift was routine at this point, and by the time the cavern was only lit by the torches on the wall, Essek was back on his feet again. 

“Right, where is this fucking shard,” Beau said, looking around her. The Ocularum- or, as Beau referred to, weird skull on a stick- had clearly pointed them in the direction of this old collapsed mine, but instead of the shards Essek was so keen on recovering they had run straight into a rift. 

“Pretty sure it was up there, right?” Jester pointed up to where rackety bridges connected one half of the mine to the other. Beau craned her neck, squinting to try and catch a glimpse of the strange objects. They had first encountered them when Essek accompanied them to the Hinterlands and pointed out the Oculari. His theory was that the shards could be used to stabilise or destabilise the Veil and as such had a connection to the Breach, although his theory was still just a theory until they collected enough shards to prove it. Which is how Beau found herself standing on Yasha’s shoulders in an attempt to reach a ladder. Yasha counted down from three before she threw her upwards, and Beau grabbed onto the bottom of the ladder easily. She hauled herself upwards to where she could lower the ladder to her friends. Yasha followed her up, but the rest of the party remained down in the mineshaft.

“We’ll keep an eye out down here!” Jester called up, a tone of mischief in her voice that usually promised nothing good. Beau looked at Yasha with a shrug, and looked up at the ridge across the rope bridge where the shard sat amidst the red rock and dust. 

“After you,” Yasha said, eying the bridge with suspicion. Beau didn’t trust the rickety construction of it either, but she knew she could rely on her speed and light footfalls to get her to the other side safely. Yasha wasn’t necessarily slower than her, but she carried more weight. Yasha was just about to take the last few steps when one of the ropes gave out. 

“Fuck- careful,” Beau said, as Yasha froze in the middle of taking her next step. The other rope was already unravelling, and Yasha looked up at Beau. 

“Catch me,” was all the warning she gave Beau, before she jumped forward, the bridge falling away from underneath her feet. Beau barely had time to process before Yasha landed on the ridge, skidding forward, straight into Beau’s arms. Beau was decidedly not strong enough to catch her, and Yasha’s momentum sent them both falling backwards. 

“Uh. Hi,” Yasha said, a slight tinge of colour in her cheek. She had landed on top of Beau, pinning her to the ground, something Beau was trying very hard not to think about too much.

“Sup,” Beau said, unconsciously wetting her lips as she stared up at Yasha’s heterochromatic eyes. Neither of them moved for a long moment, until Beau cleared her throat and moved to lean up on her elbows. “Uh. We should probably get up.”  

Yasha blinked once, and then turned an incredible shade of red. “You’re right,” she said, scrambling to her feet. Beau dusted the sand off her sleeveless coat, and desperate to prevent awkward tension, turned around to pick up the glimmering glass like shard on the ground. 

“There it is,” she said, pocketing it in the bag with the rest of the shards they found on this excursion. “How are we getting down, by the way? Do we just jump?” Yasha peered over the edge to where Jester and Essek waited for them below. 

“I’ll follow you,” she told Beau, an odd edge of vulnerability in her voice. Beau, unsure what else to do with it, nudged Yasha’s arm with her shoulder, gave her a wink, and jumped down the ledge. 

Landing only hurt a little, the pain in her ankle quickly soothed by a small sip of elfroot potion. They exited the abandoned mine through what at times felt like an endless tunnel, back onto the desert planes. Beau took a moment to reorient herself, before directing the group to head east to where Angel of Irons activity was reported near an ancient temple.

“Hey Essek?” Jester spoke up, barely five minutes into their journey. 

“Yes, Jester,” Essek patiently responded. 

“Do you ever miss Tevinter?” 

A moment of hesitation.

“I miss the freedoms I enjoyed as a mage, but that freedom came at far too many costs.” 

“Oh right, the slavery..."

"Among other things, yes."

"Is that why you left?” 

“That is complicated.” 

Silence fell again as they took a small break at the foot of a large statue carrying a sword and, for some reason, another man’s face. Back on the road, they carefully swirled around a rift purely because they had other things to do and places to get to. 

“Hey Esssek?” 

A sigh. 

“Yes, Jester…”

“What’s your favourite food?” 

“My favourite food?” 

“Yeah! I know Yasha loves giant spider meat, and Beau is always munching on bacon from her pockets. What’s yours?” 

“You eat giant spiders? Aren’t they venomous?” 

“They’re very tasty, just don’t eat the poison sacks.” 

“Essek! Answer the question!” 

“I’m quite fond of simple soups and stews.” 

“Hey Essek?” 

Beau was starting to regret bringing Essek and Jester on missions together and picked up the pace.

“What do you think about Caleb? I noticed you two are spending lots of time together.” 

“He is an incredible mage. I admire his intellect and arcane capabilities.” 

“His intellect, huh? I bet that’s not all-” 

“Would you look at that! We’re there.” Essek tapped his staff on the rock, relief clearly written across his face. They stood on a naturally formed stone bridge, looking out over a beautiful oasis. Twin waterfalls rushed down into a shimmering river, the shores overgrown with green trees and patches of grass. Its stream eventually led to a larger reservoir not too far from where the Inquisition had made one of their camps. Nugs larger than any Beau had seen before nosed around in the water, finding some shade and cool in the mud, leisurely chewing on spindleweed. Behind the waterfall, a large door was built into the rock wall. A familiar banner bearing the Angel of Irons crest waved in the wind over an encampment of cultists. Next to her, Yasha inhaled sharply. She bore a guarded expression Beau couldn’t read, but she touched Yasha’s elbow reassuringly regardless.

They snuck up to the cultists easily. From closeby, Beau counted just six of them; one mage, the others armed with bows or greatswords respectively. All of them wore the signature dark armour of the cult, emblazoned with a large red eye symbol on the chest. Beau waited until she saw Jester and Yasha on the other flank of the cultists, and when the patrolling guard turned his back on her, raised one finger to signal their strategy. She easily snuck up to the guard, driving her dagger into his back once, twice, before he went down. It was easy to step back into the shadows behind a tent. She flashed her palm twice, and all hell broke loose. 

Jester darted forward, dagger out and a vial in one hand. She drank it quickly, and a shimmering coat of ice formed over her armour, unbothered by the burning heat. She laughed when one of the swordsmen hit her, only to be hit by a burst of ice and a stab of her dagger. She dodged the incoming swings from the blades around her, but couldn’t duck out of the way of a bolt of fire from the enemy mage. Essek immediately capitalised off the expansion of arcane energy, and drew a circle in the dust with the back of his staff. With a muttered incantation and a wave of his hand it flashed and surrounded the mage and Jester’s attackers with a smothering veil of green energy, before firing a bolt of electricity from his staff to the mage. Yasha and Beau leapt into action at the same time, Beau taking out the weakened enemy on Jester’s left with a well placed swipe at the neck. She managed to nick the more heavily armoured enemy flanking Jester, but just barely, and squared up for the incoming hit, if it weren’t for Yasha rushing by and knocking the enemy prone in a frenzy. She slammed into the mage with a battle cry, drawing the attention from the remaining enemies. The mage seemed to panic, his focus entirely on Yasha. He lifted a hand to his temple, driving the warrior backwards with a blast of his mind. Beau jumped forward from the now dead cultist, Essek’s magic forming a barrier around her as she knocked the mage’s legs out from underneath him. It was easy to disarm him as he stumbled backwards, and she twirled his staff above her head before bringing it down onto his head with a satisfying whack . 

“Be careful!” Essek shouted from a distance,clearly panicked, “Staves are dangerous instruments-”

Beau brought the staff down again, this time to swipe the mage's legs out from under him so Yasha could drive her sword through his chest and finish him. She really liked how the staff felt in her hand, and briefly considered giving up her double bladed dagger in favour of just a really large stick. Unfortunately for her, the staff was clearly not designed for this much physical stress and snapped clean in half, accompanied by a minor explosion. 

“Shit,” Beau hissed, patting out the fire on her coat. Yasha didn’t seem bothered by the flames, already moving on to where Jester- also on fire, hers a weirdly pink and green colouration and the result of a potion- was engaged with a heavily armoured woman. The woman laughed when Jester lashed out, blocking her dagger strikes easily with a shield. Yasha’s sword was harder to dodge, and the Avvar woman firmly held her ground as she pushed the cultist back. 

“Hello, Orphan Maker,” the woman taunted, “Have you come to your senses and returned to us at last?” Yasha’s only reply was a near roar of anger, pushing the woman back before hacking in on her with a ferocity Beau hadn’t yet witnessed. For a moment, she stood there stunned and watched their last standing enemy be demolished by Yasha’s fury. Even as she choked out a final word, Yasha didn’t stop.

“Yasha- Yasha!” Beau rested a hand on Yasha’s shoulder, trying to pull her back. Yasha whirled around, her sword connecting with Beau’s chest. The cut left a deep gash, but Yasha’s eyes immediately cleared. 

“Beau,” she breathed, sword forgotten on the ground as she moved to catch Beau before she collapsed to the ground. Her large hands were so gentle when she lifted a healing potion to Beau’s lips. The familiar warmth of the potions washed over her, and Beau grimaced at the feeling of her skin and muscle knitting itself back together. Something wet hit her face, and Beau briefly wondered if the splashing of the waterfall could reach all the way up here. She brought a hand up to Yasha's cheek to soothe the larger woman still holding her. 

"I am so sorry," Yasha whispered, her voice oddly strangled, and with a start Beau realised she was crying. 

"You missed the important bits," Beau jokingly said, desperate to stop Yasha's tears from falling, although the humour didn't quite connect. Instead, Yasha's hold on her tightened, and after a moment of hesitation Beau wrapped her arms around Yasha's neck to pull her in for a tight embrace. 

"I'm okay," she whispered, running a hand through Yasha's long, black, hair. She didn’t mind that it was caked with blood and dust, although she reminded her hammering heart that this meant nothing more than comfort for a friend. It didn’t matter that this was the closest contact she and Yasha had initiated, not counting combat or friendly shoulder shoves. It didn’t matter that Beau caught herself sneaking glances at Yasha more and more. 

Yasha pulled back, the blue face paint around her eyes streaked through with tears. She glanced around, seemingly realising where they were and that they were not alone. Essek had his back turned to them, feigning interest in the locks of a chest but glancing up towards them every now and then. Jester had no such inhibitions and was staring at them openly, head tilted slightly. 

"You good?" Beau asked, and Yasha wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. 

"Yeah," she said, right as Essek managed to snap open the lock of the chest with a triumphant "aha!"

"Talk later," Beau said, and darted over to check on the contents of the chest, giving Yasha some space to compose herself. 

Later came that night, back at the Inquisition camp. The chest, which turned out to contain powdered Residuum and a letter praising the Nonagon addressed to someone named Obann, was sent back to Skyhold with Jester, who promised to send Molly back in her stead. 

Nights in the Oasis were cold. Near freezing, even near the fire. Beau shivered, tugging her blanket closer around her. It was the second watch of the night, the one she shared with Yasha. The Avvar woman sat next to her, unbothered by the cold despite wearing nothing more than her usual leathers and shawl. They sat in silence for a while, watching the sky, the quiet night only disturbed by the hoot of a desert owl and the sound of Yasha sharpening her blade. 

“Those cultists, earlier,” Beau eventually said, “They recognised you.” Beau felt Yasha tense up next to her, and she quickly added: “We don’t have to-” 

“No, I think I have to tell you,” Yasha said, although her voice suggested she would rather do anything but that. She let out a deep, shuddering breath, her hands tightening on the hilt of her sword. “I lived near Crestwood when the last Blight broke out. My tribe cast me out when I married Zuala. She came from Denerim, and our leader didn’t take kindly to our match. We married in secret.” She laid down her sword to pull a frayed rope from her pack. She moved it through her fingers almost reverently, and Beau wondered if she was praying. 

“We thought the Blight wouldn’t last,” Yasha continued after a moment, “We thought we could face it, she and I and our mabari against the darkspawn. We were young, naive. We never stood a chance. She didn’t make it out of Crestwood.” 

Beau rested a hand on Yasha’s knee with a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Yasha,” she said, voice low as she grappled with the implications of this knowledge. Yasha’s hands  tightened around the rope as she wound it around the palm of her right hand.

“My memories after that are a haze,” Yasha continued, “I don’t remember much of what happened before I made it to Kirkwall. But there was a man, Obann. He promised- he promised he could heal me. He said with him, we would end the darkspawn. The way he spoke, he made it seem like he was the Hero of Ferelden. It was nothing like that. We did so many terrible things, all to bring… All to prepare for the Elder One to return and deliver us all.” 

Beau retracted her hand in shock, trying not to flinch when Yasha turned to look at her. 

“Orphan Maker was what my tribe called me,” Yasha said, voice colder and more detached than Beau had ever heard before, “But I think only when I was with him I truly became the Orphan Maker.” 

Beau felt a little nauseous. “Yasha-” she began, but Yasha shook her head. 

“I am not with him anymore,” she said, “I broke free. Wandered, fled from darkspawn and people whose loved ones I hurt alike. He still haunted me, but after Kirkwall, I thought I had put it all behind me. Molly and I joined the Inquisition to help the people caught in the middle of this war. And now, this.” A spark of rage in her eyes, and Beau swore she heard thunder rumbling in the distance despite the clear night sky. 

“I don’t know what it all means, if they really succeeded in summoning the Elder One,” Yasha said, “I don’t know if this Nonagon is really the Elder One, or why he looks like Mollymauk. I don’t know where Obann is, or what his plan is now that an Archdemon has appeared alongside the Elder One. But I will end them.” 

“The Inquisition will help,” Beau promised, and held out her hand, palm up. Yasha looked at her, before her expression softened and she took Beau’s hand, the worn rope rough against Beau’s skin.

Chapter Text

The Storm Coast truly lived up to its name. Even in her rainproof coat, Beau shivered as they scaled a cliff to reach a cave entrance high up. The only person in their party who did not seem to mind the whipping winds and the pelting rain was Yasha. She was above Beau, leading them through the climb expertly. From the moment they set foot on the Coast, Yasha seemed more at peace. Beau gladly accepted Yasha’s hand to pull her up over the edge of the cliff. Nott and Caleb followed shortly, the mage collapsing face down onto the rocky cliff top. 

“A moment, please,” he panted, holding up a hand to stop Beau when she went to pull him to his feet. From his cowl, Frumpkin meowed unhappily. From this high up, the view of the Storm Coast was spectacular, even through the pouring rain. It was a mountainous area, with stony beaches and dense forests surrounding the swirling river cascading through the region like a vein. Despite the neverending rain and the cold seeping into her bones, Beau could see why Yasha loved it here. 

Caleb pushed himself up again, leaning heavily on his new staff, this one actually in one piece and made of sturdy oak. The amber attached to the top gave off a constant glow, illuminating the raindrops falling around it. Beau secretly suspected the only reason he’d given up his old staff was because of Essek. The pair of them had become friendly rivals since their arrival at Skyhold, and could frequently be found in each other’s company debating arcane matters. Caleb vehemently denied it had anything to do with “staff envy” as Jester called it, but Beau saw the way he looked at Essek. 

“Okay, let’s enter another dark cave,” Caleb said with all the enthusiasm of a druffalo facing slaughter. Said cave was shallow, more of a rock shelter than a proper cavern. It didn’t take long to find the burned out campfire they were looking for. The sack next to it contained a couple of coins, rope, and some rations. 

“He’s not here.” Frustrated, Beau kicked the sack. This was the third location they travelled to in an attempt to find the rumoured Grey Warden living in this area. 

“The campfire is still fresh,” Yasha said, poking at the ashes with her finger and sniffing it. “Maybe last night.” 

“Then we can catch up to him, if we are fast. Nott!” Caleb called out to the rogue. Nott hovered anxiously at the entrance to the overhang, pretending to keep watch. At Caleb’s shout, she startled and attempted to hide her flask. “Look for tracks, he can not be far.” Beau agreed with that assessment, and got up to assist the obviously tipsy Nott in scouting the area. It didn’t take long to find tracks; whoever this Grey Warden was, he was not a very stealthy person. 

“Fucking bears,” Beau grumbled as she retreived her dagger from the beasts thick fur. She didn’t know why the wildlife of the Storm Coast was so intent on attacking them on sight, but it was starting to feel like a personal vendetta. The Warden’s tracks led them down from the cliff, across the river, deeper into the woods. Night was starting to fall, and ideally Beau would have been back at camp already. Caleb, leaning heavily on Yasha, pointed towards a slight hill just a little to the east of them. 

“A fire is lit, perhaps that is our Warden, or at least a friendly face.” 

“Wishful thinking,” Nott said and ducked into the foliage to remain hidden from view as they carefully made their way up the hill. On top of the hill stood a wooden shack, the roof partially caved in. A small fire lit up the building from the inside, casting long shadows on the walls. Very aware this could be a trap, Beau signalled for her party to spread out and flank the only visible entrance to the building. She and Nott shared one look and stepped into the shadows, invisible to all but the most perceptive. Caleb hung back, with Yasha near him, her sword out and eyes narrowed in focus. 

Beau made it to the window of the building safely, and risked a peek through it. Sat at the small fire sat a broad shouldered young man wearing grey and blue armour. His brown leather gloves and a short travel cape were thrown to the side, resting on a rolled out bedroll next to a light pack. He was seemingly unarmed, which was very odd. He sat with his back to the window, which Beau thought was an incredibly stupid move, hands held out to the fire to warm himself. She dropped out of stealth to signal to the rest to come closer, although she had no idea where Nott was holding up. She waited until Yasha and Caleb were right close enough to intervene should anything go awry, before she pushed through the cloth covering the entrance. The man at the fire still didn’t notice her until she cleared her throat and knocked on the doorframe. He whipped around, and to Beau’s surprise summoned a sword out of thin air. He aimed it directly at her, his free palm crackling with arcane energy. 

“Nice place you got here,” Beau said, remaining calm even as she picked up the sound of a crossbow being loaded in the corner of the room. “Mind if we come in?” 

“Who’re you?” the man asked in a drawling accent that hid nothing of his surprise. “I don’t want no trouble, so kindly turn ‘round where you came from.” 

“Are you the Warden we’re looking for?” Beau said, “We’re Inquisition. Room for three more at that fire?” The man lowered his sword, glancing around the room, before giving a curt nod. 

The Warden’s name turned out to be Fjord. He offered them all some of the soup he’d made for his dinner and while it was mostly rain water with roots, seaweed, and chunks of dried ram’s meat, none of them complained. Nott kept her distance, distrustful of strangers as always, although she had put herself firmly between the Warden and Caleb. Yasha stood in the corner, keeping a firm watch on their surroundings as well as she could from inside the building. 

“An Archdemon?” Fjord frowned, his thick eyebrows knitting together. He scratched at his beard, deep in thought. “Then it’s worse than I thought.” He reached for his pack, pulling out a map. He spread it out on the ground, using their soup tins to hold the edges down. He pointed at three marked locations on the map, which Beau now recognised to be of the Storm Coast. 

“There’s been reports of darkspawn emerging from their tunnels in these locations,” he said, “Saw it here for myself-” he tapped on the most western mark- “But couldn’t do much by myself.” 

“Isn’t the whole point of you Wardens to fight darkspawn? Or are you as useless as the rest of your order was?” Nott glared at Fjord, who shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. 

“If you’re serious about the Archdemon, this could be the beginning of a new Blight.” He straightened his shoulders as if reminding himself of his own strength, and gave a nod. “I can help with what you ask of me, but I will need your help in securing the Deep Road entrances here, before the whole coast is overrun by darkspawn.” 

“Welcome to the Inquisition,” she said, and shook his hand. “Hope you like fighting demons.” 

“Sorry, demons?” 

“We’ll fill you in later, it’s a whole thing.” Beau waved the hand with the anchor around, snorting at Fjord’s panicked expression. Odd Warden this was, she thought, if he was that afraid at the idea of demons but unfazed by darkspawn. “Rest first, we’ll leave at first light.”

-x-

The first of Fjord’s darkspawn entrances was located in a cavern near the beach. Their trek there took longer than expected on account of a dragon swooping overhead and picking a fight with a hill giant. There was no way in hell Beau was going to get involved with that, much to Yasha’s disappointment, so they had taken the long way around to get to the cave. 

As they got closer to the entrance, she noticed Nott started to trail behind. The rogue grew uncharacteristically quiet and stuck close to Caleb with whom she had hushed conversations whenever they took a moment to rest. The two of them were usually inseparable, often disappearing for a short while when they made camp, although neither of them would say what they were up to on those excursions. 

“I’m not coming.” 

Beau turned around from where she already had one foot in the cave entrance. 

“What? Why?” She walked back up to Nott, the short elf hugging herself tightly. Her hood was off, the wind playing with the greasy strands of her dark hair. 

“I can’t go in there,” Nott said, voice quivering, “I can’t, not again.” She looked to Caleb, who knelt down in front of her and rested a hand on her shoulder. They exchanged a look, an unspoken conversation had, and he squeezed her shoulder. Nott took a deep breath, and cast a terrified look on the dark cave entrance where Fjord still waited.

“I didn’t always look like this,” she said, “I was just an elf, once. I lived in the Alienage in Denerim, with my husband and- and my boy. It wasn’t everything I ever hoped for, but it was home.” She glanced around the group, her entire body tense like a hare. “When the darkspawn came, they took some of us down with them in the retreat. The Wardens were supposed to protect us, but they never made it to the Alienage.” She shivered, and reached out to take Caleb’s hand. 

“They did awful things to me. Turned me into this, into Nott. I- I don’t know how I got out, but when I did, I was no longer myself. They tainted me, tried to make me one of them.” She clung tighter to Caleb, who protectively put an arm around his friend. “The only reason I’m not, is because of Caleb’s magic,” she said, “He- he keeps the taint in my blood at bay, and I owe him my life for that.” 

So it was blood magic that Caleb specialised in, despite his affinity for pyromantics. Beau knew that particular school of magic was extremely frowned upon and considered more dangerous and taboo than even necromancy. She’d heard tales from Molly about the shitshow blood magic caused in Kirkwall, and how it contributed to the war between mages and Templars. Caleb didn’t seem like he enjoyed using blood magic very much, and all of Beau’s principles revolted against condemning a method rather than the people who abused it. Besides, she liked Caleb. He was like a brother to her, and she wasn’t going to let anything happen to him just because he was a blood mage.

 Fjord took a step closer to the pair, and on instinct Beau and Yasha both moved to stand in front of Nott and Caleb. The man held up his hands, and knelt down. 

“Those monsters have done a great injustice to you, Nott,” he said, and rested a hand over his heart. “I made a vow to protect the world from darkspawn.” Beau slowly reached for her dagger, unsure where he was going with this. Fjord looked up at Nott, and from this angle Beau noticed two bumpy scars on his forehead where once horns must have protruded from. Nott regarded him suspiciously, her yellow eyes still wide with a panicked fear. 

“Nott the Brave,” Fjord said, “I made that vow to protect people like you. The Wardens failed you, but they won’t fail you again.” Nott just stared at him even as Beau relaxed, believing the sincerity of Fjord’s voice. 

“We’ll see,” was all she said, before she turned to wrap Caleb up in a hug. He held her tightly for a moment, murmuring something Beau couldn’t quite hear. He handed her a potion, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, before standing up again. 

“Be safe,” Beau said, doing her best to not let the sympathy and anger at what Nott had gone through shine through in her voice. Nott grinned, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Absolutely not,” she replied, and pulled her hood back up. “Don’t let them bite you.” With one last reassuring squeeze of Caleb’s hand, she turned around to head back in the direction of the nearest Inquisition camp. 

Fighting darkspawn was different from fighting bandits, bears, or demons. The smell was much worse, for one, but they also seemed to care much less about being hit. The big ones, which Beau knew as Hurlock alphas, were especially a pain in the ass. None of the darkspawn were hard to hit, but the alpha’s were especially hardy and carried massive two handed weapons. After the third or fourth encounter, they’d figured out a strategy. Caleb would paralyse the Hurlock alpha by boiling its blood, allowing Yasha to swoop in and do as much damage as she possibly could. Their commander unable to move, Beau and Fjord quickly found a rhythm in dispatching of the regular darkspawn. 

Fjord’s knowledge of darkspawn was invaluable; Yasha had some experience fighting the soulless creatures, which Beau tried not to think about, but Beau and Caleb had only ever read about them. Fjord knew exactly how they fought, and what to look out for. His protective magic gained them more control of the battles, while simultaneously allowing them to take more risks with their strikes. 

“Alright, stand back,” Caleb said after they’d fought their way through giant spiders and darkspawn to get to the second entrance. He held out his hands, weaving a sigil in the air, and with a grunt of effort levitated a gigantic stone over the entrance to the Deep Roads, sealing it- for now, at least. 

Beau clapped him on the shoulder in thanks, the mage groaning dramatically and clutching his shoulder in pain. She rolled her eyes, and knelt down next to Yasha to help the Avvar woman harvest meat from the deepstalker they’d killed along with the darkspawn. 

“I’ve never had this before,” Yasha said, tucking the meat away to eat later at night. Beau expertly cut off the tail of the creature, handing it to Yasha with a grin.

“I look forward to trying it with you.” 

Pockets full of loot and fresh meat, they easily made their way out of the cave, back into the woods. It was dark out, the moon casting the woods in an eerie glow. None of them were paying much attention to their surroundings, the exhaustion of a long day and the elation of having closed the entrance setting in. Beau had jumped on Yasha’s back, the Avvar woman easily carrying her with a smile on her face. 

“I’m just saying, when we get back to Skyhold, we have to initiate Fjord.” 

“Initiate?” Fjord’s voice went up a couple of octaves as they veered off the path to take a shortcut back to camp. 

“Yeah! Like, drink a bunch of booze, make you race around the walls wearing a silly outfit.” 

“Perhaps Jester has some fun ideas, too.” 

“Caleb, you’re fucking brilliant, we’re so getting her involved.” 

“Who’s Jester?” 

“Oh, you’ll love her. Hey Yasha, do you have any ideas to initiate Fjord?” 

“Well, in my clan, when you turned fifteen, you were left in the wilderness alone without any weapons or food for two weeks before the Marking. Those who survived were then took the blood oath and swore themselves to the Lady of the Skies.” 

Silence. 

“Yeah, we’re not leaving Fjord in the wilderness, he’d be dead within minutes.”

“Hey!” 

“We all saw you cower from those giant spiders, dude, there’s no sha- fuck!” 

Beau tumbled off of Yasha’s back as the Avvar woman was tackled by a spindly terror demon. Above them, a rift crackled further open as it let through several more of the terrors and a wraith for good measure. Beau scrambled to her feet with a curse, drawing her dagger and coated it in poison. Next to her, Caleb threw a bolt of flame towards the wraith, drawing its attention to him. Yasha scrambled to her feet, and with Magician’s Judge held out she unleashed a battle cry, drawing the attention of the enemies on the field to her. Fjord summoned his spirit sword with a flourish of magic, bolstering his damage output with a well placed bolt of ice.

It should be a fight like any other. They’d closed a dozen rifts at this point, in all corners of Thedas. But they were exhausted, and not entirely recovered from their struggle with the darkspawn. Usually, there were maybe two waves of demons; this rift, however, had already spat out three. Beau panted as she drove her dagger through a terror demon after dodging its attack. It dissipated with a screech after Caleb’s blood glyph lit up the earth around it, draining its lifeforce for himself. Fjord was holding his own against another terror, using the magic energy from the Fade to block the angry swipes until he saw his opportunity to briefly step through the Fade and the demon to appear on its other side. He brought his blade down onto the demon before it could turn around, but the demon remained up. Beau held up her hand to disrupt the rift, but as she did, she saw Yasha. 

Yasha stood toe to toe with a demon, its shrouded form of despair howling in her face. Blood trickled down her temple, mixing with the blue paint. Yasha pushed back with gritted teeth, but her guard was wavering with every attack of the despair demon. Beau watched her flinch, as if the demon was doing something to her mind with its horrific shrieks, and before she could do anything, Yasha simply collapsed. Her body sagged to the ground, the Templar blade tumbling from her hands. The despair demon let out a triumphant wail, but before it could get anywhere it was frozen in place by an icy blast from Fjord’s hands. Beau was already flying through the air to drive her dagger blindly through the demon, marking it for death as she shattered the ice. Caleb’s haemorrhage spell paralysed the demon, keeping it in place for Beau to stab it again and again until it finally disintegrated into dust.  

Beau immediately fell to her knees next to Yasha. She reached out with a shaking hand to Yasha’s hand to check for a pulse. There was none, and for a moment, Beau was blinded with anger. Not letting go of Yasha’s hand, she twisted around and threw her hand up at the rift. Arm outstretched, she let out a cry of anguish and forced the rift shut. She absorbed the rift’s energy into the mark on her hand, and for once she found she did not mind the excruciating pain that came with it. Instead, she let the power of the Fade sustain her anger, until Fjord called out her name with an edge of panic to his voice. He had his sword aimed at her, and Caleb stood frozen behind him, one hand outstretched towards Yasha. 

Beau lowered herself to the ground, the green veilfire pouring out of her eyes slowly subsiding. She felt exhausted as she slumped next to Yasha’s head, her shoulders heaving. Caleb approached cautiously, and knelt at Yasha’s side. 

“Caleb- your magic, can you do something?” Beau asked, voice hollow to her own ears. Caleb hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Fjord, who watched them with concern written all over his face, his magic sword still in hand. 

“I will try, but blood magic is dangerous.” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Beau snapped at him, and instantly felt bad when he flinched at her tone of voice. Caleb took a deep breath, placed a hand on Yasha’s chest, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were lit up bright red. Frumpkin poked his head out from under Caleb’s cowl, the cat’s eyes similarly aglow. A strange red thread seemed to grow from Caleb’s wrists, disappearing straight into Yasha’s chest. The mage grew even paler than normal, while Frumpkin floated up ever so slightly. 

“Shit,” Fjord breathed, while Beau just held onto Yasha tighter. After a minute, Caleb gasped, and the threads disappeared. He leaned forward on his hand, heaving dry as Frumpkin curled around his neck protectively, licking at Caleb’s ear. Under Beau’s hands, she felt warmth return to Yasha’s skin. She didn’t open her eyes, but a faint pulse under her fingers told Beau whatever Caleb had done, she owed him a large favour.

“It won’t last long,” Caleb gasped, “But for now- she lives.” Frumpkin pressed his nose against his master’s cheek, demanding attention. Caleb gathered the cat up in his arms as he stood up, clutching tightly at his staff with one hand and cradling Frumpkin like a babe with the other. 

“We should get back to your base,” Fjord said, and Beau knew he was right. She motioned for Fjord to help her get Yasha up so they could carry her together. Perhaps someone at Skyhold would know how to heal Yasha, but if Caleb was right about the duration of his spell, they had no time to lose.

Chapter Text

None of the healers at Skyhold knew how to help Yasha. Demons weren’t supposed to affect someone like this, and nobody had an answer as to why Yasha could not be healed by any non-magical conventional means. Caleb swore it wasn’t because of his blood magic when Dairon had accused him with a threat to turn him into the Templars if he was lying- which had promptly sent Caleb spiralling into panic and Nott into protective overdrive until Dairon reluctantly apologised and gifted Nott a new crossbow and Caleb a rare magic tome. Beau demanded all their resources be put towards finding someone who could heal Yasha, and although she knew her advisors thought she was losing her mind, none of them argued.

Marion’s spies combed through towns and forests to find healers of any kind, Yussa’s mages researched ancient tomes for forgotten spells, and Dairon’s forces collected every herb and rune the healers asked for. Thanks to Caleb’s blood magic and the healer’s concoctions of elfroot, Yasha remained stable. There was no improvement, but she wasn’t dying either. Beau’s stress about the whole situation meant she was snappish, more short and blunt with people than usual. It’d landed her in a shouting match with Nott over drinks one night when she accused Beau of forgetting her promises to the Inquisition and her living friends.

After that, when Beau had broken a window in anger, Molly told her to let off some steam and “deal with all that Breach bullshit for a bit”. So, she took Fjord, Jester, and Essek and dragged them back to the Storm Coast to close the last darkspawn entrance and deal with a group of corrupted Templars seen travelling through the area. 

Upon their return, Beau immediately made a beeline to Yasha’s room. She pushed through the two guards stationed outside who tried to stop her, and kicked off her boots the moment she was inside. 

“You’re not going to believe the shit we saw, Yash,” she said, unbuttoning her waterproof cloak and draping it over a chair. “Remember that dragon we saw on the beach, fighting a giant? We almost fought it, except Essek said we really shouldn’t harm it and that dragons are sacred or whatever. When you’re back on your feet, we’ll leave him here and fight her, cause I know you’ve been itching to fight a dragon. Also, Fjord and Jester are totally doing an awkward flirting thing, I told you those two were gonna like each other. It’s hilarious, Fjord has absolutely no idea what to do with Jester, and she’s constantly- who the fuck are you?” 

A tall, emaciated, pink haired elf sat at Yasha’s bedside, humming a soft tune and running his glowing hands over her body. A knotted staff covered in wet moss and lichen, topped with a pink crystal, rested across his knees. When he looked up, Beau noted traditional Dalish tattoos curling around his violet eyes, over his nose and down his chin, almost like a tree taking root into the earth. 

“Hello,” the elf said in a surprisingly deep voice. “Beauregard, I presume?” He had the audacity to smile as Beau drew a knife from the sheath around her thigh and held it out towards him. 

“Step away from her,” she demanded, somewhat surprised when the elf did. He was probably a head taller than Yasha, and Beau hated how she had to crane her neck upwards slightly to look him in the eye. 

“My name’s Caduceus,” he said, “I received word you were in need of aid, and Ghilan’nain guided me here. Your friend’s in an interesting situation, but doing much better already.” 

Beau didn’t take her eyes off of this Caduceus but approached Yasha’s bed. Indeed, her chest was rising steadily and her skin was much less clammy to the touch. Beau retracted her hand from where she’d touched Yasha’s forehead and lowered her knife. 

“You did this?” 

Caduceus hummed, taking his seat again. He rubbed his hands together until they glowed again, and resumed moving them over Yasha’s body.

“It wasn’t easy,” he said while he focused on Yasha. “Your friend, Caleb, he kept her alive with very strange magic that’s not that healthy for him or for Yasha, so that took some healing for both of them before I could even get to what the demon did to her. I’ve never seen such wounds on the spirit before, but I healed what I could. The rest is up to her, I’m just assisting.” 

Beau sat on the edge of Yasha’s bed, watching Yasha rest. It was strange, seeing her face bare of the Avvar paint. The only colour on her face was the blue line tattooed on her chin. Someone had washed and brushed her hair in Beau’s absence. It was plaited with a yellow ribbon, and Beau wondered if Nott had taken care of Yasha. 

Sitting with Caduceus was almost calming. Compared to Caleb’s, Essek’s and Fjord’s magic, Caduceus’ was like a peaceful hymn the Chantry sisters sang every All Soul’s Day to commemorate the dead. Beau felt herself slip into a near meditative state, and wondered if Caduceus was doing that on purpose. After a couple of hours, Yasha suddenly stirred awake. Beau immediately put down the book she’d picked up- one of Jester’s trashy romance novels- and reached for Yasha’s hand. 

“Hey Beau,” Yasha said, voice barely above a whisper. “Hey Caduceus.” She gratefully accepted the waterskin Caduceus held to her lips, taking a few small sips. 

“How do you feel?” Beau asked, and very gently squeezed Yasha’s hand. 

“I’ve been better,” Yasha admitted with a weak smile, her eyes drifting shut. “Could eat.” 

“I’ll have them bring you something.” Caduceus pushed himself to his feet, and poked his head out of the door to send one of the guards on a run to the kitchens. Yasha turned her head to Beau, and swiped her thumb across the back of Beau’s hand reassuringly.

“Tell me about your trip?” Yasha asked, her eyes locked on Beau while Caduceus talked to the guards. “Yussa said you went to the Storm Coast. Did you see the dragon again?” 

Beau told her everything, from the weather on the Coast, to the dragon, to Jester and Essek’s ongoing banter. After Yasha had eaten the light soup and fried bugs brought by a servant, it didn’t take long for her to start drifting off again. She kept blinking herself back awake, though, just to listen to Beau’s rambling stories about the shipwreck they’d uncovered on the edge of the coast. Once Beau realised, she tugged the heavy woollen blanket back up around Yasha. 

“Get some rest, I’ll be here,” Beau promised and set the empty bowl of soup aside. She hesitated for a moment, but then leaned forward to press her lips to Yasha’s forehead. Yasha mumbled something Beau couldn’t hear as she closed her eyes, and Caduceus drew a rune in the air before resting a hand against her forehead where Beau’s lips had been just moments before.

“There. That’ll help her rest.” He stood up to pour two cups of tea, and handed a steaming mug to Beau. She accepted it gratefully, breathing in the herbal scent. 

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she eventually said when the mug was half empty. Caduceus set his own down with a thoughtful hum.

“Truly, there is no need for gratitude,” he said. “But, I do have a small problem back home I hear you might be able to help me with.” 

-x-

Beau stared up at a giant wolven statue. It was ancient, yet undamaged and kept clean of any moss or overgrown weeds. 

“Are these for a Dalish god?” she asked, resting a hand on the stone beast’s paw. Caduceus joined her at her side with a hum, looking up at the wolf thoughtfully. 

“We call them Knight’s Guardians,” Caduceus explained, “Many centuries ago, when Halamshiral still stood elven, this area was home to the Dalish Emerald Knights. These wolves were their eternal companions. Legend says every tree here grew for a fallen Knight, and these wolves stand here to protect their fallen companions even in death.” 

Molly lifted his foot up with a grimace, inspecting the sole of his boot as if he’d just stepped in horseshit. 

“Are we standing on a bunch of dead elves?” Mollymauk not so subtly stepped onto a rock, and glared at the grass like it would come to life and drag him down under the earth. 

“Oh, thousands of them, there’s a reason this area is known in the common tongue as the Emerald Graves,” Caduceus cheerfully said, bending down to pick up a flower. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“It’s fucking creepy,” Mollymauk mumbled, groaning in exaggeration when Beau punched him in the arm and reminded him of the undead infested bog they’d visited just months before. At least the dead here remained in their graves.

They had been in the Emerald Graves for a couple of days now, making their way to the inner, less populated area, away from the Orlaisian villas and summer palaces towards Caduceus’ family home. Caduceus lived deep in the ancient woods of the Emerald Graves at a place called the Blooming Grove. It was a sacred Dalish graveyard, although Caduceus told them they’d all be welcome to be laid to rest there if they so desired- which was slightly unnerving, but as Beau was quickly learning, many things about Caduceus were slightly unnerving.

The Graves were a beautiful place to travel through. It was endlessly green, with tall towering trees that beautifully filtered the sunlight. Of course, despite all the splendour of nature,  they still ran into plenty of problems. The area was home to political strife between Orlaisian nobles and people local to the Graves - both human and Dalish- who wished to see the Emerald Graves and its surrounding areas free from outside control. Additionally, the Templars and small groups of Angel of Irons cultists did their best to take advantage of the political tension, attempting to gain a foothold in Orlais. Dairon had made it very clear the Inquisition could expand their influence in helping to solve the conflict, but it wasn’t currently at the top of Beau’s neverending list of problems to solve. 

They had just finished excavating a tomb on behest of a local Dalish hunter, retrieving an ancient artefact and strengthening the weak trust between the Inquisition and the Dalish Ashari tribe. They were just making their way back to the path towards the Blooming Grove, when Caduceus picked up a conversation.

“Ah, Jester, I’ve been meaning to ask.” 

“Is this about the dick I carved on that wolf?” 

They crossed a steep hill, taking the long way around an area where Caduceus knew powerful giants roamed. 

“And on the trees, yes. Can I ask why you do that?” 

“Are you going to tell me to stop?” 

“That depends on the reason, I suppose.” 

Beau stopped to pick up yet another one of the curious shards as she half listened to Jester explain her friendship with the Traveller,a tall elf who liked to cause mischief and kept her company with Caduceus. Caduceus seemed too stunned to speak by that revelation, his eyebrows practically climbing up into his hairline, not that Jester minded judging by how she continued to run along, halting suddenly at a patch of grass to kneel down and talk to it.

“She has that effect on all of us,” Mollymauk assured Caduceus, slapping him on the shoulder before following Jester and kneeling down next to her. Beau let them take their time, busying herself with picking a bright red flower. It reminded her of Yasha. The Avvar woman picked flowers everywhere they went, preserving them in a leather bound book. Perhaps Beau could collect some for her, to add to her collection while she was bed bound at Skyhold. Travelling without Yasha was almost lonely, Beau thought. She felt a little guilty for thinking that when she was surrounded by people who cared about her but still, she’d gotten so used to having Yasha next to her both in battle and during rests. She missed her deadpan jokes, her calm nature, the way she could demolish half a roasted giant spider by herself, how her eyebrows knitted together when she focused on cleaving a demon in half and how her arms were so big and strong-

“Earth to Beauregard,” Mollymauk said, waving his hand in front of her eyes. “We’re there.” 

Caduceus’ “small problem” turned out to be a large rift over his graveyard. It cast the otherwise charming area in an eerie green glow, leaving the small temple on the edge of the graveyard in shadow. The commemorative trees and headstones provided some cover, although Caduceus asked them politely but pointedly not to step on the flowers sprouting from each and every grave. 

Beau stealthily approached the rift, on her guard for whatever would come through. She could feel her heart in her throat when it rippled open, two large demons appearing with a howling shriek. She took a deep breath, marked the Despair Demon, and threw herself at it. It turned towards her, and for a moment, Beau was vividly reminded of the demon who had killed Yasha. The memory was hard to shake; every night when she closed her eyes, she saw Yasha’s motionless form lying on the wet grass of the Storm Coast, blood pouring out of her wounds. In those dreams, there was nothing Beau could do as the demon tore into Yasha until she was nothing but bone and blood and a new demon, blackened and leathery with hollow wings, rose from her gory remains. 

Beau hadn’t slept well lately.

Jester zipped around the field fast as lightning, leaving caltrops behind her as she darted back and forth from the Despair Demon to the Greater Terror. Mollymauk stood right in the middle of them, his scimitars out and a circle of blood scattered around him. He lashed out aggressively, damage heightened with every hit he took within his ring of pain. Beau managed to disrupt the rift long enough for the two Qunari to take down the demons, and the group positioned themselves to ready for the next wave. A wash of healing energy came over them from Caduceus, and a shimmering ward of pale pink energy briefly surrounded Mollymauk, protecting him from brushing too close to death. 

Having Caduceus fight alongside them made all the difference. His healing magic was key in keeping them going against the four demons that manifested from the rift next. Simultaneously, he had no problem calling forward spirits from the graves around them and setting the ghostly forms of ancient warriors and perished heroes on the demons. When Jester and Caduceus dispatched of the last demon together with a clever combo, Beau immediately threw up her hand to close the rift. 

Without the rift casting Caduceus’ family home in green, the graveyard was oddly peaceful, as if the area exhaled in relief. Almost immediately, birds returned to the trees and began a carefree song. The sun broke through, basking the area in its warm afternoon rays. A soft breeze rustled through the flowers and herbs growing between roots and at the bottom of gravestones, and Beau oddly felt as if something here was thanking them. Caduceus had his eyes closed as he whispered a prayer of gratitude to the spirits he’d called forth in battle, before he turned to a nearby grave and bent down to pick some of the flowers. 

“This will make an excellent tea,” he muttered, mostly to himself. 

“This is where his tea comes from?” Molly whispered to Beau, who had to admit that was a little creepy, even by Caduceus standards. 

“Tastes pretty good for dead people tea,” Beau replied, once more wishing Yasha was here. Tea grown from the graves of the dead seemed right up her alley. 

“Ah, Inquisitor,” Caduceus called her over. “I believe I owe you my thanks. The dead can rest again, with the Veil restored. My family and I will remember what the Inquisition has done for us.” He rested a hand over his heart, and bent his head down. “Sulevin ghilana hanin.” 

Beau recognised the Dalish term as a blessing, although she wasn’t fluent by any means. 

“Ma serannas,” she responded in thanks, the amused smile tugging at Caduceus’ corners telling her she didn’t pronounce that quite right. “But, Caduceus, we remain in your debt for what you’ve done for Yasha. There is always a place for you with the Inquisition, if you wish to join us.” 

Caduceus contemplated for a moment, and cast a longing look at the abandoned temple behind them.

“We could really use your help with all this,” Molly added, motioning up to where the rift used to be. 

Caduceus tore his gaze away from the temple. “Very well,” he said with a nod, “I will come with you. But, if I do, it will be as a friend. The Inquisition does not owe me any debts.” 

“No debts,” Beau agreed, clasping Caduceus’ forearm. She hadn’t missed the loneliness in Caduceus’ eyes when he looked around his home. “But if there’s anything we can do for you- just let me know, alright?” 

Caduceus’ right ear twitched, and Beau wondered if he was indeed going to make another request, but the elf just nodded. “Very well. Now, would you all like some fresh tea? I should have enough mugs for all of us.” 

Chapter Text

After the endless sprawling meadows, hills, and hovels of the Hinterlands, Redcliffe was a relief. Beau loved the relative anonymity that came with cities, even relatively small ones like Redcliffe. Truly, it was nothing more than a glorified village built around Redcliffe Castle, but it had a tavern, a chantry building, several shops, and a population growing every day with refugees and mages fleeing the violence of the countryside. 

The Gull and Lantern Inn was bustling. Beau carried a tray of drinks through the crowd to their table in the back, where her three very uncomfortable companions sat. None of them thrived in crowds, apparently, but maybe a drink would help. She put the pint of ale in front of Caleb, handed Essek a glass of berry cider, and set down a cup of weak loose leaf tea in front of Caduceus. She then muscled the thin elf over to take her seat and raised her own pint to the rest of the group. 

“Here’s to us,” she said, clinking their glasses together. 

“To the Inquisition,” Essek added, taking a delicate sip of his cider.

“To all the verdammten Templars we killed today.”

“May Falon’Din guide their souls and grant forgiveness.”

Beau chugged her ale, and angled her body so that she could observe the rest of the inn. Her eyes scanned through the crowd of people, unable to entirely let her guard down here.  Ever observant, her eyes caught the stare of a broad shouldered man at the bar. He wore a short dark robe over a thick long sleeve shirt that covered the entirety of his arms, leaving only his fingertips exposed. His cropped black hair and the high neck of the shirt accentuated his strong jaw and piercing blue eyes, which were firmly locked onto Caleb. When he realised she had caught on, he nudged a blank faced woman next to him and whispered something in her ear. She glanced over at Beau, and with a start Beau realised she was tranquil. Her expression calculated and void of emotion, her gaze flitted over to Caleb for a second before she rested a hand on the man’s shoulder, and made her way over. 

“Incoming,” Beau warned, her hand already going to her dagger. Most people didn’t think a tranquil mage offered much in terms of danger, but only the most dangerous of mages had their magic taken away; mages who couldn’t resist the whispers of demons, mages who grew mad with the power at their fingertips. Beau wasn’t convinced that even with the loss of their magic and emotion, a tranquil mage also lost all of their tricks. 

A sentiment shared by the three mages she shared the table with, judging by how each of them subtly rested a hand on their respective staves. Caleb, though, froze right when he caught sight of the woman making her way over to them. A flash of recognition crossed his face briefly, before oddly it was as if he had gone tranquil. 

“How strange to run into you here, Bren.” 

The woman directly addressed Caleb with a monotone and expressionless voice, disregarding the rest of the group at the table. From underneath his hood, Frumpkin hissed, his claws sinking into Caleb’s shoulder. 

“Hello, Astrid,” Caleb said eventually, voice distant and monotone. “You have changed.” 

“So have you,” she replied, looking over her shoulder at her companion. The broad man was on guard, body tense and the drink in his hand doing nothing to fool Beau into thinking he wasn’t paying attention. Beau unclenched her fist, realising she was mirroring his tension. The tranquil mage, Astrid, smiled a strange void smile, and turned back to Caleb. 

“Magister Ikithon would love to see you, if you have the time,” she said, “Eadwulf and I will wait for you at the Chantry, if you wish to hear what he has to offer. We could be great together again, Bren.” She briefly looked around the table, taking in Caduceus’ intense but thoughtful stare, Beau’s openly hostile glare, and Essek’s carefully guarded expression. She then briefly touched her hand to Caleb’s shoulder, before she joined her companion again. 

The moment they exited the building, Caleb began to shake. His breaths came faster and faster, his fingers clawing at his forearms through his thick coat. Frumpkin yowled unhappily, but not even his gentle bites snapped Caleb out of it. Smoke rose from his fingers, and Beau’s keen hearing picked up on the townsfolk murmuring around them. 

“We should go,” Caduceus gently said, voicing Beau’s thought. Essek very gently touched Caleb’s chin, the wizard’s unseeing eyes snapping to him. He said something in elvish, maybe a spell, but it drew Caleb back to the present momentarily. Beau bodily hauled the skinny mage to his feet, nodding to the back exit, where hopefully Astrid and her companion wouldn’t be waiting for them. 

-x-

“Astrid was the most powerful of us.” 

It was the first words Caleb offered of his own volition since they’d been sucked through the strange, warped rift opened by Ikithon and landed in this cursed reality. Beau deftly jumped over a large protruding shard of glowing residuum and up a set of shattered stairs, having learned the hard way not to touch it. She reached out a hand to help Caleb up. There were two doors ahead of them, one locked, and one leading to what Beau quickly deduced was a torture chamber. Caleb’s breath hitched when he saw the three chairs in the middle of the chamber. Beau quickly disabled the obvious trap in the room when he took the few steps it took towards the chairs, and ran a hand over the thick leather belts dangling from the armrests. His fingers came back stained with the green dust of powdered residuum. 

“We grew up together, Astrid, Eadwulf, and I. Lotharingen wasn’t big, so when all three of us began having Fade dreams, it caused a panic.” He clenched his fist, some of the residuum drifting to the blood stained ground. “The Templars took us to Kinloch Hold, the largest Circle Tower at the time. We were terrified, but we had each other, and we had potential. We would always get in trouble, Eadwulf especially. Our talent caught the eye of Magister Trent Ikithon.” His voice had a bitter tone to it, and when he looked up to Beau, his eyes were hard. Frumpkin wasn’t here to soothe his rage, lost as much as their friends were to whatever spell Ikithon had cast. 

Beau approached Caleb, touching her glove to where Caleb scratched at his left wrist. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” she reminded him, “He hurt you, all three of you, I’m guessing in this room. That’s enough for me to want to help you take him down.” 

Caleb shook his head. “No,” he insisted, looking back at the three chairs. “No, you should know the crimes he made us commit.” 

-x- 

Bren watched Astrid poison her family with their own blood after sharing one last meal together. 

He waited outside with Astrid while Eadwulf strangled his family, first his father, then his mother, then his younger sister. 

Bren sank to his knees as he watched his parents and his cat burn inside his childhood home. Eadwulf and Astrid stood next to him when he set it aflame. They smiled when his father shook their hands and his mother embraced Caleb, so proud and entirely oblivious to the death awaiting them soon. 

Looking back, it should have been obvious. There were no signs of darkspawn in Lotharingen. His parents had never once left the village, and thus far, Lotharingen had escaped the curse of the Blight. 

Their families were never contaminated by Darkspawn raiders. It was a final test, forcing them to sever all connection with their past, and they aced it. 

Bren watched as Ikithon bound residuum to first Eadwulf’s, then Astrid’s skin with blood magic, covering the scars on their arms with long lines of blackened blood any observer would simply think was ink. The two of them held each other close when it was Bren’s turn. Ikithon held out his hand, beckoning for Bren to take a seat in the chair. 

Bren didn’t move. 

Something whispered to him in the back of his mind, telling him to burn it all and be done with it. 

Eadwulf called his name, distressed, and Ikithon took Bren by the wrists. 

“Such a disappointment,” the Magister sighed, and reached up to place a hand on Bren’s forehead. 

“No!” Ikithon’s body seized up, forced back by the blood running through his own veins. Behind him stood Astrid, hand outstretched and the residuum under her skin glowing. “Run, Bren! Go!” He didn’t move, not until Eadwulf threw open the door and pushed him out of it. 

“We’ll find you again,” Eadwulf promised as Bren stumbled backwards, clutching his aching arms to his chest. Behind him, Ikithon forced himself free of Astrid’s blood bind, and turned to face her, enraged. Eadwulf noticed too, and for a moment he seemed torn. Then, he made a decision. 

“Go!” he shouted to Bren, and the last Bren saw of them as the door shut was Eadwulf moving to stand in front of Astrid, choosing to protect her rather than escort him. 

-x- 

They found Jester first. Her singing led them further down the maze like castle Ikithon trapped them in. The residuum was everywhere in this part of the castle, making the journey more dangerous and Caleb more and more tense. Jester was locked in a cell like an animal. She sat cross legged on the floor, singing a song Beau vaguely recognised as a Dalish lullaby. 

“Jes?” Beau asked, kneeling down in front of the bars of the cell door. The qunari woman looked up, eyes wide and glowing green. She giggled, and pointed to the door. 

“Here they come,” she said cheerfully, her voice warped with a strange echo. Beau whipped her head around, and surely enough, two of Ikithon’s residuum warped mages came barreling through the door, accompanied by a hulking demonic entity Beau hadn’t ever seen before. Jester cheered them on during the fight, but offered no support as she and Caleb took down their enemies. When they went down again, Jester simply continued singing, pushing a shard of residuum around like it was a toy horse. 

“She’s been like that for a long time now.” Fjord’s voice startled Beau. He didn’t speak in his usual drawl, the vowels softer as he formed his words. Caleb lifted a flame in his hand, bringing light to the dark cell containing Fjord. It was hard to tell where Fjord’s body ended and the residuum began. Shards protruded through his body, fusing him with the residuum growing around him. 

“Maker’s tits,” Beau breathed, and kneeled to pick the lock of his door. Fjord grimaced, and made a valiant attempt to lift his hand to stop her. 

“Don’t bother, I don’t think I have long left,” he said, “We thought you were dead, Beau. Both of you. You never returned from Redcliffe, and when we went to find you all, instead we found a Magister in full control of the Breach.” He coughed, and winced as the residuum glowed. 

“Where are the others?” Caleb asked, and Fjord nodded back towards the door. 

“Not far,” he said, “He likes to toy with us. Sometimes I hear the others- it’s never good.” Beau unlocked the door, refusing to leave her friends locked up like that. 

“We’ll get you out of here,” she promised, “All of you. And then we’ll kill Ikithon.” 

“Too late, too late,” Jester said in a sing-song voice. She stood at the bars of the cage, clutching them tightly. “All’s gone.” 

“You better hurry up,” Fjord urged, “Find the others. Maybe they can help.” 

“Essek,” Caleb muttered, and pulled Beau back. “We have to find Essek.” 

Jester’s singing haunted Beau as they opened more doors, springing traps and finding abandoned storage rooms. As they uncovered more and more horrors of this reality, Beau continuously reminded herself that none of this was true. Early on, Caleb identified the magic Ikithon wielded as a warped and powerful version of the rift magic used by Essek. Residuum allowed him to strengthen it, and somehow threw them through time to an alternate future. There was an odd jealousy underlying in his words, but knowing what she knew now, Beau decided she couldn’t judge his desire to wield the same magic if it would allow him to fix the past. He theorised the amulet Ikithon used to channel the spell should be around here somewhere, and it was key to their return.

A familiar scream of agony stopped Beau in her tracks. They’d just found Caduceus and Mollymauk, trapped in flooded cells. Mollymauk had been unresponsive and naked as the day he was born, lashing out like a feral cat when Caleb tried to offer him a healing potion for the deep wounds on his chest. All he had said, over and over again, was a single word. 

Empty. 

Caduceus, on the other hand, sat cross legged in the middle of a puddle in his cell, surrounded by oddly glowing mushrooms and moss. He didn’t seem surprised at their appearance, and merely remarked that it had taken them long enough to show up. Most importantly, he knew where Essek was being held. 

Any thought of Essek, held just behind the heavy iron door, was banished when Beau heard that scream. She was on her feet before either of the mages could stop her, running towards where the scream came from. The entrance to the cells beyond was caved in, allowing Beau to squeeze her way in through a small gap. 

“Yasha,” she whispered. She knew she would find her here, and rationally she knew this wasn’t her Yasha. Still, it hurt to find the woman she cared about more than she dared to admit a shell of herself. Yasha sat on her knees, chest and shoulders heaving. Shadow surrounded her, and there was not a single strand of white hair among the tangle of black braids. She looked up at Beau with wide eyes, and shook her head.

“You’re not real,” she whispered, “No. I won’t believe it. You’re dead. They’re all dead.” 

With trembling hands, Beau went to work on the lock. Just as she thought she’d found the combination, Yasha unleashed a scream of rage, the blast of energy sending Beau flying backwards. Her back hit a different set of bars, awakening something with a sickening squelch. All Beau had eyes for, however, was Yasha’s rage. Her eyes flashed white and the room lit up bright. Beau covered her face with her arm to protect herself from the onslaught. When she lowered it again, Yasha was back on her knees, breathing heavily and Caleb and Caduceus stood at the collapsed entry. 

“Beau, step away from there,” Caduceus carefully warned her. 

“We have to help Yasha,” Beau said, struggling back to her feet.

“I know,” Caduceus said, holding his staff forward, “But first, you have to step away from that cell.” Another sickening squelch allerted her to that other cell. Caleb took a step forward, his hand outstretched. Beau turned around, and bile filled her throat. 

“Nott,” Caleb said, his voice breaking. Where once the cell would be ample room for the short elf, the mass of her sluggish and deformed body now took up the entirety of the space. She towered over them, features nearly unrecognisable in their tainted and misshapen form. Tentacles curled around the bars of the cell, reaching out to them and oozing a strange slime. 

Beau pressed a hand to her mouth in shock, watching the malformed and mutated body of her friend move sluggishly to get to them. Without Caleb, the Taint had taken Nott, and turned her into what the Darkspawn who kidnapped her intended to be, into what she was trying so hard to get rid off. 

A Broodmother. 

The vessel for new darkspawn, a ghoulish monstrosity capable of nothing but foul reproduction. 

“I will avenge you, my friend,” Caleb promised to the ghoul, who showed no sign of recognition. Behind them, Yasha cried out again, and the room flashed white once more. 

-x-

Before they found Essek, they found Frumpkin. The cat sat waiting for them outside of Yasha and Nott’s cells, licking his paws like nothing was wrong. He meowed and jumped up into Caleb’s arms. The cat’s amber eyes glowed, and his form seemed to shift before Beau’s eyes before settling into that of the familiar bengal cat. 

“Hello, old friend,” Caleb murmured, and to Beau’s horror, the cat smiled and spoke. 

“It was hard to find you,” Frumpkin said in a purring, ethereal voice, “We thought you lost, for a while, but thankfully there was your delicious anguish again. Oh, how we missed it.” The cat pushed his head against Caleb’s chin, and his amber eyes flashed. “Come now. We have so much work to do.” The cat jumped down to the floor, and trotted ahead with his tail up in the air. 

“Well, don’t dawdle,” he spoke, “We know just where to go.” 

Caleb avoided both Beau and Caduceus’ eyes as he motioned for them to follow. Caduceus seemed entirely unfazed, and merely shrugged when Beau looked at him with wide, questioning eyes. 

“It was fairly obvious Frumpkin was a demon,” Caduceus simply said, “Vengeance, I think. Did you not know?” 

“No?” Beau sputtered, even as they followed Caleb through the winding halls back to Essek’s prison. “Should we- should we do something about that?” Caduceus hummed, and scratched at a glowing green mushroom growing from his chin. 

“I don’t think so, not yet,” he said, “But we should probably keep an eye on it. Demons can be nasty business, but this one seems useful- even if we don’t know what it wants exactly.” 

Fighting with a demon on your side was an odd experience, especially after having spent the past months doing nothing but killing demons. Still, it was a nice change, Beau thought, especially when the vengeance demon managed to wipe out a group of mages almost instantly, sending them screaming to the floor in madness. Beau wasn’t so sure if that made Frumpkin a “good boy”, as Caleb insisted, but the cat seemed pleased with the praise heaped upon him by the mage. Beau wiped the blood of her dagger and eyed the creature with distrust. While she understood Caleb’s desire for vengeance, and she privately believed he deserved to enact that vengeance in whatever way he pleased, it was hard not to be wary of the demon walking alongside them. She had seen what demons could do to mages, and while a nagging voice that sounded a lot like Nott informed her Caleb was one of the strongest mages she’d ever met, she still felt nervous for him.

-x-

“Can you do it?” Beau shouted over her shoulder as a golem smashed its massive fists in the ground next to them. The mage that controlled the creature stood frustratingly just out of her reach. Behind her, Essek stood next to Caleb, Ikithon’s amulet in his hand. 

“Are you sure?” Essek asked, his clasping Caleb’s forearm. Their heads were close together, and were she not in the process of being pummeled into jam, Beau would’ve whistled at them. He said something Beau didn’t hear as she dodged away, but did see Caleb’s affirmative nod. Frumpkin launched himself at the mage behind the golem, scratching at her eyes and landing on his feet when she threw him off with a mind blast. 

“ Ja ,” Caleb agreed, and covered Essek’s hand with his own. “This is the only way.” 

“Together, then,” Essek said, and held the amulet out to Caleb. 

“Together,” Caleb agreed. 

Purple spirits, brought forth by Caduceus, surrounded Beau for a moment, protecting her from an incoming missile spell. For a moment, she wondered if Essek was actually going to do it- the Tevinter mage was hard to read, and his motives remained a mystery. Then, the space around her was no longer purple, but bright green. The anchor on her hand flared up, the dull ache now a constant burning pain as Essek and Caleb tore a hole into the fade. 

“Now!” Essek shouted, and Caleb’s eyes rolled back into his head, before they lit up in bright amber and pure mana poured out from him. 

“What the fuck are you doing!” The rift slowed her movements, but Beau forced her way to Essek with gritted teeth. The Tevinter mage pressed his hand against Caleb’s forehead, and with a start Beau recognised the gesture.

“Don’t worry, he won’t lose it all,” Essek told her, like that would reassure her, and shattered the amulet in his hand. 

-x- 

“So,” Beau said, and put another pin in the wall to connect two pieces of parchment with a red thread. “Ikithon is at the head of the residuum smuggling, which he use to experiment on his students.” She tapped the parchment that said Magister Trent Ikithon , and then the Red Templars scrap. “What I don’t understand is how this connects to the Templars, and the Angel of Irons.” 

She turned around to where her friends and advisors were gathered around the war room, sat on different chairs, leaning against the wall or sat on the table itself. Fjord scratched his chin thoughtfully. 

“If Ikithon wants a society with mages at the top, he needs to control the Templars. Their reliance on Residuum to resist magic is an easy way for him to bend them to his will,” he theorised, “Templars using Residuum isn’t new, but the war has escalated their need for it. That’s allowed Ikithon to assert power, and force an unlikely alliance.” 

Beau nodded. “They’re a tool to him, and we can assume he’ll discard them as soon as he has no need for them. Caleb, do you have any insights into what his goal with all of this is?” 

Caleb rubbed a hand over his face. He sighed deeply, shaking his head. 

“It has been a very long time since I was his student,” he said, “But, Ikithon has always hungered for power. He used to speak of the Veil as a hindrance, an obstacle to overcome. Perhaps he wishes to pass through the Veil, and join the gods at their table. The Residuum experiments were only the beginning. They were never intended to strengthen us solely for our betterment. He wanted to take our magic for himself.” He swallowed thickly, and added: “It left them Tranquil.” 

Nott hissed, and not for the first time Beau was reminded of a mother swan protecting her young. Caleb shifted uncomfortably, and glanced at Essek. 

“Taking another’s magic for oneself has only ever been theory,” Essek said, “There were forbidden tomes in Tevinter-” A realisation dawned on him. “Ah. I see.” 

Beau didn’t, and made a gesture for Essek to elaborate. Dairon, however, narrowed her eyes. 

“Is this one of your precious Tomes?” she asked, taking out a thick book Caleb had found at an Angel of Irons encampment only weeks ago. Essek looked at it for a long time, before giving a short nod. Dairon put it down on the table. 

“We heard of Tevinter searching for these Tomes, even heard reports of a suspected mole who smuggled them out,” she slowly said, never breaking eye contact with Essek. The mage straightened his back, and folded his hands in his lap. His expression was stone cold, and the tension in the room was thick as butter. Caleb reached out to place his hand on Essek’s elbow. 

“Was it you?” he asked, voice low and quiet. Essek jerked his arm back, and abruptly stood up. 

“Yes,” he said, “I had my reasons. Ancient magic deserves to be researched, and the Imperium has grown paranoid of anything that threatens their power. They banished Ikithon years ago for his interest in the forbidden art of syphoning magic, so I thought perhaps he could help. He shared his findings with me, and I returned my own research to him in exchange. I see now where this has led.” He bowed his head for a moment, before lifting his chin up high again. He turned to Beau. 

“Inquisitor, if you wish to sentence me, I will be in my tower.” He refused to look Caleb in the eye as he turned to walk past the mage, out of the door. 

“Essek! Wait up!” Jester hopped down from the table, a deep frown etched on her forehead. She rushed after him, the door slamming  shut behind her. Her departure left the rest of the group in stunned silence. Beau picked up a new scrap of parchment, and wrote Essek’s name down on it. She pinned it to the wall, and spun a thread between his name and Ikithon’s. She would have to talk to Essek about this. One of her new Inquisitor duties was to sit in judgement; she would really rather not have it come to that. 

“You said this was found in the Angel of Irons camp,” Beau asked Dairon, breaking the tense silence. “What do we know about them?” 

“The Angel of Irons are a cult led by Obann. He is a former Templar, but we believe he is far beyond humanity.” Dairon said and joined Beau at the wall Nott and Jester called the conspiracy wall. “The cult aims to bring back the Elder One, who they refer to as the Nonagon.” 

“Also known as Lucien, or the asshole who tried to destroy us at Haven. He also has an Archdemon on his side,” Beau continued. “Lucien somehow looks a whole lot like Mollymauk-” 

“I have nothing to do with him,” Mollymauk cut in, arms crossed defensively, “I’ve told you all I know before, which is shockingly not a whole lot given that I woke up two years ago.” 

“Those two years could be a vital clue, if you and him were connected once,” Yussa pointed out, pointedly ignoring Mollymauk’s protest. “As far as we know, it was Lucien who opened the Breach. He wishes to claim the throne of the Old Gods, who apparently have abandoned their posts beyond the Veil. If this is true, the Breach is likely a delayed effect of his attempt to break through the Veil.” 

“Time is odd in the Fade,” Caduceus agreed, speaking as if he was simply referring to the time difference between Orlais and Ferelden. Next to him, Yasha was openly staring at Beau, mouth slightly agape. 

“So, if he wants to ascend,” Beau theorised, ignoring the slight flush on her cheeks at Yasha’s open admiration. “He needs to do so when the Veil is thin, and the Breach is at its largest. We are a problem, because we keep stabilising the Veil by closing the rifts and lighting those weird beacons Essek wants us to turn on.” She exhaled, and took a moment to chug her wine. 

“To sum up,” Beau said, “Caleb’s old teacher, a banished Tevinter Magister, smuggles Residuum to fund his fucked up experiments on his students. Essek’s shared forbidden research with him that might allow him to take other people’s magic, possibly because Ikithon also wishes to become a god, much like this Nonagon. Ikithon is allied with the rogue Templars, who are reliant on Residuum in their war against the mages. Residuum could also be used to strengthen or weaken the veil, according to Yussa’s contacts. Ikithon is apparently also connected to the Angel of Irons- Yasha’s old companions. They help him smuggle the Residuum, and likely use it to mess with the Veil. The Angel of Irons wants to bring back the Elder One, and help him ascend so he can rule the world. The Nonagon, or Lucien, claims to be the Elder One, and may or may not have succeeded in breaking through the Veil to the Throne of the Gods but was unable to stay there for whatever reason. Mollymauk is somehow tied into all of this, but doesn’t remember how.  The Nonagon can’t ascend until I am dead or this thing on my hand disappears, because it holds the key to stabilising or destabilising the rifts. The Archdemon with the Nonagon could signal the beginning of a Blight, as proven by the emerging darkspawn at the Storm Coast and sightings in Lotharingen and Crestwood. Am I missing anything?” 

Silence. 

“No, no, I think that covers it,” Fjord said, and sat down on Essek’s abandoned seat to stare at the wall with an empty expression.

“We’re fucked,” Nott sighed as she whipped out her flask to take a long swig.

“That was really impressive.” Yasha was still staring at Beau, a light blush colouring her cheeks. 

“What is our next move, Inquisitor?” Dairon asked, and Beau couldn’t help but feel an odd swirl of pride at the respect in Dairon’s voice. She usually didn’t care much about what people thought of her, but it was different with Dairon. Beau leaned over the War Table, and tapped a marker in Redcliffe. 

“We take down Ikithon first, and the Angel of Irons next.” 

-x-

Beau felt a sick satisfaction at seeing Ikithon sprawled out on the ground, tied up and unconscious. It felt even better that Astrid had her knee on his back as she tightened the knots around his wrists, ensuring he would not use those hands to harm any other mage like he had harmed her. 

Caleb stood close to Eadwulf, the two having a hushed conversation. Behind them, Essek methodically combed through towering bookcases that lined the wall of the converted Chantry building Ikithon had made his lair. He had already fished out one thick, heavily decorated and ancient tome, but didn’t seem satisfied with his find. Caduceus approached Astrid, kneeling down next to her with a questioning hand. She gave a short nod, and his healing magic knitted together the skin of her arm, but left her sleeve hanging in shards. Black lines, although faded compared to the ones on Eadwulf’s muscular forearms, decorated her entire arm, except for where a series of burn marks scarred her all the way up to her cheek. 

Beau looked up from her own looting when footsteps approached. She quickly pocketed the silver amulet she found on one of Ikithon’s lackeys, and stood up to be face to face with Astrid. Caleb and Eadwulf weren’t far behind, their hands clasped together. Beau did not miss the way Essek briefly frowned at the sight, before he returned to the books. 

“We owe you our thanks,” Astrid said, voice monotone and free from any emotion. She inclined her head, before turning to look at Trent. “What will you do with him?” 

Beau sighed, and scratched behind her ear. She had seen the future where Ikithon succeeded. She knew the horrors he inflicted in that future, and the horrors he had already inflicted in the past. She’d seen firsthand how he had ruined Caleb, and Astrid in front of her was living proof of his methods. Still, she was hesitant. Caleb hadn’t let her kill him, requesting instead he be arrested and tried at Skyhold. For his sake, Beau let the Magister live. 

“I don’t know yet,” she honestly admitted, “For now, we’ll take him back to our base. What about you, what will you do?” 

Astrid looked at Eadwulf, who put his arm around her shoulder, still clutching Caleb’s hand. They seemed to have an unspoken conversation for a minute, before he asked Caleb something in a language Beau didn’t speak. Caleb replied, his voice somehow more raspy than in the common tongue. 

“We will travel, for a little bit,” Eadwulf said, “We have heard of a cure for Tranquility out west. But, when we are not on the road and if you will have us, we will join Bren in your Inquisition.” 

“Make sure no other mage receives my fate,” Astrid added, and Beau knew there was something lingering underneath her skin, an anger at the injustice done to her that could not form.

“The Inquisition is a home to all mages,” Beau said, repeating the words that had solidified an alliance months ago. “Welcome, and we will make sure Ikithon won’t harm you or anyone else for good.”