Chapter Text
His head was pounding. It felt as if his brain were being smashed against his very temples from within, held in a vice grip of pain that had his whole body seizing up. His claws dug into the soil beneath him- strange herbal scents filling his nostrils when his face pressed into the ground. It smelled… wrong. Not the usual scent of plant growth around the camp- nor the types of herbs Halsin would bring in. As his body convulsed and twisted he focused his energy on tearing up the ground in his hands, even biting into the soil in a moment of bitter impulses- in ideal circumstances he would have a branch to chew on, bark even, a cloth offered from his partner… this would have to do instead. It was impossible to track the blur of time as his fit dragged on- leaving an uncomfortable itch crawling beneath his skin into his very muscles that his body rebelled against with an intense ferocity. Eventually, the pain faded, ebbing away leaving just the throbbing dull aches that seemed to echo throughout his entire frame. Spitting the dirt from his mouth he pushed himself up, blinking rapidly as he tried to take in his surroundings. It was… barren. No tents, no bed rolls, no companions only the vacant greenery stretched on around him. An empty woodland surrounded where he sat. Well… empty as far as he could see at the moment. The gods only knew what more awaited beyond his immediate sight.
Where was he? Had the urges taken him again? There was usually a warning… Sceleritas instructing him in what to do or his father tugging hard at the strings of his mind to make it unravel. The last time it took over Astarion had tied him up for the duration of the entire night. Besides all that, there was no blood. No nothing… just earth, dirt, foliage; some of which still clung to his tongue, making a muddy mess of the inside of his mouth. He swore he could still feel the lingering grits of dirt caught in his teeth, even after he had attempted to spit all of it out till his mouth ran dry like cotton.
Slowly rising to his feet he staggered for a moment, knees briefly buckling as the world spun around him, his tail thrashing in an attempt to be a counterweight. The sky was the first thing he noticed- for it wasn’t the typical blue, instead it was warped by tears of green, sickly and glowing, some thick suffocating magic tainting the very air he breathed. That… that was no good. Could it be another Absolute plot?
Drawing in deep breaths he brushed some stubborn roots from his horns before taking off in a random direction. Speeding through the land he searched- looking for any sign of the camp, of his party, his friends. But there was nothing. At least not at first. For the first many miles it was nothing save for a repeat of the same scenery of any wooded place, nothing standing out to him in any meaningful capacity.
It took time but he did find some tents- all set up around a warm flickering fire. This meant life. This meant people. “Hello?” He called, voice hoarse and ragged despite his inner apprehensions, “Is anyone-“
Fabric moving aside a figure stood out from one of the closer tents, clad in an unfamiliar armor, symbol of an eye emblazoned into the worn down metal of it. It was an elven woman, one who looked more than a little surprised by his appearance, gasping- nearly shrieking, shouting- calling for others, for help. It struck him in a panic, hands shooting up “Wait- I am not attacking! I’m no threat to you! I am simply searching for my-“
His voice died in his throat, a group rushing up towards them as more soldiers emerged from their tenting, but one group approaching caught his attention more than the others- they wore more elaborate armor, the man heading them being an elf with intricate tattoos stretching across his face, hand glowing green like a gashing wound- another elf, bald and barren faced was quickly behind, staff clutched close, a large gray tiefling and a mustached human seeming to also be with them, flanking behind hastily.
“What the hell is this guy?” The large tiefling asked bluntly, staring at him with a widened eye.
Confusion creased his face, “What do you mean?” That tone caused pinpricks to arise at the back of his spine. It was an uneasy thing, churning a warning deep in his belly while his mind sought out a plan: escape, fight, appease, his usual options to mull over depending on the threat.
“Well you sure as hell ain’t normal. Is this some freaky demon shit?” The other tiefling asked back with a grunt, visibly perplexed.
Immediately his mood soured, “If it weren’t bad enough for others to so frequently compare us to devils- one of our own-“
“Woah woah woah- you and I are nothin’ alike. Horns? Maybe. But that’s where the similarities end.” Waving his hand dismissively the others soon chimed in.
“Yet he assumes you are one of his own… how peculiar.” It was the bald elf, the man cradling his own chin as he observed him like some specimen beneath a looking glass. “He clearly is not from here… and he appears just as confused as we are by his presence.”
Tamlen couldn’t help scoffing, “Of course I am confused. I awoke in the dirt and people are shrieking at just the sight of me-“ not that he was unfamiliar with such a thing… after Alfira, after the slow trickling of memories from his past… he knew that all too well. He was a bloody weapon…They didn’t need to know that though.
“Probably some demon shit like I said. Maybe a rift spat him out-“ the gray and bulky tiefling continued to accuse, narrowing his gaze at the smaller man.
“He holds no residual effects of the Fade” his companion pointed out, “If he were a demon it would cling to the very essence of his being. And, if you could not already tell, he would be acting true to his own nature. Yet, he is not.”
Face pinching tight Tamlen glanced between the lot of them, analyzing, studying in his own manner, “Fade?”
Interest piqued the other man’s eyes, “You are unfamiliar with it?”
“Outside of uses talking about faded color, fading things… yes. You’re talking as if it is a plane. A thing.”
“It is. In a manner of speaking, anyway.”
Tamlen released a shaky exhale from his lungs, tail lashing behind himself- something their eyes quickly drew to he noticed. On instinct it slowed, drawing in closer to himself, “…Why do you all act as if you’ve never seen a tiefling before?”
Their expressions showed no lack of shock in response to this inquiry. Another thing that made his hair stand on end.
“Teeth-ling?” The man at their head started, face nothing but puzzled as the odd green magic continued to flicker and spit from his palm. Did he do this then? Did he tear open the sky?
Frustration growing he shook his head, “Tiefling- T-I-E-F-L-I-N-G. Ancestry of devils technically though we aren’t them. We are our own people. I- we usually are the only ones with horns outside of devils- cambions- the sort- that’s why I assumed he-“ his voice ebbed as he weightlessly gestured towards the tall brute of the group who simply snorted.
“No. I’m a Qunari.”
Now it was his turn to be puzzled, “A what?”
“Qunari. Q-U-N-A-R-I. Some think we’re descended from dragons. Cause of the big horns.” He gestured up towards the large set upon his head, snorting aloud.
“Usually draconic ancestry shows with scaling-“ he mused, shaking his head, “Though it can vary-“
“Scaling? You mean like scales? Dragon scales?” The ‘qunari’ man echoed, voice indicating a disbelief.
In response he simply brushed his hair aside to further reveal his face, the shining scales embedded into his skin.
The group was gawking at him, jaws agape- mostly, the barren elf merely observed, an endless pool of curiosity gathering in his eyes. There was something silently spoken in his face, something almost understanding- whereas the others simply floundered before him, ready to laugh him off. The sole human of the group cleared his throat, “Well- that’s certainly quite the adornment. I’ve seen various surface level piercings and bodily additions in Tevinter, none quite like that or the tail however. Must have taken some measure of magic for both.” He grimaced, “And pain. Not that most Tevinters truly care about such a thing, mind you. Bloody rituals and all.” His laugh was barely an exhale, something bitter in the curl of his mouth.
“What? No- Not measure- I was-“ his voice paused, words seeming to catch thick in his throat for a moment as he faltered, “I was born- with them. All tieflings are.”
“Ah, yes, teethlings-“
“Tieflings” he corrected the fancy - wizard(?) sternly.
“Tieflings-“ the mustached man amended before continuing, “A species none of us from our various places in the broadly different countries spanning across all of Thedas have heard of. Not in books, stories, in person, travel- nothing. Unless I’m mistaken. Am I? Mistaken?” He questioned, raising a brow at the elves and their Qunari as they called him.
“Nope. Never seen anything like him. And I’ve been to a lot of places.” One grunted roughly.
“I’ve only really been with my clan but even in all we’ve gathered… nothing of the sort.” Their seeming leader added, gaze raking up and down Tamlen’s form, full of intrigue.
Yet the other elf, curious as he was, gently cut in, “While I have never seen anything like him in or out of the Fade during my travels-“
The human laughed, “Now that you mention the Fade again, Solas, he does look remarkably similar to a desire demon, doesn’t he? The horns, the tail? The little protrusions across his skin?” he gestured with his bejeweled fingers as if framing their peculiar stranger with them.
His elven companion scowled at that, “Mere appearances do nothing to tie him to any sort of demon. As I said before, Dorian-“ a sharp tone carried into his voice, more assertive, more authoritative than before.
Scoffing, Dorian waved him off, “What else have we to go off of? The ravings of a potential mad man? Claiming he is one of a broad species none of us in our collective experiences have heard nor seen a single thing about? Covered head to toe in dirt rambling about worse than some lyrium addled Templar?”
This seemed to irritate his friend further, the bald elf slamming his staff downward into the earth. “Our knowledge, no matter how expansive, is still limited. Simply because none have heard of his particular-“ pausing he glanced to Tamlen who was standing more stiffly now, tail wrapped around his middle, arms tucked against his sides, potentially grasping for something “-heritage- does not mean he is not being truthful about what he is. All we know is what he tells us, and that regardless of assumptions being made he has no ties to the Fade. If he did I would feel it. Even the Inquisitor would, perhaps even yourself, Dorian, if you cared to attempt to feel for it.”
Dorian for his part rolled his eyes, head shaking, “So then what, Solas? What exactly are we meant to do with him, hmmm?”
“We could simply ask the man.”
To his relief they all seemed to listen to the assertive elf, stares drawing in towards him once more.
Swallowing thickly he was careful to mull over his words before he spoke, “Thank you- for listening to him. I-… was worried you wouldn’t…” fidgeting from foot to foot he continued, “He does have hundreds of years on you after all, better to take some heed of his words. Age is wisdom and all that.” It was a joke, or an attempt at one far weaker than those of his usual repertoire, but clearly it didn’t land all that well given the baffled faces they gave- and the purely shocked one of the elf he had indicated too.
“Ha!” The human barked a laugh, “Did you hear that, Solas? Centuries on us? Why didn’t you tell us you were so aged? Maybe we would’ve listened to your prattling on and on sooner!”
Solas for his part never tore his gaze away from Tamlen, something sharper to his eyes, knuckles flashing white around the staff before his posture loosened. “If you are done…” his voice was quieter now, “We… never did get your name. You told us what you were- or rather what you believe you are. Yet we never did get a proper introduction. I am Solas.”
“Dorian of House Pavus, at your service.” the human bowed all dramatically, grinning up at him.
“The Iron Bull. But you can just call me Bull.” The one he thought was a tiefling introduced himself, almost sheepish now in his mannerisms given all the banter of the group around him.
Now their leader spoke, “Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan.”
They all expectantly gazed at him, “I… I’m Tamlen.” At least this was going better than introducing himself to his friends as- The Dark Urge, or Durge.
“Well, Tamlen, certainly the curious fellow you are, welcome to the Inquisition. Its camp at least..” It was the human man again, offering a charming smile to him, “If it weren’t already obvious given we have the Inquisitor with us.” He added with a lighthearted roll of his eyes.
Confusion creased his face as he absorbed the words spoken, the names given, “Inquisitor… but you…” anxiously swiping a tongue over his drying lips he swallowed again. “No offense, you.. you use magic…? Inquisitors tend to- dispel magic- they don’t typically-“
Their faces mirrored his confusion at that. “Inquisitors?” Solas asked him, brow arching up.
“…nevermind.” Clearing his throat Tamlen wrung his hands together, grateful for the bag that weighed heavily against his back. Hopefully everything he had before was still in there and not lost in whatever had led to him waking in the dirt. “…where are we? What region? How close are we to the city?”
Though they all exchanged bewildered and questioning looks their inquisitor stepped closer, “You’re in the Hinterlands- Ferelden.” He told the other man, voice softer, curious and yet… worried.
Hinterlands… Ferelden… where the hells did he end up? His face clearly showed his distress for soon the Inquisitor spoke again.
“We should settle here. Rest for the night. In the morning we can reconvene on the matter. Perhaps help you get home. If the worst comes we could take you to Skyhold with us, get more minds together. All sorts of experts there, plenty of literature too.” He explained, voice calm, mellow, his demeanor open as he stood with his hands slightly held out to either side. “We can set up an additional tent for you. We have the resources after all.”
He didn’t know what to say. This could be dangerous. But so could leaving alone, in a place he didn’t know, without anyone he could trust. This was all he had to go on. It was his best lead. Resigned he let his eyes briefly fall shut, “Alright. I-… I would like that. Thank you…”
The inquisitor nodded before the others, including the armored folk he had initially seen, parted ways from him, dispersing to prepare, to talk, likely about him if their looks had anything to indicate about the matter. Now it was just the two of them- and the odd bald elf. Both regarded him as curiously as they had before.
When Mahanon spoke his voice was even quieter, gaze filled to the brim with sympathy, “Are you an apostate?”
Once again his head spun at the question, “Apostate?”
Thankfully the more barren of the two elves stepped closer, head tilted as he observed the tiefling, “One who practices magic outside of the circles.”
Befuddled, he took a moment to think before replying, “Must… you be within a religious circle to practice magic here?” Was all he could think of to ask.
They briefly locked eyes before looking back at him, “The circles are all founded under the Maker and Andraste, the human gods. Any outside of these circles are called apostates, and often are forcibly brought into circles, or they are kept safe as can be managed within Dalish clans, or other similar communities. The apostates outside of those merely try to hide from the circles in whatever ways they can. It’s… led to some issues. But now we have the Inquisition, headed by myself, an apostate from a Dalish clan-“
“And joined by many other apostates, like myself.” Solas added with a small smile. “Some within the Inquisition may be unnerved by mages, but the vast majority will not allow anything to happen under their protection.”
Tamlen’s face clouded with confusion, “So… you bind sorcerers…”
Another look was exchanged that he did not miss. Solas cleared his throat before continuing “Some do, out of fear for what could happen if magic were permitted outside of close watch of those who can dispel it or look out for… possessions. It is not something I personally agree with.”
“Nor do I” Mahanon chimed in hastily.
Calm, collected, clasping his hands together, the elf watched him, “Tell me, Tamlen, if you are comfortable… in what ways are you familiar with magic? You seem confused by our descriptions, which leads to my curiosity. Is it different where you are from?”
Gazing between them he offered a small nod, “Extremely. Magic users certainly aren’t locked away for being able to use it. I mean- so many do use it after all: wizards, warlocks, clerics, paladins, druids, sorcerers- there are more but those are the ones I immediately think of. But usually sorcerers and druids are the only ones born with magic in their blood. Some sorcerers come across places with raw magic and it— it transfers so to speak. Or they are cursed or- something. It… has many different sources. Warlocks make pacts with other beings for their magic, while Paladins and clerics draw off of whatever god or goddess they are devoted to serving. Wizards study, learn their magic, using verbal and physical components both.”
He could see their eyes light with intrigue to every word that parted his lips. They were following closely, curiously, hungrily almost to the bits of story from his world he fed them.
“So your world is not split from the source of its magic?” Solas inquired, all but leaning closer though he visibly held himself back.
“The Weave, is what it is called. It’s essentially everywhere- for the most part. Touches most places in the world. The goddess of magic, Mystra, is the one who controls it. And we all draw our magic from and through it. My-… my friend is more educated on it. I may have gotten a few things wrong.“ The mere thought of Gale left a cold unsettled feeling in his stomach- in his heart. He hoped he was okay… that they all were.
“I see.” The man hummed, “How… interesting.” Then with a glance to the inquisitor he straightened “Thank you for your candor. I can only imagine how stressful this situation must be, being in a place so unfamiliar, so different, from your own. Especially with the separation of magic from everything else in our world.” Something was calculating in those blue eyes of his but soon he simply shook his head with a fleeting smile, “…But I should leave you to your rest. I have questioned you more than enough on the matter for a night. I will see you in the morning.”
Mahanon gave his companion a nod as the man strode away, leaving the inquisitor to their odd new companion, “Is there anything we can get you?” Was his first question as he beckoned Tamlen to follow him to where some of the scouts seemed to be posting a tent to the ground. “We have food, water, healing potions, herbs-“
For a moment he wavered, hand moving toward his bag, “I… should be alright, Inquisitor. If anything comes to mind though, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Another smile graced the inquisitor’s lips and he gave a small bow of his own, “Sleep well, my friend. I’ll be in the tent across should you need me.”
And with that he was finally properly alone. Well, save for the few guards of the camp and those that were setting his tent up for him. With only a moment for a breath and a pause he parted the flap and stepped inside. It was simple enough, well concealed, a bed roll laid out in the center. It would do, though, it wasn’t what he was used to. This tent had none of the effects that his camp’s tents did. He was used to his own tent, as well as… another’s. This would be the first night spent wholly alone in quite some time. For even on the nights when he slept away from his partners even just Scratch or the owlbear cub would hunker down beside him, providing an assuring warmth and presence. He felt all the colder for their absences. Who knows what morning would hold?