Chapter Text
I sought solitude because I never received kindness from a human being without paying the full price.
Khalil Gibran.
The icy wind from the Frostback Mountains whistled through the ruins of what remained of the Conclave. The explosion of the Temple of Sacred Ashes had shaken the entire valley, and the Conclave was now nothing more than an open tomb for all those who had hoped to find relative peace in a conflict that had lasted for many years. The mages and templars present were all dead, as was the Divine Justinia.
The Conclave had been a bitter failure.
A huge greenish breach now hung over the sky, a witness to the catastrophe that had destroyed everything.
The explosion that had torn the sky apart had caused a shockwave that had spread all the way to Haven. Varric, who was in the middle of a negotiation, was thrown against a crate, his shoulder hitting the crate filled with apples.
"By Paragon's beard!’ swore Varric as he struggled to his feet, dusting off his fine leather jerkin. "What the...?"
He looked up at the sky and gasped when he noticed the greenish breach that had opened. Even from that distance, Varric could sense its devastating power, a threat hanging over the world. Without a second's hesitation, he turned on his heel, leaving the merchant in shock, and rushed towards the Chantry, his heart pounding, to warn Cassandra and Leliana.
To his great relief, they were already outside on the Chantry's forecourt, giving brief orders and leading a group of scouts when he arrived, completely out of breath.
"Varric!" Cassandra called out, her authoritative voice charged with tension. "Are you all right?"
"I suppose so." replied the dwarf, looking dishevelled as he caught his breath. "But the same can't be said for the sky."
Leliana approached, her face contorted with pain. "I've organised groups of scouts. Varric, your knowledge of the terrain and... your keen eyes could be invaluable. You'll go with the first group."
Varric didn't argue with the Nightingale's orders. There was no room for his sarcasm and flowery stories. He simply nodded, his gaze lost in the light of the huge breach that now adorned the sky.
A few hours later, Varric advanced with a group of scouts, morale at rock bottom. The journey was as silent as a doomed tomb. All that remained were half-charred bodies in prayer positions. Only one truth was clear to the scouts and Varric: no one had survived.
It was a complete disaster.
Only the greenish breach remained.
Then suddenly, a small crack opened in the middle of the ruins, spitting out a small body barely a few winters old, before disappearing like a grain of sand.
The guards formed a threatening circle around the small, lifeless body, their swords pointed at it. Varric slipped between them, his heart pounding.
A survivor? Here?
It was an unconscious child. A small boy with brown hair and dressed in a simple tunic, he was barely breathable.
But what shocked Varric the most was the palm of his small left hand, where a greenish mark similar to the Breach pulsed faintly.
"By the Maker!" whispered the captain, his eyes wide with horror. "Look at his hand! It's the same."
A younger scout approached, his hand trembling on his sword. "What do we do, Captain?"
"Chain him up!"
The absurd and monstrous suggestion hung in the air. He couldn't be serious. Chain up a kid. Varric stepped in front of the child, his stocky body becoming an unwitting bulwark.
"You can't be serious!" he tried to reason with the captain. "Look at him! He's just a kid, no taller than three apples."
"That mark is no accident, dwarf!" retorted the captain suspiciously. "It's identical to the Breach! He's connected to that disaster! He may even have caused it!"
"Because of what ? His teddy bear?" Varric shook his head at the grotesque absurdity. "Chain him up if you must, but do it gently, for pity's sake."
Despite his protests, the scouts placed heavy iron handcuffs on the child's fragile wrists. A feeling of profound injustice gripped Varric; the world was definitely a rotten place, ready to crush the weakest at the slightest pretext.
The arrival at Haven was a shock to the hamlet, which was teeming with feverish and disorganised activity. The wounded were piling up in makeshift shelters, exhausted soldiers were trying to maintain some semblance of order, and priestesses were chanting desperate prayers to the Maker.
The scouts and their unusual prisoner immediately attracted attention. The Captain ignored the stares and whispers and headed for the tent of the Divine Left Hand.
Leliana looked up from her reports as they arrived. Her gaze swept across the scene and settled directly on the child, so small, so vulnerable, being treated like a common criminal.
"What is this?" she demanded, her voice as sharp as her daggers.
The captain bowed slightly, visibly uncomfortable. "Lady Leliana, this child... was found near the epicentre of the Conclave ruins." He pointed to the boy's left hand. "He bears a mark similar to the Breach. We thought he might be involved."
Varric sighed slightly. Leliana wasn't stupid enough to believe that a child was responsible.
"You thought a child was responsible for all this?" Leliana interrupted, her blue eyes flashing. "Release him immediately! And take him to a Chantry room to be cared for."
"But Lady Leliana..."
"That's an order!" she growled, her coldness sending a chill down the captain's spine. "And notify Cassandra, tell her to meet me in the war room."
The scouts reluctantly obeyed, clumsily removing the iron cuffs from the child's wrist before carrying transported to a room in the Chantry.
Leliana paced the war room. Her boots hammered the stone floor. As the Divine's Left Hand, Master Spy, and former bard, she had learned to show no emotion.
Yet it was the injustice of the situation that troubled her most. A child of only a few winters, torn from his miserable life and thrown into a war he would never understand.
Leliana leaned over the reports she had gathered once more, deeply upset.
A child who had asked for nothing.
Cassandra burst in like a storm, the events of the last few days, the death of the Divine, and the Breach weighing heavily on her shoulders, just like her counterpart.
"You wanted to see me urgently, Leliana?" She asked in an authoritative and tired tone.
"Yes." Leliana, equally tired, handed her the report.
Cassandra took the report. "A six-year-old orphan... Alduin..." She replied, her disbelief tinged with a slight growl. "Are you sure, Leliana?"
Leliana nodded, crossing her arms. "More than sure. According to my reports, he escaped from the orphanage where he lived, abandoned at birth, no known parents, and described as a very shy and reserved child." Leliana placed her hands on the war table, deep in thought. "He must have hidden in the trolley of a merchant leaving for the Conclave. I can't think of any other explanation."
Cassandra put down the report as if it were burning, running a gloved hand over her face, trying to digest the information. "So he had no reason to be there..." Cassandra murmured.
"No, it's just an unfortunate turn of events."
Cassandra sighed, a heavy, deep sound, a tragic combination of circumstances. She placed both gloved hands on the war table, leaning on them, scanning the reports again as if the words would change. Alduin. Orphaned. Six years old. He was only a six-year-old child. Small, vulnerable, and defenceless. The mere fact that he had survived was a miracle.
"Where is the child?" She finally asked, regaining her composure.
"I had him transferred to a room." Leliana replied.
"Good."
A guard rushed into the war room unannounced, completely out of breath. "Lady Pentaghast, Lady Leliana, there is a stranger who wishes to examine the child."
Cassandra and Leliana both left the war room to see a tall, thin elf with fine features and a bald head, dressed in a simple traveller's cloak and carrying an ash staff on his back. He was waiting in front of the Chantry doors.
Cassandra observed the stranger, a mage and probably an apostate. "May we know your name?"
"My name is Solas." He said in a calm, measured voice.
"And what exactly are you? A hedge mage?" replied the Seeker in an almost icy tone.
"I am a solitary mage, and I sensed a disturbance in the Fade." He held out his staff as a sign of good faith. "I know mistrust is rife, Seeker, but take this as a token of my good faith. I have heard of a child who survived, and I only wish to stabilise his mark."
Leliana quickly weighed up the pros and cons. Her spy networks had discovered nothing specific about this Solas. At this point, they had no choice. "Let him pass."
Cassandra looked at Leliana. She had complete faith in Leliana's judgement, abilities and resources, but trusting an apostate was another matter entirely. "Leliana you're not serious ?"
"We need all the help we can get, Cassandra." replied Leliana, without taking her eyes off Solas. "And... he handed you his staff without hesitation?"
Cassandra clenched her fists, then released the tension with a disgusted sigh. For the child's sake. "So be it. But I'm going with him."
Solas was led to the room where the child lay motionless on a bed. The mark on his left hand pulsed faintly. Solas knelt down and gently took the child's hand in his, examining the mark more closely.
What am I doing?
Solas used his healing magic to stabilise the mark, soothing it, a soft, harmless glow appearing. The mark reacted and eventually calmed down.
He now turned to the door where Cassandra was watching him, her face tense and her hand on the hilt of her sword.
"The mark is stabilised,’ he announced simply. ‘It is undeniably linked to the Breach and the rifts. Probably a key. It seems capable of interacting with the tears, perhaps even... closing them."
Cassandra simply frowned. "Close them? You mean this mark... this child could close the Breach?"
"It's a possibility." Solas admitted cautiously.
Leliana, who had just entered silently, studied Solas's face, and a silent exchange passed between Cassandra and her, an exchange that testified to their deep mutual respect, despite their differences in method. One thing was certain at that moment: this child was their only hope.
"Solas, your knowledge of the Fade and its rifts could be invaluable. Varric is in the valley fighting off demons with a few scouts. Go help them and see if this connection between the mark and the rifts is as obvious on the ground."
Solas bowed slightly. "As you wish, Lady Leliana."
Solas took one last look at the child before leaving.
Cassandra paced the corridors of the Chantry like a rabid bear, her heavy footsteps filled with energy she couldn't channel. Her anger was quick to flare like a burning torch, her impulsiveness sometimes consumed her from within, and her unshakeable faith in the Maker had earned her many enemies. She acted, struck with her sword, patience was not her strongest quality.
Yet for two days, a strange ritual had taken hold of her. She would return from the battlefield and head to the room where the child lay. She never stayed long, stopping near the bed and watching.
The child had not moved, still lying under the covers, breathing lightly, the mark on his hand pulsing slightly, a silent beacon in this world.
Each time, Cassandra felt frustration rising within her, anger at her powerlessness. She clenched her fists to contain her anger. She hated feeling powerless, but every time her anger threatened to explode, her gaze fell on the child's face. And her anger collided with a wall of innocence and painful contradictions.
How could she blame a child?
How could she blame a child who had asked for nothing?
The very idea challenged the values she believed in and had always respected: protecting the innocent and defending the weak.
That's what Justinia would have wanted.
Cassandra glanced one last time at the child before leaving.
Cole, the spirit of compassion who had taken the form of a young man with a strange hat on his head, appeared at the little boy's bedside. No one could see him unless they really wanted to, and at that moment, he didn't want to.
He could feel the sadness enveloping the little boy's heart. A sadness as deep as an old stone at the bottom of a well, the sadness of a child who had never known love.
A trolley. Birds singing. Silence afterwards.
Cole closed his eyes. "A child walking, listening to the birds singing in the trees, alone in the dark, hearing only silence." Replied Cole, his voice a melancholy whisper, listening to the contours of Alduin's unspoken feelings. "You just wanted a family... a family that loved you."
Innocence stolen from this world.
Cole turned his head towards the door where Cassandra had been standing a moment earlier. "The Seeker." He murmured, a sad, gentle smile floating on his lips. "She growls, she strikes... but her heart seeks the truth, and the truth, little fox, is your light. She doesn't know it yet... but she will protect you, her anger will be your shield."
Cole leaned a little closer to Alduin's face, as if to confide a secret.
"I'll watch over you, little fox, I promise." He whispered like a promise.