Chapter Text
Maeve opened the big book, ready for the musty scent this time. It always reeked of mold, dust, and the strangest hint of vanilla. She could feel herself fall away from Mundus as Hermaeus Mora’s powers took over. A flash of ... green? That’s odd, she thought.
She landed hard. The stone was unforgiving and --
Unfamiliar.
Maeve looked up to see -- creatures? And men in strange armor. A short woman - an elf with the largest ears she’d ever seen - stood next to her, raised her glowing green hand, flexed, and the creatures fell. They crumbled into dust and the armored people all cheered. Maeve quickly looked around more. Other people were scattered on the ground around her as well, all slowly recovering. Maeve tried to look, she guessed, inconspicuous.
One man in blue and grey armor, long black hair, walked past Maeve to the elven woman.
“Without the Nightmare, Corypheus loses both his wardens and his demon army. In the eyes of your soldiers, their Inquisitor broke the spell with the power of the Maker.”
“Let them believe what they want, Nathaniel. We’ve won. That’s what matters.” Her voice was light, with an accent Maeve would think was from the south. She still couldn’t see the elf’s face in the harsh lighting, but the tense set of her shoulders was obvious.
“Indeed,” said the man.
“Inquistitor!” called a hooded man, who jogged up to the elf, “The archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The venatori magister is unconscious.”
This “Inquisitor” was a woman of power. Despite her diminutive body in comparison to those around her. No doubt Maeve would die. She sighed. If she had known the daedric lord would be done with her so soon, Maeve would have liked to explore a few more dwarven ruins before quitting this mortal life. But, she supposed, that regret would always be true no matter how much she explored.
“She won’t.” said a quiet, male, voice beside her. “You’re new. She likes new people.”
Maeve looked up at the young man sitting nearby. His hat was, well, ridiculous is a word for it, but it also fit him perfectly.
“I’m not that lucky,” she replied, pushing herself up onto her knees. A small smile crept across his lips as a rough hand clasped her shoulder, keeping her down. Maeve looked up into a beast’s eyes.
Er, eye.
He was quite possibly the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen. His skin was grey, and dragon-like horns protruded out of his head. The axe he carried was twice her size.
“Boss,” he called to the Inquisitor, a low baritone. The elf finished her conversation, then strode over.
She wore light leathers. Her auburn hair was braided out of her tattooed face, and she carried a large staff on her back. Her face was stern, appraising, and curious.
“You were not with us in the Fade. In fact, you were not with us at all.” The Inquisitor crouched before Maeve, studying her dragonscale armor. “I have never seen such armor,” she muttered. “Cole? Any insight?”
“I like her.”
“Riveting, kid.” said the beast, “Remind me to give you a crash course in ‘Not everyone is your friend.’”
“Solas, come look.”
Maeve waited patiently, resigned. A tall bald man, also an elf with large ears, leathers, furs, and a staff, stood before her. His face was an odd shape, and reminded her of an Altmer. His eyes scanned her over, deep concern making an even deeper crease between his eyebrows.
“I do not know where she is from, but I can tell you she is not from here.”
“You’re as bad as the kid is,” the giant behind her grumbled. The Inquisitor cracked a tired smile.
“Bull,” -- a fit name -- “Take her to my tent in the forward camp. Make sure she gets some water. I’ll finish up here and meet you there.”
Ellana watched Bull take away the... person. A mystery to be unraveled once she, again, decides the fate of an entire organization and hundreds of people. If the Maker was real, He definitely had a sense of humor. Creators knew Fen’Harel certainly did and ever since she woke up in that chantry a lifetime ago it was like the wolf dogged every step she took. She sighed and looked at Solas, his arms clasped behind him. She could always take comfort in his presence. He’s going to have words with her later as well. She knew him well enough by now, and she hoped he knew her. Enough to trust her with this, at least. Ellana turned back towards the group of Inquisition soldiers and wardens who had gathered, Nathaniel standing in front of his wardens. Being the senior of all who were left, it was up to him how to proceed. But everyone knew it was really up to her. Again.
They all looked at her, expectantly. Ellana took a deep breath.
“The wardens will help the Inquisition. You will stay and do whatever you can to help. Nathaniel and others believe the wardens are worth saving, and I trust him.” Ellana felt rather than saw Solas’ disapproval. Cole would also be upset, and maybe a few others. She continued, “The wardens have earned their second chance by saving the world in times past. They will help save it again, and earn redemption.”
Nathaniel looked up at her, grateful. He was barely older than her, but he looked like he had aged decades during this fight. She probably looked old too. The revelations from the Fade alone were exhausting, but now she had a person-sized mystery in her tent. Not to mention the loss of Hawke. Varric will be devastated. A silver-lining was that her head felt more complete, with the missing memories in their proper places. The demon army was stopped, the wardens saved, and a cost of life awaited her, usually in a finely printed report.
Ellana turned to leave Adamant, her stomach twisting.
The tent was nicer than her house. Maeve had promised she wouldn’t run -- where would she go? -- but the “Bull” man insisted on at least restraints on her ankles, leaving her hands free to drink the cleanest water she’d ever seen. Maeve sipped her drink and tried to put it all together. She was on her way to Apocrypha and was.. Sidetracked? Intercepted? Purposefully sent or disposed of? Something and somehow, she was here. The stars were different, the people were different. The elves she saw were not like the elves she knew. For one, their ears. At first Maeve thought the Inquisitor was odd, but as Bull dragged her through the fortress, siege equipment, and camp, it appeared that the elves here were all like that.
She chewed on her lips, looking around. There was a table with a map, but she couldn’t make out the exact geography. It was clearly like nothing she had seen. She had no guesses about how or why she was here. Mora was fickle, like all daedra. He probably had her replacement lined up as soon as she killed her predecessor. It would be a clever way to dispose of her, sending her to some far off plane and disappearing without a trace.
Yes, she growled, that sounds like Mora.
The tent flap was pushed aside. In the clearer light, the Inquisitor looked softer, smaller. She walked over to a water basin, washed her hands and face free of dark gore, and untangled her braid. Maeve just watched as the red tresses fell down her back. Taking a large breath, the Inquisitor turned towards Maeve, and sat in a chair in front of her. The elf rubbed her temples, then stuck out her hand, open, her green eyes soft and tired.
“Ellana.”
Maeve set her cup down, and shook Ellana’s hand. “Maeve.”
“Thank the gods your name is normal. The rest of you certainly is not.”
“I could say the same,” Maeve smiled, “I’d hate to ask a question of someone called “Inquisitor” but where am I?”
“Orlais, Thedas, the middle of nowhere.”
“Middle of nowhere I’m familiar with, but I’ve never heard of the first two.”
Ellana smiled back at Maeve. “My advisors think you’re dangerous and that I shouldn’t be in here with you by myself. They think you’re a venatori trick or trap.”
“I don’t know what venatori even means,” Maeve laughed through her tension, running her hands through her brown hair. The more she learned, the more unfamiliar words she heard, the more far away from Skyrim she felt.
“Where are you from?”
“The Reach. Wait, Skyrim.” Maeve saw no recognition in Ellana’s face, and continued, “Tamriel? Mundus?”
Nothing.
“Vaermina’s wits, what have I gotten myself into?”
The tent flap fell behind Ellana. Cullen, Iron Bull, and Solas waited for her. No doubt Cole was nearby as well. Ellana held up her hand before Cullen could speak.
“She knows as much as we do. While I haven’t discounted the potential dangers, I believe her to be telling the truth. We’ll keep her under observation but I do not think she needs to be held prisoner.” She held her hand up, “Keys, Bull. Please.”
He handed her the keys. “Cullen, find her a tent nearby and place a watch on it. I’m tired and will be retiring once she’s settled.”
Ellana slumped into her chair. She was alone in her tent but she knew it wasn’t going to be for long. The ominous ‘we’ll discuss this later’ from several people did not bode well. She knew it was partially because of their visitor but also her decision to not remove the wardens from all of southern Thedas. She wished there were some other options available for her and it boggled her mind that she could have such a wide reach of authority. They, everyone, needed the wardens no matter what mistakes they made. How easily everyone forgets the Blight that happened only ten years ago. Only a few wardens stood between Ferelden and total annihilation. One warden made all the difference.
Ellana grumbled and rubbed her temples for the millionth time. Her head ached and the constant awareness of the Mark in her hand was getting to her this evening. Overstimulation was murder.
A soft pat on her tent flap.
“Come,” she called. Solas stepped in. This was not a conversation she looked forward to. His disdain for the Order was obvious. He was dressed in his simple tunic, his jaw bone necklace a constant. She always wondered about it, what it meant to him, but there never seemed to be a moment for them to have deeper, more personal conversations. When she first met him, she thought it was a shoe and almost wrote him off as a crack-up. How little she knew then, of how much he would mean to her in so short a time.
“Inquisitor,” he greeted. Ellana sighed. So it was going to be like that. He came to her as her advisor rather than... what? Lover? They had kissed once; that could hardly be labeled as exclusive. She was fond of him. More than fond, actually. Either he knew the conversation was going to be hard, or someone was guarding her tent and could potentially hear them.
Probably both. Mythal knew Ellana would not be the one to make a move in any direction. He had asked for time. She would give it. Always.
She gestured for him to pull up a chair. Solas picked up the chair and set it down across from Ellana. He sat gracefully, resting his right ankle on his left knee. They weren’t too far apart, their knees perhaps three inches away from each other. Ellana attempted her best at casual professionalism.
“Say what’s on your mind, Solas.”
He nodded, “Thank you.” Solas sat in silence as he collected what he was going to say. On a normal day, Ellana appreciated his introspection, but right now she was feeling impatient and irritable. They both opened their mouths at the same time.
“If this is about the ward-”
“The wardens act-”
Ellana gave him a smile as he chuckled softly. She held her hand up for him to continue.
“The wardens acted stupidly. To allow them to continue is irresponsible. They might make more insane plans and take the Inquisition down with them.”
Ellana sighed, “They did act stupidly. To try and hunt down archdemons to somehow prevent the Blight... using demons. And,” she emphasised slowly, “I can’t blame them entirely for acting as they did. They were deceived - thoroughly. They thought they were all dying and tried to do their duty before they could die, while being controlled through fear by Corypheus.”
Ellana waited for his reply this time. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped together.
“Grey Wardens have always been dangerous. They care for nothing beyond stopping the darkspawn. Like a fair maiden chasing a butterfly off a cliff. Except that if you hadn’t stopped them, we'd all have fallen,” Solas looked away from her, “Those fools and duty. Responsibility is not expertise. Action is not inherently superior to inaction.”
“They are fools, working with and against a power they don’t understand,” Ellana reached forward and placed her hand, her Marked hand, on top of his. He was warm. “Like me.” His eyes were soft on her, like a grey winter morning sky, and she could see some distant pain behind it all. She continued, “All organizations have the ability to fail as the wardens did. I won’t be surprised if after all of this is over that the Inquisition will be judged, that I will be judged, for what we accomplished and how we accomplished it. It's a luxury of survival to look forward to. I will answer for my decisions, my actions and inactions. I know that doesn’t comfort you. It doesn’t comfort me either. But if there is no hope for the wardens then there is no hope for any of us.”
Silence. Ellana tried to focus on his face so she wouldn’t interrupt him again. The scar on his forehead. His dark auburn eyebrows. His lightly freckled cheeks. His perfect lips. She knew they were soft, it was something she would never forget. His kiss was forever seared into her.
“Forgive me,” he sighed, “The entire idea is... unnerving.”
“I agree. The Blight isn’t something we can outsmart,” Ellana flexed her fingers, pressing her finger tips into his wrist, “Corypheus has lost his wardens and his army of demons. He’ll be getting desperate.”
They sat in amiable silence, holding but not holding hands. Ellana wondered how long their dance would last. Who would give in first? Who would run first? Solas slowly turned his hands up, palm to palm with hers, his elegant fingers soft on her wrist. She could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady. With his touch, the ache in her hand bled away, like it always did.
“Thank you. I’ve been on my own for so long. It’s difficult to get used to having the ear of others,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she whispered.
Maeve had forgotten how long they’d been traveling by the time they finally reached their destination. The walls of Skyhold were formidable. Maeve craned her neck up as they passed underneath the gate. The Inquisitor, Ellana, rode on her huge elk ahead of her, and turned right towards the stables. Maeve had no idea how a woman so small could ride such a huge beast. The horses of -- what was it called? Oh yes, Thedas -- the horses of Thedas were smaller and more agile than the ones from Skyrim, who were typically huge draft horses. Maeve had yet to see anything remotely familiar in this strange land. The Iron Bull pulled her horse along towards the stables as she gawked at her surroundings.
“I don’t envy you,” He said, always keeping her on his right side, “You’ll be meeting with the Nightingale soon.”
“Nightingale?” Maeve’s mind went towards Nocturnal. Did she have some influence here? Maybe she could get a message to Karliah.
“The Inquisition’s spymaster,” he clarified, dashing her thoughts upon the rocks, “As terrifying as she is beautiful.” The shadow of the stable went over them. Maeve jumped down and spotted Ellana grooming her elk. Following her example, Maeve began tending to her own mount.
Some time later, she was escorted to the top of a tower. They passed Ellana talking with a short man who had a lot of chest hair on display. All she caught of the conversation was condolences of some kind. Both Ellana and the man hugged, tears in their eyes.
The first room of the tower held stunning murals or frescoes -- Maeve never bothered to learn the difference, what did it matter when scraping a living off of rocks? -- and passed the bald elf, Solas, who looked grumpy. But maybe that was also just his face. In all the time they spent traveling, she only saw his expression soften with the Inquisitor.
At the top of the tower, before Maeve stood a medium height woman. Red hair poked out of her hood as she sent off a black bird. When her piercing gaze fell on Maeve, she wasn’t sure if she should be scared or aroused.
Probably both. The Iron Bull was right.
“Now you must tell me everything you know. Spare no details,” her voice was light and lilting, but the softness was undercut by the unspoken threats that hung in the air. What harm is there in telling about a world so vastly different? Worlds so separated in fate? Maeve found a chair, and began to speak.
“First, you must know that I am not a normal person from my world. Even before I discovered my, uh, uniqueness, I did not live as most people of my land lived.” And so Maeve wove her story. Living in the Reach as a Forsworn, running secret missives for the King in Rags, passing as a Breton when she was captured, and the domino effect of that single day when a dragon saved her from the headsman’s block.
By the time she reached this juncture point in her life, a few others had gathered. The Inquisitor, Ellana, sat quietly and listened, as well as a couple of people she hadn’t seen before. A young man with perfect hair and mustache, and a woman with dark skin whose outfit was just as impeccable. Maeve continued to explain how she absorbed the soul of a dragon and felt herself overcome with experiences, feelings, memories, and power that was unfamiliar to her as she ate the soul. There was no other way to explain the rush and flow. Currently, she had grown accustomed to the invasion and consumption, but at the time it frightened her. The Nightingale asked no questions as Maeve continued to speak. The Civil War, her personal hatred for Ulfric Stormcloak and the Thalmor, the Greybeards, Sovngarde, everything. Even down to when she fought the First Dragonborn and took his place.
“And that’s how I think I came to be here. Some mischief of Mora as I left my plane of existence and somehow ended up here.”
The Nightingale rubbed her chin in thought. And then she spoke.
“It is clear that you are a stranger here. I’ve never heard such sincerity accompanied by words I’ve never heard before.” She sighed, pushing back her hood and sat in the chair across the table from where Maeve sat. “I think you can be of use to us. The Inquisitor agrees. I’ll call for you again soon, and this time with questions.” She waved a delicate hand, and Maeve knew she was dismissed.
Maeve stood and followed the shuffle of her impromptu audience.
“Inquisitor, darling,” called the impeccable woman. Maeve would have thought she was a Redguard, but the imperial accent completely threw her for a loop. Whenever she felt slightly familiar, the ground was swept up from beneath her.
“Yes, Vivienne?” Ellana replied, falling in step with the woman. Vivienne looked back up at Maeve critically, then back at Ellana.
“We should perform magical tests on our guest, dear. For everyone’s security.”
“Are they invasive? I’m unfamiliar with any tests we could do.”
“Non-invasive, darling. There are a few things we could do, but it should be somewhere without prying eyes.”
“Very well. We’ll gather the most knowledgeable mages and have a look in my chambers.” Ellana looked up at Maeve as they descended the stairs into the rotunda, “If that’s fine with you, Maeve.”
“I’m willing to try anything once,” she smiled, “Especially if it helps with this mystery.”
Maeve learned the names of all the significant mages on their way through Skyhold. She saw a few other people in similar robes, but with vacant looks on their faces as they worked or simply stood still. Dorian was the mustachioed man, and Vivienne de Fer did not appreciate nicknames. Apparently, “Viv” is either something earned or it’s “demeaning and childish.” Maeve didn’t want to get on the formidable woman’s bad side, and so decided that calling her simply Vivienne or Madame de Fer would work.
They ascended the stairs to Ellana’s tower. Maeve wondered what her own quarters would be like, and if they would have bars. Maeve noticed that Ellana hung back to walk with the other elf, Solas. There was something there, Maeve mused, they were usually next to each other.
The mages had Maeve sit in a chair in the center of the room. She watched as various colors and flashes emitted from all their hands. It didn’t look like the magic she was familiar with. It was almost as though they pulled the magic from the space outside their hands, rather than simply willing it to happen. This went on for some time.
Ellana lowered her hands and sighed. “She’s almost similar to how a tranquil person feels, but she’s also obviously not tranquil. Can you do magic, Maeve?”
“Can’t everyone?” she asked. Solas’ frown deepened as he looked at her, a wave of green emitting from his fingers as he scanned Maeve again.
“Uh,” Ellana bit the inside of her lips, “No. It’s something people are born with or without here.”
“Huh,” Maeve rubbed her chin, “So not everyone can do this?” She raised her hand and a small flame appeared within her palm. “Where I’m from, everyone has the ability to learn if they want.”
“Fascinating,” Solas stated.
“Understatement of the age,” Dorian leaned into the flame, studying it, “No Fade interaction whatsoever. It simply... is. As if struck from a match.”
Maeve snuffed the fire with a gesture, then asked, “Do you mind if I try something?”
“By all means, dear,” Vivienne crossed her arms, “Dazzle us.”
Suddenly there was a spectre war axe in Maeve’s hand. It was transparently purple, but appeared to be as solid as the real thing. Maeve held it up for examination. “I can conjure weapons and a few animal friends. And a few other things too.”
Ellana reached for the axe, but as soon as it left Maeve’s hand, it disappeared. Ellana thought for a moment, then said, “Lets send for a templar or Cassandra. Although, because there’s no relationship between Maeve’s magic and our magic, I suspect nothing will happen. But it’s better to verify.”
As they waited for Cassandra, Maeve looked through the books on Ellana’s shelves. There were a lot of books by a man called Genitivi. He was very prolific, but his writing left much to be desired. Maeve sighed. He was no Waughin Jarth, that was for sure.
Heavy boots came up the stairs, announcing the arrival of the Seeker. Maeve returned to her chair as the tall, dark, and beautiful woman approached. The scar on her cheek was equal parts frightening and intriguing. The way she held herself, sure and strong, made Maeve’s throat go dry.
“Maeve,” Maeve stuck out her hand. Cassandra scowled and shook her hand once.
“Cassandra Pentaghast. I understand you are a mage?” Her voice was low and melodic with an accent unlike anyone she’d heard before. She felt her heart thump in her chest and tried to find her words.
“Uh, yes and no.” She replied. Ellana stepped up then.
“Cass, we need you to try and suppress Maeve’s magic. We want to see what happens.”
“Try?” Cassandra scoffed, “Very well.” The statuesque woman drew her sword and held it in front of her, tip down, and closed her eyes. Maeve could feel the air vibrate against her skin, but felt nothing else. The other mages in the room looked ill. Maeve licked her lips and waited a few more moments before summoning a small flame in her hand again with no effort.
Cassandra frowned. She readjusted her posture, and concentrated once more. The air went tight and sweat beaded on her brow. Still, Maeve felt nothing and kept the flame in her palm.
A pale Ellana placed her hand on Cassandra’s shoulder, “That’s enough. Thank you, Cass. I think we’ve seen enough.”
Cassandra humphed, then said, “If she can do magic without the proper checks, she is dangerous.”
“We must also consider the influence of demons on an untrained mind,” Vivienne cut in.
“It’s possible that she is immune to such things,” Solas said, “After all, if her source of magic is wholly unconnected with the Fade, then spirits will not find her interesting enough to tempt.”
“With these revelations, what do we do with her?” asked Dorian.
Maeve’s head swiveled from one speaker to another, until all eyes fell on Ellana. The elven woman shifted uncomfortably and Maeve felt a sudden pang of sympathy strike through her heart. How many times had people looked at her just like that? Seeking answers, leadership, decision? The only one who did not look at Ellana was Solas. He simply watched Maeve, instead.
Ellana cleared her throat, “I see no reason yet to be suspicious of Maeve. She’s been entirely honest with us thus far, and perhaps she has some dragon expertise that can help us against Corypheus. She is as caught up in fate as the rest of us.” Ellana paused and looked at Maeve a moment before continuing, “If anyone asks, she’s an Avvar advisor or something. That should still any questions about behavior and dress.”
Maeve looked down at herself. Her dragonscale armor probably did stand out, although no one had asked what it was made of. Perhaps dragons are different here too? The only person unsatisfied with Ellana’s decision was Cassandra, who continued to frown. Dorian, Solas, Vivienne, and Cassandra all filed out of the tower, leaving Ellana and Maeve alone.
“I know what that’s like,” Maeve whispered, weaving her fingers together in her lap, “To have everyone look to you for leadership.”
Ellana sighed as she sat on the edge of her bed, running her fingers through her red hair. “A few months ago, I was a nobody. Then the sky broke, and I had this-” She raised her hand and it glowed green slightly, “- on my hand. Some called me their savior while others blamed me for the catastrophes and deaths.”
Maeve chuckled to herself. “That’s all very familiar actually. I found out I had the soul of a dragon in a not so different manner.”
Weeks went by. Maeve found herself in the garden of Skyhold often. Soon after her arrival, she had learned about those they called “tranquil.” It made her sad more than anything, and saw how angry it made Ellana to discuss, and she found herself frequently in the company of those people. Maeve was avoided by most others anyway. The tranquil were quiet, diligent, and handy. One person, Avexis, was very interesting to talk to. In her youth, she had used magic to control animals, including dragons. While she told Maeve of her life in a monotone, both the exciting and the horrifying in the same breath, Maeve learned more about this world she’d fallen into. Mages, templars, Cassandra Pentaghast, chantries, rebels, the Inquisition, Cassandra Pentaghast, exalted marches, venatori, lyrium and red lyrium, and Cassandra Pentaghast. Maeve didn’t want to admit to herself that she learned more about Cassandra from those around her rather than steeling her guts to talk to the woman herself. Varric, she learned the short man’s name, was called a dwarf and was a treasure trove of information. There was a whole race of the stocky people, so very different from the dwemer she first associated when she heard discussions of fine dwarven crafts. It seems the only similarity between the two was their affinity for engineering. Although perhaps she would see some first hand, as she heard rumors of dangerous earthquakes somewhere called the Storm Coast.
Eventually, Ellana brought Maeve out on missions. A few small ones to get her feet wet, but Maeve found her traveling companions easy to get along with. The Iron Bull was always willing to discuss dragons and armor with her, and the young man called Cole, who was technically one of the first people she’d met, was useful in his strange and quiet way. The way he threw himself into battle as if he couldn’t be hurt was concerning, but Maeve saw how Ellana doted on the boy, despite him being a grown adult. Solas was a constant companion of the Inquisitor, the two of them engaging in conversation or simply enjoying each other’s company on the road.
They should just get the courting over and done with, Maeve thought to herself. Maybe it was more complicated in Thedas? She had left her amulet of Mara at home, never willing or brave enough to put it on. Her life was so insane, it would be cruel to bring someone into that. Maeve sighed as she looked between Ellana and Solas. Perhaps that was it. Complication and cruelty.
Ellana looked over her shoulder at Maeve, who was joking and laughing with Blackwall and Sera. Ellana finished setting her tent up and brushed her hands and knees off as she returned to the fire where the three were roaring with laughter.
“Inky, check this!” Sera snorted, “Do it again!” Maeve’s face split into a wide grin as she held out her hand. Sera placed a dead cricket in Maeve’s palm.
And she promptly ate it.
Ellana scoffed in disgust as Maeve happily chewed and swallowed.
“I don’t know what’s so funny about a cricket,” Maeve said, grinning as Sera fell over, kicking her legs in the air.
Blackwall looked up at Ellana, “Maeve will eat anything.”
“Surely not.. Anything.” Ellana’s voice filled with concern as Maeve shrugged.
“I’ve eaten things no one would consider food,” Maeve casually counted on her fingers as she listed, “Chaurus eggs, nirnroot, nightshade, death bells,” and on she went, listing things Ellana had never heard of before.
Blackwall chuckled, and asked jokingly, “Human flesh?”
Maeve scrunched her shoulders in a wince and said nothing.
“Andraste’s flaming knickers,” Sera sat up and stared at Maeve, “Really?”
“I plead scientific interest,” Maeve admitted. Everyone’s jaws dropped, and Ellana felt sick to her stomach. This woman really would and did try anything once. Was it any wonder she had all but become an otherworldly, supernatural, entity in her original plane? Ellana wondered how eldritch Maeve could get, and if she frightened anyone in her element. Maeve continued her excuses, explaining alchemy from her world.
“It’s not as bad as you think,” Maeve stumbled through her words, “One time there was this creep who was selling meat in a city market, calling it the ‘bloodiest meat in the Reach.’ And he was a worshipper of Namira!”
The name held no meaning for any of them, so Maeve continued, “He was a cannibal! So clearly me trying it for scientific reasons is objectively better than a man who sold long pig to his unknowing customers.”
“How is that objectively better?” Blackwall chuckled.
“Does it help if I tell you that he disappeared soon after I found out?”
Blackwall barked a laugh.
“Piss on that,” Sera leaned in, serious, “What did it taste like?”
“Sera!” Ellana covered her face with her hands, praying to all the gods Maeve wouldn’t answer.
“Well, Sera, if you have a taste for the macabre, wait until I tell you about briarhearts.”
Investigating glyphs was interesting work. They were both similar and entirely different from the ones Maeve was familiar with. Enchanting in Thedas required more steps and was more dangerous than enchanting in Tamriel. Studying the strange symbols had led the Inquisition to a temple of some lost deity Ellana called Dirthamen. He was, apparently, a god of secrets and his temple was packed full of them.
With distaste, Ellana was assembling organs on an altar.
“You know this is a bad idea,” Maeve said, folding her arms, “With all the corpses and bloodied notes of insanity, what we’re up to is very dangerous.”
“An understatement,” Cassandra added, rolling her eyes.
“If you could unravel secrets from your culture, even at the risk of death, would you not?” Ellana asked sincerely, running her hands underneath a stream of water to clean them of the gore. Maeve nodded slowly, relinquishing her opposition. Solas, although attentive, had been more quiet than usual since they had arrived at the hidden temple. Maeve knew he had a dislike of Dalish culture, as shown by his jaw always tightening whenever the subject was approached or when they passed those weird wolf statues. It made Maeve wonder at his choice of affection towards the only Dalish she’d met. If he found her culture, her identity, so wrong why did he entertain a relationship? Ellana was more gracious than Maeve would have been, that was for certain.
Ellana finished the ritual, raising a demonic corpse called the Highest One. Maeve and Cassandra slashed the thing as Ellana and Solas supported and damaged the creature from afar. The hooded demon blasted Cassandra with a stream of frost. Thankfully, she raised her shield to protect herself, making ice crystals weigh down her shield. The frost pushed the Seeker back several feet and froze her exposed legs into the stagnant water. It turned its attention to Maeve.
For the first time since she had arrived, Maeve fought alone. Instinct took over as Maeve pushed her panic aside, drawing up within herself. Alone against such a powerful creature, she knew what she needed to do to survive and save the others.
She Shouted.
“Mul Qah Diiv!”
The temple shook and she saw Ellana and Solas stumble in her periphery. Strength and power flowed into Maeve’s limbs, her vision danced with a rainbow of colors.
She had avoided it long enough. It was time for the Dragonborn to show who she really was, the power she held. Maeve leapt at the demon, who was too slow to react. Everyone was always too slow. Too weak. Her axe slashed down, removing a hand, then slashed back up across its chest, rending open a gash that would fell anyone. Maeve pushed and pushed, driving the demon away and making quick work of it. As it collapsed into the muck, in several pieces, Maeve wondered why she had avoided feeling this way. Why didn't she like it. Enjoy it. This power. She sucked in air through her sharp teeth and felt heat stream out of her on the breath. Her scales were strong, her horns sharp, and her blood pumped through her, invigorating her souls.
She wanted more. Craved it.
“-aeve!”
A bug in her ears. Annoying pests. She should just crush them beneath her claws and be done.
“Maeve!” Ellana yelled in her face, shaking her shoulders violently. Strange ethereal scales, teeth, and horns decorated Maeve in a frightening display. The woman had done something to herself and destroyed the demon in a matter of seconds. A kaleidoscope of color filled Maeve’s eyes, which had changed significantly from the soft brown they usually were. Most concerning was that her pupils had turned into slits, and she had stopped responding entirely; only breathing heavily and hunching over the dead creature. There was no recognition, only a sense of timeless cruelty in her eyes. Ellana kept herself together, fear gripping her heart.
“Cassandra, Solas! I can’t wake her up,” Ellana called. Solas was carefully prying Cassandra free of the ice.
“We may simply need to wait and see what else she does,” Solas returned her call. His hands glowed orange with heat as he tended to Cassandra.
“Step aside, mortal.” The voice came from Maeve’s mouth but sounded nothing like her. The voice was deep, guttural and grinding, and resonated like several voices overlapping.
“Where are you going?” Ellana asked.
“Faas Ru Mar, it does not concern the likes of you. Be gone before we lose patience.”
Ellana’s heart clenched once more and she froze in place. Maeve’s words were usually so soft. When she spoke these unknown words, Ellana could feel the power press on her. It was similar when the temple shook earlier, but instead Ellana could feel her bones want to shake instead. Cassandra pulled Ellana’s paralyzed form aside before Maeve, or whatever she was, could step on her. They followed Maeve to the entrance. She took slow deliberate steps, as if she were a larger creature than she really was and had all the time in the world.
Where were her wings? The open sky greeted the dragon but she could not meet it. Everything was simply ripe for the taking and she could take it. She was strongest. The most powerful of the dovah. Why could she not-?
Cold air filled Maeve’s lungs as she took a staggering breath. The colors faded from her sight, and when the colors left her, so did her strength.
The ground didn’t taste very good.
Hands were on her in moments, rolling her over. Familiar faces crowded her. Ellana, Cassandra, and Solas.
“What happened?” Cassandra demanded, her hand on Maeve’s sternum, keeping her from moving. Maeve flinched at the command, her ears ringing. Her head began to pound as she answered. She prayed to all her gods that Cassandra didn’t notice how fast her heart beat under her palm. Praying she thought it was fear.
“I Shouted.”
“I noticed that,” Cassandra rolled her eyes, “What did you do?”
“I brought out my souls, used my Voice.” Maeve replied weakly, blinking against the light that now felt like daggers in her eyes, “For a short while, I can become stronger than any dragon. I don’t like doing it but it seemed like the right idea when you were indisposed. I couldn’t let it get to you. Not you.”
Ellana patted Cassandra’s arm, and she released Maeve.
“Maeve, I think you didn’t fully explain the breadth of your magical powers.” Ellana helped Maeve sit up slowly, “You were frightening. How in control are you when you do that?”
“Not very, with that Shout at least. It’s scary, which is why you haven’t seen it before. There are other Shouts that don’t change me, but that one has the most significant results and the most significant changes. Miraak, uh, the First Dragonborn, inadvertently taught me how to change myself into an aspect of a dragon. Without using his power against him, I wouldn’t have defeated him. Again, I don’t like doing it. I prefer the utility Shouts, which I haven’t needed to use for a while.”
“Strange magic, indeed,” Solas mused as he stood. Cassandra eyed Maeve, suspicion causing a deep crease in her brow. Maeve was again struck with how gorgeous the Seeker was. The blazing hazel eyes, even when turned on her, were so strikingly amazing, so clear. Her exhaustion blurred her vision momentarily, and although she couldn’t see Cassandra’s face, Maeve smiled up at her. There was simply no way Cassandra didn’t know how she appeared - curvaceous, steely resolve, and refined. She wouldn’t give Maeve the time of day. She was too good. Cassandra deserved more.
Maeve blinked until her vision returned. She was surrounded by red templar corpses -- corpses that were not at the entrance of the temple when they arrived.
“Did I do that?”
“You were transformed for roughly five minutes,” Cassandra provided, still frowning, “Enough time to leave the temple and dispose of them.”
Maeve looked down at her hands. Her gauntlets were covered in gore. Did she use her hands?
Maeve stared at the orange khajiit.
“Are you purposefully ignoring me?” She asked. It leveled its gaze at her, then returned its attention to grooming itself. Maeve huffed.
“Riveting conversation?” Ellana approached, hands behind her back.
“I want to know what it knows. But this one is particularly tight lipped.”
“I see... and what do you hope to learn from a cat?”
“First off, how did it get here?”
Ellana rubbed her chin thoughtfully, “I take it that cats can talk in your world?” Maeve froze.
“Meaning that they.. Can’t speak here.” Maeve concluded. She stood and stretched her back. “In my world, there are a whole people of cats, all various sizes. Which means, this one won’t mind or try to kill me if I try to pet it. I’ve always wanted to pet one.”
“Presumably. All the cats here at Skyhold are mousers, so they might not like to be held.” Ellana smiled. Maeve reached forward and patted the cat on the head. It continued to ignore them.
“Leliana once told me about a talking cat the Hero of Ferelden encountered, but it could only speak because it was possessed by a demon,” Ellana continued, “What are the cat people of your world like?”
“They’re people, just fuzzier, but a lot of other people forget that,” Maeve scratched the cat’s ears, still no response. “They get pigeonholed into stereotypes, much like my own people.”
“I know what that’s like,” Ellana grimaced, “I’m not looking forward to being called a rabbit when Josephine secures invitations to Halamshiral.”
Maeve peaked out the window from the Herald’s Rest towards the training dummies. Cassandra sat on a stool, reading a book. She still hadn’t had the nerve to talk to her alone, and although the Seeker’s looks at her became less hostile the more she helped Ellana, the beautiful woman was still as prickly as a spriggan. Especially after her display at Dirthamen’s temple.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Cole said in her ear. Maeve didn’t jump this time, becoming accustomed to the young man’s nature.
“It’s not fear, Cole. It’s... trepidation.”
“Fear is fear is fear.” Cole leaned on the window sill, joining her in staring out. “She reminds you of... Aela. Same but different. Strong. Bold. Beautiful.”
Maeve smiled ruefully. She didn’t know how Cole did that. “Another woman I wasn’t brave enough for.”
“But you could be, if you chose to. Is talking more difficult than slaying dragons?”
“Let’s talk about something else, Cole,” Maeve drummed her fingers on the wood.
“Like what?” he asked innocently, “It’s not as loud as it used to be, but I can still help people. You. They remember me though.. Mistakes are difficult. I can try again.”
“Mistakes make us who we are,” Maeve’s smile changed to a more genuine, close-lipped grin, “And you can always try again.” Some time ago, Ellana, Varric, Cole, and Solas had disappeared after Cole had some kind of distress. When they all came back, it seemed that whatever they’d done to solve it had lessened Cole’s magical powers, but he seemed happier. More in the moment than he used to be.
“Like the mistakes you made that make you,” Cole sighed, his face always hidden, his fingers tracing a carving in the table, “Like getting caught that night on the border. One mistake changed everything but it also didn’t. You were always who you are. You saved her. This isn’t a bad thing.”
Somehow Cole’s riddles always made sense, even when they didn’t. Maeve tipped his hat up to see his face. He looked up at her, his pale eyes searching hers.
“Thank you, Cole.”
“You're welcome.”
Maeve stood, straightened her tunic, mussed her short brown hair so it fell just so, then marched outside.
“And then she just stood there,” Harding said, “I feel so bad for her. The Seeker and Maeve stared at each other for the longest, most awkwardest time I’ve ever seen.” Ellana covered her mouth to stifle a laugh as the scout continued. “Then Maeve just waved her arm, and then ran off. Probably to her room, if I had to guess. Or the bottom of a well.”
“Thanks, Lace. I’ll go look for her.” Ellana had been searching for Maeve and found no trace except a sighting at the tavern. Ellana looked through the gardens before she came to Maeve’s room. Like most of the rooms in Skyhold, it was repurposed into a bedroom. There was no trace or telling what it was before, as it was simply a room off the courtyard-turned-garden.
Ellana knocked politely on the door. A muffled sound came from within, which she interpreted as assent. She opened the door and found she couldn’t open it all the way. Something was blocking most of the doorway, but she could still squeeze through. A pile of books fell as she did.
Maeve’s room was packed full of things. Just stuffed with objects, mostly books or small doodads. It reminded her of Sera’s room but only worse. She spotted moth-eaten scarves in a corner, and a pair of torn pants. Ellana carefully picked her way towards the bed, where Maeve had dramatically thrown herself.
“So,” Ellana broached, sitting on the edge of the bed. Maeve’s face was buried into her pillow. “I hear you tried to talk to Cassandra.”
“Hircine, kill me now.”
Ellana grinned and patted her on the shoulder in comfort. “She’s not the easiest woman to talk to. The first time we met, she held a sword in my face.”
“I’d prefer a sword any day,” Maeve peeked up at Ellana, her cheeks and ears bright red, “I would rather take a dragon's breath to the face.” She buried herself again and muffled her yell, “Meridia’s beacon! I’m so embarrassed! Why am I like this?”
“Well,” Ellana thought for a while, “Maybe you can try talking in a less stressful situation. Varric is having everyone play Wicked Grace tonight. It’s actually why I came looking for you in the first place, I thought you might like it.”
“Do you think a social situation would help?” Maeve sniffled.
“Probably not. But you won’t know if you don’t try.”
“I also won’t be rejected if I don’t try. I can’t face her the same I face down enemies,” Maeve sat up, clutching her pillow to her chest as she shifted to sit beside Ellana.
“I should hope you won't. Cass is a romantic at heart,” Ellana laughed. Maeve covered her face with her hands again.
“How did you and Solas get past this part? Past the fumbling of early acquaintances?” Maeve asked. Ellana winced a little.
“Well...” Ellana trailed off, fidgeting with her fingers and staring at her shoes.
“No.”
Ellana sucked her lips in, avoiding eye contact.
“I’m going to slap him silly,” Maeve muttered, “He’s so familiar with you and you haven’t done anything?”
“I mean, we kissed. Technically.”
“Technically?” Maeve scoffed, “I may be bad at this, but if you can call a kiss a technicality, I think you may be worse off than I am.”
Ellana covered her face with her hands, and groaned, “How did this end up being about me?”
“When we learned how hopeless we all are, apparently,” Maeve squeezed the elf’s shoulder.
“It is hopeless, isn’t it?” Ellana rubbed her face and ran her fingers through her hair, “History will wipe my face and cut my ears off, and I can’t even enjoy the moments I’m in because I’m his superior. Any kind of romance between us is inappropriate, never mind the public relations disaster for Josephine. I initiated the kiss on an ill-consider impulse, and...” Ellana was rambling now, but it felt good to actually say what she’s been keeping hidden away for months. “.. and he returned it. With interest. Even afterwards, I was so afraid I had misread him because he knew how inappropriate it was but all he asked for was time to think. Then there is the ever increasing personal touch between us but... there will always be a barrier between us. The power imbalance makes me sick and there’s no possible outcome where I will force him to do anything. Maybe we’ll have a chance when everything is over and I can just be ‘Ellana’ again.”
Maeve was silent for a few minutes before speaking.
“In my limited experience,” Maeve began slowly, “Once you’re ‘something’ there really is no going back to who you were. In my world, I will always be known as the Last Dragonborn who saved a collapsing world from an immortal dragon. Anything I was to people has been erased in favor of the title and deeds. My identity as a forsworn, no matter how far I went to help my people, never became important enough to trump the one big action I did. I suppose I’m you, only just after the grand journey. You once asked if anyone was waiting for me back home, and I answered truthfully that there was no one. In deeper truth, I avoided such relationships.” Maeve looked down at her feet, “Dragging anyone, especially someone I loved or admired, into the danger that is.. er, was my life isn’t worth the benefits of companionship. And I would constantly worry if they loved me, the real me, even though the real me has been awash in memories that aren’t my own.” She quickly swiped away tears before they could fall. “There was a woman whom I thought perhaps I could have spent my life with, but my reservations were too much. Now that she’s completely out of my reach, I find myself regretting not taking those chances.” Maeve heaved a big sigh and evened her red eyed gaze on Ellana. “I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t make Solas into a regret. You should enjoy each other while you can. He clearly holds deep affection for you, despite the imbalance. Whenever you’re not around, he’s a serious curmudgeon.”
Ellana barked a laugh, “He’s not that old.” She pulled the woman into a tight hug, and whispered, “I’ll take those chances if you take those chances too. Maybe being in Thedas can be a new start and you can simply be ‘Maeve’ again.”
Maeve only nodded into her shoulder.
Ellana made sure Maeve was sitting next to Cassandra as all her companions chose seats. She couldn’t convince Solas to tear himself away from his fresco. Apparently it was a time sensitive process, something about drying plaster. He never fully explained the process to her, and it seemed like a very personal subject for him.
Maeve scratched the back of her neck nervously as Cassandra sat next to her. Varric sat at the head of the table, cutting the deck of cards.
“Everyone ready to lose their clothes to Ruffles?” he asked.
“Oh,” Josephine smiled shyly behind her delicate hand, “I’m not that good at Wicked Grace.”
“What are the rules?” Maeve asked. As Varric dealt the cards, he explained the rules. Ellana picked up her hand of five and organized her cards to her liking.
“The rules are more like guidelines,” Cassandra said, frowning at her cards, “The point of the game is to cheat without getting caught.”
“Or if you’re a bad liar, like Shiny here, you play regularly and lose a lot.” Varric continued, keeping his cards close to his hairy chest. Ellana rolled her eyes at Varric’s nickname for her. She was a bad liar but that’s not why she played the cursed game. The conversations were already sparking up between everyone and Ellana’s favorite pass time was to watch and listen. She looked over at Maeve, whose concentration was intense.
“Okay?” she asked Maeve. She sighed heavily.
“The game reminds me of Five Claws, a khajiit gambling game, but I don’t even know where to begin to know how to cheat.”
Ellana laughed.
Maeve shifted in the chair uncomfortably. Her legs brushed up against Ellana’s and Cassandra’s, making it difficult to concentrate. Why did Ellana insist on this game again? She tossed a coin into the middle when it was her turn. She had no idea if her cards were good, and it didn’t seem like anyone was paying attention anyhow. Sera was telling a salacious story that set everyone’s ears red, with graphic hand gestures to show her point, and Varric was weaving outrageous stories from his days in Kirkwall with someone named Hawke and a selection of big personalities with funny nicknames. Maeve wasn’t the only one frowning at her cards. Cullen and Cassandra were particularly engrossed.
“So, how do we know the game is over? When everyone runs out of money?” Maeve asked.
Cassandra answered, “When someone draws the Angel of Death card, everyone must show their cards and the winnings are dealt with.” She tsked as she discarded one of her cards and picked up another.
“I can’t tell my Serpents from my Songs,” Maeve confided, as the turn moved on.
“Just do your best,” Ellana piped in.
And so the game went on. Varric must have cut the deck slyly, as the Angel of Death card was drawn at the bottom of the deck. By that time, the only ones playing seriously were Josephine and Varric. After a few more rounds, Cullen and Maeve were low on clothes and funds. Ellana had somehow managed to keep her winnings afloat, and no matter how closely Maeve watched Josephine, it was impossible to tell how the petite woman was destroying them all.