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The grove of trees was silent save the rush of the stream just beyond. Twilight filtered through the leaves, painting the air an eerie blue rather than the succulent green you would expect from the Graves. Not to mention this part of the forest looked much older than what they had trekked through before, and the atmosphere brimmed with something that was almost akin to the hum of red lyrium, though definitely not as sickening.
Cadash wondered if this was what magic felt like. He had been given a taste of it through the Anchor, most of it not very pleasant, but this was a different feeling. It was as if the very air wanted to wrap you in an embrace that soothed and calmed you. The further he walked into the grove, the more he thought back to happier times; firelight dinners with his siblings, Rowan throwing his head back in laughter at a joke Derna had made. Drunken conversations with Varric about Orzammar, shit-talking the Stone and archaic traditions over tankards of ale. The warmth of Cassandra’s hand in his as she leaned down towards him, her lips tasting of hope and promise.
“There is something about this grove,” Dorian said, his wary voice shaking Cadash out of his daydream. “It’s quite unsettling, to be honest. I suggest we backtrack and make our way around it."
He turned around to see his three companions holding back. Cassandra and Varric both looked agitated, their hands closer to their weapons than normal, but Dorian’s expression was something else entirely. It was half afraid, but also curious. The same expression he had had when they were both thrown into the future actually. Though it looked like the fear was getting the upper hand this time.
Cadash shook his head and pulled out his map. They were headed towards the elven tomb in the far north of the Graves, the one that according to Harding’s reports was being occupied by Corypheus’ forces. She had marked out a path through a thick expanse of forest when they had last seen her at camp, and he remembered her warning about strange sightings closer to the tomb, and that they should stay clear away from them. This must be one of them.
He squinted at the map. “This seems to be the only way through. We’re blocked by a cliff and a stream in both other possible directions.”
“Better wading through a stream than this.” Cadash looked at Dorian in surprise. If the mage was suggesting they ford a stream, risking his boots and cloak in the process, there must be something truly bothering him.
“What’s wrong, Dorian?”
“I… I don’t know. There is something here. I can sense its presence, but I can’t tell what it is, let alone if it’s friendly or not.”
“It feels like a spirit.” Cassandra strode to the center of the clearing. “But if it is, it is unlike any spirit I have encountered in the past.”
“Could it be a demon?” Cadash asked. “There aren’t any rifts close by that we haven’t already closed, but maybe one of them wandered off?”
“At any rate, we should be cautious.” Dorian looked to Cadash now. “What do you think? Should we venture forth or find another way?”
“We keep to the path. But be careful.”
Crack.
Suddenly, they heard a great noise from beyond the grove, as if the trunk of a tree had been ripped apart.
“A giant?” Cassandra asked, her hand already gripping the pommel of her sword.
“This isn’t giant territory,” Cadash said warily. “But be careful.”
They advanced cautiously, flinching at every sound. The cracking noise grew louder as they approached the heart of the grove, and by then they had all drawn their weapons. Whatever was causing the noise certainly did not expect to be disturbed, even when they did catch sight of it. Cadash drew to a halt, hands gripping his blades tight even before Dorian’s hand had reached his shoulder.
A bright blue-white light pulsed just ahead of them. It was massive, probably more than seven feet tall, and had a roughly humanoid shape, with long spindly arms and thin tendril-like appendages reaching out of where it head was supposed to be. Piles of wood surrounded it, ripped to shreds and spindly pieces sharp enough to pierce.
“Inquisitor, I really think we should turn around,” Dorian said, his voice uncharacteristically fearful. “This isn’t a regular spirit. It’s…”
Before he could finish, the spirit turned around. It did not have a face; but where its eyes would have been there were two icy orbs that sent a deep chill through Cadash. He reached for his stealth powder, trying to figure out how he could stick his blades into a creature that looked like it could electrocute him at any moment.
Without warning, it pounced directly at Cadash.
Crack.
An elbow in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him as he was pushed out of the way.
Everything shifted into slow motion. Her shield came up in a graceful arc, her free hand ready to swing her sword. The creature flared as bright as a burning star, reaching out towards her with its spindly arms.
The shield and the fiery limb connected.
A blinding flash of light.
Then nothing.
*
Cadash woke up with a start, his hands reaching for his blades so quick he didn’t realize until he had partially drawn them. He could feel the sweat beading down his forehead as he scanned the camp, taking note of the soldiers on patrol, the dying campfire. There was no sign of danger, not even the distant roar of a dragon. The Graves was as calm as it could get.
His mind only began to slow when he found Cassandra by the edge of the camp, speaking quietly to Harding.
Alive.
It was just a dream, he told himself as he wiped his forehead. The Anchor had been playing up since his encounter with Corypheus at Haven, the nightmares growing wilder and more harrowing. In this week alone, he had been woken up twice by visions of his brother’s lifeless eyes, the decaying lips muttering about how he had failed to save his own flesh and blood. He didn’t need them to become worse, not now.
But he couldn’t help but entertain the tightening in his chest when he looked at her. The images playing in his head were too real, too close to his heart. He had already lost one person he cared about, he didn’t know if he could bear losing…
“Edric?”
He smiled at her as she sat beside him, leaning his head on her shoulder just as her arm found its way around his waist.
“You are still awake.”
“Nightmares.” He buried his head in her neck in an attempt to hide his face from her, but he knew she’d noticed the worry in his eyes.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tender. Her fingers were in his hair then, stroking gently until he sighed.
“I’ll be fine.”
She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I wish I could do more to help.”
The image of her shoving him out of the way, a giant looming over them with a boulder in its massive hands flashed into his mind, and he had to scrunch his eyes shut to get rid of the boiling fear in his throat.
“You do enough already, Cassandra.” His fingers found hers, squeezing tightly. “Truly. I don’t think I could have gotten this far without you.”
Her smile was soft. “You flatter me, Edric.”
“No, I’m not.” His free hand traced her cheek, the line of her scar. “You do so much for the Inquisition, for me. I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve protected me in battle, even at the risk of your own guard. You’re incredible.” His voice drops to a whisper at the end, the sudden swell of emotion in his chest making it difficult to speak.
She scoffed, but her lips tugged upwards as well.
“I know you’re perfectly capable of holding your own, but despite it all I can’t bear to see you risk yourself for me as much as you do. What if one day you slip, or I’m not fast enough with a health potion, or…”
As if sensing his meaning, she wrapped him in an embrace both warm and intense. He buried his face in her shoulder, grounding himself in her despite the swirl of thoughts plaguing him.
“I am not going anywhere, Edric, not even if the Maker himself tries to stop me,” she said fiercely, and he couldn’t do anything but believe her.
*
She looked like she was sleeping.
Dorian told him that theoretically, she still was. Not that he knew much about the magic that held her, but based on an educated assumption he could certainly say that she was still alive. And he agreed, remembering the strong pulse under his shaking fingers.
They had brought her back to Watcher’s Reach, or more like Dorian and Varric did; Cadash walked beside the both of them, his face a desolate mask as he held her limp hand in his. He let his friends take charge because he couldn’t leave her side, completely ignoring the din around him once they had returned to the camp.
Dorian had tried to revive her, but it was beyond him. This was a magic that was unbound by the teachings of Tevinter, and the mage feared that it was something older, elven even. It was only by a stroke of luck that he remembered that Solas would be in the Emerald Graves at around this time, and they had sent a scout to summon him. The scout was yet to return, and there was nothing to do now but wait.
Now, he sat on the ground beside her bedroll. They had stripped her of her armor, leaving her in a simple tunic and leggings, and without the silver plating and purple leather he was so used to seeing her in, she looked smaller, so much more vulnerable.
The last few months had been more than he could have ever imagined. Thrown into the fray with Tevinter magisters and Orelsian nobles, not knowing which was more likely to slit his throat at night, every waking moment a fight for survival as his entire world was cast into chaos. And despite all of that, he would not have traded it for the world.
Because it meant that he had met her.
Brushing the hair from her forehead, he pressed a kiss to her temple. She did not stir; of course she wouldn’t, the enchantment was too strong for that. But he still held on to the hope that she could feel his lips on her skin, his hand in hers, hear the soft sigh that he allowed himself as he fought back the tears.
He couldn’t bear the growing silence in his chest, the void that used to be filled with her smile, her embrace. This was it, he couldn’t help but think, this is the end. The result of the nightmares and his darkest fears come true. She was a fierce warrior, always the first to attack and the last to fall, but even the stoutest of fighters would eventually succumb. There had only been one time in the past where he’d seen her fall, and he had ripped open a Fade rift in all his fury and grief. The same emotions swirled in his chest now, but muted, held down by the force of his will. It would not do that he destroyed Fairbanks’ haven in a fit of recklessness.
He smoothed the hair across her forehead once more, unable to keep from touching her.
“Ir abelas, lethallin.” Solas rested a gentle hand on Cadash’s shoulder. “I came as soon as I was able.”
Cadash could only nod as he watched her, his heart tangling in knots of fear and despair. Solas squeezed his shoulder before kneeling beside him, letting his pack drop to the floor.
“May I?”
Cadash shifted so that the apostate could sit on the bed. Once comfortable, Solas flexed his fingers and muttered something in elven before closing his eyes. The tips of his fingers began to glow green, a shade all too familiar to Cadash. Rift magic was the closest branch of the craft to the power of the mark, but he could barely scrape the surface of how to utilize it. But the mage now pressing his glowing fingers to Cassandra’s temples was a master of the arcane, and he trusted him as such. If anybody was to know how to break the enchantment, it would be him.
After a heavy minute, Solas sighed and opened his eyes, the glow in his hands fading.
“I know the cause of this.”
“What? What is it?” His voice cracked in his urgency, but he didn’t care.
“This is the work of a spirit of Peace.”
His brows creased in confusion. “Tell me everything.”
Solas sighed and took a deep breath.
“Those who planted the trees in the Emerald Graves hoped they would remain undisturbed, especially by those not of their kind. The mages among them summoned spirits of Peace to stand guard over their fallen. In the years that passed, very few remain, especially since the Veil has been breached and the pull of the Fade grew strong. You must have accidentally disturbed one of the remaining ones.”
“Not many spirits of Peace have ever been successfully dealt with, as they are especially susceptible to corruption. I have read of many mages that have been possessed by demons of Complacency, and they are the most insidious of any you would meet.”
“Untainted spirits of Peace, on the other hand are exceptionally powerful, as they are loyal. They have been known to instil a sense of calm even in the most frazzled of minds. It can sense your pain, your suffering and it will do whatever it takes to help you feel at peace. At the very extreme, you fall into a blissful slumber, content to contemplate every happy memory you have ever experienced for all eternity. I believe this is what has happened to Cassandra.”
Cadash’s mind reeled with the information. “It thinks it is trying to help?”
“There is a way to reverse this. We have to return to the grove and speak to the Spirit you disturbed. If we manage to appease it, it may consider releasing Cassandra.”
“It may consider.” Cadash turned to him. “What if it doesn’t?”
Solas looked at him, his eyes impassive. “We have to hope it does.”
*
They prepared for travel within the hour. Cadash barely registered the movements of his hands as he pulled on his armor, strapped on the plate and mail because his eyes were forever drawn to the sleeping figure just beyond him. Now that they had a plan, the fear had regressed into a dull ache, ever present but squashed by what they needed to do.
There was another thing - Cole had appeared suddenly outside his tent, just as he was preparing to depart for the grove. His pale eyes looked at him with a sorrow that matched the heaviness in his chest.
“Fear festering, flourishing inside of me. What if she never wakes up? What if she… I can’t breathe, she can’t be…” He trailed off in a whisper, his hand gripping Cadash’s forearm almost painfully. “I heard your pain and I came. I want to help.”
“Cole.” Solas had joined them, nodding at the newcomer with relief. “I had hoped you would come. Perhaps a spirit speaking to a spirit would do better than an apostate.”
Cadash could only nod as he followed Solas out of the camp. On the way out, Varric stopped him, squeezing his shoulder as he promised to keep watch over Cassandra. His throat was tight as he whispered his thanks, but he turned swiftly
The soft patter of rain was muted by the canopy, the occasional stray droplet slipping past the leaves and into his hair. He had left his map in camp, but Cole was leading the way with confidence. “I can hear him,” he said to nobody in particular. “He is waiting for us, he knows we come for him.”
He could hear Solas’ quiet footsteps ahead of him as he focused on his feet. The elf kept with Cole’s pace, and at some points Cadash was practically running after them, cursing his short strides and the mud that kept catching his boots in sticky puddles.
Soon enough they were in the grove. The same feeling of contentment washed over Cadash despite himself, and he pushed it away with the sheer force of will.
“We’re here,” Cole said with a sigh, almost gentle.
“I know. I can sense the spirit. Let me draw it out.”
“You don’t need to. He’s already on his way.”
They stood there in silence; Cole bouncing on the balls of his feet, Solas with his eyes closed and Cadash shifting his weight from one foot to the other in agitation, his fingers clenched tight at his sides.
Before long, it appeared.
“Andaran atish’an, Elgar,” Solas said, drawing out the words in a manner that made the spirit curl towards them, as if his words themselves were a form of magic. Cadash could feel the same crackling energy from when he was here before, and it grew stronger the closer the spirit got to them. It set him on edge. Solas on the other hand was relaxed, and raised a glowing hand towards the spirit.
What is it you wish of me?
The spirit did not speak; rather the very air around them hummed with its words. Cadash could feel each syllable in his chest, heavy and grating.
“I seek aid for a friend. She stumbled upon your grove with a company not too long ago. Unaware of your presence here, she did not understand your anger and attacked. You placed her under a sleep-spell, and we have no way of waking her.”
The spirit pulsed brighter. Ah yes, I remember the human. Her soul sang of incredible pain; I could feel it it when she raised her weapon toward me. I gave her respite from all her suffering, her sorrow. Asleep, she is now, her heart content with memories of happier times.
“You have to release her!” Cadash pushed Solas aside so that he was standing face to face with the spirit. “We didn’t mean to disturb your slumber; we were just looking for a way out of the forest.”
He could feel the spirit’s gaze on him, the icy blue orbs chilling the very depths of him. Its energy swirled closer, the tendrils almost inches from his skin as the air around him pulsed with its words.
A dwarf? In the Emerald Graves?
“Please, you have to let Cassandra wake up.” He could feel the tears on his cheeks now. She means too much to me for it to end like this. I love her, I love her so much it aches, it tears at my very soul to even think that she might be…
You… you are the dwarf in her memories. The spirit seemed to hesitate then, cocking its head to one side like a mabari pup as it looked at Cadash. You evoked many emotions in her; dedication, strength, affection. I have not felt them so strong since…
The spirit seemed to shift and condense, the light solidifying until it became more humanoid, though the horn-like structures remained. Its voice grew warmer, and Cadash leaned in towards it despite himself.
I tried to help her. I once knew a woman as strong as she, but who also carried as much pain. She is gone now, her ashes scattered to the world, but I remain with her memory. I felt your lady’s pain and matched it with that of hers, and did the one thing I thought would help. I just wanted to help.
“Shaking, shivering, screaming in pain. You reach for her and find her cold, her blood running through your fingers thick and ugly. Tashak, why did it come to this? After all we’d been through, why now?”
Cole was walking towards the spirit, who seemed to shrink even more now. Cadash could almost make out a face, kind and yet so full of sorrow, through the brightness of the electricity.
“You’re not a spirit.” Cadash looked back at the spirit, the qunari, he realized with a jolt, that was bathed in light.
I’m not. I don’t know how I became like this, but I know I am more than what I used to be. I can help people now when I could not help the ones closest to me.
Solas, who was uncharacteristically silent, suddenly piped up, “But how… I sense the Fade in you, but you are more than a spirit, just like Cole. I don’t understand. If you are not a spirit of Peace, what are you?”
I was a mage once before. Perhaps that is the start of the explanation.
It was easier to look it in the eye now; the piercing blue had grown softer, more gentle, and Cadash suddenly felt a pang of sadness for it. Those eyes had seen terrible things, and yet all it wanted was to help.
“Please, spirit, you have to lift the enchantment from Cassandra,” he said, his voice steady despite himself. “If you can look inside my head, like Cole can, you’ll understand why.” Please, he thought, his mind begging, imploring.
After a long pause, the spirit shook its head and let out a sigh.
I shall release her.
Cadash sank to his knees, a shaky sob escaping him.
“Ma serannas,” Solas said to the spirit. “You have done us a great kindness.”
It nodded at Solas, but it still looked to Cadash, those blue orbs burning into his soul.
It is I who should be thanking you, dwarf. It knelt down so that it was facing him, and a hand rose to grip his shoulder. A warmth spread through him, as if he was being touched by sunlight. You made me remember who I was before this, and why I continue with what I do. Your dedication, your love, I felt it inside of me as if I were alive again.
It released him, but the warmth remained.
Go to her. She will awaken when you are close.
He didn’t need to be told twice. Launching himself in a mad sprint, he ran towards Watchers Reach, barely conscious of Solas and Cole trailing behind him. It was as if the spirit had imbued him with a spell of haste, because he was back at Watcher’s Reach in no time at all.
The refugees and soldiers parted as he dashed to the tent Cassandra was in, only to be greeted by the most beautiful sight.
Cassandra, awake, alive, stepping out of the tent with a confused expression on her face.
“Edric, I just had the strangest dream.”
He laughed through his tears, a choking broken sound as he crashed into her, holding her tightly in his arms as if she would slip away otherwise.
Back in the grove, Karavaad smiled.