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Tarasyl'an Te'las

Summary:

The Divine's Conclave and the disaster it brings hold were always going to decide the course of the future. Vir'era, in all his patchwork glory, hopes to guide that course. A risk he may be, but a calculated one: he can do more good within the Inquisition than from without.

Reuniting with old friends, helping them, is a bonus. (And maybe, just maybe, they can help him, too.)

 

[Please see notes for details on endgame ships, if that is of a concern to you.]

Notes:

we've made it!!! it's inquisition time, babes!!!!!! we're fina-fucking-ly here!

i can't begin to explain how grateful i am that people have stuck with me this far (or even just plain ol' made it this far), but from the deepest, truest reaches of my heart: thank you. ma serannas.

i will finish this series. it's been over three years so far, and my life has become a tumultuous mess in the last couple years, so writing has been slow at best, but i love writing and i love twots, so i sincerely hope you'll stay with me 'til the end of the line. i'm currently predicting the whole of tarasyl'an te'las to be roughly 250k at longest, and i honestly don't know how long it'll take me to write it. i also currently intend to write a separate piece for trespasser, but that one will be much shorter.

for those who find it important to know the endgame ships before getting into a fic (as i also do), here's a list of the (untagged) ships i currently intend to put in action. they are subject to change if something better strikes my fancy, but i've been toying with these specific ones for a while. these will have less feature than the tagged main ship (which, yes, is referring to cullen/vir'era), for obvious POV reasons--can't really easily write about ships the POV character isn't a part of! i've chosen not to tag them because of this, especially as some will count among rarepairs, and i don't want to clog a tag. in no particular order:
Josephine/Jewel Trevelyan
The Iron Bull/Driscoll Trevelyan
Cole/Adegoke Adaar
Sera/Kumbukani Adaar
Blackwall/Emily Cadash
Cassandra/Varric/Elizabeth Cadash
Krem/Dima Lavellan
Dorian/Amir Lavellan
Solas/Mheganni Sabrae

these are, again, subject to change, though unlikely to. if they do, i will update this list. any other ships will be mentioned in passing at most and are therefore unnecessary to note. feel free to ask me about them if you have concerns for any reason, but please note that i will not be giving spoilers.

with that: thank you once again, and please enjoy the fic!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: reunion (like reonion, but less smelly)

Chapter Text

The false Calling came upon me, a thunderstorm that had roiled in the distance until I suddenly became drenched in it. The Divine’s Conclave was yet weeks away when I first realized what was happening, and it was with a tense-yet-triumphant heart that I acknowledged it. I had already warned my friends; they were as prepared as I could make them.

I had expected, in some small place, that the Calling would be… stronger. A torrential downpour, impossible to ignore, something to be fought through and braced against, the sort of phenomenon that wipes anything lesser away.

It was not.

Years ago, in the ancient thaig where the red lyrium had first been found, I had heard a song whispered within the tainted stuff. It had entranced me, and in my sleep, it had nearly brought me to the edge of—of something. A precipice over which I dared not look, past which lay only destruction.

This false Calling… did nothing of the sort. It was less. It was a mere drizzle. It was just a poor imitation, a song in the background. It was less than Corypheus’ mere presence in the Warden prison; it was less even than the anxiety I had learned to bear.

It was a joke, but not a funny one. I knew it was causing panic already, and I knew it would continue to. With hope, fewer lives would be lost for my interference. With luck, none.

But I knew—of course I knew—that this could hardly be all there was to it. Corypheus had controlled some Grey Wardens, hadn’t he? I knew he’d managed control of Blighted dwarves, and did not doubt that some in the prison had fallen to his schemes. The false Calling was the least of my worries. I needed to be prepared. I needed to be ready.

I had Master Ilen add a lock to my aravel that could only be opened from the outside.

 

“You are Keeper Vir’era, I presume? You match Varric’s description.”

I smiled. Cassandra Pentaghast looked much as I had expected, and was just as direct. With how circuitous some could be—especially when attempting to hide their distaste for elves—I appreciated it. “I am. And you must be Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.”

“I am,” she repeated with a nod. She did not smile, but her features were smooth rather than sharp. I took that to mean she was not angry with my presence, even if she did not yet know what to make of it. “We’ve been expecting you. We have prepared space for your clan. Follow me.”

We did; she made no effort for conversation, though she did inform us where things of note were in Haven, such as the horse-pen, chantry, and tavern. The space we were given was not large, but it was adequate. Our aravels would be more clustered than usual, but unlike when we camped in forests or near roads, we had no need to attempt to hide. Everyone knew we were here.

“If you would be so kind, Keeper,” Cassandra began, “when you’re ready, I would like to speak with you—as would Leliana, I’m sure.” She didn’t mention Varric or Cullen. I tried not to let the omission worry me, though my hand did reach for Cullen’s coin.

I pulled my aravel to one side, nearest the footpath that led up to the clearing. Normally, I stayed in the center of camp, but here… It was important that I act as a buffer. I knew how to interact with non-Dalish far better than most of my clan did. And, this way, if anyone wished to reach me, they did not need to enter our camp. It was for the benefit of all, truly.

Cassandra waited to the side, watching idly as my people set themselves to rights. Hahren Linara and Master Ilen directed most of it, sending one aravel here and another there as they deemed most appropriate. The aravel where our guests had taken residence came to rest near my own, and the Adaars soon stood outside it, watching passers-by carefully. Knowing all would be well, I bid a brief adieu before following Cassandra towards the chantry.

“I have heard about you,” Cassandra said as we walked (I had to take two steps for each of hers; she slowed enough that it was no great issue), “though you will forgive me if I am unsure how much is trustworthy. I believe what Leliana and Commander Cullen have said, but Varric has proven an adept liar.”

“He’s a storyteller,” I said, hoping she would take my tone as amiably as I intended it. “It’s what he does. I’d be happy to answer questions, if that would assuage your worries.”

She hummed. “Thank you. Perhaps I will take you up on that offer in depth later. For now, I want to know only one thing: do you know where the Champions of Kirkwall are?”

I looked at her, and we locked gazes for just a moment even as we walked. It was important that she feel my sincerity. “No. I know where they were two years ago, but I urged them to keep on the move. It was not safe for any to know where they were.”

“Unfortunately, I believe you.” She sighed. “If they cannot help, perhaps you can.”

I paused, and she turned to look at me. With my limited knowledge of what was to come, I had a sinking suspicion… “You mean to ask of me what you would have asked of them.”

“I am thinking of it, yes,” she said, standing still on the stairs and staring down at me. “But I do not know you, and it would seem that you are in part to thank for that. Varric claims you asked to be omitted from his book.”

“I did. I… There are—were—things I had to do. Some that I yet need to. If I was as well-known as Malia and Garrett…” I let my gaze veer south, in the direction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I could not see it from here, but I knew it still stood. “Well, suffice to say it has proven better for my clan that I’m not a household name.”

Cassandra hummed, and when I turned to look at her again, her eyes were narrowed. “Would you refuse, then? You don’t even know what I would ask.”

“I know enough.” A flash of green light played out in my mind. “I don’t think I’m the one you need.”

She hummed again. “Come. Leliana is waiting in the Chantry—and I believe Her Holiness would like to meet you, too.”

 

“Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae, Your Holiness: a former Grey Warden,” Leliana announced, “and one of the Heroes of the Fifth Blight.”

I had expected Justinia to have a face with more wrinkles than crumpled paper, hair and eyes colorless from age, perhaps barely able to stand at the proud height a Divine should—but she had none of these things, and I could not help but stare in awe.

She smiled at me. I remembered one of the Sisters from Kirkwall’s chantry, who had smiled every time I entered, who had thanked me when I brought potions. Justinia’s smile held the same grace and welcome. Though I had imagined her to be perhaps nearing her deathbed in age as much as in fate, she was so very hale that my diaphragm stilled. She was old enough to be my mother, but not my grandmother. For a Divine, she was yet young—and nevertheless, her bell would soon toll.

I did not bow, but I had never intended to. I was not Andrastian. She held no rule over me. Still, out of a measure of respect, I did incline my head. She did the same, though she remained seated. It was appropriate enough; even if she was not of my religion, my own rank in Dalish society did not put me so high as hers in Andrastian, if such things could even be compared.

To Justinia’s right, Cassandra frowned at me, but did not speak. On her left, Leliana simply observed, though when I met her eyes, she gave me a little smile. I returned it. There were no others in the hall. I had requested privacy, and it had been granted.

“Welcome, Keeper,” Justinia said. Like Leliana, she had a distinctly Orlesian accent. “It has been a very long time since I have had opportunity to speak with one of the Dalish. I am pleased that you sought audience with me.”

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” I answered. Perhaps I should have used one of her honorifics, but I didn’t care to. I was entirely unaccustomed to speaking so formally with anyone. “Has Leliana informed you of my gift?”

“She has said some on the matter, yes.” A slightly crooked smile lifted the side of Justinia’s mouth higher, and she gave a short, acknowledging look to Leliana. “However, she has left much of it a mystery. ‘It is not relevant,’ she told me. I would be delighted to hear more.”

I gave Leliana a grateful smile of my own, which she returned with a nod. “She is wonderfully loyal. My people believe my gift comes from our gods, for however little they are still able to affect the mortal world. Once, I knew many things about the present and the many possible futures.”

“Once?”

“It waned to nothingness years ago.” I shrugged. “Such is the way of things. Before it was gone, I wrote all I could remember into a book. Very little is left on those pages that could yet be of any use, but there is one thing I thought prudent for you to know.”

Justinia’s eyes lingered on my vallaslin. I watched her watch me; I saw her eyes catalogue what few of my scars could be seen, felt them hold on the notch in my ear, the slice on my jaw, the lines crossing my fingers. “Somehow, Keeper, I do not think it is news of a successful peace.”

I waited for her eyes to meet mine again. Then, with quiet words, I admitted, “I wish that it were.”

She sighed, eyebrows creasing together, and as the air left her lungs, it took the pride that had held her strong. She diminished with its parting. “Then… I would first hear if your story corroborates that of Ser Tethras. Tell me of what happened in Kirkwall.

I did, albeit more abbreviated than she had likely heard from Varric, and when I was done, I did not have the heart to warn her of her death. “The Inquisition will be necessary, and there will be upheaval, but it—it will succeed. I can promise you that much.”

“You will not say more?”

“No. There are tales of the folly in trying to avoid fate entirely, and the destruction such causes.” Ir abelas, Marethari. Ir abelas, Justice. Ir abelas, Justinia. I could not save them. I cannot save you. “I will stay. I will help guide to the best outcomes, if I am welcomed, help to mitigate what losses fate demands. But I do not dare attempt thwarting it entirely again.” Even saving Leandra had nearly cost me my life.

“I understand.” She heaved a great sigh, and this time, as the breath came in, so too did some dignity, pulling her shoulders back and her head high. “If what you say is true, and the Inquisition is called to bear as I have hoped could be avoided… I would offer you a place within it.”

What answer should I give? She had not asked me to be Inquisitor, and even if she did—that was not my place. It was the Herald’s, whoever fate may choose to give the role.

My silence went on too long. “Do you refuse?” Justinia asked. “I am aware that your people have an unfortunate history with the Chantry. If such is reason for your hesitance, look to this as a place to begin anew. The Inquisition is meant to be a force for peace to all peoples of Thedas; the Dalish would not be excluded in this.”

It was a clumsy effort, I thought, but that she made the offer at all, when most within the Chantry would deny its wrongdoings against my people outright… It was a start. A step in the right direction. “What would you ask of me?”

“No more than you would give.” She peered at me, blue eyes striking enough to hold me in place. “I would offer you the title of Dalish Liaison; you would act as an advisor in such a role.”

I had to keep myself in check to ensure my jaw did not visibly drop. Certainly, Cassandra had even thought to nominate me for a higher role, but Cassandra was quick to act, and did not often care for the repercussions of any choices she deemed vital. But Justinia was the Divine, and far more measured in her decisions. For her to offer me a role of such import was—

Well. Unexpected.

Leliana nodded at me, even smiled. I think she meant to encourage me to take it. I could feel my heart beating rapidly, but I had trained my body enough to keep any shaking near-invisible. Leliana would know enough to look for it, though; Leliana would know how deep my anxiety ran, and how I was no natural leader.

But I was not the same overly-anxious boy of ten years ago, and I had been made into something resembling a capable leader in the last few years. I still had my clan, after all, and they trusted me enough to continue to follow. I had grown larger than my anxiety. It was still there, a specter haunting the shadows of my mind, yes, but I knew I was capable. After all, I was Hanal’ghilan. It was my destiny.

I inclined my head again, deeper than when I had been introduced. “I accept. It will be my pleasure to help our peoples begin the path to healing our ancient feud.”

Her smile was radiant. “Thank you, Keeper Vir’era. When the Inquisition is called, you shall be our Dalish Liaison, to advise us in the ways we might help each other. I look forward to your contributions.”

 

Leliana took me aside after that, pulling me into a room that held three beds. Cassandra went on ahead to find Josephine, as it was now paramount that I meet the Ambassador in person, but Leliana…

“There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked, pausing to stand at the end of one of the beds. “Something you didn’t tell us in there. Something you don’t want Justinia to know.”

“Yes,” I said.

She turned around, arms crossed. “Will you not tell me? I need to know everything I can if we are to have the advantage.”

I shook my head. “Some things will always happen. To know what I know—it would help nothing. It would bring you only pain. We cannot stop it.”

“It’s not just a continuation of the violence, is it? It’s something bigger. Worse.” I didn’t reply, but I didn’t need to. Her eyes peeled apart every action I took and all those I didn’t, measuring it to my words, to the things I had said and done in the past. She squinted at me, narrowing her focus. “What else has been inevitable? You always knew of danger. The Circle. Connor. The Broodmother. You even knew about the werewolves and the Lady of the Forest. I know you’ve kept in touch with Mia Rutherford, and you had to have a reason for going to Kirkwall.”

I listened silently. She began to pace, listing with each step something else I had predicted or warnings I had made. “One of my agents even traced a letter from you to the Empress of Orlais, as well as letters to the Grand Enchanter, at least one magister, and Warden-Commander Clarel, none of whom are people I was aware you knew.”

“I’ve only met Fiona,” I admitted. This just served to make Leliana huff.

“And what of the people you collected? The two Vashoth mercenaries, the Cadash twins, whatever business you could possibly have with the Trevelyan brothers… Only the Lavellans might make sense, if I did not know their clan to wander the Free Marches.”

I didn’t bother asking how or why Leliana knew all this. I knew she’d been looking for me, after all, and she was a very good spymaster. She might have trusted that I would come when needed, but that did not mean she did not want to know where I was, just in case.

“Leliana, I can’t tell you,” I said.

She pursed her lips, pressing them so hard together that even the rouge she’d applied did not give them color. She looked me in the eye, locking me in place like that. The years of holding my tongue pulled, dragging me lower, and I knew the burden would be lighter if only I told her what she wanted to know, knew she might hate me later if I did not warn her now, but there was nothing she could do. It would only cause her distress.

It would be news for her, while I had long ago made my peace with what was to come. I had failed to keep Corypheus from escaping his prison, after all. (I hadn’t even tried.)

“You can do nothing to change what will happen,” I told her. “It was set in motion years ago, and nothing we do now will stop it.”

“Could you have stopped it then?”

“I tried.” A white lie. But I hadn’t known how, not without killing my friends, and I had been unwilling to do that. “I couldn’t. There are some things, no matter how horrible, that the universe will see through.”

She snarled, turning her back on me. “How can you know this is unavoidable?”

“Because I know only that it happens, not how or when.” I sighed. “Only one time have I been able to change something I thought unavoidable, and even then, it was only because I knew what to look for beforehand. With this? I have nothing. I would not hurt you prematurely.”

“Then it will hurt.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me instead: is this conclave a waste of time? Should we have let the mages and Templars wage war all over Thedas? Would that have been better?”

I wanted to reach out, but didn’t think it would be appreciated, so instead, I pulled out the coin, pressing its impression into my fingers. “It’s not about them. Or, it is, but barely. There’s something bigger, and it…” I rubbed my thumb over Andraste’s headdress, remembered the facsimile of it that Meredith had worn. “It’s worse. The Inquisition will be necessary. The leader you were searching for will be there when needed. It’s the start of a different war, but hopefully one that will not last.”

“People will die,” she said, turning around to face me again. She glanced at the coin, but said nothing. “Important people.”

“Yes.”

“You’re so certain we cannot save them.”

“I couldn’t save King Cailan, Viscount Dumar, or Keeper Marethari.” I did not say that I had only really tried to save the last one. “Sometimes, we cannot do anything.”

She took a deep breath and gave one slow nod. “There is little I would not give to have the information you know, but… you may have a point. It doesn’t matter if I don’t like it. I pray it pays off.”

Mythal, let the secrecy be worth the price.

 

Leliana led me to the office where Josephine had set herself up, and I pondered the irony: I would attempt still to keep secrets from a spymaster, though I had promised truthfulness to a commander. But this secret… It would only hurt people to know. I could do little but hope that Cullen would not ask of it until its weight had passed.

“Josie, this is Vir’era Sabrae, the Keeper I told you about,” Leliana said. “The one who sent you that letter. Vee, this is Ambassador Josephine Montilyet.”

Josephine curtsied. “Andaran atish’an. It is an honor, Keeper.”

“You don’t need to bow or curtsy to me,” I said, putting a hand briefly against her arm. “I appreciate the thought, but it’s—it’s not necessary, really.”

“Truly?” she asked, eyes wide for a moment before she regained her composure. “But aren’t Keepers the Dalish equivalent of kings?”

Shemlen knowledge of Dalish custom was unbearably lacking. I didn’t hide my wince as well as I had hoped to; Josephine began to apologize, and I quickly stopped her. “Don’t fret overmuch; shemlen know little of our culture. No, Keepers aren’t like kings. Dalish don’t have kings or queens. A Keeper is more like a—a mayor. We are of the People, no better or worse than any other.”

“I… see.” Josephine drew herself to her full height. She was taller than me (of course), and even taller than Leliana, but didn’t reach Cassandra’s height. “Cassandra told me that you’ll be our Dalish Liaison. It’s my pleasure to welcome you. I look forward to working with you, though you’ll forgive me if I hope it does not turn out to be necessary for long, circumstances being what they are.”

I chuckled. “No, I think that makes perfect sense. I feel much the same.” Torchlight danced; in the room stood all but one of the advisors of the Inquisition, to whoever the Herald might be. My fingers rubbed the coin, and I tried to figure out if it was a good thing or a bad one that Cullen had yet to show his face. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance.”

“And I, yours.” Her smile was warm, glowing embers in a small fire. “I hope the space we prepared for your aravels is enough. Is there anything else you or your clan might need? If you need more privacy or find yourselves subject to harassment, do not hesitate to tell me. We won’t suffer that. And there is game in the forests, if you wish to hunt. It’s mostly nugs and small beasts now, but I heard mention of a herd of wild druffalo somewhere nearby in the west. We don’t have a proper horse master at the moment, but if there is anything you need for your halla, our stable hands should be able to procure it for you. Seggrit is selling…”

Josephine continued to rattle off all manner of this; any possible concern she could foresee for my clan, she had a solution for. It was kind, if occasionally ill-informed. I took it for its intent, speaking to correct only when the assumptions could cause offense.

 

As I exited the chantry, I caught sight of blonde and red meandering in the direction of the aravels. I didn’t run. My heart yearned to; I had missed Cullen so desperately these past years, though I had buried it and quashed it and kept it quiet. (It would help no one, after all, and the clan needed their Keeper.) However much I wanted to see him again, however much my heart sent warmth through my body at the thought…

My brain disagreed. He knew I’d lied, and though the single letter I’d managed to receive had claimed forgiveness, the shadows of my anxiety whispered doubts. In all else, I might ignore them, but in this?

I had never been good at this.

So I walked at a more leisurely pace behind Cullen, neither slow nor speedy. He was making a rather circuitous path of his own, and even with my much shorter legs, I reached him before he had quite neared the aravels.

“Cullen,” I called.

He turned so quickly that I nearly jumped in surprise, his eyes scanning behind him until he found me. What thoughts went through his head when he saw me—what emotions he felt—were beyond me. His face was a complex piece, and I…

My heart pounded the breath from my lungs. My feet stuttered forward, one hand lifting to reach for him before I remembered myself and drew it back to my side. I let my feet carry me on, staring up at his golden eyes, ignorant of the world around me.

“Vir’era,” he said. He fidgeted, hand lifting from his sword, then back down, securing the grip within his fist, the pommel in the other, holding it there. Though his back was straight, his shoulders in perfect form, his head dipped forward, further than he would need to just meet my gaze. I wondered what that meant.

“I—it’s good to see you, ma falon,” I said. My voice was so tremulous that it was a wonder he could hear the words at all.

“It is,” he agreed. “I mean, to see you. Obviously. Not—to see me.” The frosty air of the mountains had teased pink into his ears and face. I wanted to reach out, to hold on until they warmed again.

He looked—healthy. Healthier than he had in Kirkwall. His face wasn’t so gaunt, and the circles under his eyes were negligible. Plus, he looked clean in a way that he never managed in Kirkwall. In a way that suggested he’d finally started taking time for himself, specifically. His hair looked so soft that I could almost feel it.

I held myself very still. “I… I believe I owe you an explanation.”

His mouth opened and closed without sound. He nodded. “I would—appreciate that. You—I’ve wondered, and you did… You did promise.”

I moved my hand in the direction of my aravel. “Come with me, then. It is…” Words tumbled and fumbled through my mind, and none felt adequate. “It’ll take time. If you’re free, I mean.”

His eyes followed my gesture, and he looked over the clan’s encampment. Kumbukani and Adegoke lingered near the entry point, unsubtly doing their weapons’ maintenance and staring down any who passed too near. The statues of Fen’Harel had already been placed, a protection as much as the mercenaries. After a moment, Cullen spoke. “I have time.”

Something in the way he said it made me wonder, but I did not press the issue. I led the way, nodding at the Adaars as I drew near. There would be time for introductions later. “I’ll prepare some tea. I’m afraid I don’t have any food appropriate for hosting guests, as we have been traveling for a long while, but you are welcome to share in a rusk or two. There is also jerky, but it won’t complement the tea well.”

“I’ve never had a rusk before.” Cullen followed closely and did not do more than look in the direction of central camp. “I would be willing to try one.”

“They’re made because they keep for long, which is ideal when one is on the move as often as Dalish are. I’ve always enjoyed them.” Subtly sweet, with light flavor, a perfect complement to almost any tea—and inedible without being thoroughly soaked. Difficult to eat while moving, but easy to keep for months without worry of rot.

There were no chairs in my aravel—there was no space for any—so I sat Cullen down near the low shelf that served as table and desk. We spoke of inconsequential matters as I prepared the tea and brought out a few rusks. I talked him through how to eat them as I poured the tea. Then, and only then, I joined him at the shelf-turned-table.

“Where should I start?” I asked, dipping a rusk in my cup.

He pulled out some parchment—my eyes went wide as I recognized my own handwriting. It was the letter I’d written him. There were folds worn into it now, and the edges had been worried into a soft fuzz, but there was no mistaking it. He had kept it, had read and reread it, and had brought it with him here. Had he gone to fetch it when he realized I had finally arrived, or had he kept it on his person?

He smoothed it carefully onto the table and refused to look at me. I couldn’t help but stare at his profile as he pressed the pages into obedience. The candlelight was warmer than the sunlight outside, but I could tell his face was still flushed. The tea would warm him soon enough, I hoped, though admittedly, I felt warm already.

“You said…” He cleared his throat and glanced up at me at last. “In your letter, you… you said that Anders was an abomination.”

“He was.”

“How?” His confusion felt genuine. “An abomination doesn’t—an abomination is a corruption of the very stuff that makes a person a person. A demon and a mage cannot merge without turning to destruction, according to all the books I’ve read and every Chantry scholar. I—I tried to ask about the possibility, but I’m—I was a Templar. My questions never got me very far.”

I pulled the rusk from my tea and nibbled on the softened, soaked end, considering my reply. “They’re not entirely wrong,” I said, and explained what I knew of the theory of spirits, of demons, and of abominations. For his part, he listened. I pulled out the books I had studied for my circle, and he—he followed along. Not without questions or frowns, but he… He responded to it in a way I had not anticipated.

He seemed to accept it as plausible, if not palatable. “It’s dangerous and foolish, and barely better than allowing a demon in,” he said, and then his eyes went distant and his jaw unclenched, “but I can’t claim I don’t know why it would happen. I know why.”

I said nothing, instead eating more of my rusk. He traced his fingers down the letter. “You wrote about a ritual to separate them. Something you had been working on since you met them, if my math is right.” His eyes cut up to mine, and I put my rusk down. “Did it work?”

Ma vir’suledin. Ar din’an him, enasal. A glowing sword. The emotional slurry that was the Fade. My voice faded to a whisper. “Yes and no.” I swallowed; he waited for the full answer. “Justice is no longer part of Anders, but I… To separate them, to free them from their course, I—I had to…” The room was blurry. I blinked, tears stinging back but not falling. “Justice could not deal with the mortal world. It made him into Vengeance, and if he had returned—if I hadn’t… I killed Justice.”

Cullen was silent at this.

“He was my friend, but if I had… if he had returned…” I wrapped my hands around my cooling cup. “Vengeance was no friend to anyone. Not to me, not to the mages, and least of all to Anders.”

“Did he—they—did Anders tell you what he intended to do to the Chantry?”

My grip grew so tight that my fingers paled, and I forced them to relax. “I—ir abelas, that is a difficult question.” Cullen frowned, and I quickly continued to speak. “I-I told you, didn’t I? That there’s… more. Reasons for my secrets beyond—it was not only that Anders is my friend, that Justice was.”

He looked at the letter again, finding the place where I’d mentioned my secrecy so easily that I knew he had studied the words. “Tell me you didn’t help him, Vir’era. Please. So many lives—you can’t have…”

“I knew what he was doing.” Just as damning, I thought. “I knew even before he did. I didn’t know how to stop him, a-and I didn’t try very hard. This war was always going to come. Meredith…” Eleven mages made Tranquil within the first year in Kirkwall, blood magic culled even where it had not existed, blackmail to train Templars in fighting mages who had no chance. “…Meredith made it personal. Elthina ignored every evidence. I let it happen.”

Pulling another letter out, nearly as worn as the first, Cullen said, “You knew before he did. You knew this war was coming. You knew I would be here, that Josephine would. You even knew to look for me in Kirkwall, so many years ago, and you… you brought me a letter. From my sister.”

It wasn’t a question. None of it was. “Yes.”

He pushed a hand through his hair, the brown leather of the glove making the blonde even more inviting. It fell out of place at the movement, a curl dropping down onto his forehead, and I wanted to tuck it back. (I didn’t dare move. This was hardly the time for such thoughts, and even less so for such actions.)

“When—when you came to Ferelden’s Circle,” he started, and the non-sequitur jarred me back to awareness, “you said something similar. About Redcliffe, and the troubles there. I-I… I had almost forgotten. I wasn’t—in my right mind then, and I thought perhaps it was nothing more than the lingering effects of the maleficarum. But it was true.”

As he stared at me from halfway into the shadows of the corner, I could feel my web of lies tremble. His words put pressure on the oldest of them, and soon…

I was nowhere as prepared for this as I had hoped. My bones trembled in my body as I pushed to break the secrecy. “Yes. I knew.”

“How?”

My jaw flapped open and closed a few times, but I didn’t know how to explain this. I hadn’t tried in—in over a decade. I settled for simplicity: “I don’t know. I’ve never known how, not—not really. It’s just…” I took a deep breath. “And I don’t know much anymore. Whatever strange power allowed such knowledge also took it away, but I-I… I wrote what I could.”

I moved to the cabinet with the false back and carefully took out my journal. Cullen remained utterly silent, doing nothing more than watching. I stared down at the plain, entirely unassuming cover. This journal held—everything. Every key to who I was or wasn’t, every miniscule clue.

I had never shared it with anyone. Not even Theron.

By some miracle, my hands didn’t tremble as I passed it over. “It’s… strange. And I know it must all be true, even if I don’t know how or why. Everything it has—everything that I once predicted… So far, it has all proven true.”

His hand ghosted over the cover. He didn’t undo the tie. “That’s…” He was frowning, but I couldn’t find it in me to be upset. “Vir’era, you know how it sounds.”

“Implausible at best. Demons at worst.” I sighed and stared down at my tea. “I know. You—you can read it. I said no more secrets, and I meant it. All that I know, all that book has to offer, it’s yours. Just—don’t destroy it, please. There is no magic in the book itself. I don’t even know what kind of magic brought me to this.”

“This is… thick.”

“I knew a lot, once.” I wished I knew more still. “I-I know this isn’t easy. It’s, um. It’s a lot to take in.” What was I supposed to say? “But i-if you read it… you might understand.”

He stared at it a while longer. “I will,” he said, then nothing.

When his silence dragged, I pulled out his coin, offering it with a slightly unsteady hand. “I-I said I’d return it to you, when next we met. It… has been a source of great comfort. I have appreciated it.”

The candlelight flickered, and I could not discern his thoughts as his gaze moved from book to coin. Eventually, he reached into his pocket, taking out in turn the geode I had lent him. “I—I’ve felt the same. About this. I, ah, looked into the runes. Some of the Tranquil who stayed behind at the Gallows—they helped me. They said it’s unlike any work they’d seen before. Magnificently done. Delicate balance, but… sturdy.”

I half-smiled. That sounded like Sandal in just about everything. “It is. I—I don’t need it anymore, not as I once did. I think you might get better use from it, and…” It had been in his pocket, on his person. And it was clean—it looked cared-for in a way even I hadn’t done. “It should be where it will be of use.”

He put it back in his pocket, then closed my hand around the coin. “The same can be said of this. I don’t need luck for what I do here. You—whatever your reasons for being here—I think you could use it.”

I could’ve cried. “Ma serannas.”

Chapter 2: a blustery day

Notes:

sorry this took so long! i wasn't able to do pretty much any writing while i was in the states, and my schedule back here in china has gotten busier! the next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

After Cullen left, I called for a clan meeting. Such things were infrequent—on the road, it is dangerous to call everyone to gather at once, leaving no one to stand guard. Though basic rules were innately understood by most within my clan, and were the same as they had ever been when interacting with shemlen (keep children out of their sight, go nowhere with a shem, never allow a shem to enter unchaperoned), things were different this time.

Never before had our encampment been in the middle of a shemlen town, after all. Outside it, even within view, yes. After all, I was a Champion and a friend to Ferelden’s monarchy. But never within. It was unheard-of.

I even called our visitors to meet with us. Certainly, the Trevelyans and Cadashes had little reason to listen to my words, but since they were our guests, it only made sense.

“Andaran atish’an,” I said when all had gathered. The phrase was echoed to me. “I know this is a strange circumstance to be in, and I ask your patience. My friend, Sister Leliana, assures me we are here with the Divine’s blessing and protection. Ambassador Josephine Montilyet provided this space specifically for us, and Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast has said that it has been made clear to those already in Haven that we are welcome additions, not interlopers.

“Still, I need not tell you this does not mean we are safe. As always, we must remain wary of shemlen whose intentions we are not absolutely certain of. The normal guidelines will still apply, and there will be no fewer shifts for watching.” A small sigh left the people gathered, as though this were entirely reassuring rather than a disappointment.

“I encourage you to walk around Haven. Hunters, I have been told there is some game in the forests that we are welcome to. Master Ilen, there is a smith who would be more than willing to share knowledge, if you so wish. There is also a tavern, for those who might wish to visit such an establishment. I would warn all to be wary of the chantry, of course. If you have any issues, come to me. I am known to these shemlen.

“Perhaps most importantly, I must insist that no one go anywhere alone. I do not think we need to fear for our lives here, but please, there is always more safety in numbers. Stay in groups, and if you cannot, then go in pairs.” This got mild murmuring, but it sounded like approval. “For our guests, I would ask the same, but I leave the decision in your hands. The issues are different when you are not Dalish.”

I could not enforce this with any but the Adaars, as they were still acting as hired bodyguards for our clan, but I hoped they would follow my suggestions nonetheless. (I doubted Driscoll would.)

“Two more things,” I said. “The first: Please do not wander far from Haven, and please be respectful here. I do not need to impress upon you why, but I will remind you that many shemlen consider this a holy place. You do not need to consider it holy, but I ask that you treat it with the respect we so rarely see them give to our holy places. The most holy point here is further south, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

Green light. Demons. The Temple in ruins. “Do not linger there. Divine Justinia will be conducting the peace talks between the mages and Templars there; none here have any outstanding reason to attend. I cannot stop you from going there altogether, but I will ask that you do not spend any significant length of time there. I would prefer that none go at all, but that is not my choice to make.”

This time, there was shifting. Not much. Only from a select few: those more adventurous in my clan, and my guests. It was a bit strange, after all, that I might so specifically ask them to avoid a place. I could only hope they would heed my advice. (Yet, if all went as foretold, one would not. But who?)

“Finally,” and I pulled myself to stand as tall as I could, smiling at my people, “you should know that I have been appointed Dalish Liaison. This means a few things. Most importantly, it means we will stay here for some time, and I do not know how long. I have an obligation to them, now, to act as an advisor and provide a Dalish opinion. Any concerns you express to me of what is happening will be considered through this, and if they cannot be resolved, they will be brought to my fellow advisors. While I hold this position, I will do all I can to ensure we are safe, and that our troubles are taken seriously.”

“Will there be more shems walking in the camp, then?” asked Hahren Linara, arms folded over her chest.

I faced her. “If all goes well, no. This is our space; I see no reason to have all manner of person tromping through uninvited. If you find too many attempting to come through, let me know. I will do what I can.”

She nodded once. More questions came, and I did what I could to assuage the fears, but there were fewer than I had expected. Perhaps they were used to outsiders now. Perhaps they didn’t mind it so much.

 

Varric found me not long after that, as I was leaving the encampment. He grinned and pulled me into a hug immediately; apparently, he’d been waiting for me. “Mittens! Andraste’s ass, it’s good to see you. Not that I’ve been treated too badly here, but it’s hard to feel welcome when the invitation was mandatory.”

I couldn’t help the laugh. “And I’m sure you’ve been a pleasure. Have you—did you follow my advice?”

His expression didn’t change in the slightest, and I knew, even though I’d told him not to… He had kept track of the Hawkes. “’Course I did,” he lied, patting my arm.

I didn’t contradict him. It wasn’t worth an argument, especially not where someone might hear. “Mm, I see. And… have you heard, then?”

“Depends. What is it I’m supposed to have heard?” he asked. He gestured and began walking, leading me in the direction of the tavern.

“I’ve been made Dalish Liaison. I’ll be here for… however long is needed. For whatever shape this all takes on.” I did feel some pride in my new title. It felt—good. It felt almost right, even, though Keeper… For all that I regretted how I’d inherited the role, it was the role I felt most comfortable in. (I had never made a good Grey Warden.)

“No shit!” He clapped his hand against my back. “We should celebrate, then! It’s about time for dinner, anyway. We can drink to that and talk about what’s happened since—well. Since.”

Melancholy wrapped around my mind, silky and familiar. “I think I like the sound of that. If what I’ve heard is to be believed, you have quite a lot to tell me.”

We entered the tavern; I found us a place to sit, and he fetched food and drink. “I’ve been meeting quite a few of your old friends,” Varric said as he sat, grin glinting in the golden glow of the fire. “I have to say, that Nightingale isn’t exactly what I expected. Your stories made it seem like she was more puppies-and-rainbows than knives-and-murder.”

“It’s been over a decade,” I answered, half-shrugging. “Plus, she’s a spymaster now. It’s not exactly a position one can remain continuously positive in, however much I might wish she would relax.”

“Maybe she just needs some help. You said once she has a lover, right? One of the Grey Wardens, if I remember correctly.”

“When don’t you?” I quipped. He winked. “You remember correctly. Warden-Constable Neria Surana, to be specific, but Neria…” I couldn’t tell him I’d sent her away. Leliana would understand, but Leliana knew. “I visited Vigil’s Keep some months ago—on my way here, in a manner of speaking—and she was preparing for a long mission. I don’t think we’ll be seeing her anytime soon.”

He hummed. “Guess we’ll need to find some other way. Maybe we can get Ruffles in on it—have you met her yet? The ambassador?”

“Of course,” I said. “After I spoke with Divine Justinia, Leliana made sure to introduce us.”

Spluttering, he rolled a hand like he was winding something. “Hold on, let’s back up a bit. You already spoke with the Divine?”

I blinked and frowned. “I—yes?”

“Didn’t you only arrive here today?”

“Sometime in the late morning, yes. Why?”

“Figures.” He groaned. “It took over a week for the Seeker to finally bring me in to tell the Divine what I knew, and even then, she’d apparently already heard most of it from the Seeker, anyway, so it was more like a test. It’s never fun to tell a story if your audience is looking for holes, let me tell you.”

I thought about my long-lived lies and nodded. To his credit, Varric didn’t comment on my apparent understanding. He took a long swig, then waved his cup through the air, ushering the conversation in a new direction. “So, if you’ve been made Dalish Liaison, and you’ve met the Seeker, Spymaster, and Ambassador, I’m guessing you know who the Commander is.”

Mid-bite, I had to be careful not to let my instinctive reaction cause me to choke. I swallowed slowly; Varric waited. “I do.”

He waited more. I took another bite. “‘I do’?” he echoed. “That’s all I’m getting? C’mon, Mittens. You gotta give me more than that.”

“Well,” I allowed, “I don’t… I’m not sure what more you’re expecting.”

His eyes were as dexterous as his hands, and I could swear they were stripping down every word I said down to its bare truth. “I can’t say I know exactly what your relationship was in Kirkwall, but I was under the impression that you were at least something like friends.”

In Kirkwall, what would I have called Cullen? A friend? It had been years since that time, and trying to remember what thoughts I’d had on such things was like trying to read a book from across the room. I knew that he’d been important, and perhaps he’d been more important than I’d been ready to admit to myself. A little sigh slipped past my lips.

Varric’s eyebrows raised. His jaw dropped. His hand, which had been holding a fork, lowered back to the table. In that moment, I had let my hand show, and now he knew that I—that I was in love. “You never do make things easy for yourself, do you?” he asked, a downturned chuckle following the words. “Shit, Mittens. I did not expect that.”

“Tell no one,” I insisted. He raised an eyebrow at me, and honestly, I could understand why. It was such an adolescent urge, and I was—how old, exactly? Born in the spring, that I knew, but what year? 9:10? 9:11? Creators curse my failed memory—surely too old for that sort of thing. I brought up a hand and pushed my pinky out at him. “Please, Varric.”

The other eyebrow went up, and he started to say something, but no words came forth. A moment later, he wrapped his pinky around mine. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Ma serannas, ma falon.” Cullen didn’t need my feelings for him to affect whatever he might think of my journal, of me. He was kind (so very much kinder than the world had been to him), but all that I was and all that I knew would be no easy thing to acknowledge. To have my heart in his hands at the same time would be…

Perhaps it wasn’t only that he didn’t need it. Perhaps I also feared what might happen. I itched to touch his coin, but Varric’s eyes were heavy on my skin. He would know, somehow. I kept my hands within view.

 

The Temple of Sacred Ashes had been restored in the years since its rediscovery. It was magnificent. No longer the frost-riddled, forgotten place of my memories, the Temple had been shown such care and careful refurbishment that it gleamed. I stood at the base of its steps, uncertain whether I could gather the courage to enter.

I had told my people not to come here, after all. Even though, supposedly, one of them was destined to… I had told them to stay away. If I mounted these steps, I would be a hypocrite.

But I burned with the need to know how it had changed inside. The Guardian who had stood watch for centuries was gone—not a single pilgrim had made mention of him since the others from the Fifth Blight and I had come here in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. And the Urn, too, had disappeared; what that meant, I didn’t know, but everything about Haven was so drastically different that nothing was surprising.

I climbed the steps slowly, letting Littlefoot’s blade touch the ground audibly as I went. We were returning together, even if most of the others were far out of reach.

Leliana slipped to my side when I made it through the doors. Perhaps she’d been watching me. We walked silently through the entry hall, pausing only momentarily at the Holy Brazier.

“Do you remember when we found this place?” Leliana asked, trailing a hand along the pedestal that the Brazier sat upon. “Castor and Capella found the riddle above the door.”

“But you lit the Brazier before they could figure it out,” I said, and she smiled at me. “You beat them to the punch, which almost never happens.”

“It’s a good trait in a leader. They were surprised, but not upset; an even better trait.” We walked through the doorway. “You know, we’ve barely even seen signs of the cultists since we came here. It’s almost like they were never here, if you can ignore the bloodstains in some of the buildings.”

Was she trying to get more information about them? I didn’t know anything. “That’s good, I think. They were dangerous. We may have had little trouble with them, but we were all fighters. The people you have here now… Most of them are not.”

“They are pilgrims,” she agreed. “A few have made this their home, but most do not stay long. Especially now—we have kept the mages and Templars from violence so far, but it will only last so long. The Divine wishes to wait until we have counted representatives from every Circle, but it is hard to find any mage who is willing to claim to represent Dairsmuid.”

I suppressed a wince. Dairsmuid was Annulled too recently for that to feel like anything other than a trap, regardless of how pure Justinia’s motive might be. I could not blame the mages here for distancing themselves from it, whether they were from that Circle originally or not.

We passed through the mountaintop pass to the Gauntlet, which now was empty. No Guardian, no Ashes, no wraiths, no spirits—the statues and architecture and rooms all remained, but the entirety of the Gauntlet was otherwise simply… empty.

“Where do you think he is?” Leliana asked me, gesturing at the place the Guardian had once stood.

“I don’t know.” I considered the spot, which seemed too small now to have possibly held such a presence. (“Do you regret not speaking earlier?” he had asked me. I had said no. Mostly, that remained true.) “Perhaps he is with the Ashes still, wherever they are now.”

She hummed. “That would make sense.”

We continued on. The room which once did not have a solid bridge now did, with no evidence of the magic that had been there before. In the hall where once we had been confronted by spirits of our past, I tried to remember what mine had looked like. It had been me, hadn’t it? Me from Before. But I couldn’t remember beyond that. “Did you receive a pendant here?” I asked her. I still had mine. It was with me, always, hanging on the same chain that held my Warden’s Oath.

“Yes.” She didn’t say more than that, and it didn’t take long to reach the altar with the statue of Andraste.

There was no pedestal, now, no fire to walk through. “It is strange. So few people believe what I’ve told them about how this temple was before. Even Cassandra has expressed her doubts.”

I gazed at Andraste’s stone face. “It’s a fantastical story, even when you allow for magic and benevolent spirits. You know as well as I how little the Chantry cares to incorporate magic into anything that surrounds Andraste.”

She chuckled. “You’re right. You know, there are those who believe Andraste herself was a mage. Mostly these stories come from Tevinter, to discredit the Chantry and the Divine, but there are even those in the south who believe it.”

“Do you?”

“I do not know.” She began to mount the steps to the statue’s base, where the Urn had once rested. “It makes as much sense as it does not. It would explain many of her more miraculous feats, of course. But it would not explain how the Chantry has come to such fear of magic. And what of her words? ‘Magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him.’ If she was a mage, that would mean something entirely different. It would change everything the Chantry preaches.”

“Change is coming regardless.” I stayed at the bottom of the stairs, as I had before. This was not my religion. Andraste was not my prophet.

Leliana looked down at me from the top. “I suppose you’re right. That which does not change has always been doomed to fail. I can only hope we are not too late.”

 

I grew increasingly distracted as the days wore on with no sign of Corypheus and no explosion. My clan settled in as well as could be expected—I heard tell of a few disputes, but nothing that required intervention. The Adaars posted at our entrance was enough to ward off most, regardless of their intentions.

And it was not only the wait for the Breach that weighed on my mind; I had not spoken to Cullen, either. I had seen him in passing, but never for long, and never close enough to do so much as greet him. We were all busy enough that I couldn’t conclusively say he was avoiding me (he had the responsibility of ensuring the safety of all who arrived and I was becoming more deeply involved with even the non-Dalish elves in attendance), but it still did not sit well.

The False Calling waxed and waned, apparently at random. Usually, it was hardly anything, but there were nights when it left me sleepless and antsy. (Those were the worst nights.)

After one such night, tired and anxious though I was, I agreed to speak with Cassandra in greater detail about my experiences in Kirkwall. “You had more interaction with Meredith than Varric, and did not work under her like Cullen. Though I would not call yours an objective viewpoint, it is the closest that is available to me,” she said as we sat at the table in the back of the chantry. “I would know what you thought of her.”

“You may not like it,” I warned.

“I do not need to like it to know it.” Outside, the early autumn winds keened quietly. “If I am to understand what happened there, to help the Divine in the decisions she must make about your friend’s actions, I need to know more about what happened from someone who was not involved on either side.” Apparently realizing what she’d said, she backtracked, “Or, rather, from someone who was less involved. It is my understanding that you are against the Circles, are you not?”

“I am. I didn’t proclaim such from every tower in Kirkwall, but I’m Dalish, and at the time, I was a Grey Warden harboring an apostate.” I shrugged. “Only someone truly daft would have thought I found the Circles as they stood to be a good idea.”

“‘As they stood?’” she echoed, eyebrows lifting high. “So you are not entirely against them, then?”

I tilted my head noncommittally. “A school for magic is a good idea; it would benefit all. It’s true that mages must learn control over their abilities so that they will not cause unintended harm. But the Circles have long been tools for promoting fear of magic rather than respect for it, and fear does not lead to the kind of control one needs.”

Cassandra crossed her arms. “Not all the Circles were as cruel as the one in Kirkwall. Ostwick Circle was well-known for having content, if bored, mages.”

“One example is not a pattern.” She opened her mouth to argue some more, so I shook my head. “No, you’re right; they were not all as cruel as Kirkwall. It was the worst of the lot in its method for controlling those who lived within its walls. That does not mean mages did not suffer needlessly elsewhere.”

“Then tell me about Kirkwall,” she told me, leaning forward a bit. “That is what we are here to discuss; I am certain you have put much thought into this all, but it is not the time to air out every problem with the Circles.”

I disagreed (if we did not mention them now, when would we?), but acquiesced. Kirkwall’s problems, after all, were common among most circles, but had simply been amplified. “It is important, then, that you know that Kirkwall’s problems—and Meredith’s madness—began even before she ever got ahold of red lyrium. The red lyrium only intensified what was already festering.”

She pursed her lips and gave me a tight nod. “I have heard as much, and what few records we could salvage do not paint a pretty picture.”

“Within the first year that I spent in that city, more than ten mages were made Tranquil.” She didn’t say anything, but I could see the muscles in her jaw work. “Some, as I understand it, went through the proper channels and had a long history of trouble to back up the decision, regardless of whether or not it is one which should ever be used—but most didn’t. Karl Thekla, for example, was a good man made Tranquil because he was in contact with apostates. Maddox was made Tranquil for writing letters to his beloved. Their crimes were not collusion or blood magic, just letters.”

Cassandra took a deep breath. “And these were before the red lyrium?”

“Yes,” I said. “You could ask Cullen of them. He may not remember Karl, but he should remember Maddox. A Templar, Samson, was discharged for aiding Maddox.”

“I see.” She folded her hands and stared at them for a moment. The wind battered forcefully against the chantry’s walls. “What was your impression of Meredith then?”

The winds stilled for a moment, all the world seeming to wait on my answer. “She faked being sound of mind very well, but her actions betrayed her paranoia. No well-balanced person would see blood magic at every corner. Not like she did. If I weren’t a Grey Warden—she didn’t like me. She didn’t like that I could shapeshift. I think she would have made me Tranquil if she could have.”

With rage like Meredith confirming my words, wind crashed against the Chantry once more, loud enough to startle. Cassandra and I both jumped. “It’s as though a dragon is trying to take flight just outside,” she noted lightly, and I laughed a bit, trying to shake the jitters from speaking of Meredith and receiving such an answer from the universe.

But before we could re-center ourselves, a blast of incredible magical energy tore through the room, leaving both of us gasping in its wake. It left no evidence of its passing in the physical realm, but I could feel the aftershocks through my connection to the Fade, and Cassandra’s Seeker abilities seemed to allow her something similar.

My mind scrambled by the force of it, it took me a moment to realize what had happened, and when I did, I felt there was no time to explain.

“The Temple,” I wheezed at Cassandra. I stumbled to the door and pushed myself out of the room, out of the Chantry, out into Haven. People were shouting, rushing in every direction. Soldiers ran for the gates, to the south, swords raised. Children were swept up and carried away.

The sky was green and sundered.

“What is that?” Cassandra asked. “It—it’s coming from the Temple, but—how did you know?”

I shook my head, still staring in the direction of the Temple. Who had it been? Who was it? I couldn’t—I hadn’t even felt Corypheus—was I out of his range? (The False Calling was so strong; was his nearness to blame?) Cassandra growled and grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to face her. “Do you know what has happened?”

“The Breach,” I said. “It’s the Fade. There are—demons!” I could see them now. Not many, not yet, but enough—a despair demon sped above us. Cassandra’s head whipped to follow it.

“Is this what you meant?” she demanded. “You said something was going to happen. Is this it?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “We must find Leliana.”

“Cassandra!” Leliana found us instead, running up the path to the chantry. “Vir’era! Good, you’re both here. Vir’era, what is this?”

“The Breach,” I said again. “It’s more than a tear. It pierced the Veil.” As I spoke, spirals of green light continued to burst from the Breach, traveling all over. Some went beyond our field of vision without landing. When would the Herald reappear from the Fade? “I need to figure out who it is.”

“Who what is?” Cassandra asked, her grip still ironclad on my shoulder. Her fingers pressed into the old scar from Fort Drakon, reminding the skin there of how it should ache.

There were demons pouring out. “Fight the demons!” I said. “I need—” I gestured at my clan. “I need to know who! I will find you near the bridge.”

“I will go with him,” Leliana said. “Cassandra, find Cullen and figure out what has happened at the Temple.” She frowned, opened her mouth, then nodded and left. Leliana turned to me, and we hurried to the aravels. “The Divine is at the Temple. You said something would happen.”

“It’s gone,” I told her. “The Temple. There’s nothing we could have done. I need to know who the Herald will be.”

Perhaps I should have either tried to explain or tried to hide my knowledge better, but Leliana had always known that I knew things, and my thoughts were not in enough order to manage much else. I think she suspected as much, because she was silent, then, simply running at my side.

Both Adaars were at their stations. “Keeper!” Adegoke shouted as I drew near. “That surge—what’s happening?”

“An explosion,” I told him. “Magic of some sort. Where is everyone? Have they stayed in the camp?”

He and Kumbukani exchanged a glance. “We weren’t keeping track,” he said, “but most of Clan Sabrae’s stayed put. I saw some hunters head north—think it was Mheganni and Fenarel. Don’t know about your guests. I haven’t seen Driscoll since yesterday. Think I saw Clifford earlier, so Emily and Elizabeth should be around, though.”

I nodded and patted his arm. “Ma serannas.” Sweeping past him into camp with Leliana on my heel, I did catch sight of Clifford myself, his mistresses standing on either side of him and staring up at the demons. “Emily! Elizabeth! Adegoke told me some of my hunters went north. I need to know they are safe; please, find them for me. Bring them back here.”

“Shouldn’t we go see what all that’s about?” Emily asked, gesturing to the Breach.

I shook my head. “No. I will be going there soon enough, but I need to know my people are safe.” One of the green lights struck the woods to the north, trailing demons in its wake. “Please!”

With a glance, they rushed off. Others in the clan were gathering now, asking questions over each other and exclaiming at the sky’s shade. “Listen closely!” I called to them. “Those who are able to fight, I ask you to begin patrols of the camp and of Haven. Help any in need and slaughter any demons you come across. Everyone else: we will endure. Dirthavara. Keep yourselves safe; do not venture beyond Haven’s walls until we know it is no longer dangerous. Prepare elfroot and bandages. I must go to the source of the trouble.”

They split up easily enough—direct orders and shock would do that—but Jewel and Dima came to me. “Our brothers are missing,” Dima said.

“I don’t know where Driscoll has got to,” Jewel added, “but I intend to find him. He had been spending time with the soldiers near the south. If you’re headed there, let me come with.”

Creators, I thought to myself, let it not be Driscoll. He was a good enough man, but so fickle and wishy-washy. “Of course,” I told Jewel. “I would be glad for your help.”

“Let me come too, please,” Dima said. “Amir—he said he was just going for a walk, so I thought it would be harmless to let him walk Haven on his own, but that was hours ago. I think he got distracted, Keeper. I think he left Haven.”

Amir was still so young. Not a child, not quite, but barely more. How old was he? Eighteen? Twenty? Mythal, protect that boy. “Can you fight?”

Dima glanced over my shoulder. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her staff, but she nodded. “For Amir, I can.”

I glanced at Leliana, who had remained silent, and she nodded at me. “Then come. We’ll find your brothers.”

Notes:

ma serannas - thank you
ma falon - my friend
dirthavara - i promise [my construction/not canon]

Chapter 3: when he first woke up he realized he had snow-white skin and a glowing green hand that could fix the fade stop a rift and OUCH (he's much more unique than the other guys)

Notes:

i can't fucking believe that entire chapter title fit it's almost longer than a fucking tweet (also it's a classic erik shitpost title sorry not sorry)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

We ran into demons every step of the long path to the Temple, it seemed. As our journey grew yet longer, pulses of incomparable magical energy passed over us and the green tear in the sky grew larger. I could feel the chaos in the Fade; spirits pressing every which way in confusion, demons scrabbling to come nearer, magic pulled in enough directions that the Veil was straining.

Dima was not well-versed in fighting. She was capable enough, and electricity seemed to come naturally, but the sheer number of demons was clearly overwhelming. I made sure to stand by her at all times.

Jewel, on the other hand, had obviously been trained by skilled swordmasters. He had no difficulties with keeping pace against those demons on the ground. With Leliana’s expert shots keeping the flying ones at bay, he was easily capable of cutting a path forward.

We’d barely reached the first of the arches leading to the Temple when a flash of color came rushing at us. “Jewel! Maker’s holy balls, I have never been so glad to see you!”

“Driscoll!” Jewel exclaimed, catching his brother. Driscoll looked half-dressed, with wild hair and no coat to be seen—and, certainly, he rarely looked fully dressed, but this was a new level, even for him. He didn’t even have a staff. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

Driscoll pushed away, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine—I was visiting the soldiers, you know, they get so lonely down there, and it’s always more intense when someone’s been lonely—”

“Not relevant, Drisc. The Temple. What happened there?” Jewel asked.

“I have no idea,” Driscoll said, glancing over his shoulder at the Breach. His eyes caught sight of myself, Dima, and Leliana. “I suppose you’re on your way to find out, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded. “Jewel can take you back to the camp, but we can’t linger.” No demons were attacking at that second, but I could see some not far ahead; it wouldn’t be long until they zeroed in on us.

Driscoll shook his head and started tying up some of the loose pieces of his robes. “No, I’ll come with you. You’ll need all the help you can get, and I don’t think you can really afford to send Jewel back just to make sure I arrive safely.”

He wasn’t wrong. “Come on, then,” I said. “You aren’t the only one who was missing. We need to find Amir, too.”

“Amir? No! I hope he’s not hurt; he’s such a darling.” No one knew how to respond to that, but we began our trek again. I tugged Driscoll to walk behind me, next to Dima; he didn’t protest, perhaps because he had no physical weapon. (Magic could only do so much, after all.)

I didn’t let myself think about Amir and his new destiny. There would be time enough later to wonder. For now, I only let myself be relieved that Driscoll was alive, and that this meant Amir would be, too.

More and more soldiers made themselves known as we kept walking, fighting alongside Templars or mages. Very rarely were all three fighting side-by-side. Many were injured and dying. I couldn’t pass by without doing something, though I knew we could ill afford to dally long. Those whose injuries were in most need, who would die without attention, I spared spells for.

They weren’t the best spells. Most were little more than battlefield dressings, sent over a distance and able to fix little beyond bleeding. But it was enough to soothe my conscience, and hopefully enough to save at least a few lives.

No one protested my actions. (Not loud enough for me to hear, anyway.)

I don’t know how long, exactly, it took for us to reach the bridge before the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Not more than two hours since finding Driscoll, surely, but it couldn’t have been less than one. We were growing weary; Dima and Driscoll panted audibly.

Driscoll slumped against the bridge’s stone railing, making a dramatic whine. “I’ll just stay here, how’s that? There’s enough soldiers for it to be safe, surely, and I know I haven’t been enough help to be worth dragging around. Jewel, let…”

I tuned out his soliloquy as Cassandra stalked up to us, Varric at her heel. “Leliana, Keeper, come with me. The rest of you, stay here.” She barely paused, and though Leliana fell into step with practiced ease, I scrambled after her, waving away words from Dima and Jewel. Unlike before, she did not slow or shorten her pace for me as she led us to a stone tower on the other side. Varric and I shared a glance, and his worry was too visible for comfort.

“The Temple is destroyed,” she said, voice flat. “All who were inside have perished—except one.” She stopped and spun on her heel at the door, eyes sinking deep into me and holding me there with their steel. “The soldiers who found him said he came out of the Fade. The markings on his face say he is Dalish, but the one on his hand…”

She pursed her lips and glanced over her shoulder at the door, like it might add to the conversation or tell her what she longed to know. “An apostate is with him now. Whatever it is that is on his hand, it’s connected to that thing in the sky. The Breach, as you called it, Keeper. I believe it means he created it, though I do not know how or why; if he did, he is responsible for the deaths of many people.”

“It wasn’t him,” I said.

“Are you so sure?” She raked her eyes over me, tearing me to my most basic pieces as easily as Varric. “Perhaps you were involved. It would not be the first time a chantry has been destroyed while you were nearby.”

“Seeker, I’ve told you, he didn’t do it,” Varric muttered.

“You don’t believe that, Cassandra,” Leliana said, far more confident.

“Don’t I?” But she sighed, and her shoulders fell every so slightly. “Perhaps I don’t. But that does not mean others do not.”

It would look like a damning coincidence to most. I hated it. I hoped Cullen would not think so. Maybe my journal would help there. (Maybe the evidence that I knew beforehand would be just as damning.) “I can’t blame them for that,” I said, “and I will do whatever you think is appropriate to prove my innocence, but right now, I need to see him. Please. I can help—or, at least, I can try.”

The door opened. “Ah, Seeker,” said a smooth voice, amazingly unperturbed by the chaos and the tension in the air. “Good. I was going to find you.”

Fen’Harel was so much more unassuming than I had even anticipated. He was tall, for an elf, nearly reaching the same height as Cassandra, but his clothes almost buried him, leaving him looking half-shapeless. Cassandra turned to him. “Solas. Has something changed?”

“No,” he said. “I have done all that I can; if he’s to live, it’s up to him. I’d rather aid elsewhere, if I may, though I do still think that mark will hold the secret to these rifts…”

“Fine. I will stay until he awakens.” She cast her eyes over us again. “Varric will accompany you. There is a rift not far from here; see if you can do something about it for now. We will join you when our… guest is ready.”

“Hey, now, don’t I get a say?” Varric protested.

Cassandra raised her eyebrows at him. “Should I arrest you again? The Keeper is not the only one who has been in proximity of exploding chantries.”

He sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll go with the mysterious apostate to investigate a source of the demons. You sure you don’t want to try arresting a demon?”

“Now is not the time for jokes, Varric.”

He winced and nodded. “You’re probably right. Okay, mystery man, let’s go. We’ll see if we can’t wrangle up any extra protection along the way. I don’t like our chances alone.”

“Indeed,” Solas said. He gave a half-smile and nod to the rest of us before following Varric’s lead. His eyes seemed to linger on me, but it could have been my imagination. (But he was a god—did he know? Could he tell that I wasn’t supposed to be here?)

“Keeper.” Cassandra waited for me to look at her again before continuing to speak. “As you are the Dalish Liaison, and our suspect is Dalish, it is appropriate that you join us. For the sake of your people, I hope he is as innocent as you claim.”

She wasn’t threatening the Dalish, however ominous her words, and I knew it. If it were learned that a Dalish elf had destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes and killed not only the Divine but all in attendance at the Divine’s Conclave? There would be nothing short of unmitigated violence against my people in retaliation.

It was good that I knew he was innocent. I needed only to wait for everyone else to realize it, too.

Inside the tiny stone room we went: first Cassandra, then Leliana, and finally, me. Kneeling slumped on the ground was Amir. He wasn’t even awake, but he had been placed into a sturdy enough position that he didn’t need to be. (Was that Solas’ doing?) His pale head lolled forward against his chest, hair slipping from his ponytail enough to partially hide his face from view.

A ripple of magical energy passed through, making me shudder. Amir curled further in on himself, the bar on his hands scraping against the ground. Green light brightened the room for a moment, waving along the walls like sunlight through water, and he made the most pitiful, distressed sound.

I dropped to his side as though pulled there, sending small healing pulses through to search for any damage. Relief suffused my veins when I realized he had no more than superficial scrapes. I pushed his hair from his face.

“You know him?” Cassandra asked. Her voice was flat, and when I looked at her, she had a hand on her sword.

“Yes. His name is Amir Lavellan,” I answered. “He came with my clan to the Conclave. His sister, Dima—she’s standing outside. I should—I need to tell her he’s alright.”

Cassandra shook her head. “No. I am still unconvinced that he was not involved.” Another wave of magic caused the mark on his hand to bathe the room in green again.

He gasped into wakefulness, and Cassandra stalked forward. I did not stand up, but I did wrap an arm around his shoulders. My allegiance needed to be clear; she needed to know I was certain, and everyone else needed to know I would not stand by as the Dalish were used for scapegoats once more.

As Amir looked around the room, he didn’t speak, but he did take note of the soldiers. Cassandra leaned forward. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she said, completely ignoring my glare at the words. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead—except for you.”

“Dead?” Amir whispered. “I—I don’t understand…”

Cassandra grabbed his marked hand and shoved it at his face. “Explain this.”

“Cassandra,” I admonished, but she just continued to glare.

“I—what?” He stared at his hand as though seeing it for the first time. “I—I can’t!”

“What do you mean you can’t?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what it is!” His eyes reflected the green light that spilled from his open palm. As Cassandra moved, he took note of me for the first time. “I don’t—Keeper, what’s happening?”

“Something terrible happened, da’len,” I said. I squeezed his shoulders. “I will help you. They have questions, though.”

Cassandra sneered. Leliana pulled her back. “We need him, Cassandra.”

Silence for a beat. Amir continued to stare at his hand. “I… I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his eyes wide and shiny. “All those people, dead? Keeper, is this real?”

“I’m afraid it is.” How could Cassandra not believe he had no part in the destruction? It seemed so clear to me; he was so terrified, so confused. It was writ clearly on his face.

“Do you remember what happened?” Leliana asked.

Amir’s face screwed up in concentration. “I remember running. There were—things, chasing me—spiders? And then… a shem woman?”

“A woman?”

“She—she reached out to me, but then…” He shook his head. “I-ir abelas. I can’t remember anything else.” He glanced at me, and I rubbed his shoulders. It did little to ease the concern on his face, but I could feel tension drain infinitesimally from his posture.

Leliana frowned, and Cassandra ushered her from the room. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. The Keeper and I will take him to the rift.” Leliana nodded and left.

Cassandra knelt in front of us, then, and undid the metal shackles on Amir’s hands, but left them tied together. “Please,” he said, “what happened?”

She looked at me, then sighed. “It… will be easier to show you.”

I helped him to stand, and we followed her from the windowless room into the green-tinged mountain air. For a moment, Amir didn’t seem to understand—then, he caught sight of the Breach, in all its huge and terrible green glory, and I felt his whole body hitch. His jaw was slack.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra explained, and she told him what it was. I watched his face carefully. His horror was clear to me, clear in how little color reached his already-pale face, clear in how wide his eyes remained, clear in the stumbling steps he took to follow the Seeker.

The Breach groaned and grew again, and Amir shouted, falling to his knees, pulling his marked hand close to his body as though he might be able to shield it from something so intangible as magic.

I fell with him, silent and uncertain what to say, what to do. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads,” Cassandra told him, kneeling to point from one to the other, “and it is killing you.”

Over her shoulder, Dima appeared. “Amir!” She rushed to her brother’s side, but Cassandra blocked her.

“Stay back. He is a prisoner. You may not approach him.”

“A prisoner?” she said, her voice loud and incredulous. “Fenedhis! He is my brother, and he is innocent of whatever crimes your shem soldiers have accused him of!”

“Then how do you explain this mark, girl?” Cassandra gripped Amir’s hand and shook it at Dima, making both Lavellans flinch. “If he is innocent, we will learn soon.”

“He is,” I interrupted, moving to stand between them. Dima’s breath was coming unevenly, and I was certain she suffered from anxiety as I did. This situation was not good for her, and she would not be able to handle coming along to see the conclusion. I turned to her and put my hands on her shoulders. She was taller than me, but so hunched in on herself that it made little difference. “Dima, listen to me, please. I will help to prove your brother’s innocence, and I will ensure he is able to return to you. Dirthavara. But I need you to stay here, where it is safe.”

She started to shake her head. “N-no, Keeper, please, don’t let them—not Amir, please…”

“Amir ar dareth. Dirthavara.” Not far from us, I could see Driscoll leaning against the stone walls. He met my eyes and slipped over. “Dima, please, lethallan. Stay with Driscoll. Keep each other safe until I can return.”

“Come, now, Dima darling,” Driscoll said when she didn’t respond. Tears had begun trailing down her face. “Let Vir’era take care of this. He’s the Dalish Liaison, remember? He has it well in hand. We would only be in his way.”

I don’t think she believed him, but she let him drape an arm around her shoulders and pull her to the side. He chattered away with his reassurances, and I returned to Amir’s side. They were talking quietly.

“It is our only chance—and yours,” she said.

“It will work,” I told them. I met Amir’s eyes first, then Cassandra’s. When she wrinkled her brows, I nodded. “I know it will.” She pursed her lips at that, but said nothing.

“Do you truly believe I did this?” Amir asked, his words quiet.

She sighed. “I do not know, but you are our only suspect. Whatever happened—it clearly went wrong. Until we know who is responsible… You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

I put my hand on Amir’s arm, hoping he understood the intent of solidarity. With a deep breath, he nodded. “I understand.”

Cassandra tried not to look surprised. “Then—?”

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”

She smiled at him and began to lead us once more. People glared from all sides; Cassandra remained tall and purposeful, sloughing their distaste with practiced ease. I fought to keep my shoulders straight and my head up, unwilling to let them bother me, even when I heard mutters about ‘knife-ears’ or other hateful words. Amir pulled in on himself, pressing into Cassandra’s shadow.

“They have decided your guilt,” she told him, her words impassioned. I think she meant to reassure him. “They need it…”

Though her attempts at reassurance were clumsy and relied heavily on Andrastian knowledge, I felt Amir unfold himself little by little. We walked through gates that thudded heavily behind us, and Cassandra took a knife to the rope holding Amir’s hands together. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.”

She started to walk across the bridge, then, not waiting for comment. “Come. It is not far.”

Amir glanced at me, and I nodded, walking after Cassandra. I took Littlefoot from my back, ready for danger, and wished I had a bow to give to Amir. With hope, Cassandra would allow him something soon. At least a sword—Dalish hunters trained in melee combat, of course, even if most did not favor it.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked.

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.” She glanced back at us. “We do not have much time.”

She was right, of course. It had not been so terribly long since the Breach first rent the sky, but it had grown immeasurably in that time. At first, it had been but a tear—now it was a gaping hole, a split seam that grew wider as we dawdled, spewing demons and smaller rifts everywhere we could see and even beyond.

We could not wait. I gently ushered Amir forward. He looked over his shoulder; I followed his gaze to his sister, who did not stop us. He smiled for her, but she didn’t smile back. I don’t think she could.

As we walked, I stayed close to Amir’s side. There was so much destruction… In such a short span of time, a matter of mere hours, already there were bodies strewn everywhere, already there were destroyed carts and felled trees—it seemed an almost impossibly high toll for so little time.

The further we walked, the fewer survivors we encountered. What few we met were always running in the direction we’d come from. They paid us no mind when they saw Cassandra’s grim expression and drawn sword.

As we crossed a bridge, the Breach expanded once more, and a semitangible burst of magic from it collided with the stones under our feet. We tumbled down to the frozen river below; though the ice was hard, it was thick enough to bear our weight. I had never been so grateful for simple bruising.

Attracted by the noise, demons attacked us. Cassandra ran to meet them, and I cast a shield over her, then another over myself and Amir. He had no weapon, so I stood in front of him and drew attention away with a quick blast of Winter’s Grasp. The nearby shade, who had ignored Cassandra, focused on me easily, and began to move forward.

I cast a paralyzing glyph in its path, but an arrow pushed it back before it could reach the trap. As it stumbled, I spared a glance over my shoulder—Amir had found a bow in the wreckage of the bridge, as well as a quiver of arrows. A few shields and daggers were littered behind him, as well; some merchant’s weapons stock, abandoned and now half-destroyed.

Well, it was good for us. Amir shot again, and I whirled back to the shade with a white-hot fireball. It dissipated in the heat, and as the smoke cleared, Cassandra stalked to us. “Drop your weapon!” she shouted, gesturing at Amir.

He bent to do so, but I stood in front of him. “Seeker, he will need that bow if he is to help us.”

“He is still a prisoner, Keeper. We do not arm prisoners!”

“It’s alright, Keeper,” Amir said. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“Banal dareth!” I said to him. He ignored me, putting the bow on the ground.

Cassandra sighed. “No, take it up. The Keeper is right. You will need to fight, and we cannot protect you.”

His hand hovered over the grip. “Are you certain?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I am not prone to instructing when I am not. Pick up the bow.”

“Ma serannas,” he said. Then, remembering himself, he translated, “Thank you.”

She just nodded. “It is not much farther. I hope our… friends have not had great trouble.”

“Friends?” Amir looked to me.

“They are helping,” she said, and I inclined my head in agreement. “For now, that makes them friends. We shall see if it remains true later.”

I didn’t add any comments. Varric would always be my friend, of course. Solas… That was too intimidating a subject to think deeply on. He was the Dread Wolf, after all. Surely it would be better to be his friend than his enemy, but he seemed to think so little of the Dalish—what would he make of me? I could only hope that respect and etiquette would keep me in his good graces. I did not want to know what would happen if I upset him.

(I did not know if I would ever tell him what I knew. But how does one keep secrets from a god?)

We crested a hill to the old ruins of a stone tower. It had already been in pieces even before the Breach; it hardly looked any different, except for the green tear hanging suspended in the middle of what had once been a room.

As we drew near, a beam of green energy shot from its center, then coalesced into a floating wisp. More lights coalesced into other creatures of the Fade, and soon spells and arrows and swords were in motion. I saw Varric to one side, and I flung a shield over him. He didn’t pause, but I saw him smirk. A few soldiers were present, too, and when they drew near enough, I extended the same courtesy to them.

I wouldn’t be able to maintain the shields when we left them, but it was enough for this short battle. Skirting around an advancing shade, I found myself next to Varric. “Bout time you showed up!” he said. “Bianca was starting to get worried!”

“You know me better than that,” I chided. “I always arrive in time.”

“Sure, sure. ‘In time’ doesn’t mean you’re not late, though!” With one more bolt from Bianca, the last shade was destroyed. He started to make a witty one-liner, but Solas’ shout interrupted.

“Now!” Solas grabbed Amir’s hand, and though Amir went along with it, there was no small amount of confusion on his face as the mark on his hand reacted to the tear in front of us. They reached for each other, throwing light back and forth in a constant stream that grew brighter and brighter—then, with near-blinding sparks, and the echo of a sound, the rift disappeared, the hole in the Veil patched seamlessly back together.

My ears felt like they were ringing, and in the moments after, I recognized the distant but distinct call of red lyrium. For a moment, I looked further south, where the Temple once stood, where the Breach was still spitting demons and rifts, and wished that Varric had listened to me when I asked him to tell no one of the ancient thaig’s location.

I wished he had listened to me about anything beyond keeping me out of his books. It was not his fault, and I did not blame him—but I still wished he had listened. (If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine. I had not stopped Corypheus’ release.)

“Keeper?” Amir’s voice brought me back, and I turned my attention back to the scene at hand. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas had already begun to move onwards, though now they looked at me.

“Ir abelas,” I said. “It has been a trying day, and we are far from finished.”

As I caught up to the others, I saw Solas stare at me again. I shied away from his unashamed curiosity, moving to keep Amir between us. Thankfully (for some measure of the word), there were enough demons and distractions to keep him from saying anything, if not to keep my skittishness from being apparent.

We approached the forward camp soon enough, Chancellor Roderick’s loud denouncement’s greeting us long before we saw him. He did not hide his distaste for Amir, sneering and snarling. I paid him no mind. He wasn’t worth it. Instead, I concentrated on the feeling of the red lyrium and its mirror within the False Calling. Was Corypheus still near? Would I even know if he was?

No answers were forthcoming.

“Mittens?” Varric called, one hand on my elbow. “You don’t look so good.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Can you hear it, Varric?” I asked, instead. He’d been around red lyrium before. Once, he’d even mentioned hearing voices—or something. Maybe I was wrong, though.

His eyebrows knitted together as he frowned. “Hear what? You’re gonna have to be more specific. There’s a lot to hear right now.”

Perhaps he couldn’t, then. It was still a small distance away, after all. I heard it because I was listening for it, because it was as tainted as I. I met his eyes and held them with a steady look. “There’s red lyrium here.”

His face went slack for a moment. He glanced around. “Here? Like, here-here?”

I shook my head. “At the Temple. I can hear it. It’s quieter than the Breach, but… It’s there.”

His hand tightened on my elbow. I couldn’t read his expression, but I knew he was not pleased. “Shit. Hey, Seeker, you’re gonna want to hear this.”

“Hear what?” Cassandra asked, coming over. When Varric looked at me, so did she.

It was harder to hold her gaze than Varric’s. She was unfamiliar and stiffer, sterner. Still, I forced myself to. “I can sense red lyrium at the Temple. A lot, if I’m not mistaken. It’d have to be, if I can hear it even here, even with the Breach.”

She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “You’re certain?” I nodded. “That is not good. We will need to ensure it is not touched. There are soldiers making a path—Leliana!”

“I heard.” Leliana, bow in hand, glanced at me, but didn’t question my words. “Go with the young man, Cassandra. I will spread the word. Vir’era, if you would help me, I would appreciate it. Cassandra and the others can help—Amir, was it?”

Amir made a vague nod with his head. “Yes, that’s my name—what’s red lyrium? Why is it important not to touch it? Why can the Keeper sense it but no one else?”

For a beat, no one seemed to know what to say. “I will answer all your questions in depth later, da’len,” I said, when it seemed they might be waiting for me to speak. “What is important for now is that it is corrupted, and even brief contact can cause… It can make you into someone you are not, or who you do not want to be. It is evil. Do not touch it.”

I could tell by his pursed lips that he still very much wanted an answer for why I could sense it when the others could not, but we didn’t have time for all his questions now. “Go, da’len. I will tell you everything I can later, dirthavara. Right now, it is not so important.”

“Alright,” he huffed. Readjusting his bow and quiver, he nodded to Cassandra. “We’ll take the mountain pass. Those scouts may know something.”

And they set off, Varric and Solas not far behind. I wished them luck silently, but didn’t think they would need it; I knew they would come out fine. In all likelihood, I would, too; I turned to Leliana. “How shall I spread the word?”

 

At the perimeter of the Temple, with soldiers surrounding me and waves of demons falling upon us, there was enough pandemonium that the red lyrium was barely a concern. Of course, the fact that none was visible helped for them. Still, I wove through the throngs, aiding as I went, calling out my warning.

“Soldiers! If you see red lyrium, do not touch it! Steer clear of the red lyrium!” Few answered my words. An officer or two shouted back affirmatives, and any whose eyes I managed to catch would at least nod, but most simply kept fighting.

My energy was flagging. I didn’t have enough to make shields for those I passed, but I managed to stop a few wounds from reaching fatal levels with some battlefield healing. It was hardly more than a moment’s patch, though, so I sent them to the camp after, ushering them physically away when necessary.

Slowly, I worked my way forward. The density of soldiers began to thin, and the number of demons increased; I had to pause to slice Littlefoot’s bladed end through more than one shade and set the ground to entangle the movement of Terrors. It couldn’t hold them long, but it was enough to let me pass.

I headed for Cullen. My path was not direct, but everyone needed to be aware of the red lyrium and the danger it posed; still, the end point was Cullen, who stood at the forefront, personally leading the amassed army. His courage was admirable, even if the positioning was somewhat foolhardy; we needed him. He wasn’t just a small piece of this. He was important to the future of the Inquisition—and, I could admit to myself, he was important to me.

When he was in view, I cast a shield over him. He didn’t need it, not really—he was, after all, very good at fighting—but it made me feel better, knowing I was doing something to help him. As a pause in the onslaught came, he looked around. He’d probably noticed the shield.

He saw me soon. I didn’t pause as I continued in his direction, even if his lack of acknowledgement made my blood run cold. (If he hated me… If he hated me, I would be distraught. I wouldn’t, couldn’t blame him. But, gods, I hoped he didn’t.)

“What are you doing here?” he asked me when I was close enough that he would not need to shout. He glanced behind me, but didn’t find what he was searching for.

“I…” In that moment, I realized how silly my words would be. He’d had time to read my journal. He knew what was happening. “There’s red lyrium in the Temple,” I said, anyway. “I came to tell you and all the soldiers. Leliana is spreading word elsewhere.”

“I—I… I know it’s there,” he said, quietly, eying our surroundings shiftily. “It was… you wrote it.”

He hadn’t told anyone else. He was trying to ensure no one else knew. Whatever he thought of it all, whatever he might think of me now, knowing he cared enough to do that tempered the fear brewing deep in my soul. “I can feel it,” I told him. It was peaceful, for the moment, and I looked at the ruined Temple. From where I stood, the Breach seemed to have simply become the sky. “It… sings.”

I kept my eyes on the broken walls and scarred remnants. “Where is… who… You wrote about… a Herald.”

“His name is Amir.” Had he really read everything? And paid attention to each detail? Did he really believe it? “He took the mountain pass. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas are with him; they’ll be here soon.”

“Solas…” I looked over as Cullen repeated the name and found him frowning. “He’s… the god.”

Did he believe that? He was Andrastian, so to know my gods were real… “Fen’Harel. That’s… what I wrote, yes.”

He narrowed his eyes at that, but shouts broke the growing tension. Amir had arrived, and he was preparing to do what he could with the Breach.

I murmured an apology and made my way to Amir's side. He would need healing when this was done, and I was an expert.

Notes:

da'len - affectionate diminutive/endearment, specifically for those younger than oneself (esp. those significantly younger)
shem/shemlen - human
ir abelas - i'm sorry
dirthavara - i promise (non-canon)
amir ar dareth - amir is/will be safe (non-canon)
lethallan - endearment (-an ending is feminine; -in ending is masculine; semicanon has -en ending as gender-neutral)
banal dareth - it isn't safe (non-canon)
ma serannas - thank you

Chapter 4: when you read you begin with ABC; when you sing you begin with do-re-mi

Notes:

this chapter took some doing, but here it is at last!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It took five days for Amir to awaken again. I was introduced to the apothecary in Haven—a man named Adan—so that we could work together to bring him back to health, but it was not easy. Dima helped as much as she could, too. She nearly refused to leave his bedside at all. It was eerie to watch him lying so still and colorless in the first moments. He was already so pale even with a healthy flush to his cheeks; without it, he looked like an unfinished painting.

I sang to him while I worked. “Wandering child of the earth, do you know just how much you’re worth?” Though I sang a few songs, I kept coming back to that one. Dima learned it quickly, and sang with me. She didn’t know just how well-suited the song was. “You have walked this path since your birth—you are destined for more…”

I couldn’t spend all my time with him, even if I wanted to. I had duties. I knew he would be safe—I knew Adan and Dima would ensure it. Instead, I was flung deep into work with Josephine as she spread the word of what Amir had done for everyone, fueling the rumors that Andraste herself had delivered him from the Fade.

The Chantry, of course, denounced us. Chancellor Roderick continued to advocate for Amir’s imprisonment. The people of Haven, however…

Though my clan had not received the worst welcome, we had not been greeted warmly when we first arrived. Most chose to ignore us, some whispered slurs and hearsay behind hands and walls, and a few brave souls made their distaste clear. It was what I had expected.

Not now.

Now, we were almost venerated. Still kept at a distance, still distrusted on the whole—but Amir had come with us. Amir was one of us. This was enough that the distaste was hidden better. (Not gone. Just veiled behind brighter smiles.)

Though my title was ‘Dalish Liaison,’ several people had caught on to how my clan and those who came with us called me Keeper. Perhaps because ‘Keeper’ is less of a mouthful than ‘Dalish Liaison,’ more people used that to refer to me, to call to me. Even Josephine was not immune.

“Good morning, Keeper,” she said as I entered Haven’s chantry on the fifth day since the Breach. “Any news on our Herald?”

I wondered how Amir would feel about that title. It hadn’t been entirely Josephine’s idea, but she did encourage it. I told her, “He’s still not awake, but he’s as healthy as we can make him. It’s only a matter of time, now, and I don’t think it will take long.”

“Wonderful!” She smiled at me, pretty as amber. “We’ve been in touch with Redcliffe. There are actually some letters for you. I believe one is from Arl Teagan and another from Grand Enchanter Fiona, among others. After they heard you were working with us, they seemed to be more receptive to our efforts.”

“I’m glad,” I said. It was good to be of service, especially when what would happen would be so all-encompassing. If I could leverage the connections I had made, I saw no reason not to. Though, now that the Breach had been created, I needed to do what I could to fix… well. There was a lot. “By chance, was one of the letters from Mia?”

She hummed. “I don’t think so. There was one from a Varania, however. It seems to have come very far. The parchment looked Tevinter.”

“It would be.”

Varania was with Alexius now. If she was sending a letter here—if she somehow knew I was here—it was important. That letter I could not ignore.

“She is a magister’s apprentice,” I said.

Josephine’s eyebrows raised. “A magister’s apprentice? Whose? I didn’t know you had contacts in Tevinter—I didn’t expect… I mean, you’re Dalish.”

I smiled. “I have exactly two friends in Tevinter: Feynriel and Varania. Both are only apprentices, though Feynriel is likely nearly finished. Varania is a friend’s sister who I helped in the past. We have kept correspondence since. She studies under Magister Alexius, and Feynriel studies under Magister Ahriman.”

“Varric was not exaggerating about you,” she murmured. “Of course, he did say you were hardly a spymaster, but you are certainly better-connected than any might suspect.”

She wasn’t wrong. Some of that was simply because I was Dalish; I was not expected to know anyone outside of the Dalish. Most, though, was of course because I had managed to make good impressions with no small number of powerful people. It was due to circumstance and my foreknowledge, of course, rather than any great capabilities on my own part, but it was still true: I knew people with great power. From that, I had power.

It was a staggering realization for those who noticed only my ears and my vallaslin and saw nothing but a target. I was beginning to take immense joy in the shock when such people realized I was not so easily trifled with.

I grinned at Josephine. “I do what I can to help. That’s all.”

With the power I had, I could protect others. I damn well intended to.

 

Keeper Vir’era,

Thank you for sending word of what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Though I had never expected such a terrible thing to happen, I am saddened to say it is something I feared. The Templars will never accept mages as citizens and people, as deserving of freedom and rights as any other. I wish only that it had not resulted in such a tragedy.

I do believe it was the Templars’ doing. We mages have nothing to gain from such a disaster, as you know; Divine Justinia’s Conclave was our hope. She was a kind woman, sympathetic to our plight, and she died for daring to treat us as equal to the Templars.

Arl Teagan has kindly allowed those of us associated with the rebellion to remain in Redcliffe. If you have need to speak with us, send word.

Be well,

Fiona

 

Champion Vir’era Sabrae,

I am pleased to know you survived the disaster at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Connor sends his relief and wishes you continued good health. The former Grand Enchanter and the mages of the Rebellion are here, and so long as they remain as peaceful a people as they have yet proven to be, they are welcome to remain.

I would ask your aid, though—or that of the Inquisition you now work for. Some of the mages, who claim no place in the Rebellion, have begun to terrorize farms in the Hinterlands, and I have heard of rogue Templars doing little better. I do not have enough knights or people to continue to protect both our city and our lands. We would be grateful if you could help us.

With gratitude,

Arl Teagan Guerrin

 

Vir’era,

Alexius is planning something. He won’t tell me of it, but I know it is something immense. He has grown more and more frantic since Felix was tainted. He tried the Grey Wardens—as you suggested—but whatever they told him, he didn’t like it. He didn’t accept it.

I don’t know the details, but I know we will soon be heading south.

Be ready.

Varania

 

Not long after I read the letters, I was brought along to the back office to help the other advisors. Cullen and I still hadn’t talked—but we’d had no time. It made things strained, sometimes, and even Josephine gave curious looks at the stiffness, but it was enough to deal with Chancellor Roderick’s newest batch of complaints. Honestly, they were hardly new. The man was a master of reiterating the same things in different ways each day, as though that might change how we responded. (It didn’t.)

I spent most of the meeting ignoring his words, thinking instead on how I might help the mages and Redcliffe. Varania’s letter was disappointing, but not unexpected—I would need to warn Fiona again not to deal with any magisters, but short of that, there was little I could do on that front…

The door opened, and Amir walked in.

“Chain him!” Roderick ordered the guards.

“Disregard that order and leave us,” Cassandra countered. They bowed and listened to her.

I skirted the table, taking care not to bump into anyone or jostle the markers upon the map lain there, and pulled Amir into a hug. “It’s good to see you awake, Amir,” I said. He returned the hug, and then I peered up at his face and checked his temperature. “Any lingering aches? Fever? You’ll need to eat soon.”

“I’m fine, Keeper,” he said, smiling lightly. “A bit confused, but I feel fine.”

“Good, good.” I stepped back, not wanting to monopolize, but didn’t leave his side.

“I am glad to see you have recovered,” Cassandra said. She even smiled at him.

Roderick began to interrupt, but Cassandra slammed a tome upon the wooden table hard enough to make its legs creak. “Do you know what this is, chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order—with or without your approval.”

With each promise, Cassandra advanced on the chancellor, and he, as any with a healthy sense of self-preservation would, scrambled back. She had no weapon even visible, let alone drawn, but she was an imposing woman nevertheless. Even Amir skittered sideways to ensure he was not in her path.

Soon, Roderick, attempting to pull himself together, was leaving. He made some parting remark of little consequence, and we all faced each other once again. Amir’s gaze was solidly upon the tome resting so unremarkably at the edge of the table, just covering the map’s furthest western reaches of Orlais.

I was, by now, familiar with the book. It said much more than just that. It laid out, in detail, how Divine Justinia wanted the Inquisition to be structured. Many positions even had names associated with them already, and most had accepted the honor. My addition as Dalish Liaison had added some things, but not much. To be specific, Justinia had written that we, the Inquisition, were to make contact with Dalish clans when possible, to spread a message of peace and tolerance.

She had written of wishing to right past wrongs. She said nothing of returning the Dales to us, nothing of giving us land at all, but she mentioned forbidding Templars to interfere with Dalish clans. I believe she thought it a generous offer, but I knew it would do little more than make official that which was already true. In only rare cases would it make any difference.

“Perhaps it is time for more formal introductions,” Cassandra said, drawing my eyes and Amir’s to her. “I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. Before you are the advisors we have assembled for the Inquisition: Sister Leliana, our spymaster, who you met briefly.”

Amir nodded, as did Leliana. “Tactfully put. I manage our information and contacts.”

“Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador.”

“Andaran atish’an,” Josephine greeted, smiling again.

“You speak Elven?” Amir seemed pleasantly surprised, but with how rare it was to hear the words from any mouth except another Dalish, it made sense.

“You’ve just heard the extent of it, I’m afraid.” To her credit, Josephine did seem to regret that. Perhaps I could teach her a few other useful phrases—an Ambassador should always at least attempt to know the language of a people they were interacting with.

“You already know Vir’era Sabrae, of course,” Cassandra continued, gesturing to me. “He is our Dalish Liaison, which has only become more important a role with what happened at the Temple, and your actions there.” Amir flashed me a grin, and she moved on. “And here is Cullen Rutherford, our Commander.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Cullen said.

“And you,” Amir answered. He glanced around. “But—why am I here? I’m not exactly a Keeper or an Ambassador or anything. I’m not even a Master hunter.”

Josephine shifted. Leliana moved forward. “Word has spread of what your mark can do—what you can do. There are rifts all over southern Thedas, and the people have heard of the woman who delivered you from the Fade.”

“They believe that woman was Andraste,” Josephine said. “They’re calling you the Herald of Andraste.”

“I—what?” Amir blinked a few times, looking at each of us in turn. “But I’m… Dalish. I don’t even—I mean, I know Andraste was a real woman, but I don’t believe in the Maker. Why—why…?”

“You said a woman delivered you out of the Fade,” Leliana reminded him. “The soldiers who found you corroborated this, though they seemed less certain of the shape. The story has spread.”

“Not,” Josephine added, “that we have done much to stop them. You are their Herald. It’s a good thing. It will make our job easier—and yours.”

“My job? Wh—oh.” He lifted his hand. The glowing scar didn’t add much light to the room compared to the torches, but it still attracted attention. “This. There are—you said there are rifts all over Thedas. You want me to fix them.”

“I’m afraid you’re the only one who can, da’len.” I put my hand upon his arm. “If you have no wish to join us, to help the Inquisition, we cannot force you. But you are the only one who can seal the rifts. We need you.”

Amir shook his head. “No, of course I’ll help! That was never in question! Even if I didn’t have this mark, I would want to help, however I could. I just—I’m not a Herald of anyone, and especially not Andraste. Keeper, you’re the closest to a Herald there is.”

He didn’t know how right he was. Both Cullen and Leliana looked between the two of us with furrowed brows. Cassandra was impassive. Josephine, the only advisor unaware that I knew things I should not, tilted her head. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s Hanal’ghilan,” Amir said, simply. “A blessing from Ghilan’nain—the golden halla, who comes to our people when we are most in need of guidance.”

“It’s true that I can shapeshift into a golden halla,” I said. It had to be important, somehow, had to mean something. Maybe it meant nothing more than an indication to all of what I knew, but maybe it meant I really was here by the gods’ will. I’d never know for certain. “We believe that the golden halla is a gift, and the People have seen fit to include me in that.”

Josephine took notes. “We can use that to our advantage—it might not endear us to the Chantry any more, but if we phrase it right, it should spark interest in others. Perhaps there are more Dalish clans who would be willing to aid us.”

I couldn’t stop her, I knew. Whether the People would respond would be seen in time, though I had my doubts. Hanal’ghilan or not, official approval or not, the Inquisition was ultimately a Chantry-aligned organization. That was no small hurdle to conquer for their sympathy.

“Can you get them to stop calling me the Herald of Andraste?” Amir asked.

Josephine half-winced. “I’m afraid not. The story is out of our hands now. I can’t force you to accept the title, but it is something you should expect to hear others call you. Since it’s working in our favor, it’s best to make use of it. We will, of course, also use your name, but we can’t drop the title of Herald now.”

Amir sighed and looked down at his hands. He made a fist of the Marked one, then looked up. “What should I do first, then?”

“I’m glad you asked. In the Fereldan Hinterlands…”

 

Amir was assigned the mission of finding and retrieving Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe, leaving the next morning. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas were tasked to accompany him—I wanted to join them, but my clan and the other advisors needed me in Haven. In my stead, I wrote letters to Teagan and Fiona, asking that Amir see they were delivered at least to Redcliffe’s gates.

“And while you’re there,” I told him, “please see what you can do for the fighting. Stop the Templars and the mages who refuse to let up however you must.”

“I will,” he promised. Then, atop mounts borrowed from one of Haven’s residents, his group set off. I watched them go for a few minutes, hoping I was doing the right thing in not accompanying them. Only time would tell.

Cullen found me as I made my way back towards the aravels, making my heart skip a beat. “If you have time… I’d like to talk with you. About the—everything.”

He was able to hold my gaze, but not without shifting. I noticed he wasn’t wearing his armor, though, and hoped that was a good sign. Perhaps he was upset, but if he wasn’t wearing armor, he was—not afraid. It was all I could ask. Perhaps more, considering what he had been through.

“Of course, ma falon,” I said. “Shall we go to my aravel?”

He shook his head, and one hand floundered at his hip where his sword normally hung, then went up to the back of his neck. “I… left the journal with my things. We can speak there, if—if you don’t mind.”

I couldn’t help how my blood rushed, and I wondered briefly if it might be better to refuse, to never speak of it all, to avoid Cullen forever—but I knew I couldn’t. It was an urge of anxiety, and I couldn’t give in to that. Still, my mouth and throat were dry, clamped shut. I wasn’t sure I could speak, so I nodded and gestured for him to lead the way.

He stared for a moment, saying nothing. I did my best to hold his gaze, just as he held mine. I knew he was at least as nervous as me. I only hoped I could soothe his nerves, prove I was no danger. I hoped I had not betrayed him, had not lost his trust.

Soon, he moved, and I kept pace a half-step behind him. He walked slowly enough that I didn’t need to struggle to keep up, but it was still a brisk movement. Though I caught no stares, I swore I could feel people watching us. Nevertheless, we reached the chantry without issue, and from there, the route to his room was empty.

It wasn’t his room alone. There were three beds in the small space, and though there were no obvious signs, I concluded that he must be sharing with Leliana and Josephine. (I knew Cassandra slept elsewhere—and who else would he share with?)

He sat on one of the beds and gestured for me to take the chair nearby. As I did so, he pulled my journal from a box hidden beneath his bed, and held it in his lap. I waited for him to speak, but he simply stared at the cover.

At last, he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know where to start.”

“It’s a lot. I know.” I sighed, brushing my hands down my robes. A good place to start… “Let’s start at the very beginning. Interrupt me as much as you need to, and I’ll answer any questions you have as well as I can.” When he nodded, I began to talk. “My journal mentions that I’m not from Thedas, but my first memory is waking up in Marethari’s aravel, almost eleven years ago, at the beginning of the Fifth Blight.”

He seemed surprised at those words. “You—don’t remember anything before that?”

I floundered for a moment, mouth opening and closing without sound. “I—have flashes. But it’s like—like remembering a painting. I can’t even tell what…” I huffed lightly. It was frustrating to explain, nerve-wracking with him waiting. “I think… I had a brother, and I remember some cats. I know I was born in the spring, and I remember being certain I was about twenty when I first arrived, but…” I flopped a hand up and down. “I don’t even know if Vir’era has always been my name.”

Cullen shifted. He, too, looked unsure what to say, but it made sense that he wouldn’t know. For him, this was all new. I had lived with it for eleven years. One would think I’d have learned how to explain by now—but so few people knew any of it; I had so rarely even referenced it.

“Ir abelas, Cullen,” I murmured. “I have… I haven’t told anyone so much in so, so long… The only other person in the world who knows half this much is Theron. I’m afraid the words don’t come easily.”

“No one?” His eyebrows furrowed. “In your journal, you addressed a letter to Varric.”

“Yes.” I shrugged. “I never told him—not yet, anyway, but I knew he would be around for a great deal of what was to come. Other people would come and go. And Varric—he’s a writer. He… he’s more open to strange things because he knows how strange life can be, on and off the page. I knew, even before I met him, that he would give it a fair chance.”

He nodded, then stared down at the book again. “How… do I know this is real? It’s just a journal. It—you… you could have written it as you left Kirkwall.”

“Perhaps.” I wrapped my arms around myself. I wanted to hold his coin, but with him so near, I didn’t dare so much as reach for it. I didn’t know how he would take it if I did. “But even if that is true… you’ve read it all, now, haven’t you? And I haven’t been able to add anything since I gave it to you. Even if it was all written recently… you have proof, now, that at least some of what was written is true.”

“The Breach.”

I watched him close his eyes tightly. The leather cover bent slightly in his grip. Though he was wearing gloves, I knew his fingers must have been white from the pressure.

“The Divine’s death. The red lyrium. Even the scouts on the mountain… it’s all here. I looked again, after. I know it’s there. I still don’t—” He made a growling, frustrated sound and stood, walking to the side, not looking at me. “I don’t understand.”

My heart ached to help him, pressing up against my ribs, drawn to him. “Ir abelas. I-I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why. I don’t…”

“Was it the—I don’t know how to say the word. The ancient elven artifact. Is that what brought you here?”

“I don’t know,” I said again, wishing I had a better answer. I could hear him huff at it. “I know that I was found with Theron outside the ruins where he and Tamlen found the eluvian. I know it was Blighted. I know Merrill took it and—and purified it. I think I came through it, but I don’t… I don’t know how.”

Words started to spill faster now. “I—it’s not good, how Merrill un-Blighted it, because she used blood magic and she spoke with a demon far more dangerous than she even believed, but I know it was purified. I know it was no longer tainted. I’m—part of the Order or not, I’m forever a Grey Warden. I can feel the Blight, and it had been cleansed from the eluvian. But even then, even Blightless, it was…

“I tried to use it.” Twice. Once with desperation, once out of simple need to know.

“They’re like doorways, eluvians. It’s how the ancient elves got around. But the eluvian that brought me here doesn’t work, even now. Not even with our combined power could Merrill and I fix it. Maybe—maybe with lyrium, or with an entire group of mages, but we didn’t have that. We didn’t have the time, and it was—she was an apostate, then, and living in a shem city. We could neither go to a Circle nor to other Dalish.

“And I don’t… I don’t know what would have happened. If I’d used it. If it had worked. I don’t—a decade ago, I wouldn’t have cared.” Bloodied hands grasping at shattered glass, begging, praying. “I wanted to go home, wherever that was. I had nothing here except the Blight, and when that was done, even the friends I’d made then all went separate ways, going home or adventuring or starting a new life, and I just—all I had was that journal. No home, no family, no history.

“I wanted the eluvian to return me. It didn’t. I-I was stuck here, for better or worse, so I decided to do what I could.” I held my arms tighter, pressing them into my torso. “I have all this knowledge, all these prophecies. The least I can do… is help.”

Cullen didn’t move. He still wasn’t looking at me. That made it easier at first, I think, to keep talking, but now it only let the silence cling and drag, pulling ever inwards. I started to fret, trying to figure out how to explain, what to say next, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate.

Eventually, he turned around. “You… helped stop the Blight. You came to Kirkwall. You came here. I don’t—I don’t know what all you changed. So much is just as your writings predicted. Kirkwall’s chantry was destroyed. The conclave was destroyed. Grand Cleric Elthina and Divine Justinia both died—and so many others, too.”

I closed my eyes and nodded. It was true. I—I didn’t regret Elthina’s death. In some ways, I was almost even glad for it, but that was not… It wasn’t the appropriate time to explain that, if Cullen even wanted to know. But Justinia? I wished I could have saved her. How, I had no idea, but she was a good woman. Occasionally misguided, perhaps, but who wasn’t? She had tried, genuinely tried, and that was enough for me.

“But you… were there.” Cullen huffed and began to pace. “You were in the Chantry before it exploded. Knight Hugh told me—told everyone—how you tried to warn them, how you were rushing people out, how Elthina refused to leave. And you—I spoke with Leliana. She was with you at Kinloch, so I knew she knew something, and she… She said you warned her. Warned Justinia. But she said you told her you could do nothing, and she—she didn’t know why, but…”

After he trailed off, I tried to explain. My voice was barely more than a whisper. “I had warning for Kirkwall’s chantry. Anders is my friend, even now, and he… even when Vengeance made it hard for him to think, he promised he would let me try. I knew Elthina wouldn’t listen, but—the others… they needed to know. I had to try, and I only wish I had done better.

“But—here. Oh, Cullen, ir abelas… You have read about Corypheus. I knew he was coming, but I didn’t know when, and I—I couldn’t…” I took a shuddering breath. “He can control the Blight, somehow, and through it, he can control Grey Wardens. I couldn’t let myself be where he might take advantage of that. I couldn’t… I couldn’t save Justinia.

“Even now, I’m a danger. When he comes back—and he will come back—I don’t know if it will be safe for me to be here. I don’t know what will happen to me. I had Master Ilen put a lock on my aravel. When I hear him again, I will go into it, and I… I can’t be let out until he is gone. Until we know it is safe.”

“You wrote about where he came from,” Cullen said. “A Grey Warden prison. Couldn’t—couldn’t you have made sure he wasn’t released?”

It was a question I had asked myself more than once. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Ir abelas, I don’t know. I was never clear on how… the only way I knew would stop him was a path I was unwilling to take.”

“Why?”

I tried to meet his eyes. He was looking at me again. I had to look at his forehead instead, and felt a coward for it. “I would have had to kill the Hawkes. Malia, Garrett, and Carver would have had to die—and even then, I couldn’t guarantee that Corypheus wouldn’t find some other way out, that he wouldn’t cause some greater catastrophe doing so. It’s selfish, maybe, but I… I couldn’t kill them. At least this way I know what will happen. Without the Hawkes—I don’t know what would have happened to Kirkwall, let alone the rest of the world.”

Cullen sighed, shrinking ever so slightly. “A gamble, then. To release a terror you knew instead of facing an uncertain future, because you knew how to help.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were terrible at chess.” There was a strange quality to his voice. I had no idea what it meant, but it brought everything up a half-step.

“I’ve never been good at predicting things that aren’t laid out for me.” So much and so little had changed. I let my arms droop some. “I didn’t… you were supposed to hate mages. Hate magic. I don’t… I don’t know what changed, but I’m glad for it. I only hope I haven’t… that my secrets haven’t turned you to that path once more.”

He sat back down across from me. “They haven’t,” he said. “I can’t say I know what to make of it all—especially… if what you’ve written is true—if it’s all true, then your gods are real, and… I don’t know where that leaves me. I don’t know where that leaves the Maker. Is He not real, then? Has the Chantry always been wrong?”

I didn’t expect that—but perhaps I should have. He was a devout Andrastian, after all. How could confirmation of the existence of the elven gods not shake his faith? “I don’t know. I don’t have the answers for that, but… for what it’s worth, I see no reason that they cannot coexist. I’ve never seen anything to definitively say the Maker does not exist, though I have never been given such proof of His existence as my own gods’. I know it’s little comfort, but it’s all I have.”

He nodded. “I suppose it was too much to hope that you wouldn’t have written it down if you did know.”

We sat in silence. It was still heavy, still pressing, but it wasn’t as intense as before. It was almost comfortable. He was thinking, I knew, and he had much to think about. I waited, running my fingers over the embroidery in my clothing.

When the mood shifted, he lifted his head to meet my eyes again, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Tell me what you’ve changed. Other than—me. Tell me what else you’ve made better, please. I-I need to know.”

I obliged. “In some ways, it feels like it is not much, and maybe the changes I’ve managed are small, but they’re important to me. The first notable change I made was Loghain’s fate…”

I recounted each change I knew had been directly my doing. The list was strange, beginning with Loghain, and routing through Connor, Leandra, Fiona, Varania, Feynriel… Anders and Justice were the most painful, but no less important. And my discovery, my ritual, was important, too. Maybe it could help others, someday.

When I had told him all I could remember, all I knew I had changed, we sat a moment in silence.

“Thank you,” he said. “For telling me. I… I need to think about it. It changes…” He huffed and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Something.”

“Take all the time you need, ma falon,” I said. “It’s enough, for me, that you don’t think me possessed.”

He half-smiled. “I’ve always known you weren’t an abomination. Sometimes, it seemed like it was the only thing I could be sure of.”

Those words wrapped around me and pressed themselves into my mind, replaying over and over even hours later. “Ma serannas,” I said. I didn’t know if it was something that was truly appropriate to thank someone for, but… “To hear those words means a great deal.”

The shadow of a smile graced his lips, stretching his scar ever so slightly. We sat in silence a while more, and when it became clear that neither of us had more to say at the time, we finally bade each other farewell.

We weren’t fixed. It wasn’t that easy—but we were okay, and that was enough.

Notes:

wanderer's lullaby

minor reminder in case anyone here has not read any part other than this one: my cullen is not the same as canon cullen. they won't have the same reactions to magic and magically-aligned things. thanks!

Chapter 5

Notes:

couple quick things to say!

things are busy for me atm bc i'm prepping to move back to the states. i'll be heading back nov 2 (to arrive v late nov 3), so while i'm hoping to get another chapter up in october, i can make no guarantees (it seems 2 chapters/month is what i'm most reliably capable of nowadays).

secondly, i'm going to be participating in nanowrimo this year, since i'm taking at least most of november off to just kind of readjust to the states. (i'll jobhunt, but i don't intend to start working until post-thanksgiving at earliest.) since i'll be doing nano, though, i'll be putting twots on pause. i'll get back to it in december for sure, but there won't be any major updates in november.

last but not least, i do have a couple of missing moments in the works that i'm hoping to release soon. i've been working on the one off and on for a few years whenever inspiration struck. but now i think that it'd be good to put an alternate POV to some scenes that have happened in the past, in case anyone wants to have a better understanding of a few key scenes that will be happening in the future. as ever, no missing moments will be strictly necessary for understanding anything in twots, but they might help round things out. vee's an unreliable narrator, after all!

Chapter Text

“We need to talk,” Leliana said to me, arms crossed. She stood half in shadow, and with her hood up, I could hardly see her eyes. “You knew.”

I was still drained from the conversation with Cullen, and couldn’t bear the idea of having another confrontation so soon after, even if the first had ultimately gone well. “Yes,” I said, agreeing with both of her statements. “But I…”

Was I ready to commit to the promise I had made myself? As Leliana stepped closer, I knew I had to be. The time for secrets was over.

I took a deep breath. “When Amir returns, I will tell you all everything I can. There are a few secrets that aren’t mine to share, but… Everything else. You, Amir, Josephine, and Cassandra. Varric, too. You all deserve to know.”

She paused in front of me. “Will you let us see your journal, too?”

She knew, of course, that Cullen had read it. That I had let him. “No,” I said, and she raised an eyebrow at that. “Some things should remain secret as long as possible. There are events that must unfold before everyone can know and understand.”

“Like making Loghain a Warden.”

“Very much like that.” I held her gaze steadily, and we stared for a long, tense moment.

“And you’ll explain why you did not try to stop the Divine’s death.”

It was a demand. A condition, for her to agree. I nodded. “Yes.”

She stared at me, unwavering. I had disappointed her, I knew, by letting Justinia die. Maybe worse than disappointed her. Still, she did not show her feelings to me so clearly. Intense sadness welled up in me as I realized that, and I missed my friend from the Fifth Blight. She had become so jaded, so closed-off. She was almost unrecognizable.

Then again, perhaps I was, too.

“Fine,” she said. “When Amir returns.”

“Ma serannas, lethallan,” I said. She nodded and left. For a moment, I wanted to call her back, to apologize, to beg her forgiveness… but the words would be little more than platitudes. I didn’t regret my inaction. She would not appreciate empty words.

 

Haven was mostly uneventful in the days that followed. I gave Cullen space to think and tried to ignore how Leliana was careful not to be alone in a room with me. (It was easier when I stayed outside.) Mheganni and the other hunters managed to take down a druffalo, which provided more than enough for our clan to eat and prepare winter clothing.

I hadn’t managed to formally introduce myself to Solas yet. I wasn’t sure how to. We had met in passing, and he was certainly aware of who I was by now, but we hadn’t held a conversation. Since he had left with Amir, it would have to wait. I tried to envision how best to introduce myself—but nothing seemed right, or good enough. He was a god! How was I meant to ignore that, to pretend I did not know? I abandoned every idea as it formed.

Though perhaps it was to be expected, Emily and Elizabeth set about making connections much faster than I had anticipated. They left my clan’s encampment to pitch a tent among Leliana’s scouts. They didn’t abandon us completely, but it was clear that they felt they’d finished their end of things.

Jewel and Driscoll, on the other hand, continued to make camp with us. Well, mostly Jewel. Driscoll certainly helped when he was around, and he could be seen at meal times, but he seemed to spend most of his time flirting his way through Haven. If he did anything else when he was not with my clan, I didn’t see it.

That said, he was much smarter than he let on. He knew enough to help with Tamlen. With my duties as Dalish Liaison atop my duties as Keeper, I didn’t have enough time to devote to teaching Tamlen as much about magical theory and control. I could still teach him other things, but I had to prioritize, and with Driscoll around, I could focus on the elven magic and history.

(Dima helped, too, of course, but she was a First, and that seemed a given. Kumbukani would surely have helped teach Tamlen if she had ever been formally taught herself, but her magical education was severely lacking. Almost all she knew was self-taught, and she didn’t have the language to explain it.)

The Adaar siblings were happy to stay with us. As Dalish Liaison, I was actually to receive a salary for my efforts, and since I didn’t need the money, I chose instead to increase the pay I had been giving the Adaars. It felt better to be able to give them what they deserved, as opposed to merely what my clan could afford.

The rest of the money was used to purchase the materials my clan could not gather. Aravel maintenance was a continuous thing, and though we had most of what was needed, we did not always have enough wood or varnish. And it was nice to purchase herbs and spices we could not gather, or a large ream of well-made wool, or a proper saddle for the harts we had.

So the days until Amir returned passed with little of note.

 

And when he returned, the talk took place as soon as Mother Giselle was shown to a room. He and Cassandra barely finished giving a report of what they’d encountered in the Hinterlands before Leliana turned to me.

“The Keeper has something to share with us, as well,” she said.

Solas, thankfully, wasn’t present. He hadn’t even had to be ushered from the room, as he had chosen to rest. Varric had tried the same, but I had insisted on his attendance, and he had caved. From the look he was giving me now, and the way he took in how both Leliana and Cullen were staring, he had to know something was up.

“What I am about to tell you,” I said slowly, “is something that I would appreciate not being made a spectacle of. It need not be a secret any longer, but it is… It has been a secret of mine for so long, that I don’t know how to deal with it otherwise.”

“What do you mean?” Amir asked. “It’s not something bad, is it?”

A difficult question. I shrugged one shoulder, a half-hearted motion. “I don’t think it is, but some may disagree with how I’ve handled it thus far. Some might think it should not have been a secret.”

“Mittens… is this what I think it is?” Varric asked. His brow was furrowed, and he wasn’t smiling.

I couldn’t stand it, so I took the plunge, using the same words I had told Irving so many years ago. “I have a gift, of sorts. Or, rather, I had one—years ago, it told me of the future, and of the possibilities to come, but I haven’t learned anything new in over a decade.”

“That’s—when the Fifth Blight was happening,” Amir said. “When you were a Grey Warden, fighting the Blight.”

“Yes.”

“Uh, are we really taking this at face-value?” Varric added. “You saw the future? That’s not supposed to be possible outside of stories. Mittens, I know you’ve said and done some weird shit, but… seeing the future…”

I sighed and tried to remember something that would prove to him I was telling the truth. There wasn’t much. I’d done better, in Kirkwall, at hiding it. I hadn’t needed to say anything at all, most of the time, because the Hawkes—they were good, in every sense of the word. They hadn’t needed my help or guidance. “The white lilies,” I said. “And that madman in the sewers.”

He huffed. “Sure, you were suspicious of them, but that made sense. We all were.”

“The Deep Roads Expedition. The doors only opened one way.”

“Yeah, but the red lyrium—”

“Marethari.”

“That… I wasn’t there for that.”

“I know Malia told you about it.” I stared him down.

He shifted. “You’re undoing all my hard work, you know. I had been trying to convince myself you were normal, just like you said.” He paused. “Well, as normal as a shapeshifting ex-Grey Warden can be, anyway.”

I smiled. “Ma serannas. But it’s true. I knew what would happen, every time. I knew we would find red lyrium in the Deep Roads, and I knew it would be here. That’s why I told you never to let anyone know where the thaig was.”

He didn’t speak.

“I know,” I said, and he looked away. “You were never going to listen to that. It’s not your fault.”

He still didn’t reply, and there was silence for a moment.

“Why bring this up now?” Amir asked. It had the air of innocence to it. It was a true question, not a hidden accusation.

I looked down at the map of Orlais and Ferelden that was spread upon the table. “I haven’t learned anything since I wrote my journal eleven years ago, but I-I know what is happening now. What will happen still.”

“You know… and you always knew,” he concluded, eyes heavy on me. “About the Breach.”

I forced myself to meet his eyes. They were a pale violet, as devoid of melanin as the rest of him, and surrounded by Mythal’s vallaslin in a bright green that almost perfectly matched the color of the Breach. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and answered, “Yes.”

Josephine gasped loudly. Varric’s eyes squeezed shut. Cassandra took a step towards me, her hands balled into fists. “You knew?” she demanded. “You knew that the Breach would come?”

“Yes,” I repeated. Then, not wanting to make her ask the question, I said, “And I-I knew—I knew Divine Justinia would die.”

I didn’t look at Cullen or Leliana, who were already aware of this. Cassandra took another step forward, becoming almost all I could see, anyway. “And you did nothing?” I didn’t have time to answer, but it didn’t matter. “She was our Most Holy! You might not be Andrastian, but you know her importance! How could you let her die?”

“I couldn’t save her,” I said. “There is nothing I could have done!” (I could have tried harder, looked for a workaround. I didn’t. I had accepted Justinia’s death as necessary, but to tell Cassandra this would be cruel.) “I’ve tried thwarting fate before, but there are fixed events that I have never been able to change.”

“You should have tried harder! You should have told us! We could have done something—anything!”

She didn’t hit me. She didn’t even make motions to. But she was nearly an entire foot taller than me, and her anger was thick enough to feel pressing against my skin, and this made her intimidating. I kept myself as still as possible, even as I made my case. “You’d have died!”

“I was her Right Hand! I would gladly have given my life to save hers.”

“She would still be dead, Cassandra!” I cast through my memories of what happened at the Temple. “Do you remember the voice? ‘Keep the sacrifice still.’ It was Corypheus, an evil greater than you can know, and he would always have ensured that Justinia was the one to die, no matter how many he had to slaughter first.”

“What gives you the right to make that choice?” she said, punctuating the words with a finger jabbed into my chest. “You are not even Andrastian!”

An arrogant part of me, small but nevertheless there, wanted to say that surely the simple fact that I was the one who had been given the knowledge should be the proof that it had been my choice to make. It said that I had been given the knowledge because I would make the best choices with it.

The humbler part of me remembered my failures with Marethari and Justice.

I deflated. “If I had known when it would happen, I would have said something. We could have done… something. I don’t know what. But I didn’t know when. I never did. I knew it would happen during the conclave, and I knew that it would happen at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“So we could have kept her in Haven,” Cassandra insisted.

“He would have hunted her down. It is no coincidence that she was his sacrifice.” I still didn’t understand why her, of all people, but it didn’t matter. Corypheus was hardly logical. “Keeping her in Haven would only have endangered more people—more innocent lives lost. I… I am sorry, Cassandra. There was nothing anyone could do.”

The sound that left her throat was incoherent and angry. She lifted her hands, and I flinched back a step.

“Cassandra,” Amir said, his voice quiet. She spun away from me, moving to stand as far as the room would allow. He watched, then continued, “We can’t change what happened now. It’s done. But maybe we can do something about what’s to come. What else do you know, Keeper?”

I had to take a moment to gather myself before I could answer. He needed to know. They all did. When I had coaxed my courage back, I told them what to expect from Corypheus—about Alexius and his time magic, about the envy demon at Therinfal Redoubt, about the red lyrium, the Grey Wardens, the plot against the Empress…

I did not tell them what—who—Solas was. I did not tell them about Thom Rainier, about Flemeth-Mythal, about the details of the Vir’abelasan. Not everything was mine to say, and some would simply make things a mess to know of now. They could learn later. I would offer what I knew freely as it became relevant, and I made sure they knew as much.

Still, I was exhausted by the time we finished. As I made to retreat to my aravel, Cullen took me aside with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“The things you didn’t say,” he began, eyebrows pulled close together, “what do you want me to—since I know them…”

I wanted him to trust me on those few things, to keep them quiet as I did until their truth came to light naturally. But, at the same time, I knew that to ask such a thing of him was presumptuous and remarkably arrogant. Instead, feeling very small and wrung-out, I gazed up at him and made a vague gesture. “I can’t—I won’t stop you, if you think something needs to be said, to be known. You’re a good man, Cullen, and smarter than most people think. I’m choosing to keep quiet, but I won’t force that on you. I just… I feel that some things should be learned naturally.”

“Even Blackwall?” he asked. “I don’t know if I can keep that quiet.”

“Do what you think is right,” I said, daring to press a hand on his armor, over his heart. “I trust you, Cullen. You know in your heart what is good. Just because I am choosing to be quiet does not mean you must. I’m as mortal as anyone. I’ve made mistakes before, and I’m sure I’ll make more in the time I have left.”

If he noticed anything odd in my wording, he didn’t bring it up. Instead, he covered my hand with his own, still frowning. “Why are you keeping quiet about him, then?”

I didn’t dare draw my hand back now, too busy memorizing how it felt to have him hold it in any way. “He made a mistake,” I said. “A terrible mistake, yes. Unforgiveable, perhaps. I doubt I will ever know how to speak naturally with him. But I have a friend who made a similar mistake, and who holds no less of my affection for it. And Rainier… he is trying to atone. By keeping quiet, he may come to the Inquisition and attempt to atone here. I would let him, and later, I would let Amir decide his fate.

“I have decided too many already.”

Then, because I couldn’t stand to continue the conversation, I drew my hand back, already missing the warmth of his. “Ir abelas. I’m tired. I-I should go.”

I didn’t wait for Cullen to say anything. I fled to my aravel.

 

Solas approached me while I was on my way to gather herbs. I nearly dropped my basket when I realized it was me he was walking towards. “If you have a moment now, Keeper,” he said, ignoring my discombobulation, “I’d like to speak with you.”

I righted my basket and smiled at him, hopefully looking far less anxious than I felt. “I was just about to get some more elfroot for Adan’s stores; how about you come with me? I can speak and gather.”

“Certainly.” He fell into step next to me. I noticed with a strange sense of disconnect just how much taller he was than most elves; perhaps it would hardly be of note to anyone else, as he wasn’t of an utterly ridiculous height, but he was still easily over a head taller than me. Of course, I was short. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Solas.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Solas,” I said, managing a polite smile. “I’m Vir’era Sabrae.”

“You have quite the unusual name,” he said. I think it was meant to be a light tone, but I found myself suspicious of any sound to pass his lips. “Have you always had it?”

I hummed. I didn’t want to tell him the whole truth. He was sure to know something eventually, though, so a lie would be out of place. Plus, god. How could I know what he knew? “As long as I can remember, yes, though that’s not as long as most might expect. I’m afraid I had some sort of accident at the start of the Fifth Blight. I can’t remember anything significant about my life before then.”

“I see.” He looked at me, but I kept my own eyes on the path before us, returning any smiles passersby sent my way. “You’re aware, of course, of its meaning.”

This time, I did look at him to raise an eyebrow. “I know we Dalish have lost much of our history and language, but we do tend to know the meaning of our names. ‘Vir’era’ is ‘the story’s path,’ or perhaps ‘the way of the story,’ if you prefer.”

“I meant no offense, Keeper,” he said, lifting a hand. I didn’t entirely believe him. “Though it may not seem obvious to you now, I do want for us to get along. The Herald speaks highly of you.”

“Amir is a sweet young man,” I answered. The patch of elfroot was just outside the gates, and I knelt to examine it before harvesting. “I agree, for what it’s worth. I’ll admit I can be defensive of my people, sometimes to the detriment of polite conversation.” I flashed a quick smile at him, and he half-smirked back. “I hope you can understand. Life has not been easy for us, and too many would brush aside as backwards or unworthy.”

He knelt beside me, but did not join me in checking the plants for disease or pests. “You feel very strongly about this.”

“I do. I’m a Keeper, so in some part it is my job—but more than that, it’s how I’ve always felt.” I saw no evidence of pestilence or plague on the plants, so I began to harvest. The leaves were most important, for now. “Even when I wasn’t living among them, I never forgot how poorly the world treated us. I have done what I can to make it better, but I’m only one person.”

“I see,” he said.

Unsure how to interpret that, I looked up at him. This proved fruitless, as his face was as impassive as his voice. “Is there something you wanted to say? I’ve heard you spend much of your time in the Fade, learning of the past in ways most can hardly even imagine.”

“I do.” He didn’t elaborate. “Why?”

I sat back on my heels, momentarily abandoning the elfroot. “Pardon the phrase, but I can only dream of knowing the thing you do. Part of my role is to remember what we have recovered, to relearn what we have lost, but I’m limited to physical items, to conjecture and poor translations of half-missing texts. What you can do, how you can learn… It could change everything, or it could change nothing. Either way, I admit I’m envious.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Truly? I have attempted to tell other clans before—to correct them on things the Fade has shown, but rarely have they even been willing to listen.”

I shrugged. “You’re not Dalish, are you?” He kept his gaze even. “For centuries, people have tried to tell us who we are, what we’re worth, why we’re wrong. Even now, if one Keeper discovers that a reestablished tradition has been misinterpreted, it takes years upon years for any real change to be enacted. And the Fade is notoriously inaccurate—why should we trust you, an outsider, who cannot show us physical proof to back the claims you make?”

“Whether you choose to believe me or not does not change the facts,” he stated. His voice was flat. I had offended him, surely.

“No,” I agreed, “it does not. That doesn’t make them any easier to accept.”

I don’t think he was pleased with my words. For a long moment, there was silence. I went back to picking leaves for Adan, and, to break the tension, I asked, “You’re Somniari, aren’t you? Or something like it.”

“Once, many elvhen were,” he said. “Now, the gift has become so rare that few even hear the word. I am surprised you know of it.”

I smiled again. “A friend of mine is Somniari. Feynriel. He stayed with my clan a while, but we didn’t have enough to teach him what he needed to know. He went to Tevinter to study. Sometimes he visits my dreams. From what he’s told me, his gift sounds very similar to yours. Learning from the Fade, exploring it in dreams.”

“I suppose going to Tevinter is a better alternative than ending up Tranquil in a southern Circle.” Solas looked northwards, as though he might be able to see Tevinter. For all I knew, he could. He might have knelt in the dirt with me, but he was still Fen’Harel; I didn’t know the true extent of his power. “Why?”

“Oh, mostly to change the subject.” No need to bother lying. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I would like to hear what you know, if you’re willing to share. Perhaps with less focus on what the Dalish have gotten wrong, though. I mean no offense, but I have enough to take care of at the moment without trying to change my clan’s traditions.”

“But you would try to change them, if you learned you were wrong?” he pressed.

I shrugged. “Those things that I can reasonably change, yes. Some aspects have become too entrenched in modern Dalish culture—they may not be true to what happened in Arlathan, but that does not make the new interpretation any less important. Sometimes, it’s just as important to change as it is to remember.”

“An interesting take.” I couldn’t help but get the feeling he disagreed, but it seemed he at least did not disapprove. “I am always happy to share with someone willing to listen. Facts are of no use if only one person knows them.”

“And I love to learn. Tell me, what have you seen of…”

 

Mother Giselle was interesting. She stared at me when she thought I wouldn’t notice, though she did not hide it when I caught her eye. Instead, she would smile at me, then move her gaze. I didn’t know what to make of her, and it seemed the feeling was mutual.

“I am glad the young Herald is not here alone,” she said to me. “It is hard to go where no one else shares the same culture as you.”

I tilted my head up at her. Where could she be going with this? “Amir has a good head on his shoulders. Even without my presence, I am certain he would make good decisions.”

(Sure, he’d gone directly against my wishes by visiting the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but it had resulted as perhaps it always would have: he was the Herald of Andraste. For such to happen, he would always have had to go to the Temple.)

“It is still easier for the presence of other Dalish.” She smiled. For all that I didn’t understand just how she felt, it was a comforting smile, and I let it sooth me. “To be surrounded by those who do not understand, and perhaps will not try to—it wears on a person.”

“Wise words.” I knew that feeling intimately, so many times over.

“It is good to know you are familiar with our ways,” she continued, “even if we are not familiar with yours. When I heard the Herald was Dalish, I worried that there would be more difficulty. I am glad to know these worries were unfounded.”

She meant well, by the smile that was still on her face, but the words scraped at me nevertheless. I suppressed a wince. “We are not so different as stories would make us seem, Mother Giselle.”

“Of course not.” She inclined her head. “I am certain you will continue to prove that. It is controversial, for the Herald to be Dalish, as is your appointment among the Inquisition’s highest ranks. After all, you are not Andrastian, are you?”

“I am not,” I confirmed. “I only hope Amir and I can help to dispel the worst rumors about our people. Such things are dangerous.”

“Indeed. The Chantry would use them to insist on the Inquisition’s heresy.”

“Ir abelas, but that is not my primary concern.” When Mother Giselle raised an eyebrow, I wondered how she could not know. She was Orlesian, after all. “Whatever the Chantry may do, the Inquisition is legitimate. My concern is the shemlen who use the unfounded rumors of Dalish depravity to justify hunting and murdering us.”

She balked, pressing a hand to her chest. “Such things do not happen in polite society.”

I couldn’t help digging in. “I suppose you’re right. Grand Duke Gaspard can hardly be counted as polite now that he is actively engaged in war with Empress Celene, and any claim he had previously was dubious at best.”

“I am certain the Grand Duke would never…” But even she trailed off.

“He has,” I said. “Ir abelas, Mother Giselle, but I find I’m not well-suited to this topic at the moment. Perhaps we can continue the discussion at a later date.” Before she could disagree, I left. I wanted to work well with her; for all her misinformation, she was ultimately good-hearted, and that was always commendable. Ignorance can be fixed, after all.

Still, it was difficult to speak with someone who would attempt to deny the systematic genocide of my people to my face mere breaths after implying we were less civilized. I could take only so much, and with all that was happening, my limit was smaller than normal. I retreated to Clan Sabrae’s camp to prepare elfroot potions.

Chapter 6: we're off to see the hinterlands

Notes:

so it took longer than i thought, but things are starting to shape up!

Chapter Text

I didn’t go to Val Royeaux. There was no need. Nothing would require my presence until Amir decided to approach the mages or the Templars. Though I wished we could help both, I knew it was unlikely. I drafted letters to send to the less fortunate group. We could not save everyone, but perhaps we could save some…

If I hoped Amir would save the mages, well. That was nothing new.

Messages arrived prior to Amir’s return to announce the recruitment of Sera and Lady Vivienne. I decided to make it a point to greet all the people Amir recruited. I knew Josephine would as well, and I was already among the first points of contact for many of the elves (Dalish or not, it’s easier for most to approach another elf than a human in a position of power).

Sera arrived with Amir, but didn’t stick around for the debriefing in the War Room. Amir told us exactly what we, thanks to my foreknowledge, expected to hear: the Templars were not supporting the Chantry, and Fiona had extended an invitation to meet with the mages in Redcliffe.

“Since we have an invitation, I want to go and at least speak with the mages. Maybe we can learn something,” Amir said. “And if the Keeper’s right—if that time magic is used…”

“I warned Fiona not to trust magisters, and she promised to keep my advice in mind,” I said, “but I can’t guarantee that it will make a difference. Varania—my contact—sent a letter about something strange happening, but I haven’t heard anything to indicate that Alexius was successful in drafting the mage rebellion. It could go either way, now.”

“I’m not certain which is preferable,” Cassandra mused. “If your words were enough for Fiona to disregard what Alexius said, it may be easier to recruit them ourselves, that much is true.”

“Or it might have made Alexius angry,” Leliana pointed out. She tapped out a theoretical line from the north to Redcliffe. “For him to arrive only to be refused… We do not know what this magister is capable of, and he sounds desperate. You must be cautious, Amir. Things might be worse. The Templars, on the other hand, had little warning. Not much would change there.”

It sounded like such obvious favoritism when she laid it out like that, but she wasn’t wrong, to my chagrin. “I sent Ser Barris a letter, but I never received a reply. Unfortunately, I’ve never known many Templars, let alone any with significant power, or that I would trust to give a warning. Cullen is the exception, and he is here.”

“We should reach out to him again, regardless,” Cullen said. “I didn’t know him personally, but perhaps he’d respond better to someone who was once part of the order. I’ll send letters to some of the others I still have contact with, as well.”

“It’ll take time for the letters to reach them, but it is a good idea.” Josephine made some notes, then moved a few pieces on the map. I didn’t fully understand the significance of each piece, but the others seemed to. “While we wait, it isn’t a bad idea to speak with the Mage Rebellion. Going by Vir’era’s timeline, we should be able to meet them once and still have time for a final decision.”

As if my timeline was anything so concrete. I could only hope their reliance on decade-old prophecy wouldn’t turn out poorly.

“Then it’s decided,” Amir declared. “At dawn the day after tomorrow, I’ll go to Redcliffe. I’ll figure out who to bring and let them know.”

“Let me come with you,” I said, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m a Champion of Redcliffe, and I’ve spoken with Fiona a few times. Plus, Varania should be with Alexius, so I’ll be a friendly face to many involved.”

He seemed hesitant for a moment. “Are you sure, Keeper? Your clan’s here, and with so many shemlen around…”

“I’m sure, da’len.” I smiled at him. “My clan can hold their own for a week, and my duties as Liaison surely include situations like this. If there is an emergency, I will fly back. I can make it in less than half the time, if necessary.”

“It’s a sound plan,” Leliana said. She didn’t do more than glance my way to acknowledge me, but it was good to hear her approval of my plan anyhow. I would have to work hard to regain her trust.

“Alright.” Amir nodded. “Then, if there’s nothing else…”

“I think we’ve covered what we need to,” Josephine said. “If anything comes up, we’ll let you know.”

 

Later, Varric pulled me away from papers Josephine had asked me to look at and took me to the tavern. “So, I know you’ve met Chuckles, and you’ve heard about the Iron Lady coming, but I figured it’d be best if you had, ah, someone to run interference for you with Buttercup.”

Somehow, hearing him use nicknames back-to-back like that was almost too absurd, even though I knew who he was talking about, and I had to take a moment to just think about what could ever have led to this habit of his. Coming up with nothing, I nodded along. He was, of course, right. “My notes do seem to indicate that I might not exactly be her favorite kind of person.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that’s putting it lightly. I’m just glad she hasn’t come across Princess yet. That’s one meeting that’ll never go well. You’re calm enough that she might just be suspicious instead of full-on immediate rivalry.”

“We’ll see, I suppose.” I had no idea how I was supposed to make a good impression on Sera. I was a Keeper, and therefore among the elfiest elves to ever elf, was in the Inquisition’s leadership, had more titles than strictly necessary (though none came with land), and, to top it all off, I was a mage. So, basically: all her least favorite things, piled into one.

“Hey, Buttercup!” Varric called, waving a hand even as he weaved through the crowd to her table. I carried our tray—a pitcher of ale, two cups, and some sort of fried dough. “Mind if we join you?”

“’S not like I’m usin’ the whole table, is it?” Sera replied, waving a hand dismissively at the empty spots across from her. Then, apparently realizing that I was part of the ‘we’ Varric was referring to, she added, “Oi, now, what’s this all about? I told you I don’t do elfy. The Herald’s an exception, on account of the glowing and whatnot. Tell your friend she can get gone.”

Ignoring all her words, Varric sat and gestured for me to place the tray. I did so, but hesitated to sit. He pointedly pulled out the chair beside him and patted it, and I didn’t feel like arguing. “That’s not why he’s here.”

“He? Fine, pretty boy can get gone.” She squinted at me theatrically, then mumbled, “Can never fuckin’ tell with elves. Even Amir! Ugh.”

“You know, that wasn’t the important part of that sentence,” Varric told her. “I thought you’d want to meet the people in Ghost’s circle.”

“Not the elfy circle,” she complained. “The circle-circle! Y’know, with the people who’re big in this or whatever. Whoever’s going to be going ‘round offing baddies with him. That circle.”

Varric gestured at me. “He is.”

Sera groaned, long and drawn-out and comical, continuing to pretend I wasn’t there. I think there were words in there somewhere, but they were impossible to decipher.

As I felt Varric shift, doubtlessly getting ready to try and introduce me in whatever way he thought most impressive to her, I intervened. There would be no impressing Sera with any title or job that didn’t directly include ‘offing baddies.’ I stuck out a hand. “I’m Vir’era.”

She scrunched up her face at me. “Are you having me on? There’s no way that’s a real name. Say it again.”

“I… Vir’era.” My hand went ignored. “Um, you can call me Vee, if you like. Most non-Dalish do. Less of a mouthful.”

“Uh-huh.” She considered my hand, but still didn’t take it, and I put it back down. “And you’re part of Ser Glowy-hand’s circle? For real?”

“Yes.” While I appreciated Varric’s attempt, it seemed she’d be more amenable if Amir were the one doing the introductions.

“C’mon, Buttercup, would I lie to you?” Varric asked.

“Is that a real question?” she retorted. “Like, really real? Because I think we both know you would.”

“Not about anything that matters!”

“Right. I don’t believe you. You’re a writer.”

He sighed and leaned back. “Touché.”

“In the interest of full disclosure,” I said, because I had a feeling it wouldn’t go over well if Sera were surprised with the information, “I’m the Keeper of Clan Sabrae, which probably isn’t very important to this conversation, except that it means I’m a mage. Most people seem to like to know this upfront.”

Sera huffed and crossed her arms. “A mage and an elfy-elf. That’s great. You’re not going to convert me or some shit, are you? Because I have a bow, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

On impulse, because everything she said seemed to have the same level of maturity as Tamlen, I put out my hand again, pinky finger extended. “I pinky-promise. I’m pretty elfy, whatever that means, but that doesn’t mean you need to be.”

She squinted at me again. “And you promise not to do any magic on me?”

“Promise.” I wiggled my finger at her. “I’m a healer, but I won’t do any magic on you that you don’t ask for.”

“Hmph.” She didn’t stop squinting, but she did take my pinky in hers. “Fine. But if I find out later you tricked me, you’ll regret it.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Varric wheedled. “I’ve known Mittens for—shit, what is it now, ten years? A damn long time. And he spent six of those years running a free clinic. He’s good people.”

“I didn’t do it on my own,” I said. Varric didn’t need reminding, but it would be news to Sera.

“Yeah, well.” Varric pulled a face as he poured us both a cup of ale. “Blondie’s… He’s a different bag of cats. I’m trying to talk you up, here.”

I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to talk about Anders here. So few people understood the complicated relationship he’d put us into, and Sera was unlikely to even try. Still. “It was his clinic first. I just joined him. It was the right thing to do.”

“Right, I don’t know what you’re not saying, but I know you’re not saying something,” Sera announced, “and I don’t like it. Skip the heavy bullshit. Vee-whatever, if you came to stick it to baddies, that’s a good enough start.”

“I do my best,” I said.

“Yeah, sure. Anything else you need to say?” she squinted at me. “’Cause I’ll be keepin’ an eye on you, and I don’t like magic surprises. Normal surprises are fine, but not magic ones.”

What would she consider a magic surprise? “Uh, I’m… a shapeshifter?”

“A what?”

“Shapeshifter? I can turn into animals.” I mimed cat paws with my hands. “Meow.”

“That’s why I call him Mittens,” Varric volunteered, waving a piece of fried dough around. It smelled good, so I snagged one as he spoke. “I met him as a cat first. It’s a funny story, actually…”

Though I could tell she was still wary of me, and she watched very move I made carefully, Sera gradually relaxed into her chair. Varric pretended not to notice, telling the story of how we met with more than a few embellishments that I corrected (I had definitely not fought off three armed Carta thugs on my own as a cat). It was almost comfortable.

 

Vivienne arrived late the next day. The other advisors and I met her together, formally. (Unlike Sera, she not only allowed but expected such pomp and circumstance.) We kept it simple initially, just our names and roles within the Inquisition.

As Josephine led her to the rooms prepared for her, we mentioned that Amir and a few others—including myself—would be going to Redcliffe to speak with the rebel mages and see about gaining their aid. She didn’t challenge this, but she did raise an eyebrow. “I see.”

“If there’s anything you need,” Josephine said, “don’t hesitate to ask. We will do our best to get it for you.”

“I’m sure Amir will come by soon to speak with you,” I added. “He would have greeted you with us, but other things required his attention, unfortunately.”

“For now, we’ll let you settle in.” Josephine smiled and nodded politely. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Vivienne.”

Vivienne returned the smile. “You as well, dear. All of you. I look forward to getting to know you all as we work together.”

After a round of bidding adieu, we advisors made our way out—but Vivienne called for me. “Liaison Vir’era, I would like to speak with you, if you have the time.”

I had nothing pressing. It was late afternoon, but not quite time for dinner yet. I’d already packed what I would need for the excursion to Redcliffe and taken care of most of the duties I had for the Inquisition. And I wanted to know more about Vivienne, to know if I would have as much trouble getting along with her as I feared. (She was a loyalist mage, after all, and I had directly aided in Kirkwall.)

“Certainly,” I said, moving to stand near her again. “What’s on your mind?”

She sat and gestured for me to join her, so I did. For a second, she just considered me. “I’m curious. If you’ve duties here as an advisor, why are you going with the Herald to Redcliffe?”

I appreciated her directness. “A series of coincidences, mostly. I happen to be a Champion of Redcliffe, so I have the good graces of the people who live there, and I’ve met Fiona. She and I are on good enough terms that it seemed prudent I go along.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “I see. And what would you have the Inquisition do about the rebel mages, then, if I may ask?”

I tilted my head at her, weighing the risk of telling her how close I’d been to Anders. It was probably best not to start with that knowledge—she would never form an independent opinion of me that way—but she might very well hate me for it later anyway. She waited patiently, hands folded on her lap and face motionlessly calm.

“I suppose that’s something we will disagree on,” I said, slowly. She held little reaction, as though she had expected something along those lines. “I understand you are a loyalist mage, and you have lived well in the Circle. Many have. Unfortunately, ‘many’ is not ‘all,’ and I find myself to be among those who believe the Circles needed to be dismantled, or at least significantly reformed.”

“Have you ever lived in a Circle, my dear?” she asked.

Ay, there’s the rub. “No, not personally. I’m certain it looks different from the inside—though, how different… Well, I suppose that depends on who you talk to.”

She nodded. “I’m sure you understand, then, why I don’t consider your opinion to have the weight you might hope it to. You seem very intelligent, but this is not your fight. You are an outsider.”

“Maybe so,” I said, “but that does not change that I have had friends who suffered in the Circles. It is not my fight to lead, and it never will be, but that does not mean I cannot show my support for those who need it.”

“And what of those who suffered at the hands of unsupervised magic?” Vivienne’s countenance never wavered, continuing to be as beautiful and calm as at first, even as her voice took on the iron tones of disapproval. “Surely you are aware of what happened in Kirkwall.”

I stared at her for a long moment, silent, wondering what the best way to react would be. What was I supposed to say, to do?

“Are you not aware?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“On the contrary,” I said, words sticking like molasses to my teeth, “I was there.”

“In Kirkwall?” Her brow furrowed, obviously trying to fit this information with what she knew.

“In Kirkwall.” I didn’t want to fight with her in our first conversation. We would not get along amazingly, I knew that, but I—I couldn’t help it. I wanted to get on with her anyway. Perhaps some small (foolish, naïve) part of me thought I could even change her mind about the Circles.

I stood abruptly. “Ir abe—my sincere apologies, Lady Vivienne. I find I need some fresh air. Some other time, I would be glad to speak with you about my experiences in Kirkwall. For now… I will bid you adieu. I hope we will have occasion to speak more when I’ve returned from Redcliffe.”

She took the announcement in stride, standing to escort me to her door. “Of course, my dear. I wish you luck in Redcliffe.”

“Ma serannas.” I used Elvish intentionally, smiling to convey kindness, and noted that, though she squinted at the words, she did smile back. “Once again, welcome to the Inquisition. We are happy to have your help.”

 

Amir brought Cassandra, Emily, and Varric to Redcliffe with us. We had a few secondary goals to achieve while we were in the Hinterlands, as well—including specifically to see about horses and the Grey Warden rumored to be in the area, who I knew to be Blackwall.

Other than Cullen, no one knew yet who Blackwall really was. Leliana perhaps had an inkling—she was too good a spymaster to not suspect she might know—but no one else. I said nothing, even as we drew nearer to the Hinterlands and recruiting him. It was not my place, and he could prove to be a good man, yet. Maybe not one I would ever entirely know how to feel about, but that didn’t matter. If Arishok-who-was-Sten had deserved a chance, so did he.

We split up the tasks quickly, and soon, Emily and I were heading for the last known location of Warden Blackwall. “Have you ever met this guy?” Emily asked. “Y’know, since you’re both Wardens.”

“No,” I said. “Truthfully, I’ve not met many Wardens. There were some who joined us as we set up Vigil’s Keep, but I did not stay long there, and very few Wardens ever ventured to Kirkwall.”

“Huh. Okay. Think he’ll be more willing to join up since you’re around, though? I mean, surely if one Warden’s giving the all-clear, others would be more ready to jump on, right?”

No. Maybe. “I’m not sure. I suppose it depends on if he thinks I count as a Warden, still.”

“Thought you said something bout once a Warden, always a Warden.” She raised an eyebrow at me, and I half-smiled back in acceptance.

“I did, you’re right,” I admitted. “It’s a complicated matter, though, and has to do with some of the Warden secrets I’m not meant to share. But perhaps we’ll be lucky, and Warden Blackwall will come with us.”

“You’re good at getting people to go where you want ‘em. I’m sure we’ll convince him.”

Her faith in my ability was unnerving, if somewhat accurate. All the luck I had seemed to hinge on that one thing. Plenty else went wrong, but that? Well, it usually went close enough to how I wanted.

We found Blackwall training some farmhands to fight the bandits that were taking advantage of the Templar-Mage War mess. Before Emily could even finish making introductions—the word ‘Inquisition’ had barely left her lips—the very selfsame bandits attacked.

Of course, while the bandits had perhaps planned for Blackwall’s capability and the presence of some new-to-arms farmhands, they had not planned on myself or Emily. Magic always shocks people who aren’t deliberately attacking mages. It didn’t take long to cut down the last idiot, hardly even any actual fight breaking out. I saw one of the farmhands stare at me even as he left.

“Thanks for the help,” Blackwall said, coming over to us. Somehow, despite knowing that he hadn’t undergone the Joining, I was surprised by the fact that I couldn’t sense him in the taint. It was probably the Warden blue-and-grey. It had me instinctively reaching out for something.

Emily gave him a long, slow smile. “Thanks for the save. As I was saying earlier—we’re with the Inquisition. We heard about a Warden Blackwall being in the area, and, well, we thought it was worth checking out. Not many Wardens around right now, and we wanted to see if that’s connected to the Divine and, you know, the hole in the sky.”

“Right,” he said, glancing between the two of us. “Inquisition. And who, exactly, did you say you are?”

“We didn’t.” She grinned, and I sighed.

“Her name is Emily, and my name is Vir’era,” I told him. “I’m the Dalish Liaison to the Inquisition and Keeper of Clan Sabrae—I used to be with the Order.” I gave him the Warden’s crossed-arm salute.

For a moment, he just stared, eyes wide and brow furrowed. “Vir’era Sabrae, you said?” When I nodded, he repeated, “Warden Vir’era Sabrae?” I nodded again. He shifted, glancing around. “It’s an honor to meet you, ser. I, er, I heard about what you and the others—Theron Mahariel, Castor Cousland, all of you—did during the Blight.”

“The honor is mine, Warden Blackwall,” I said, saluting again, for lack of anything else to do. This time, he mirrored the action. “I’m not a Warden anymore, not in the ways that matter—my people needed me more than the Order, after the Blight.”

He considered this. “I can tell you this much: whatever happened with that hole in the sky, the Breach or whatever you want to call it, it wasn’t the Wardens. But I’m sure you knew that already, Warden Vir’era. Or should I say Liaison?”

“Just my name is fine. If you need to use a title, I’m most used to Keeper.”

“Keeper, then. We’re not political, right? No Warden would have killed the Divine,” he said.

I had to wonder. Anders did kill a Grand Cleric. A morally bankrupt one, to be sure, but he’d killed her; would he have killed the Divine if things had come to that? “That’s not really why we’re here.”

“Then why are you here?”

I glanced at Emily. “We could use a Grey Warden. One who’s still active. All the others have disappeared—all except you.”

“I see.” He looked behind himself, in the direction of the retreating farmhands. “Grey Wardens do have certain rights. Conscripting, treaties. Not much use for them when there isn’t a Blight, but I’d say that hole in the sky is a big enough problem.”

“And you won’t disappear on us?” Emily asked.

“Who says I wasn’t about to? I usually work on my own, recruiting. But, no, if I joined you, I won’t disappear. Not intentionally, anyway.”

The irony in that statement would be seen later. Knowing this stole some of the breath from my lungs, and I wondered if perhaps I should say something, after all. (I didn’t.)

“One Grey Warden might not be enough.”

“One Grey Warden could still save the fucking world, if pressed.” He nodded at me. “I think your friend could tell you about that. I’ll help. Blight or not, demons from the sky is a disaster, and some might honor the Warden treaties.”

Emily grinned. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Warden Blackwall. If you have everything you need, we’ll show you to our camp. We still have business in the area, but in a few days’ time, we’ll be going back to Haven. Join us, won’t you?”

“Just need to grab my pack.” He started heading to a pile of things nearby, then paused. “Say, your business in the area—it wouldn’t have anything to do with the small army of Tevinters that came through, would it? The Magister at the lead was looking far from pleased, I can tell you that much.”

I couldn’t help but send a worried glance in the direction of the road, as though a Tevinter soldier might be near enough to hear. “That is… precisely our business. When did they arrive?”

“Not too long ago. I’d say… at most, two weeks after the Breach appeared? I hadn’t been here long myself. They went straight for Redcliffe. Last I heard, that’s where the mages were holing up. Not a good combination, if you ask me.”

I turned my gaze away, in the direction I estimated Redcliffe to be. “No,” I agreed. “Not good at all.” Though not for the reasons he was likely thinking. To break the somber veil, I gestured towards our camp. “Come, then. There’s still time before dinner. We can introduce you to the others.”

“Certainly.”

 

When, at last, we approached Redcliffe, the trouble was evident long before Redcliffe’s walls were visible. All along the road leading to the city, Tevinter soldiers had set up a camp, blocking any ordinary traffic. We skirted around them, trying not to cause trouble, but drew their attention nonetheless. Few other travelers dared draw near, after all.

On our way to the gates, we noticed… strange things. Nothing so major as to send us running, but enough that the hair on the back of my neck refused to lay flat. A bird flew ahead of us, then disappeared; a nug nearby looked to be running away, but moved as slowly as though it were surrounded by honey; a flower grew, bloomed, and withered within the moments it took for us to pass.

Alexius’ time magic was in effect. It had not given him what he wanted, but it had happened, and it was, in many ways, still happening. I wondered how much of this he knew.

I kept my back straight and face forward, even as I examined each strange occurrence. They did not need to see my worries or my fear. There would be time enough for those later. For now, it was time to see about speaking with Fiona.

We were met at the gates. Not by Fiona—no, she was still within Redcliffe’s walls, hopefully safe. Instead, it was none other than Magister Alexius himself, surrounded by an entourage that I could only assume were his most trusted underlings. One young man, nearly Alexius’ spitting image, had to be Felix. At Felix’s side stood Varania.

She and I locked eyes, and I saw her shoulders shift to a more natural pose, though the tension did not leave them. I smiled at her and inclined my head just enough for acknowledgement. Though she didn’t return the smile, she did nod back.

“Greetings,” Alexius said. He did something funny with his mouth that I think was supposed to be a smile. “I do apologize, but I am afraid I cannot allow you to go any further. There are delicate talks in progress between my people and the mage rebellion, and I cannot allow you to jeopardize the trust I have been building.”

“We were invited by the Grand Enchanter,” Amir said. To his credit, he didn’t glance at me or any of the others for backup. “She asked to speak with us. We would appreciate it if you’d allow us to pass.”

“She did, did she?” Alexius peered closer at us. I’m not sure what he saw, or what he was expecting. A couple elves, a couple dwarves, and a couple humans, and none of us in particularly official-looking clothing. Well, except perhaps Cassandra’s Seeker armor.

“Yes.” Amir stared back.

A beat of silence. “You’ll have to forgive me,” Alexius said, suddenly, something more like a smile moving his lips. “With all the travel and commotion, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I haven’t even introduced myself. I am Magister Gereon Alexius of Minrathous. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I’m sure.”

As he performed a half-bow with flourishing hands (was that polite or rude in Tevinter? It was impossible to know), Amir inclined his head in acknowledgement. The rest of us mimicked his movement. “We’re agents of the Inquisition. My name is Amir Lavellan, and with me are Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Varric Tethras, Warden Blackwall, Emily Cadash, and our Dalish Liaison, Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae.”

Alexius’ eyes snapped to me. “A very unique name,” he said, glancing at Varania, who didn’t react. “I have heard of a Warden by the same name. Perhaps he is your namesake?”

“On the contrary, he and I are the same. It is good to meet you at last, Magister Alexius.” I gave him the Warden’s salute, then turned my attention to Varania. “And Varania, I’m pleased to see you again. I trust you have learned much.”

“I have. Magister Alexius is very knowledgeable.” She tilted her head to one side and looked at him, then back at me, her eyes sharp as though I should have understood something deeper from that.

“Varania is a fast learner,” Alexius murmured, and there was something in the way his eyes were tight and his smile stiff, something that indicated words left unsaid. What were they trying to tell me? “I should thank you, Warden, for sending her to me. My previous apprentice and I had a falling-out before we could finish our undertaking. Varania has been most helpful.”

Time magic. Even the hair on my head threatened to stand straight out at the thought, and remembered the creatures in the woods. It was still unstable, but it worked, in some manner of speaking. But to what degree? And in whose favor?

Chapter 7: things that were and might have been

Chapter Text

Alexius brought us to his tent. Well, one of them—he seemed to have a tent for receiving visitors as well as one for sleeping, given that I saw no evidence of bedding in the tent we were brought to. He didn’t mention the letter I had written him after fleeing Kirkwall, and I wondered if he had ever received it.

“So. The Inquisition,” he started, making a gesture as we sat. Wine in fine goblets—too fine for travel—was presented to us. (Was the elf holding the tray a slave? I tried to meet her eyes, but she did not look up.) It would be rude to refuse, so I took one, but I did not drink. I did not trust that it was untampered. Alexius watched me put the goblet down without comment. “I have heard rumors. I understand there is someone known as the Herald of Andraste among your number.”

“Yes,” Amir said, unsubtly wincing. “I prefer to be called by my name, though. Less strange.”

Alexius raised his eyebrows. “I see. And they say you can… close these rifts that have formed? Perhaps even the Breach itself?”

“I can.” Amir flexed his left hand. How did it feel? Below that glove, did it hurt? “At least, I can close the rifts. The Breach is why we’re here, why we need to speak with the mages and Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

“You intend to close it.” It wasn’t a question. Amir nodded, and Alexius hummed. “I see. Smart, to send the Herald of Andraste. That title holds weight. But I do not think the mages are who you want.”

What, did he want us to seek the Templars’ aid? So that he could continue to work on whatever it was he was doing with the mages?

Amir thought otherwise. “You want us to ally with you.”

Alexius grinned. “You’re more clever than the rumors say. Varania, fetch some paper and ink, won’t you?” She nodded and left immediately. “Yes. I think you need power—and I can give you far more than those ill-trained rebels hiding behind city walls. Half of them are children who barely know fire from ice!”

This was unexpected, and I didn’t know how to react. Amir, thankfully, didn’t need my guidance. “That says what you can do for us, but my understanding is that people in Tevinter rarely do something that does not benefit them, too. What is it you’d want in return?”

“Clever indeed. I’m surprised you know anything of Tevinter, but you’re right.” Alexius leaned back. “I would want a return on my… investment. Nothing so large, but perhaps a few smaller things. A small sum for my trouble, to start. Perhaps a delegate to speak with these southern rebels on my behalf; I came here to invite them to Tevinter, but they have been most obstinate.”

Amir glanced at me, prompting Alexius to do the same with narrowed eyes. With slow consideration, Amir asked, “Why bring them to Tevinter?”

“Why not?” Alexius replied. “Yes, many are children, and therefore unsuited for military duty and useless to you, but the Imperium would be much safer for them than here, and I’m certain we could turn them into productive citizens.”

If that was the same spiel he’d tried on Fiona, then it was no wonder it didn’t work. A passing mention of safety bookended by how the children might be useful? It was utterly obvious that he had little care for how safe they were. (While southern Thedas was not safe for young mages now, I wondered if Tevinter could truly be safer—were they not at war with the Qunari? Did they not practice blood magic?)

“You understand, I’m sure,” Amir said, far calmer and more assured than I could ever have been in his position, “that we need to speak with Grand Enchanter Fiona first, before we can make a decision.”

Alexius’ smile didn’t dim, but his eyes did become harder. “And I am truly sorry, Herald, but I simply cannot allow anyone in to Redcliffe.”

“Are you trying to speak with them or starve them?”

Alexius laughed. “Don’t play stupid now; we’re both well-aware that you are anything but. Redcliffe is on a lake, and I have not stopped food from entering. They are in no danger of starvation. But if they will not speak with me, there is no reason for them to speak with anyone else.”

As Varania entered and handed Alexius the paper before returning to stand by Felix, I wondered: Did Alexius know about Fiona, that she had once been a Grey Warden? I could feel the Blight in Felix, could see how it crept up his skin. He looked almost good, despite the years it had been in his system, but his time was running ever shorter. At this point, even the Joining might not be enough to save him.

“Can we not come to an agreement on that?” Amir asked. “Keeper Vir’era knows the Grand Enchanter. Perhaps—”

Suddenly, Felix tipped forward, falling nearly into Amir’s untouched goblet of wine. Amir, quick on his feet, reached out to steady him. “Sorry!” Felix yelped. “Sorry, I’m just—”

“Felix!” Alexius shot to his son’s side, all but Fadestepping to get there faster. “Varania, fetch his herbs! My apologies, Herald, but we will need to continue this another time. Quickly, Varania!”

The three rushed from the tent, and those of us left all looked to each other. “He… gave me a note?” Amir murmured, holding it up. “Meet me at the hut by the stream…”

“It could be a trap,” Cassandra said.

“Did you see that?” Varric asked. “Alexius couldn’t get to the kid’s side fast enough.”

“It’s suspicious,” Emily agreed. “All of it, I mean. We should check it out.”

Blackwall shifted. “If he risked something to get that to you, it’s worth checking out.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on me. “Well, Mittens?” Varric nudged me. “What do you think?”

The note was about Dorian, wasn’t it? And Dorian was important. Or he could be. I wanted him to be. “We should go. We may get some answers.”

 

There were many huts and many streams in the Hinterlands, but the nearest one to the Tevinter encampment was just out of sight of Redcliffe’s walls. Time magic and its strange effects dogged our steps, though we couldn’t tell if we had been affected at all. (After seeing a goat running backwards, I hoped we were not.)

A rift, more jagged than I had expected to see, hovered above the modest little hut. Though it didn’t spew a constant slurry of demons and spirits, some were already present, and I swore could see a few starting to reach through in the shape of long arcs of rift-green light.

In the middle of it all: Dorian. This echoed within me as being familiar, and I was temporarily comforted by that—until I saw a Despair demon just about teleport from the edge to Dorian’s side.

I needn’t have worried: he cut it down with a blast of bright orange flames. When he caught sight of us, he grinned and waved, like this was an everyday sort of scene. “There you are! Mind giving me a hand? I hear you—one of you, anyway—can close these things.”

Amir leapt into action, and we followed suit. Cassandra and Blackwall banged their swords to their shields, sufficiently grabbing the attention of the remaining demons, and we distance fighters fanned around, keeping the things within a tight circle. Emily, using her height to her advantage, darted around mostly unseen, all the better to stab in unprotected vitals.

The battle was strange. (Of course it was strange. Time magic.) I tried ice magic. Three of the shots moved at a glacial pace; the fourth disappeared entirely. I tried fire. The first blast spun to the side, and the subsequent ones missed their too-fast targets. I tried lightning, which I’d never been as adept at. It moved too quickly for me to control, arcing beyond anything I’d ever managed and zapping indiscriminately in its wake.

Confused and frustrated, I resorted to simply channeling through Littlefoot. Nature magic was not as strong against most spirits—not like ice on a rage demon or fire on despair—but it was better than standing still.

Nature worked most like normal. Time was still wrong. Sometimes the demon would be gone by the time I’d fired the spell. One momentous occasion, all around me slowed dramatically. I alone moved at a normal pace, and I managed to slit the vital parts of two shades before time remembered itself once more.

As we finished slaying demons, and after Amir had sealed the rift, we converged.

“Amazing!” Dorian exclaimed, staring first at Amir’s bared hand, then at Amir himself. “How do you do that? You don’t know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and poof! The rift closes.”

“Something like that. I’m not a scholar on magic,” Amir admitted, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Not really a scholar at all, actually, I just like to read a lot, but I haven’t read much about magic, because there aren’t many books about it that aren’t in Circles, and I’ve never been to a Circle.” He cleared his throat and stuck out the unmarked hand. “Um, I’m Amir. Lavellan. Amir Lavellan.”

Dorian grinned and took his hand. “Charmed. I’m Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.”

“You’re… Tevinter?” Amir hesitated, his entire body going very still.

The look on Dorian’s face at the question was, simply put, exhausted. “Yes, and before you ask: No, I’m not a magister. Not all Tevinters are magisters, only those in the Magisterium. I’m an altus, which is to say my father is a magister.”

Amir nodded, drawing back into himself. Emily snorted and rolled her eyes, and though I didn’t directly see Blackwall’s reaction, I had a feeling it was similar enough. At the sound, though, Amir remembered to introduce us, and Dorian gave polite nods to each. His eyes did linger on my staff and Cassandra’s armor, but Wardens and the Carta were just as present in Tevinter as here. Keepers and Seekers were not.

“Did you write the note, not-magister?” Emily asked, having apparently reached the end of her patience with the end of the introductions.

Dorian sighed, but nodded. “Yes. I needed to warn you, but I can’t exactly walk around out there. It would be suspicious, you see, since Alexius and I had a… falling out.”

“Oh, you’re his former apprentice?” Amir asked. “He said something about that when he found out the Keeper had sent Varania to him.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard that right.” Dorian gestured to me. “You sent Varania to Alexius? A Magister? I thought the Dalish hated Tevinter.”

“Most do,” I said. “For understandable reasons. But Varania is not Dalish, and did not wish to be. She wants to help the elves of Tevinter, and she could do that best from a Magister’s side. Besides, Tevinter is her home, as it has always been.”

He made a considering sound. “Fascinating. Unfortunately, though, we don’t have time to talk more about how all that came about—and I am interested. No, I called you here to talk to you, so talk I will. I believe Alexius is involved with a cult calling themselves the Venatori. I’m not completely certain—he mentioned the name a few times before I left, but never in a concrete enough way to directly connect them.”

“Venatori…” Amir, Cassandra, and Varric all looked at me. Amir tugged his gloves. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“That’s because it’s not. They claim they’re going to ‘fix’ Tevinter,” Dorian explained, rolling a hand around with obvious disdain, “that they’ll ‘make Tevinter great again,’ but it’s all bullshit. Reminiscing about days long gone. I don’t know how much of it Alexius buys, but I know why they’d want him.”

“His research,” Amir concluded. “He said Varania has been very helpful.”

Dorian smiled at Amir, then became solemn again. “Yes. We were researching time magic. At first it was all theory, but recently… Well, you saw what was happening with that rift, and I’m sure you’ve seen the other strange things around here.”

“He made it work, didn’t he?” Amir asked. “That’s why he got here before us. Grand Enchanter Fiona invited us to speak with her personally, but if he’s been here as long as Blackwall says, that’d be impossible. She couldn’t have gotten to Val Royeaux last week.”

“Exactly. But for however much it is working, it’s still not working well. It’s tearing the world apart.”

“But why come here?” Cassandra asked.

“Why indeed?” Dorian shrugged. “I have a few theories. The most promising one is that he is with the Venatori, and he came to ‘rescue’ these southern mages and conscript them into the Venatori’s service. He’s been thwarted somewhat, because your Grand Enchanter refuses to so much as accept a note from him, or so I’ve overheard, but he’s still here.”

Fiona, at least, had chosen to heed my advice. With luck, this would still work out in our favor. But it did beg a few questions…

“Where is Redcliffe’s arl?” I asked. “I know Teagan, and I do not think he’d sit idly by while a magister was at his doorstep.”

“There were a few minor skirmishes when Alexius first arrived.” Dorian brushed his moustache and furrowed his brows. “They never lasted long. Only one or two of the arl’s knights actually died, but there haven’t been any other advances, so I’m not sure. Perhaps he’s holed up in his castle to wait. Boats still go in and out of the harbor. Maybe the arl left.”

Highly doubtful. He didn’t leave when Redcliffe faced its dead rising from the waters; he would not leave because a magister had killed one or two of his knights. Not willingly, anyway—but he might send for reinforcements. Perhaps I ought to write Alistair.

I made a mental note and moved on. “And what about Varania, then?”

Dorian shrugged at me. “What about her?”

“Why would she help Alexius?”

He huffed. “How should I know? I barely know her. Perhaps she believes in this Venatori and the rot about making Tevinter great again.”

“She wouldn’t,” I said. I couldn’t say that she’d certainly contact me about these things—we didn’t exactly have a secure method of contact—but I knew she didn’t want Tevinter to return to how it used to be. She wanted it to keep moving forward.

“Are you quite sure about that?” Dorian asked. “I hear the Venatori are quite convincing.”

“She’s an elf.” For a moment, he seemed liable to protest further. “What elf of the old Imperium was not a slave? Name even one.” He shut his mouth quickly.

From the woods came a voice. “Thank you for the defense, Keeper.” We all turned to watch as Varania made her way forward, Felix not far behind. “You are right. I do not like or trust the Venatori. I want nothing to do with them.”

“So why stay with Alexius, then?” Amir asked.

“Because even my father isn’t with them by true choice,” Felix said.

“You’re late,” Dorian told him.

“I know. Sorry. My father gets worried, you know. Maybe I shouldn’t have played the sick card; I thought I’d never get out of there.”

“Explain about your father,” Cassandra said. “What do you mean he is not with them ‘by true choice?’”

Felix glanced over his shoulder. “About a year ago, someone came to the house very late at night. I didn’t think much about it at first, but it kept happening, and my father was not pleased by these visits. He’s been… Well, he’d been putting the time magic on hold a while. He was working with some Warden mages, in correspondence, to see if there was a way to reverse Blightsickness.”

So he had listened to my warning, in some way. Not as much as I had hoped, but it was something. Felix continued, “But he started getting back into the time magic. He said they gave him a revelation of some sort, that he might be able to make it work now. It still didn’t at first, but they kept coming. He asked me a strange question, too, about whether saving a life by working with unsavory or evil people was worth it. I didn’t realize until too late what he meant.”

“If he succeeds with this magic,” Amir said, “he could change so much.”

“He could unravel the world,” Varania declared. She gestured back towards the camp. “Have you not seen the way it is already fraying? Between his meddling and the rifts, I do not know how long it will last. We should never have come here.”

“But unlike my father wishes, we can’t change the past.” Felix clasped his hands and held them towards Amir. “Right now, you’re our only hope. If you can bring the mages away from Redcliffe, protect them, recruit them, whatever it is, then he will have no reason to remain here, and we can return home.”

“He won’t attack us?” Amir asked, rightfully suspicious.

“Well, you won’t be able to use the front gates, but my father has no boats to keep them from leaving over water.”

“That’s not much help, considering that he’s a mage.” Amir looked in the direction of Redcliffe. “The last Blight came from the south, and reached as far north as Denerim and Highever. Keeper, how badly was Redcliffe affected, exactly?”

He didn’t need all the details. “It was besieged twice, once from within. There are many things that have still not been rebuilt. Its walls and castle are strong, and can keep much at bay when fully-armed, but it was not made with protection from magic in mind.”

“We need to get in,” he said. “And, more importantly, we need to get the mages out. Is there any way…”

“No. The gates and the lake are it.” But we would be vulnerable to magic from the lake, and we would have to bring an army to enter from the gates. Though, perhaps… “I could fly into the city on my own.”

“Fly?” Dorian asked.

“On your own?” Varric echoed.

“I can shapeshift,” I told Dorian, quickly, before waving any further inquiries he had away; those could wait for a better time. “Yes, on my own. I can’t carry anyone, and no one else here knows how to shapeshift. I could go in without alerting the Magister or his people, talk to Fiona and Teagan, and come back. They may have a better idea.”

“I don’t know, Mittens.” Varric crossed his arms. “There’s no telling what kind of security these guys have set up.”

Shapeshifting,” Dorian whispered.

“Varric has a point,” Cassandra said. “I do not think someone could enter the city without Alexius’ knowledge, especially if magic is involved.”

Dorian scoffed at this. “You southerners, always confusing what magic can and cannot do in your fear.”

“Oh?” she challenged, one eyebrow arching high on her forehead. “There is no spell or rune, then, which would alert Alexius to someone entering Redcliffe with magic?”

He shrugged. “Oh, with the right spell, he might know, but he would have no way to know who, nor have any way to stop them.”

“It is not whether the Keeper will be stopped that is my concern.” She turned to me. “I do not advise going into the city alone.”

“Do you have a better plan?” I asked, and her lips pursed. “I don’t mean to offend, Seeker, but we need to speak with the Arl and the Grand Enchanter, and this is our only option right now.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Varric said.

“Are you sure about this, Keeper?” Amir asked.

“You’re all being far more concerned than is necessary,” I insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

 

Getting in wasn’t a problem, and shapeshifting in the middle of town tends to draw attention. Thankfully, I was familiar to enough people that even the sounds of shock died down quickly, and those who had begun preparing to fight calmed without any significant effort.

I scanned the faces for one I could name—and found Myrvaise, the young mage who’d traveled from Kirkwall with my clan until we reached Redcliffe. I smiled at her, and she smiled back, though her brows knit together. “I need to speak with Arl Teagan and Fiona,” I told her. “Would you mind to help me find them, Myrvaise?”

“Certainly, Keeper,” she said. “They are in the castle, I believe, conferring about… I am sure you saw the Tevinters outside.”

“I did.” As she led the way to the castle, I fell into step beside her. “It’s part of why I am here.”

“It has us worried, and many of us are divided. Some think we should take the magister’s offer.” She looked at me. “The Grand Enchanter has been unusually adamant that we not take him at his word, though. There are rumors that she has other plans. The King and Queen of Ferelden welcomed us here, after all.”

“She’s right to be suspicious,” I said. “You should never trust a politician implicitly, and especially not one who has everything to gain from your cooperation—and very little to lose without it. Alexius has other motives for being here, whatever they may be.”

“I suspected as much. Tevinter waited this long to reach out to us; why the sudden interest?”

I let those words hang in the air with a solemn nod. If Tevinter as a country had truly wanted the southern mages, they would have sent some form of invitation or offer of parley long before. This? This was something else. Whether or not the Venatori were truly involved… Well. It didn’t matter. Alexius couldn’t remain.

Teagan and Fiona were in what had once been Eamon’s study—I supposed it was now Teagan’s, though it seemed so entirely unchanged that I couldn’t tell if the man ever even used the room.

Both stared at me when first I entered. In moments, though, Teagan’s tense shoulders relaxed, and Fiona came close to greet me. “Keeper Vir’era,” she said, grasping my arms with her own, “I am so glad to see you. How did you arrive? By boat?”

“I flew, actually.” Another stare, until she apparently remembered my talent for shapeshifting, and nodded. Continuing, I added, “I met Magister Alexius first, actually. Mostly by accident. How long has he been there?”

“Too long,” Teagan grumbled. “I sent word to Denerim, but since the magister’s hardly been violent yet, I couldn’t claim it as properly urgent. Additionally, many of the noblefolk there aren’t particularly pleased with the fact that the mages have been welcomed in Redcliffe, so I’m sure they’re going to drag their feet about doing anything.”

“Have faith, Teagan,” Fiona chided. “I’m certain King Alistair will send help as soon as he is able.”

“King Alistair isn’t their favorite person, however willingly they follow him.” But Teagan didn’t belabor the point. “Still, it is good to see you, Vir’era. Is it too much to hope you might have brought good news? Perhaps even a plan?”

I tilted my head back and forth, my lips pulling into an uncertain grimace. “I have news, yes, but no plan, as such, and I’m not even sure how much my news will strike you ask ‘good.’”

He grimaced right back. “I do not like the sound of that, but I have the niggling feeling I need to hear what you have to say.”

“It would probably be for the best, yes.”

“Then sit,” Fiona told me, “and say your piece. We will listen.”

I did, explaining to them as concisely as I could (which was admittedly not my strong suit) about the restoration of the Inquisition, the time magic we suspected Alexius to be using, and our intent to speak with the mage rebellion in regards to acquiring their aid to fix the Breach and avenge the Divine’s death.

“Are you certain this was not the doing of Templars?” Fiona asked me. “They blame us so fervently as to be suspicious.”

“I’m very certain,” I said, though I knew I could not tell her why. “The Divine was not killed by mage or Templar; that is why we are here.”

She sat back. Teagan rubbed his temples, but didn’t share his thoughts on the matter. With how much information there was, I allowed them time to take it in.

“We would, of course, be happy to speak with the Inquisition and find a mutually beneficial agreement,” Fiona told me, words slow. “Of course, as you’re aware, we cannot simply leave at the moment. Until the magister is gone, I’m afraid we’re stuck. If you can convince him to leave, we could speak of exactly what you want of us, and what we can give. But I’m afraid I cannot promise more until this Alexius is gone.

“Normally, we would be happy to help with his removal, but we have many who are not fit to fight—children, elderly, Tranquil. I do not mean to sound ungrateful, or to discount any effort on your part, but you must understand that we are trapped here, and if it comes to a fight, we will lose. Our only way out is the lake—and such an open space is too dangerous in the face of magic.”

I’d hoped for more. I had hoped Fiona would promise the mages’ help in return for getting rid of Alexius, but of course it wouldn’t be that simple. They were safe in Redcliffe, as it stood, and Teagan seemed to feel no need to send them away. They were not overstaying their welcome—perhaps they were helping the city, even. Certainly it hadn’t been targeted by the rogue Templars for its association with them…

I took a deep breath, knowing she could tell I was disappointed, but also knowing she would not change her mind. “I understand. I’ll pass on the information, and we’ll—well. We’ll see what we can work out later. Is there… is there anything else?”

Teagan stared in the direction of the farmlands, through the castle walls and the surrounding hills, face shuttered and pained. “With the magister on our doorstep, I’ve had very little news about how the arling has fared in the wake of this tragedy. The last I heard, there were demons showing up in fields, wolves attacking farmers, chaos everywhere one might look. Please, Vir’era, if there is anything the Inquisition can do to help…”

“We’re doing what we can,” I said. “I wish we could do more for repairs, but we’re yet new and haven’t the people or resources. But it’s my understanding that Amir has closed what rifts have been found in this area, and I did hear he took care of the wolf problem, so the most immediate troubles should be taken care of. I’ve heard there is a dragon in the area, though, and Horsemaster Dennet did come recently to join the Inquisition in Haven, but we’ve left soldiers and scouts here, to protect the people from further attacks.”

He sagged in his seat, eyes closed for a moment. “Thank you, Champion,” he said to me, as though I had done more than simply be in the right place at the right time to earn that title.

 

We returned to Haven with no greater plan. I couldn’t decide if this was good or bad; surely, if things went as they had so far, Alexius would invite Amir to met with him again, setting once more into motion the events whose parameters I understood. But perhaps he would not. Perhaps things would be different, this time—perhaps it had changed too much.

(Alexius was still Venatori, though. We could draw up secondary plans, but I forced my mind from lingering too much on the possibilities I could not predict.)

As we drew near to Haven, I pulled Blackwall aside. “When you have a spare moment in Haven, please come to find me. There’s something I want to speak with you about in private. Warden matters, you know.”

He shifted and glanced at the others, clearing his throat. “Of course,” he said, voice the gruff undertones of a man trying far too hard to cover up that he had no idea what I meant. “Perhaps tonight.”

“Yes, that sounds good. I’ll make sure I’m free.” I did my best ‘nothing-is-wrong’ smile. He nodded once and walked off, pace just a touch too brisk to be casual. I would cover for him, for as long as he had a cover to maintain, but he needed to know at least that I knew he was not a Warden.

No more secrets, I’d said, except for the secrets that were not mine to tell.

In Haven, we made our reports, then began to disperse. Outside the Chantry, a soldier caught my eye.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I’ve ben trying to speak with someone, but no one’s given me the time of day. You’re part of the Inquisition, right?”

I looked up at him, his smooth, hairless face, and immediately felt my heart swell with joy: I knew who this was, and he was like me. I hadn’t realized how very much I’d wanted to meet him until that moment, and I tried to keep my smile reasonable. “I am. I’m the Dalish Liaison, Vir’era. Is there something I can help you with, serah?”

One side of his mouth quirked up, apparently amused at my use of the word ‘serah.’ “Yeah. I’m Cremisius Aclassi—Krem for short—and I’m with a mercenary company, Bull’s Chargers. My captain’s interested in working for you, sent me ahead to make an offer. If you want to see us in action, we’re up on the Storm Coast right now.”

“I’m sure we’d be delighted. Could you tell me a more exact location that I could add to our maps…”

Chapter 8: is it still slow burn if both parties are oblivious as all fuck

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Hey, Keeper. That Warden’s here. Says you asked to speak with him.”

I turned from Tamlen at Adegoke’s voice. Blackwall wasn’t with him, but such was to be expected. After all, I’d maintained the policy that outsiders be kept out of our camp unless necessary.

“Warden?” Tamlen asked. “Like a Grey Warden? Is there a Grey Warden here? Do you know him, Keeper? Can I meet him? Is he here for my lesson?”

Chuckling a bit, I had to shake my head. “Yes and no, da’len. I met him when I was on the mission with Amir. He’s come to speak with me about some Warden matters, things from when I was still a Warden. You may meet him, but you mustn’t bother him, and when it is time for us to speak, you must let us do so in private.”

Tamlen cheered, and I nodded to Adegoke. It didn’t take long for him to return with Blackwall in tow. Blackwall was trying so very hard not to stare at everything around him—the aravels, the Dalish milling around, the halla, the harts—that it was all the more conspicuous than if he were to simply stare. Perhaps that’s because he was looking very hard at his own feet and nearly bumped into Adegoke when they reached me.

Tamlen stood quicker than a hare, bouncing over to Blackwall with the carefree wonder only intrigued children quite seem to manage. I followed at a more reasonable pace.

“Are you really a Grey Warden?” Tamlen asked. Blackwall seemed taken aback, and he glanced at me, but Tamlen thundered on. “Do you really fight darkspawn? Is your sword made of silverite? Did you know the Keeper was a Warden?”

“Da’len, do you not recall what I asked of you?” I said. Tamlen flushed lightly and took a half-step back—but not more. He was still too curious for that. “Ir abelas, Warden. This is Tamlen. I hope he did not bother you; he’s an adamant student, and sometimes his curiosity gets takes precedence over his manners.”

“It’s no problem,” Blackwall assured me, though the half-smile suggested he had been unprepared. He crouched onto one knee. “It’s nice to meet you, Tamlen. I’m Blackwall, and yes, I really do fight darkspawn as a Grey Warden. I’ve got a couple swords, for different purposes, and one is made of silverite.”

Tamlen nodded along, clearly agreeing that this was all good and sensible, except for one thing: “Is your name really Blackwall? That’s a funny name. Walls aren’t black.”

Blackwall blinked and bluffed. “Ah, well. I suppose it is, at that, but I’m rather fond of it. Maybe I’m just used to it.”

“Maybe. Most human names are funny, anyway, I guess. At least yours is actual words, not just sounds. Yours and Jewel’s.” He had a point, in that most human names had lost meaning as anything other than names. There were certainly plenty of Dalish names that we didn’t know the meaning of, too, but that was more because we had lost most of our language, and less because names weren’t words.

“Perhaps we ought to start a club,” Blackwall said. “Sensible Human Names. I’ll be sure to mention it to him when I meet him.”

The words surprised me—but, then again, we’d barely been back the length of an afternoon. Of course he had yet to meet everyone. That only made it more imperative that I clear the air with him, and I pressed a hand against Tamlen’s back. “Alright, da’len. I need to speak with the Warden, now. Why don’t you find your mother or Mheganni and see about your dinner?”

Food got Tamlen scampering off as surely as anything else. He bid us a quick adieu, then was gone. I nodded to Adegoke. “Thank you, da’len. I’ll see to our guest from here.”

Blackwall glanced after Adegoke as he walked away. “I didn’t think Qunari were usually welcomed by the Dalish.”

I shrugged. “Perhaps they’re not, among most clans. But mine is not your average clan, and we have seen many things. Adegoke and his sister are under our employment, besides.”

This seemed to make a bit more sense to Blackwall. At least, he nodded at this revelation. I opened the door to my aravel and beckoned him after me. “If you don’t mind, we will find more privacy inside, and I don’t want prying ears.”

He hesitated for a moment, looking back over his shoulder and clasping his hands together, but soon he followed. I spelled a few runes to brighten the room, and gestured at the small desk with its low chairs. “Sit. Would you care for tea?”

“Ah, no, thank you.” He shuffled to the nearer seat and folded down into it, eyes jumping from spot to spot and fingers twisting together.

I didn’t press the matter of tea, nor did I fix myself a cup, simply joining him at the table. He didn’t meet my eyes as I sat, and I stared at him for a beat in the hopes that he would—but no such luck. He kept looking around, though I doubted he could have told anyone what was inside my aravel if he tried to recall it later.

“Before I get into the matter I asked to speak with you about,” I said, at last drawing his gaze, though not without furrowed brow and shallow breath, “I would like to thank you.”

He blinked owlishly at me, lips parting just enough to echo, “Thank me?”

“Yes.” I smiled, doing my best to exude a calming aura. I had no intent to hurt or betray him, regardless of what knowledge I had. “With all the chaos from the Mage-Templar War, there has been a considerable uptick in unsavory people taking advantage of those who cannot defend themselves. But you’ve helped the people who needed it most, even though it falls outside a Warden’s typical duties. For that, I thank you—as an advisor to the Inquisition, and as Champion of Redcliffe.”

He cleared his throat and looked down at the table, but his fingers were no longer holding so tight to each other. “I just did what needed to be done. Not many darkspawn in the area, but plenty of bandits. Figured I’d help out before I moved on, that’s all.”

“And in doing so, you enabled them to help themselves in the future. It was a good thing to do, and not something all would think to. You needn’t be so humble.”

“I… I suppose you’re right.”

“I do try to be.” I smiled again, and this time, he returned it. “Now, about why I called you here…” His mood shifted immediately, regressing to that nervous display he’d had when he first came in, if less intense. “I want you first to know that I hold no ill will for you.”

“That’s—not a promising start, Keeper,” he mumbled.

“I know, it’s foreboding.” I was good at foreboding, if Varric was to be believed. “But can you promise me you’ll try to keep that in mind? That I mean you no harm? What I am going to say may be a difficult topic.”

He frowned at me, peering past his bushy brows with what I could only assume was fearful suspicion. “I suppose I can try.”

“Thank you.”

I gave it a moment, let him gather his wits, now that he had been informed. When I thought he must be suitably prepared, I began. “You know, of course, that Grey Wardens do far more than just fight darkspawn. We’re not merely trained on their weaknesses and unleashed upon their hordes; if such were the case, anyone could do the job, and we would have far more in our order. Recruiting would not be such a hassle.”

“Of course.”

“We have abilities, not entirely unlike Templars.” Blackwall began to look more and more unsure as my words continued. “Increased stamina, immunity to Blightsickness, the ability to kill an Archdemon should one arise… and we can sense the Taint in all who carry it. This is, of course, most useful when hunting down darkspawn.”

With his dark, bushy beard, I could not see Blackwall swallow, nor did I know how tight he kept his jaw, but the rest of him was so still and tense, that I was certain his jaw was clenched.

“We can also sense each other.” Blackwall’s eyes shot to mine, wide enough that the whites were stark under his dark brows. I nodded. “Yes, I know you’re not actually a Grey Warden, and especially not Gordon Blackwall. I have no plans to do anything with this information, but I thought it would be prudent that you know.”

In the first liminal silence, I half expected that he would bolt. His hands were pressed against the table, like he was preparing to push himself up, but he didn’t move.

“I-I don’t understand,” he said, suddenly, shoulders falling and arms going limp, though his hands remained planted firmly in place. “Why would you—if you know I’m not…”

I didn’t know. Not really. In many ways, Thom Ranier deserved no mercy. But I didn’t want to make that decision. He could become a good person, even though he had decidedly not been one in the past. I believed in second chances. Ranier’s past nauseated me (there had been children in that carriage), but…

“I am no judge, and even if I were, I would hold no power over your life. I am Dalish, and I have left the Grey Wardens, however much that counts when the Joining yet runs through my veins.” I tilted my head as I stared at him, and he stared back, mouth half-open. “You’ve done good. If that is all you intend to do, if that is your goal with the Inquisition, I see no reason to impede your efforts. One need not undertake the Joining to display the best points of what makes a Grey Warden.”

He swallowed audibly and dropped his eyes to my table once more. I wondered what he was thinking, but I could no better read his unkempt hair than the Dread Wolf’s bald scalp. Such mysteries, both, and for such wildly different reasons. Would it come back to haunt me, I wondered, that I chose to keep quiet?

“Does…” Blackwall cleared his throat, but still did not meet my eyes. “Does anyone—did you tell…”

“Yes and no.” I hadn’t told anyone other than Cullen just yet, but I intended to inform at least Leliana that our ‘Grey Warden’ was not as he seemed. I suspected she knew already, at least in part, but I owed her a great debt for my silence on Justinia. “I have told Commander Cullen and I intend to tell Leliana, as I hold as few secrets from them as I can. They are dear to me, and I simply cannot bear to keep knowledge from them when it may be important that they know.

“But I know Leliana will say nothing unless she feels it necessary. If you continue to do good, to at least try to help, she wouldn’t stop you if you declared yourself the king of lizards and insisted you were just a very tall dwarf.” An exaggeration; Leliana would care about that, if only to know whether that information could prove useful. “Cullen—I believe the same of him. I admit he is harder for me to predict, but I know him well enough to say that he would rather have the aid of someone who wishes to do good than the justice in revealing a liar.”

And the words I said were true, though I hadn’t understood that fully until I spoke them. Cullen cared more for bringing about more good into the world, about preventing evil from suffusing it, than he cared for justice. Oh, yes, he liked order—he liked things to make sense, and he liked things to go the way they were meant to go. But justice?

No, justice was not, and had never been, a significant part of his world.

He wanted only to do, to be good. It’s all he’d ever wanted. My heart ached.

Unaware of my silent revelation, Blackwall bobbed his head at me in a facsimile of nodding, and began to stand. “I-I understand. Perhaps I should leave, then. Help somewhere else, where I can’t trouble anyone.”

“No!” I reached out and grabbed his arm. How was that the logical conclusion from my words? “No, please—I did not mean this as a dire warning or an omen o-or a threat. I only thought you should know. I won’t press you for details on Warden life, and if others do, you can send them my way. You’re playing the part of an active Warden, after all. Active Wardens would never give up the Order’s secrets.”

“Are you saying…” He frowned at me, but did not relax back into the chair, still half-stood. “…you’ll cover for me?”

“Not in so many words, no,” I said, tugging him gently, a wordless urge to sit. He did so. “I will not go out of my way to cover for you. But I will do what I can to prevent accidentally revealing this secret. Your reasons for it are your own, and you are doing good. I would not jeopardize that, especially when I do think we could use your aid. I dislike lying, and I’ve never been good at it, but I can avoid a topic with the best of them.”

A terribly strange thing to brag about, but true. I was beginning to believe it was a trait all people of significant academic pursuit learned, or at least one that those with many strange secrets mastered. By happenstance or destiny, I had become both. Blackwall stared at me, hovering at the edge of flight even without rising again.

“You’re not… going to ask who I am?”

I shrugged. “It won’t change what you can do for the Inquisition, won’t change your ability to do good. Whether I know your true name or just the one you give to others, you can still help, and I thought you’d prefer I didn’t ask. That’s the reason you use Blackwall, is it not?”

“It’s just surprising, that’s all.” He sighed. “I think most people would want to know.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not most people.”

“No, I dare say you’re not.”

 

With precious little else we could do to help the mages, we took to the time-honored tradition of waiting for change. To pass the time better, Amir took to the Storm Coast to find the Bull’s Chargers. I debated joining him, but had no reason to, and much work in Haven.

“Leliana, if I may have a word?”

She looked up at me in her command tent, and waved the present scout away. “What is it, Vir’era?”

“It’s about Blackwall.”

“I see.” She leaned against the desk, folding her arms, and considered the words. “He’s not Blackwall, is he?”

“No. He’s not even truly a Grey Warden.” I kept my voice low, that no one else would hear, but the din of the town outside was sure to keep eavesdroppers from getting any pertinent information.

“I suspected as much.” She sighed. “With all the other Wardens disappearing… Neria told me you warned them away. She said she can’t keep close touch, for fear of being followed, but she made sure I knew she was alive. I assume the same can be said for all our other old friends?”

I nodded. “In as far as I can assure it, yes. To my knowledge, only Capella and Alistair remain in Ferelden, and few enough remember that they were Grey Wardens. Denerim should be far enough east as to be no issue, but I have warned them all the same. It’s a dangerous time to be a Grey Warden in Ferelden and Orlais. I think we should be glad that Blackwall is not.”

“Do you know who he is, then?” Her eyes were sharp, cutting through my skin and bones to my soul, demanding the truth under pain of—I didn’t know what. I dared not find out.

“Thom Rainier.”

“Thom Rainier?” She kept staring. “That is… interesting. You’re certain?”

“I am.”

She looked away, gazing down in the direction of the barns where Blackwall had made himself at home. “And what would you do with this information, then? Should we turn him in? Or does he play a greater role?”

What a strange question. “I would do nothing. He is here to do good, perhaps to redeem himself, even if he is using another man’s name. We have greater need of that than whatever bounty might be on his head. Of course, if you think differently…” I waved a hand, then let it drop back to my side. “I have decided enough fates.”

“Who else knows?”

“Cullen. I told him much the same as you. If either of you wishes to confront Blackwall or reveal his true identity, I will not stop you. It is your choice to make, and I do not think it is my right to ask that you keep silent on behalf of a killer, whatever good he may be capable of.

“I also did tell Blackwall himself, in part. At least, he knows that I’m aware he is not a Grey Warden. I didn’t feel it necessary to say I knew his name. Besides, any Warden would learn soon enough that Blackwall is not. He has no Taint in him.”

“I see.” She stood straight again and turned away from me. “Thank you for the information.”

It was a dismissal if ever there was one.

 

Vir’era,

I heard you went to Redcliffe again, and were even in the Hinterlands, but you didn’t come to see me! I’m sure you’re busy, but you could at least have dropped me a note, instead of leaving me to hear this all second- and third-hand! I swear, you and Cullen both are a right mess. Don’t worry, though. I’ve already forgiven you. Next time, though—next time I might not!

On a lighter note, I hear you and the Inquisition are to thank for the much more reasonable number of demons now. By which I mean that there are probably none left, just as it should be. We had a few soldiers come through Honnleath, even. I made sure to welcome them, given how they’d find out soon enough Cullen’s my brother and he’s meant to be leading them. So, thanks for that.

How is it you’re always one of the people doing such work, anyway? Even when you were in Kirkwall you got up to this sort of thing, if on a bit of a smaller scale. (Don’t front with me; I know full well you did more than you said.) You’re always in the thick of things, just like Cullen. At least this time you’re working together.

Watch his back for me. I know you’ve been doing that for a long time, so you hardly need me asking it of you, but if you don’t mind, just… Keep a closer eye on him this time? Keep him company as much as you can. Keep him safe. Keep him happy, or however happy he can be in the circumstances. I know you can. You’re one of the few things that he wrote positively of in Kirkwall.

I’ve told him to do the same for you, just so you know. Time will tell if either of you listen or look close enough.

Whatever he says or does, he cares for you, Vir’era, and so do I. So make sure you keep yourself safe, too.

Mia

 

Vee,

It’s going to take us a long while to get to Redcliffe, not the least because a lot of the nobles here have been stalling. They hate the idea of helping mages enough that they’re putting citizens at risk, which is just ridiculous. Capella’s just about put them in their place, though, so I expect we’ll be on the move within a few days.

We’ll only be able to take a small company, so we should reach Redcliffe in a bit more than a fortnight—and this time when I say ‘We’ I mean ‘me,’ because someone has to stay behind to watch the nobles and Cassiopeia. I’d be happy to do the latter, but there’s no question Capella’s far better equipped for the former. So, royal We (sans Queen and Princess) will be there.

I’m sending a more formal letter to your Inquisition’s Ambassador, plus a note for Leliana, but just so you know: I’m going to give blanket permission to the Inquisition to do what it needs to help Redcliffe. We may need that aid.

Alistair

 

I found Cullen among the soldiers, barking advice and criticism in equal measure, and took a moment to watch without interrupting. He did not stop immediately for my presence, but soon enough he did step out of the throng to greet me. “Vir’era,” he said, pausing at the fringe of the makeshift training ground, neither among the soldiers nor yet joining me. “Is—is there… something I can do for you?”

Though there was, I almost wanted to say no. He was in his element here, calm and confident as I had so very rarely seen him, and it was a beautiful sight. I hated to end it for any reason. (I wanted to sit and watch, but did not want him to know. I didn’t want to distract him as I had just now. Perhaps later I would come by as a cat… purrhaps.)

“When you have a moment, there’s something I’d like your advice on,” I said, opting instead to follow through on the reason for my visit.

His brows furrowed, head tilting, and he glanced around. “Lieutenant! Mind the recruits. I need to speak with Keeper Vir’era.” From within the mess of bodies, a heavily-armored woman stepped forward and began to issue orders with the same authority Cullen had previously. “Let’s speak over this way.”

He walked to the small bluff that overlooked the mostly-frozen lake, and I followed. When we came to stand still, he looked at me. “What is it you want my advice on? It’s not—I haven’t spoken to… Blackwall. It’s not about him, is it?”

“No, I’ve—I’ve made my decision there. Or non-decision, really.” I pushed my hands into my bearskin coat, as much to protect from the cold as to put them somewhere. “It’s about, um, the Templars.”

“Oh.”

I watched his face, trying to discern any thoughts, but would have had better luck with a horse. “I want to—I don’t know what Amir will do, but with Alexius where he is… Things have changed, and I do not know how deep it runs. There is little enough we can do, but the mages and Redcliffe need help desperately. Still, I would like to help the Templars where I can—there are good people in the order. Good people who do not deserve the fate red lyrium brings.”

“I’m glad that you want to help,” Cullen said, “but I’m not sure what that has to do with me. You’re… it’s your journal. You have all the information already, even if it’s not entirely accurate. I don’t see how anything I say could help.”

“You don’t?” I asked, surprise welling up enough that words blurted out of my mouth before I had the chance to think. “It’s—you’re a Templar. Or, you were. Like I was a Grey Warden. You know how to… to reach them. They—the ones like you, who want to help, who are good the way you are—they would listen to you as they would not to me. I’m a mage, and Dalish besides. I—I have written letters. Not many, but enough, and—still, I’ve had no replies. Not from Ser Barris nor from anyone at all in Therinfal Redoubt. I thought… you might help.”

He looked down, then away. “You don’t think Amir will go to them, then.”

“His sister is a mage, and Templars have… a bad reputation among the Dalish.”

“It’s not entirely undeserved,” he murmured, and I thought perhaps I wasn’t supposed to hear the words, so I said nothing. “I could attempt to write a letter, but, Vir’era, short of going in person to speak with them, I don’t know that it would change anything.”

And we had neither the time nor people for such a venture. Only flight would get anyone or anything there in less than a week, and by that point—

Oh, but I could fly.

I half-turned, shoulders back, and looked up at Cullen with as much determination as I could muster. “Then that’s what I’ll do.” I began to move away; I needed to prepare, to get things in order.

He stopped me, reaching out and taking hold of my arm. “What—Vir’era! It takes over a week just to get there, nevermind what your journal says is waiting there! I can’t—we need you here when Amir returns!”

He held both my arms in his now, leaning down to plead with me at closer to eye-level. I noticed his eyes were wide. He was frightened. I pulled a hand out of my coat to lay atop his own where it held my arm. “I’ll be fine. I can fly there in less than half the time it takes to march. All I need is to speak with Ser Barris and a few of the other reasonable Templars, convince them to leave.”

“It’s too dangerous—you’d be killed the moment someone realized you were a mage! They’d think you’re a spy.” His grip tightened, but not enough to hurt.

“I’m hardly going to transform in the middle of the courtyard,” I told him, as gently as I could. “Dirthavara, I promise, I will be very careful. I’m only going to speak with those I know want nothing to do with the corruption.”

“The only name you have is Barris,” he said, drawing closer, “and he’s not in a command. Even if you’re able to find him, there’s no telling that someone else won’t find you—and alone, you’d have no chance. I can’t let you go alone, Vir’era. I can’t. You—you’d die, and I can’t—we can’t lose you. Please.”

I caught that slip, but didn’t let myself hope that it meant what I wanted it to, no matter how sad his eyes. It broke my heart, but there was nothing for it, not if I wanted to save as many Templars as I could. I moved my hand to his face and held his cheek, reveling in how he let me, wishing I could make him understand. “I’m the only one who can do this. I have to. I can fly there and back before Amir returns.”

“Vir’era…”

“Ir abelas. Ara dareth, dirthavara.”

Notes:

keep an eye out for a missing moment fic coming out soon! it's cullen-centric :)

-

ir abelas. ara dareth, dithavara. - i'm sorry. i'll be safe, i promise. [lit. it brings me sorrow. i am/was/will be safe, i promise.]

Chapter 9: mountains are made for pine-ing

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Days and leagues later, I landed atop the roof of Therinfal Redoubt. I could feel the sick pulsing of red lyrium, had been able to sense the sheer magnitude of its presence for hours. There was so much of it here, enough to leave me almost physically ill from the proximity.

I concentrated on my self-assigned duties, grateful that owls were not prone to nausea in the same form as elves. In the courtyard below, a few Templars worked and trained. None were visibly corrupted by red lyrium, though I could not tell from such a distance if it was present more subtly. There was just too much of it around for that kind of precision.

I could not recognize any, either. They all wore their full armor, helmets and all. It was worrisome; did they fear an attack? Even in Kirkwall, the Templars training in their courtyard often wore only parts of their armor.

It didn’t matter. Fluttering to a point out of sight, I slipped into my cat shape and began to prowl. Cullen was right: the only hope I had to go on was Ser Barris’ name and the foreknowledge that he should not yet be corrupted, but that was little enough to make this idea dangerous.

Of course, dangerous did not mean unworthy.

I walked the corridors, listening in on any conversations I passed, doing what I could to draw no attention to myself. A few other cats crossed my path, and though they gave me curious and considering looks, none seemed to care about my presence.

Eventually, I heard someone call out to Barris, and I was able, then, to tail him. He walked a patrol, passing a number of other Templars. Like the ones in the courtyard, none yet showed any visible mutations from red lyrium, though there were a few who, as I passed them, felt so strongly of the stuff that I knew they had imbibed it. This number was small enough to bring hope—but that any had done such was terrible.

Around the next corner, in a nook, I saw a boy.

His presence shocked me into stillness. He looked nothing like anyone else here, and was almost certainly too young to even be a recruit. His face was gaunt, his skin pale, and he wore patchwork clothing—overall, he seemed like he might disappear if I—

Oh.

Cole.

That’s what my journal called him. I was fairly sure in this, though I knew, too, in some distant part of my mind, that the magic which had created him also left him difficult to remember. It was possible I was remembering wrong.

“You’re not always a cat,” he said, voice as wispy as his hair. Near-colorless eyes peered down at me, half-hidden beneath a large hat. “You’re usually an elf. Why are you a cat?”

He read minds, my memories supplied. Or, maybe not exactly that, but something close. I thought about Barris.

“Tables, Templars, time, all turning, tumbling, ticking… You want to save him. It will be hard.”

I thought about the envy demon.

“Yes,” he said. “But we’re alone. We’re not strong enough. There are too many.”

I thought about the red lyrium, about Corypheus.

“Pain propagates power, but not the power they pursued. It will take them all.”

About Ser Barris again.

“If you change in front of him, he will be scared.” I could remember how Cullen had reacted when I did the same; I knew the danger. “I can make him not be scared. I can tell him to expect you. He won’t remember. It won’t hurt, not like Cullen.”

I considered the offer. It was a good one—or, at least, it was better than the meager attempt of a plan I had concocted. I gave him a slow, deliberate nod.

“Good,” he said. “In that room. I’ll send him.” He pointed to a room nearby, and when I looked back, he was gone.

I went to the room and began to wait. I didn’t know how long it would take, but Barris would surely be there soon. He didn’t have much reason to go into the dust-ridden, empty space, but I was confident he’d come.

I didn’t have to wait long. Not a minute later, the door opened, and Barris walked in, looking around for something. As soon as the door had shut again, I stood and transformed. The magic and movement brought me to Barris’ attention, and while he did startle, he did not draw his sword or call for help.

“Where did you come from?” he demanded.

“Haven.” I started to move forward, but his hand moved to his hilt, and I stopped. (Still, it was a better reaction than I had initially expected. We were on track.) “I came to warn you.”

“Who are you?”

“Vir’era Sabrae.”

This made him pause, and he stood straighter. “You wrote me a letter.”

“If you received it, why are you still here? You need to leave.”

He frowned. “Why would I trust a letter over my commander?”

He had a point, if a flimsy one, given the rampant corruption in the Templar order. I pursed my lips and huffed. “I suppose that doesn’t matter anymore. Still, you must leave. Gather those you trust, those who have only ever wanted to help, and leave. You are in danger if you remain.”

“I am loyal to the Templar order,” he said, words slow. “I can’t leave.”

“Your loyalty will get you and many other good people killed.”

“The splintered factions’ disloyalty is what has caused the most death in this war yet.”

I wished he were wrong. (In some ways, he was, but this was not the time or place to argue that the war against mages had been going on for Ages.) “I’m not here for a debate, Ser Barris. Have you seen the red lyrium?”

His eyes slid away, looking in a direction deeper within the fortress. He had seen it, and he knew where it was being kept—where it was, perhaps, being grown. I repressed a shudder at the thought. “What do you know about it?” he asked.

“It is corrupted. When a person is exposed to its influence, they are driven insane at best. I have seen it destroy lives this way. If it is consumed—the changes are incomparable and horrible. It does not take much for a person to become a monster.”

“Some of the others have been going missing. We were told they were on missions. I thought maybe it was a cover, that they’d really defected. This is… hard to believe, you know.”

“But it is enough to give you pause, or you would not still be listening.”

He turned away from me. I was right, and I knew it; I was sure he did, too. I did not intend to give him time to think, to doubt, to reconsider my words and work out loopholes to absolve his commanding officers.

“I know that you do not see the commanders as often as you would expect. I know they sequester themselves and act too secretively for the circumstances. I know you have seen already some of the ill effects of red lyrium, people changing their personalities seemingly overnight. There is something evil in the highest reaches of your order, Ser Barris. If you do not leave, it will consume all who remain here, forcing red lyrium upon every last soul. Red lyrium is a death sentence, and rarely is it a quick one.

“Leave. Come to Haven. Join the Inquisition; we can offer you sanctuary. I have the promise of Commander Cullen Rutherford. There will be safety for any who come—even if you do not join our cause.”

He looked at me again, and I allowed him a moment to speak. “And what cause is that, then?”

“Fixing the world.”

“That’s a tall order.”

I laughed, ever so slightly hysterical. My hands wanted badly to shake. “One does not form an Inquisition for small matters, Ser Barris.”

“Cullen Rutherford, you said?”

“Yes. Formerly of the Kirkwall chapter of Templars. He and I were there when this began; we have joined the Inquisition to see it end.”

“They can help,” said a new voice—a boy more apparition than physical. I recognized him quickly, and my mind scrambled for the name: Cole. “You can help more with them. They’re fighting the demons, not hiding.”

Barris didn’t seem to notice Cole, but his words took root anyhow. “If you’re actually doing something—if what you’ve said is true… There aren’t many of us left. The ones who care, I mean. But I’ll spread word, and I’ll see you in Haven.”

“Thank you. I promise you, Ser Barris, that you will not regret this. Cullen will—he’ll be glad. They all will.”

Barris left, and I looked at Cole. “I won’t let them forget,” Cole said. “Not like they forget me. They’re supposed to forget me. Not this.”

I nodded. “Ma serannas, Cole. I—could you… would it be alright, then, if I remember you? Can you let me?”

He shifted slightly backwards into shadows that did little to hide his fluorescently-pale skin. “No. I can’t change that. I don’t know how.”

That wasn’t the answer I’d hoped for. I wanted to remember him, to work with him.

“Madness marching, moving, menacing… I will keep trying to help. I can warn you. You won’t forget that.”

And he was gone.

 

Mission completed, I took to the skies. It had taken less time than I’d anticipated—Barris, though still reluctant to accept that something was really wrong with the Templars, had been pliant about joining the Inquisition. It would surely take him a few days yet to finish plans for leaving and to gather those who would join, but I felt almost foolishly confident that, even in that time, he would not change his mind.

I knew many lives—possibly even good ones—would still be lost to the red lyrium in the Templar order, but I felt… good. I had done what I set out to do: I had saved the ones who cared about mages as people, not just chattel.

True to my word, I returned to Haven before Amir. The Storm Coast, after all, was almost as far as Therinfal Redoubt—and going by foot or by steed was no match for wings. I landed near the training field, exhausted from so many days of near-nonstop flight. I should have made a report and gone to sleep, but my brain was clouded and uncooperative.

Instead, I became a cat and followed the sound of Cullen’s voice. He was training recruits, of course, giving commands and stepping in to correct forms. I found a nice, sun-warmed rock to sit upon, and I watched.

He walked up and down among the lines of recruits as they practiced forms and mock-sparred. Many were moving slow enough that they would be less than useless in a battle, but any words he said remained on how they held their weapons and the angles at which they struck.

He said: “If you pull up that high, you leave your entire front open to attack. Keep your arm lower and sweep.” Or maybe: “Don’t angle your shield up like that. It might work fine against some, but splash damage will just hit your face, and a scraping sword might, too.” And once: “That was a good jab, perfect form. If you aim at the joint, though, you’ll do more damage. Armor is weaker there, if it’s there at all.”

I listened absently, watching his movement. He gave examples for stances, for movements, for weapon grips. He didn’t hold back on adjustments, reaching out to push in an elbow here or reorient a wrist there. Most of the soldiers seemed used to this manhandling, though I didn’t think I was imagining a few faces growing more flushed for it.

I knew I wasn’t imagining my envy.

As he took someone’s hips in hand to demonstrate some other angle, envy burned in my heart. I couldn’t tell you whose hips it was he was touching; all I knew was that I wanted, desperately, for it to be mine. It was a silly thing, really. Nothing about the touch was even remotely sexual or romantic—it was clinical, mechanical. No fingers lingered or trailed as he removed his grip, and he never drew closer than necessary.

Yet I coveted it nonetheless. I wanted his hands on me however they would come. If it meant doing more stupid things—things like taking off alone for a Templar stronghold, regardless of how well that had gone—then perhaps I would do them. (I could still imagine his hands on my arms, his cheek in my hand.) I didn’t know what else would be so risky, but my sleep-addled mind tried to concoct ideas as I drifted off.

 

“Hey, Mittens. Wake up.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“I’m sure, Curly. See that black spot on his leg? When it’s folded like this, it looks a little like a heart, but if he straightens up, it looks more like a dick.”

“…Ah.”

“So: Mittens. Hey, c’mon now, get up. I know you can hear me. Your ears’re twitching. Gives up the whole ruse. You’re a terrible liar like this. Come on, up.” Hands nudged my back. I tried to continue ignoring the sounds, but they were so insistent, clamoring for my attention… “You gave us a damn scare, so get up and face the music already. You have a lot to answer for here.”

A scare? Oh, right. My mission to Therinfal Redoubt. I stretched slowly, the cat instincts associated with this form demanding as much after such a catnap. Blinking in the late sunlight, I stared up at Varric and Cullen.

“There we go. See, Curly, what did I tell you? Those are definitely his eyes. Don’t pretend you don’t recognize him now,” Varric said, gesturing at my face. It was a somewhat unfair expectation; Cullen had rarely seen my cat shape, and certainly not at any point wherein he’d have had the time or care to memorize its appearance.

But Cullen always did surprise me in small ways. He cleared his throat, then nodded. “I—yes, I see now. Vir’era, could you please—that is, if you wouldn’t mind—and if you’re still able, could you, ah…”

As Cullen trailed off, Varric snorted. “What he’s trying to say, I think, is change back right now, because we need to talk.”

I looked back and forth warily. Varric, reading my gaze well enough with his writer’s eye after so many years of friendship, said, “We’ll leave the yelling for the Seeker. She’s better at it, anyway. Plus, I need a show. I like watching her shout at people who did stupid shit. It’s fun.”

There was something underlying his words that I couldn’t decipher, but I left it for another time. Varric was tight-lipped about himself at the best of times, and right now, however mild his tone, I knew he was pissed at me. (I couldn’t blame him.) Cullen was harder to interpret, but I’d never been on the receiving end of his anger. Fear, yes. Maybe disappointment, too. But not anger.

(This didn’t look like any anger I’d ever seen, though.)

With pointedly careful movements, I stepped down from my rock and stood up an elf, my hands coming together to wring in worry.

“There we go.” Varric crossed his arms. “Now, let’s all try to be reasonable about this, huh? I’ll start: Where in the Maker’s name have you been, dammit?”

“Therinfal Redoubt,” I answered, voice quiet with nerves.

“Yeah! Exactly! Why?”

“To—save them. Ser Barris and whoever else is still… uncorrupted.”

“Sure. And why did you think it was a good idea to do this alone?” Despite his promise, his words were growing more heated, his eyes narrowed and shoulders tense.

“I… could get there faster alone. I can fly.”

He made a frustrated sound. “You keep doing that!” he exclaimed. “Flying off on your own into dangerous situations, claiming you’ll be fine!”

“I—yes, but I-I have been!”

“This time!” Varric waved a finger at me, then poked my chest. “It only takes one mistake, Mittens! One! Just one mistake, and you could end up dead, or worse. Don’t you remember the shit we’ve seen? The Deep Roads Expedition? That Templar who died to stop the blood mage serial killer? Your own damn Keeper?”

That hurt. It ached, like he had crushed something in my throat and pushed my ribs tightly closed. I fell in on myself a little, but I knew he was right. If I kept at this—if I treated the consequences as abstract rather than possibilities—it could very well be the death of me.

I did not want to die. I would, someday, but I had no desire to rush that. My life finally meant something in a real, concrete way; I could see the good I managed when my clan flourished. And for that to continue, I needed to stay alive. To stay alive… Varric was right. I couldn’t keep on taking these risky moves, no matter how necessary they seemed.

“Ir abelas, ma falon,” I murmured, trying hard not to let the heat bring tears to my eyes. “It was selfish, I know.”

“Selfish? Maker’s balls, Mittens. I don’t know what ‘selfish’ means to you, but usually it doesn’t mean ‘saving other people’s skins.’ Selfish!” He huffed. “No, the problem you have isn’t selfishness. It’s self-righteousness, just like Blondie. You’re just usually better at hiding it than this.”

Self-righteousness… That fit better. Varric knew his nuances. And if even he thought I was doing things that could be considered comparable to Anders, well. I would need to be more careful. A lot more. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize. Ir abelas. I… will try to be smarter.”

“You better. We both know how that went down, and it wasn’t pretty.”

A sword that glowed. Blood that never was, staining my hands eternally all the same. Yes, I knew how that had gone, and I hated it. It was not a happy story. I nodded.

“Right. Good. Now that that part’s out of the way, and we’re both on the same page…” The tone shifted quickly, Varric brushing off his coat and shedding the fearful berating for something that closer matched his initial, neutral tone. “Did you at least succeed on this stupid-ass suicide mission? Other than not dying, I mean.”

I looked to Cullen, who had stayed silent. His face was still inscrutable, eyebrows too tightly-knitted and eyes too tense for me to match with any other expressions I could parse. He used to make similar faces in Kirkwall, whenever Meredith was mentioned. But where his lips were pursed then, they weren’t now. I didn’t know what that difference meant.

I had to forge on. “I was as successful as I could have hoped to be,” I said. “Ser Barris spoke with me. He was… more receptive than I’d dared hope, but he also seemed to know about the red lyrium. I sensed a great deal of it there, even in some of the Templars. We could never save them all, but Barris promised to come, to bring as many as he could away with him. He should be on his way now.”

Varric nodded. “Good. Good. I’ll go find the Seeker, let her know about all this. She’ll probably want to call a meeting in the War Room or something, so don’t go far, and get ready for some yelling. Real yelling. She’s got a set of lungs only trumpeters can compete with.”

As he left, I pushed my heart down, keeping it from rising out of my chest and into my throat. This was no time for such dramatics, not when I had yet to hear Cullen’s thoughts on my abrupt departure.

He sighed, loud and long, and looked off in the distance where the Breach still hovered. Its green light did not reach far enough to reflect on his face, but I thought I could see a tinge not normally present. Both his hands were on the pommel of his sword, and I could not tell if they were holding hard or gently for the gloves on his hand.

“You know I quit taking lyrium,” he said to me, apropos of nothing. “I-I never told you, but it was in your journal, so… so you know, regardless. It seemed a simple decision at the time. Not easy, really, but simple.” He looked down, then, and I couldn’t quite track his gaze. It didn’t go anywhere I could follow. “Did… Do you know why? Why I stopped, I mean.”

I couldn’t remember. If I had ever known the specific reason why Cullen stopped taking lyrium, that knowledge had been lost to me. Still, the reasons for doing so were myriad, and most were very good. “I think I understand why,” I said, keeping my voice kitten-soft, unwilling to force him to say anything he did not want to.

“Then you don’t know. You didn’t… learn that about me.” His conclusion was true, though his voice wavered from perfect diction to half-mumbled. A moment passed, and when I didn’t speak, he looked me in the eye. “Lyrium is terrifying.”

This was a revelation I had not expected. I knew what lyrium did and could do, of course; I knew that it could amplify magic, that it could disrupt and even destroy one’s connection to the Fade, knew that it could allow people to manifest similar abilities—and that it could destroy the mind of any who stayed too long in its presence without proper protections.

This mental decay could take decades, even scores of years, but it would happen to anyone who regularly physically interacted with it. (Even dwarves, who were so resistant to all things magic, were susceptible to this.) And every Templar who reached old age had senility to look forward to, a singular guarantee not unlike a Grey Warden’s Calling.

“It lets us control magic,” Cullen told me, “and it is—indispensible. Templars are indispensible. But it is addictive, and the Chantry teaches that we are powerless without it. They’re not entirely wrong—our powers are weakened without a steady supply of lyrium, but it never truly leaves us. We could, in theory, reserve its use entirely for when the situation demanded it, instead of… this.

“But that didn’t suit the Chantry’s needs. More Templars might leave or speak up that way, without a crippling addiction.” His gaze was too much, too heavy. Even so, I could not look away from the pain in his face, the ache that tinged his voice. I could not let him think himself alone in this, even if I did not share the experience. “So they kept us on a schedule of lyrium, tightly-mandated so that we would receive just enough not to be weakened, but not so often that we would not feel the ache.

“And when a Templar grew old, or when they had consumed too much, and their mind was no longer of use, they would be shuffled quietly off. First to a meaningless post, where their success or failure was of no consequence, and their presence merely a reminder of our existence.” As he turned away, releasing me from the hold of his eyes, I couldn’t help but recall Ser Carroll at the docks of Lake Calenhad. My gaze turned, too, following his. “Then, when even that seemed too much to ask, to whatever Chantry could be convinced to receive them. Most from Kinloch would go to Denerim. Most in Kirkwall didn’t live that long.

“I—when I left the Order, I meant it. I would not drag any piece of it with me, as most do, as… as Samson clearly did. I don’t doubt the craving is why…” He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. It happened, and we cannot change that.

“What I’m saying is: Living without lyrium is… It is like walking through mud up to your chest after days without water. It can be done, but it is slow, difficult, and frustrating. Sometimes the mud is thicker. Sometimes it is low. But it is there, and it is never easy.” He reached out and held my cheek with a gentle hand, bringing me once again to look at him. “When you disappeared, I felt like I was drowning in the mud.”

My breath stilled in my lungs, and I had to remind them how to move. My lips fluttered uselessly as all my words scrambled into an incomprehensible mess. “Déso—ir abel—I didn’t… Ma vhe—ma falon, ir abelas.” He took his hand back, and I felt cold for its loss, moving forward to follow before I remembered myself enough to stop. “If I had known—if you had said…”

He shook his head. “You were determined, and I didn’t know it would be so bad. I might have tried harder, if I knew, but you—I… I need to know you will not do something so reckless again.”

Could I promise such a thing? I didn’t know if I could, but I wanted to, for him. If my presence helped somehow, I would stay as often as I could, to ease his pain. And there were places I could not go, regardless—the most dangerous missions were yet to come, and I did not know if I could withstand Corypheus’ influence enough to not be a danger come Haven’s fall, let alone the ordeal at Adamant Fortress.

And I didn’t need to go to these places, if things played out as they should. I could stay behind, which might be safer for everyone, and Amir should be fine. He was a capable leader—I had noticed his confidence already—and would not need a meddling Keeper looking over his shoulder.

“Vir’era?” Cullen had a hand on my arm now, bending enough that we were closer to the same level. “Please, can you promise me that much? I know I cannot ask you to stay from the front lines entirely, and it would be foolish of me to try, but I would… I would not fear so much, if I knew you would not go off on your own for something else so dangerous.”

How could I ever deny him anything? He could ask me to turn day into night, and I might try. I took his hand from my arm and held it in both of mine. “Ir abelas, Cullen. I did not know I would cause you such distress. Dirthavara, I promise, I will not do this sort of thing again.”

He let out a small breath then, tension leaving with it. “Thank you,” he said. “Or—how do you say it in Elven? Ma… ma Surana?”

“Serannas,” I corrected, slowly, leaning the slightest bit closer. “Ma serannas.”

“Se…rannas. Ser-ann-as. Ma serannas.” The accent wasn’t quite right, his r sounds too rhotacized to be accurate and his vowels too high, but it filled my heart to bursting that he even tried.

“Very good,” I said, unable to keep the smile from my face, and I gave his hand a gentle press to express my delight. A thought came to me as he smiled back. “Cullen, I—”

You! Vir’era!” A loud shout interrupted me, and I jumped. Only as I turned and pulled away from Cullen did I realize just how close we had been, as the cold mountain air bit a new flush into my cheeks. I could only hope it was enough to disguise the nervous blush from Cullen’s proximity.

Judging by how red the air had made Cullen’s face—though I knew he was more prone to such color—I figured I was in the clear.

Cassandra stomped up to me, her face dark enough that, in most circumstances, I might have gone pale instead. One hand was pointing at me, shaking in her anger. “Where have you been?” she demanded, still advancing. Varric trailed behind, looking tired.

I struggled to resist backing away, my shoulders hunching around me as I shrunk to the smallest I could be, arms pulled tight to my body. “Ir abelas, Seeker—I meant no harm! I went to help as many of the Templars as I c—”

“That is no excuse!” A snarl curled her upper lip, making her look almost feral before she tamed her expression into something less wild, though no less angry. “You will come with me to the War Room, now. You as well, Commander. We must speak with the Keeper about his—irresponsibility.

She was beyond pissed. She already didn’t care much for me—my secrecy regarding the attack on the Temple of Sacred Ashes had seen to that—and now… Whatever her reasoning, she did not approve of my most recent venture.

We, not being complete fools, went with her. Varric came to walk at my side. “Sorry about that,” he muttered. “Didn’t think she’d come running straight for you, and I definitely didn’t mean to let her interrupt whatever was going on between you and Curly.”

Heat reignited in my cheeks again, and I instinctively looked up at the back of Cullen’s head where he walked beside Cassandra. “I—nothing was happening. He asked me not to do that again and told me how not taking lyrium has affected him.”

“Sure.” Varric didn’t sound like he believed me, but that could be dealt with another time. For now, there were bigger issues—like the storm on Cassandra’s face, which spread to Leliana’s and even Josephine’s, though the resident Ambassador seemed significantly less angry and rather more concerned. Still, I had made my bed: now, it was time to lie in it.

Notes:

butterfly, my cullen-centric fic detailing how he's perceived the last decade, is probably a good thing to read if you're curious about just why my cullen seems to view things so differently from canon cullen. i'm still writing all the chapters for that, so it's not complete yet, but it should help!

Chapter 10: a very slow process

Notes:

this chapter took forever and i am very sorry

i hope the quality is enough to make up for how abysmally long it took

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

To spare the details and embarrassment of a very, very thorough dressing-down from Cassandra and Josephine (with quieter additions from Leliana), suffice it to say that I was told with no room for doubt that I was to never repeat the actions that led me to Therinfal Redoubt without a lengthy meeting of the minds to ensure such was, in fact, the only avenue available.

It helped, of course, that I had already come to the conclusion that I wouldn’t need to take any comparably drastic actions again, and that I had just promised Cullen I wouldn’t, so I didn’t argue with their points much at all.

Mheganni berated me, too, though she used less of the in-your-face shouting than Cassandra and more just… Long, angry disappointment. And Tamlen, who had apparently refused to continue his studies in my absence.

It had really been poor form of me, all around.

 

I managed to catch Cullen in the evening, as he took his meal. He sat at a table in a tent not far from where a few soldiers still sparred, flaps open enough to maintain a clear view. There were papers and maps all over the tent and its table, though they were in neat, orderly stacks.

“Cullen?”

He looked up from the reports he’d been going over as he ate, then put them to the side. “Vir’era, good evening. How, uh… What brings you here?”

I gave him my most soothing smile, the one that had always kept patients from bolting at the clinic in Darktown. “You mentioned that it’s very difficult, going without lyrium. I—I was thinking… I don’t know just how much it’d do, but, well, I am, um, I am rather good at healing magic. If… if you’re not opposed, I was thinking I could… try to use it to help you, sometimes?”

Somehow, presenting the idea got me tongue-tied, even though I knew my magic would at least ease the worst symptoms. (Addiction was more complicated than a broken bone or an arrow in one’s thigh; it might not even be possible to cure purely through magic, and I didn’t dare imply so.) It felt presumptuously intimate, to offer this.

I’d never had such trouble offering my magic to my patients.

Cullen blinked at me. “I…” he started. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t ask that of you. You’re busy enough as it is, with your clan and the Inquisition…”

“It’s not asking if I’m offering,” I said, leaning forward, one hand resting lightly on the table. “If nothing else, I can make you elfroot tea. Or leave some leaves to chew or steep. It won’t do much, certainly not as much as magic, but it can relieve headaches and keep fatigue from being overwhelming. I drink it myself when the nightmares are too much.”

His eyebrows knit at the words. Surely he knew, by now? I didn’t scream as much as I once did in my nightmares, but all of Clan Sabrae was well aware of them. And with the sheer amount of red lyrium on the horizon, I knew many intense ones were coming. They were always worse near other Blight-tainted things.

“Did—no, it wasn’t there… Has it been obvious?” he asked me, and I struggled to follow his thoughts.

“Has what been obvious?”

“The nightmares,” he said. He glanced in the direction of the Chantry. “I’ve always had them, but they’re worse without lyrium.”

“Oh. No, I didn’t… I just guessed. Withdrawal likes to bring out the worst.” Things like anger, frustration, and nightmares all came easier during withdrawal. Sometimes other, worse side effects, but I didn’t know what to expect from lyrium withdrawal. Despite being widespread, it was not well-documented. The Chantry ensured that. “And I know nightmares well.”

He nodded, but didn’t look at me. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

“Will you let me help you, then?” I pressed. I was tempted to take his hand, to hold it and his attention, but I didn’t want to overstep any more than I already was. “With herbs, at least, if not with magic?”

One of his hands went up to his mouth and touched the scar there. That had been the only other time I’d actually used healing magic on him—though we had sparred from time to time in Kirkwall, we had always taken measures to ensure no blood was spilled. “I… I appreciate the offer, Vir’era, I do, but—surely your attention would be better spent elsewhere. I can handle this. And if I can’t, Cassandra will step in. She promised.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you must.” I sat as close as the table would allow, with barely the edge of the chair underneath me, and held my hand out.

“I-I don’t—if it is hard, then it’s because I have earned that trouble. I wasn’t a kind man in Kirkwall, Vir’era, you know this. The things Meredith did, things I didn’t stop—I deserve—”

“Banal!” I shouted, standing then, quick enough that my chair toppled. “You could not have stopped her without causing harm to yourself! Your actions may not have been ideal, but you are a good man, Cullen Rutherford—”

“A good man wouldn’t have had the thoughts I did!” He stood, too, now. “A good man would have made sure you were safe! Your journal—even it said I would do nothing, and it was right!”

“You are not the man in that journal! That man was hateful of mages, but you—you, for whatever reason, you defied the destiny that was prewritten, and you learned far faster than he ever did!”

“Not on my own!” Cullen paused, then took a shaky breath. “I would never have managed it on my own. Your journal is right about me, about the type of man I am without—”

He stopped himself, and I had to fill in the gap, but it seemed incredibly obvious to me: Mia. After all, what else could have been the catalyst for such positive change? In my journal, it even said that he was kinder after reconnecting with his family, for all he acted exasperated by them.

“Family, people who know us—they can bring out our best,” I said.

He sighed and shook his head, suddenly deflated, then sat again. “No, Vir’era. I mean, yes, but—it wasn’t just my family. Without you, it would have been years before I spoke to them again.”

“All I did was deliver a letter,” I told him, picking my chair back up and sitting down.

“You did more than that.”

I shrugged. It didn’t feel like more, but things didn’t always seem as significant on the outside looking in. “Then it was the butterfly effect. The choices were still yours; you just made them differently.”

“Butterfly effect?”

I hummed. “Yes. It’s… an old theory, I suppose. Maybe it’s something I heard back wherever I came from. A butterfly flapping its wings in one place can stir up winds that cause hurricanes in another.”

He laughed, and I felt grateful to hear it. The tension had dissipated so quickly, almost like nothing had happened. “Perhaps you’re my butterfly, then,” he said, and there was a soft quality to his voice that made me blush.

“Small changes can have big effects. If you were truly a bad person, no letter would have made any difference.”

“It wasn’t just the letter,” he murmured. I tilted my head, watching him, not quite understanding what he meant. “The letter—from Mia, that first one—it helped, but… You were the real change. You were always there, always doing what you could, always helping, always—always good to the world, even when it wasn’t good to you. Even the blood mages didn’t take that away. You… you helped me remember that good mages exist. That mages are people, too.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. “Oh, Cullen…”

“You remind me how to be a good man.”

My throat constricted as my heart soared into it, and I had to push through the emotions to speak. “Then—let me help you this way, too, please? Let me make things easier for you, however I can. It… it would make me feel better, knowing I’ve done all I could.”

He took a long, deep breath, not quite a sigh, and tilted his head at me. “I suppose it’s difficult to convince a healer not to heal.”

“Almost impossible, in fact,” I confirmed.

This got me a smile. “Can we make a deal, then? I don’t want to depend on it, and there are plenty of days that I feel fine. I’ll come to you, if it gets too much to bear.”

He’d never come if he were the judge of that, I was certain. He’d convince himself he could get through it; he’d handicap himself to avoid asking for help. “How about I check in with you each morning, and we share a cup of elfroot tea? If it’s a bad day, we will do more, and if it is making your job difficult, you will come straight to me.”

“What does elfroot tea do, exactly?”

“Not much. It stabilizes the mind and body. It’s good for banishing nightmares and keeping infection or illness at bay, but will not independently heal anyone.” I needed him to accept this. Negotiating, coming to a mutual agreement—it was something I was familiar with, as Keeper, but usually I played a role of mediator, helping two sides to find their common ground. Doing the arguing was more stressful.

He sighed again, rubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t… I don’t want to take more of your time than necessary.”

“It’s no imposition. Taking tea is already part of my morning; all that will change is that I would now take it with you.” And I wasn’t lying, even if I did downplay how centering elfroot tea was. Taking tea in the morning was a good way to greet the world, not to mention a better ease into waking than some options.

“Then, I suppose, if you insist—”

“I do.”

“Alright.” His face softened into a cotton-soft smile, and it brought my heart to fluttering. “I suppose I can agree to your terms.”

“A smart choice. Wardens have great stamina, you know. I could go all night, wear you out.” Only when Cullen’s face went red did I realize just what I’d said, and how it could be interpreted, and my own face blazed with heat. “I-I-I! I meant—about—I could, um… keep—th-the… the tea! And talking? I mean, also probably with—with fighting! exercise! exertion! Not… well, maybe, but that’s…” I coughed. “Um.”

“No, I-I think—of course, about the… tea. Not anything… else. I, ah, have heard Wardens have great, er, endurance while fighting, so I don’t doubt…” He coughed, too. “Perhaps we should change the subject.”

“Please.”

 

We began our new routine the next morning. He came to my aravel, arriving just as I put my kettle on a small, magically-enhanced fire. We sat upon a log and waited for it to boil, my humble clay cup beside his modest steel one.

“How was your sleep?” I asked.

“Could’ve been better,” he told me. “But it could have been worse, too. I made it through most of the night, which is enough for me.”

An astoundingly low bar, but one I understood well. Anywhere that the Blight held near, I could do nothing to keep the nightmares at bay. With the red lyrium at the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes… well. I was not sleeping well myself. “Do you often have trouble sleeping?”

“More often than I’d like.”

“How often?”

He shrugged. “About as frequently as I manage to sleep through the night.”

I peered at his face, and could see the evidence in the circles under his eyes. They were light, today, but they lingered in a way that suggested they were not normally so easy to overlook. This tea might be more necessary than I had thought, but I kept my conclusions to myself, not wanting to discourage him. “And your head, then? How is it today?”

“Better than yesterday.” I didn’t know how it had been yesterday, didn’t know what kind of benchmark he was using, but I let him speak. “I don’t think I’ll have any problems today. I usually don’t when I’ve slept most of the night.”

The statement was too loose to bring me any comfort, but again, I did not insist on more details. He needed to know I would not force it on him, and maybe he needed to learn on his own how he deserved help. You can bring a horse to water… “Good. I expect you to find me the minute that changes, but let’s talk of happier things. I’ve been told Amir should be arriving today with the Bull’s Chargers…”

 

The Iron Bull was, somehow, even larger than I had anticipated. I had felt sure that he would be considerably sized, but I hadn’t at all considered that he would be so notably tall that even Adegoke had to look up at him. It seemed he might as well be twice my height, though I knew that couldn’t possibly be true. (He was certainly more than twice my weight, but so were most Qunari, and even some humans.)

I approached him as soon as I could. He’d already had contact with Josephine and Leliana, I knew, and likely had met Cullen upon arrival. I’d been busy catching up still with the duties I’d left behind, but wiggled in some time in the late afternoon.

The Chargers had already finished setting up their portion of camp, with their mismatched but organized tents easily taking place nearby the soldiers. The Iron Bull was impossible to miss, standing over seven feet tall. I didn’t even need to ask anyone for directions to find him; he was visible over all the tents.

“Pardon me,” I said when I drew close. “I understand that you are the Iron Bull, correct?”

“What gave it away?” he answered, grinning.

It was infectious, and I didn’t try to keep myself from reciprocating. “Should I list that in the order that I noticed, or just choose my favorite?”

He laughed, full-bellied and with his head thrown back. “I like you! Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Vir’era, Keeper of Clan Sabrae, at your service.” I nodded to him. “Andaran atish’an, shanedan, welcome. It’s good to have you with us.”

He tilted his head at me, and it seemed all the more apparent for his horns. “Vir’era, huh? I was told about you. Apparently you made quite the impression on the Arishok.”

“Which one?” I had technically met two, even if one had not been Arishok when we met.

His grin widened, showing even more of his teeth. “Yeah, that’s about what I expected. Not many mages earn the title ‘basalit-an,’ y’know.”

“I’ve come to that conclusion, yes. Basalit-an saarebas would almost seem an oxymoron, wouldn’t it?” A respected outsider, yet also a dangerous thing.

“Maybe. Guess it depends on the interpretation. But that doesn’t matter; what does matter is I’ve been told to listen to whatever you have to say. Seems you’re something of an oracle, as the Arishok tells it.”

I blinked, having not expected the Iron Bull to know this—but, no, it made sense, didn’t it? I had never told the Arishok (who was then Sten) to keep my knowledge secret. He didn’t know the full extent of it, but I had been far more open with my… ‘gift’ back in those days. Everyone who’d traveled with us knew.

And I was trying again, now, to be more open. Things were easier when people knew what was coming. They made better decisions. Maybe we could even stop some things before they took place—that would be very nice indeed.

“Something like that, I suppose,” I agreed. For now, though, there was no need to warn him of what he would face. That could come later. The choice was terrible. (Could it be avoided? Could the cost be minimized?) “I’m afraid I’m less useful now than I was during the Fifth Blight, but I’ve a few prophecies left. I’m here to do what I can.”

“Good. Hey, I also heard you’re aqun-athlok. One of my boys is, too. Dunno if he’s ever met another. Mind if I let him know?” he asked.

I was mostly just grateful he’d asked before doing so. It had always been my intent to tell Krem eventually. Now was as good a time as any. “Go ahead. Though, I would ask that you keep it mostly quiet. I have enough to worry about without the questions people might ask.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I get it. They don’t really like elves or qunari here.” As I nodded, he lifted an arm to wave. “Hey, Krem-brûlé! C’mere.”

Krem jogged over. “What’s up, Chief?”

“This is Vir’era.” The Iron Bull laid a hand on my shoulder, and Krem nodded. “He’s the Keeper of Clan Sabrae, and the Dalish Liaison to the Inquisition.”

“We met when I came around the first time,” Krem said, offering a hand. “I remember.”

I clasped arms with him. “Indeed.”

The Iron Bull chuckled. “He’s also like you.”

Krem raised an eyebrow, looking me over. “What, from Tevinter? Because he doesn’t look it.”

“No, I mean—he’s like you. You know.” He made a vague gesture that I couldn’t interpret, but which made Krem’s jaw drop and had him looking at me anew.

“Oh,” he said, then mimicked the same gesture the Iron Bull had just made. “So you’re—y’know—too?”

“I am,” I said, but I didn’t try to do the movement. I had no idea exactly what it could mean. “Though some of the… circumstances are different, as you can no doubt see and hear for yourself.”

“Yeah, no sh—uh, they certainly are.” Krem rubbed the back of his head. “Magic?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I… don’t have any memories prior to the Fifth Blight. I have been like this since then. But magic would seem plausible—I am a mage, after all.”

He nodded, but before the conversation could continue, someone called his name. “Sorry, I need to see what that’s about,” he said. “Uh, but it was nice to meet you. Don’t meet many like us.”

“We certainly don’t,” I agreed. “Like diamonds in the rough.”

He laughed as he walked away, and the Iron Bull patted my shoulder. I expected to wobble under the pressure, but he knew his strength. “It’s good for him to see other people like him being successful. Tevinter doesn’t really allow it if you can’t pay people to stop caring.”

“My understanding is that Tevinter feels that way about most things. Why should gender be any different from sexuality, race, or religion?” Possibly even color, though I knew less of Tevinter’s thoughts on that. The south was not very good with it, though, so I doubted Tevinter would be much better.

“Well, you’re not wrong.” The Iron Bull chuckled a bit. “They like money and power.”

“I’m not sure they see a difference between the two, really.” And one could create the other, for better or for worse. “But it doesn’t matter. I wanted to greet you, to express my gratitude that you would join the Inquisition. I know it might not be my place, but if you or your company experience any trouble, let me know. Our strength comes from unity, and I would not have anyone forget that.”

“Thanks, but I think we can handle ourselves.”

“It’s not bout whether you can or cannot handle yourselves,” I said, staring up at him. “It’s about reminding everyone that we take it seriously. None of us are inherently better than anyone else here; we are all just people working for the same goal. We must remember that.”

The Iron Bull’s eye bored in to me. He was Hissrad, a trained agent, a spy who knew how to read people better than they knew themselves, and it was obvious in that moment—and then he nodded, leaning back. “You should give a speech or something.”

“If you want to watch me stumble over my words and shake, sure.”

He grinned. “Not usually how I make people tremble and forget how to speak, but I can work with it.”

I laughed. That sounded like flirting—bad flirting. Horrible, terrible, laughable flirting. He and Driscoll would get along like a house on fire with that kind of flirting. “It’s not my preference, but if that’s what you want, there’s someone I think you should meet.”

“Oh yeah?”

“His name is Driscoll Trevelyan, and he is a delightful menace.”

 

Ser Barris arrived in the afternoon a few days later. He had fewer with him than I had hoped for—barely more than a score. I had certainly not expected an entire legion to follow him, but to see so few… It was disheartening.

“It was a good thing, my dear,” Vivienne told me as Josephine and Cullen saw to the Templars’ housing. “It would have been better to save all of them, but it is still twenty-four more Templars than we had yesterday.”

“You’re right, of course,” I said, “but I still hate that more could not be saved.”

“I must admit, I am surprised you care so much.” She held one elbow in her hand, the other hand free to hover in that Orlesian fashion. “I was under the impression that you hated Templars—with the notable exception of our Commander, of course.”

I shrugged. “I hate the entire system governing mages that you shemlen have created: the Circles, the Templars—even the Chantry itself, to a degree. I do not extend that hate to any people who have not earned it. Good people can be misled.”

She considered me for a very long moment, face a picture-perfect mask of neutrality. It was no wonder the Orlesian court loved her: she was as beautiful as she was calculating. “Is that how you feel about Kirkwall, my dear?”

It felt like a trap. Condoning or condemning: what would I do? I thought of Anders, of Justice, of Marethari, of Cullen. Not one of them had been unequivocally Good in Kirkwall, though they were all, at their cores, good people. And all had been misled, in their own ways. Maybe even I had. “It is how I feel about people, my lady. No one is immune, not mage nor Templar, not human nor elf.”

“And is a person still good when their mistake costs another’s life?”

“Vivienne, if you want to know the full details of how I feel about Kirkwall and why, it will take a very long time, and it would be easier to do sitting somewhere comfortable.”

“Why is that, my dear?”

“Unfortunately, what happened in Kirkwall was not as simple as an act of terrorism carried out by an extremist with an agenda,” I said. I looked northward. Where was Anders now? Was he safe? (Would he ever again be safe?) “If it were, it would be much easier to condemn.”

“It’s a simple question, darling. Do you think it was the right choice or not?”

“The simple answer is no. Innocents never need to die for the guilty.” We gave no warning. We gave every warning.

She came closer. I thought I saw her smile in my periphery. “Was that really so hard, my dear?”

“The corrupt still deserved to die.” I looked at her. “A message still needed to be sent. I may disagree with the delivery, but I agree with the contents. Ir abelas, Vivienne. I do not think we will agree on much.”

“Perhaps not,” she conceded, “but it is good to know we agree on this.”

 

As I slept that night, I dreamed of a colorful room, full of bright hanging cloths and winding filigree. On a low couch, lounging, was Feynriel. He smiled at me. “We don’t have long tonight,” he said. “Sit! I’ll talk quickly.”

“Why not long?” I asked, joining him upon a couch that appeared as he gestured for it.

“There’s something strange about the Fade near you, like it doesn’t want to behave. I think it might be the Breach, but that’s not important.” He held a hand out to me, and a large fruit appeared. I took it. “I came to talk about something else.

“I’ve been helping Varania and Connor,” he said. I traced a hand over the fruit (I recognized it but could not place the name), and its bright skin split beneath my finger. “They have a plan, but it will only work if your Inquisition can help.

“Alexius sent a letter, inviting you and this Herald of Andraste to speak with him again. If you go, it will be a trap, of course.” The flesh of the fruit was deep magenta, flecked with seeds. A spoon appeared in my hand. “But I’m sure you knew that already; what’s important is subverting his trap, not avoiding it.

“The mage rebellion only needs the distraction. King Alistair sent word that he will see to the magister’s removal personally, if he must, and that ships have been deployed to Redcliffe.” The fruit had a subtle, sweet taste. “While you and your Inquisition distract Alexius, the mages will be able to board the ships and flee.

“For what it’s worth, Connor tells me that Fiona is willing to promise those who are capable to your cause. Between the Inquisition and King Alistair’s forces, though, I am certain Alexius will be forced to stand down. All you need to do is keep him busy. Can you do that?”

I folded my hands in my lap; the fruit and spoon dissipated into nothingness. “Yes, we can manage that much. Amir will likely leave soon; tell Varania and Connor to be prepared.”

 

In the War Room, I explained my dream and what Feynriel had told me about Varania and Connor’s plans. For a moment, the other advisors had doubtful looks—but then Leliana asked, “This Feynriel is a Somniari, no?”

“He is. He and I have worked together before. It’s easier to have untraceable plans when no one has even seen you in the same room as the person you are planning with, and no letters can be tracked.”

“Faster, too,” she said.

Cullen crossed his arms. “I don’t mean to be the naysayer, but are you absolutely certain we can trust Feynriel? You said yourself that he’s been studying in Tevinter for the last several years. How do we know he’s not in league with Alexius?”

“And even if he isn’t,” Josephine added, “how can we be certain his magister has not put him up to this?”

I didn’t have physical evidence to soothe their worries. “I trust him, but I can’t demand the same of you. All I can offer is that he has helped me more than once, and never has he let me down.”

“Why don’t we send a message to the king?” Amir asked. “If King Alistair corroborates the story, then it should be fine.”

“Unless he has told Alexius of this plan, as well.” Leliana sighed and leaned over the table. “Unfortunately, this seems like our safest bet so far, and I do not want to test Alexius’ patience. It is not wise to ignore his invitation for long.”

“I don’t like it,” Cullen hedged, “but I don’t see a better idea. We’ll have to send an escort, for your safety. Twenty soldiers, I think.”

Josephine shook her head. “That would be too aggressive. If we were truly coming without ulterior motives, we wouldn’t send so many, and we can’t be certain Alexius will allow anyone except the Herald and Vir’era entry.”

“He won’t,” I said. “Not soldiers, anyhow. If we had a few friends, we could talk them in as our entourage, but I don’t think soldiers would pass.”

“So we should send you in alone?” Cullen slashed a hand through the air. “Out of the question. It’s too dangerous.”

“We wouldn’t be alone. Varania will be there, as will Felix and Dorian. I expect we could bring three others with us—Cassandra, in particular, would be useful.” I nodded to her where she stood silently to the side. She returned the motion.

Amir put a hand on my shoulder, stepping closer to the table. “Commander, we have to do something. We’ll bring Cassandra. Who else has experience fighting mages?”

Josephine consulted her clipboard, flipping through some pages. “The Iron Bull, Kumbukani, and Adegoke, being mercenaries, would all be good candidates. I understand that Varric had several run-ins with blood mages in Kirkwall, and of course Vivienne and Solas would be decent choices. Jewel or Driscoll Trevelyan may also have experience, but I hesitate to nominate Driscoll, in particular.”

“His reputation does not inspire confidence in battle,” Leliana agreed, “though I have heard he is more competent than he leads people to believe.”

Amir pulled a face, and though I felt bad agreeing, I couldn’t help but feel that Driscoll wouldn’t be the right choice for a mission like this. It didn’t suit his… talents. Or tastes. No, he would be of far more use at the Winter Palace—assuming that still came to fruition.

“Varric, Cassandra, and Kumbukani, then,” Amir decided. “They’ll have the least issues with Tevinter, combined with the most experience fighting mages. Leliana, how long would it take to get confirmation from Denerim?”

“Too long. I can get information on ship movement in Lake Calenhad by the end of tomorrow, however.”

“Then we’ll reconvene when you have the information. If it matches what Feynriel claims, we will make for Redcliffe the day after tomorrow.”

We all made our assent known. Cullen didn’t stop frowning, and Cassandra didn’t express any kind of confidence, but Leliana was right: we had no better options. It was all we could do.

Notes:

i hope i did vivienne justice! she's a hard one to write. i'm constantly second-guessing what i write, and every scene with her seems to undergo far more rewrites than others... i'd genuinely appreciate any thoughts or advice on writing her! and, tbh, for any other character, too--barring my own ocs and cullen, who at this point is very different from canon. thanks!

Chapter 11: a lot and yet not much

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Are you absolutely certain about this?”

I looked up from my tea to met Cullen’s eyes. His forehead was creased in a frown, lips downturned, and the concern suffused my body with more warmth than the tea. “It’s the only plan we have,” I said. “It’s not quite what my journal predicted, but it’s close enough.”

“Your journal never accounts for your presence.” He took a drink, then asked, “What if you can’t come back?”

“From the time travel, you mean?”

“Yes.”

I looked down at my tea. “Truthfully, I don’t intend to be part of that. I-I don’t… I don’t want to see that, and I don’t know—I don’t understand the magic that brought me here, to Thedas. And I don’t want to leave. I don’t think that time magic would change that, but I can’t—I don’t want to risk it. Amir is intelligent and resourceful; he and Dorian can manage on their own.”

The time magic wasn’t the only thing that worried me. Eluvians were just as likely, as far as I could tell, to unravel whatever had brought me to Thedas. Once, I had hoped for it, but not anymore. I had so much here, so many good things and people to live for! I would be lost if I were sent back whence I came. I didn’t even remember where that was.

Cullen let out a long breath, and though I wasn’t looking at him, I could sense his tension easing. “Good,” he said. “Good. I—we can’t risk it. Losing you.”

Reaching into my pouch, I pulled out his lucky coin. The morning light scattered across its surface, catching again in Cullen’s eyes. He smiled at the trinket, and the sight curled my lips up, too. “I have luck with me,” I reminded him. “Don’t fret too much.”

He laughed quietly, but nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll just have to trust in you and in that luck. Both have done well so far.”

“That we have.”

 

Dorian came across us as we traveled closer, and offered his help to allow our spies into the camp unnoticed. It wasn’t part of our original plan—but it was certainly to our benefit. We sent him in their direction and promised to see him later.

It was impossible to see Lake Calenhad from this side of Redcliffe’s walls, and therefore impossible to see if Alistair’s ships had made it. Inquisition scouts had reported ships moving into Redcliffe harbor, but that could have been anyone. I could have flown up to try and catch a glimpse, but by the time I remembered, we were too near to Alexius’ encampment. Some of his men had seen us already, and it would be unwise to tip our hand at all.

But I trusted Feynriel and Connor; I even trusted Varania. If they thought this had even a chance of working, it was enough. No other plan was forthcoming, and we had limited time.

We strode forward with confidence I did not feel. I wanted to pull Littlefoot out, to hold the familiar texture of that dahlamythal in my hands and keep them from shaking, but I dared test whether the presence of a weapon would incur consequences.

Amir led the way. Even with the wide-brimmed hat he wore to protect his too-pale skin from the sun, he managed to project a strong and sure presence. I could trust him, like this, could feel secure in the knowledge that he was as prepared as possible.

(His glasses were a bit goofy, but he kept them tucked away until they proved necessary. It was doubtful he’d need to read.)

“Herald Lavellan, Keeper Sabrae, welcome,” greeted an unfamiliar man. In true Tevinter fashion, our given names went ignored. “The invitation was for you alone. Your… friends may remain here.”

I could hear Kumbukani shift into a more intimidating position. The man didn’t react. Amir stood straighter, put on a condescending smile, and said, “They’re our retainers. They go where we go. You wouldn’t deprive me of my entourage, would you?”

The man remained calm, but he did let the silence drag. Only when Amir showed absolutely no sign of capitulating did he nod and turn, leading us into Alexius’ camp. Amir glanced at us with a great grin, and we followed.

Alexius received us again in a different tent—this one was much larger, almost impractically so, and had what looked like a makeshift throne at the end. He sat there, Varania and Felix on either side, and watched us come in. His eyes lingered on Kumbukani, like he was assessing how much of a threat she presented. I could not tell what conclusion he made.

“Herald, Keeper, it is good to see you again. Thank you for responding to my invitation. Please, come forward.” He waved us close. I listened as footsteps shifted within the tent, surrounding us with Venatori.

How insecure was he? There were only five of us, but we were now watched from every angle. He had all the power here. Then again, a secure man would not need a throne to display his authority.

“I understand you have a proposition for us, Magister Alexius,” Amir began, stepping just that much further forward, keeping himself separate from us.

“I do,” Alexius replied. “We did not have a chance to discuss much last time. I’m certain we can find an arrangement that is equitable for all of us.” His smile was slick, oil on my skin. “We are both, your Inquisition and I, here to win the cooperation of the mage rebellion. I would save them from the tumult of the South and bring them to the Imperium, where they would be welcomed citizens. You have need of their abilities.

“Fiona has been very difficult to speak with, given that she refuses to so much as open Redcliffe’s gates for one of my messengers. She seems content to wallow there and let her people stagnate. I have the time to wait her out. You do not. If I allow your people to convince her to leave, how do I know you will not keep them leashed later? I only want what is best for them.”

His lies were too smooth. Had he practiced them? Or was he so accustomed to saying anything but the truth that it no longer registered? Politics did not encourage transparency.

“A strange question to ask,” Amir said. “You will have to forgive my surprise, Alexius. As you know, I am Dalish; we are a people of our word. I am more concerned with whether or not I can trust you. How can I trust that you will not enslave these people? Your countrymen have quite the reputation.”

Alexius stood. Whatever his plans, Felix interrupted, stepping in front of him. “They know, Father. They know everything.”

Alexius’ calm mask slipped, falling to reveal a sneer. He glared down at Amir, one gauntleted finger pointing straight at him. “What have you done?”

“What I had to. We know your plan, Alexius. You won’t succeed.”

“You are a thief! You would turn my own son against me? You walk into my camp with that stolen mark—a gift you don’t even understand!—and think you’re in control. You’re nothing but a mistake.”

Amir took off the glove covering his mark. “Tell me, then: what is this? What does it do? Do you know?”

“It belongs to your betters. You wouldn’t even begin to understand its purpose.”

What a terrible choice in words. Amir took a step forward, his free hand reaching for the bow I’d shrunk earlier. Our distraction, though, was working. All of Alexius’ attention was on us. I stopped paying attention to the words being said, stepping back, waiting for—

Dorian strolled out of the shadows. We had succeeded, then. I strained my ears, listening for any sound outside of this grandiose tent. An undercurrent of commotion, but nothing like a battle. It didn’t sound that different from when we’d been allowed entry, though the footsteps seemed more even, more purposeful. A march, rather than the milling about of a large camp.

But the tensions in the room were too high to notice it. Alexius was nearly shouting, Varania and Felix shouting back, with Dorian and Amir adding a line or two. They were all certainly loud enough to cover the occasional clang of metal, and then—

The Venatori that had surrounded us fell to unseen knives and hidden hands. The entrance to the tent was pulled wide. Alexius threw a necklace into the air, uttering words that were lost to the chaos.

“No!” Dorian shouted, casting a wild bolt of magic. Amir ran forward with him, both trying to stop the necklace, but it was too late.

A swirling disc of magic burst into the air and swallowed them whole. It disappeared immediately thereafter, leaving us all to stare at the empty space where they had stood.

“Keeper?” Kumbukani asked, one of her hands gripping my shoulder.

“Wait. They’ll be back,” I said. But I didn’t know how long it would take, nor what else might change. This was supposed to happen in Redcliffe castle, not outside the city’s gates. How would that affect this? They might not arrive back where they’d left. It was hardly a well-studied magic.

Alexius staggered backward, wild eyes looking everywhere. Felix was as frozen as I. Varania, though—Varania had the foresight to use a paralysis glyph, trapping Alexius. I opened my mouth to thank her.

Another swirling disc of magic, which looked almost entirely identical to the first, opened between us just long enough for Dorian and Amir to fall out. However long they’d been gone, they stood tall. I could see the dirt and detritus clinging to their clothes, though. I knew more time had passed for them.

“It’s over, Alexius,” Amir said, staring with eerie calm at the frozen magister.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian added, even managing a smirk.

Varania released him, and he collapsed to the ground. Amir strode forward, glaring down at him, but Alexius kept his eyes on his own hands. With each passing second, he looked more fragile, going from steel to wood to paper.

Amir’s glare wavered, bleeding into confusion. “You didn’t have to do this,” he nearly whispered.

“Felix is dying,” Alexius countered. “The Elder One promised…”

“He lied,” I said. Alexius turned to me, opening his mouth to argue. “If entering the Fade made one a god, Amir would not be mortal. Your Elder One is no god; he used you. There is no known cure for the Blight. I tried to warn you.”

“You tried to take my son from me. You said to send him to the Grey Wardens.”

“Joining the Order can slow the progression of the taint.” Slow, but not stop. Every Warden was Tainted. Our bodies could tolerate it for some time, but not forever. Was I doomed? Did the Blight ensure I would not last as long? I could only wait.

“Everyone dies, Father,” Felix said, crouching beside Alexius. I thought I saw tears starting to well in Alexius’ eyes, but he looked away, and I couldn’t be sure.

From the open entrance to the tent, where a few soldiers had already filed in, came a short fanfare—and then came our rescue. Alistair and Capella strode in first, followed by Fiona and Teagan. They stood proud and tall, the very picture of calm derision.

“Magister Gereon Alexius,” Alistair declared, “you have engaged in acts of war against the welcome guests of Redcliffe, and against Redcliffe itself. Arl Teagan, Grand Enchanter Fiona, do you disagree with Our findings?”

“No, your Majesty. Your findings are accurate,” Teagan said.

“It is as you say,” agreed Fiona.

“You have threatened Our peace and Our people,” Capella continued, “and in doing so, have threatened Us.”

“As your threats are against the free mages under leadership of Grand Enchanter Fiona, who are allies to the reborn Inquisition, We turn you to their authority.” Alistair nodded to Amir, and two Inquisition soldiers came forward, shackling Alexius’ hands and leading him out of the tent. Alistair’s shoulders relaxed just a hair as Alexius was pulled from the tent.

Amir faced Alistair and Capella, and wavered for a moment. Cassandra had dropped to a knee when they entered, and even Dorian and Varric bowed. When Amir looked to me, I gave a very small bow, and he followed my lead. Cassandra’s lips pursed, but Alistair and Capella were unfazed.

“Herald of Andraste,” Capella said, eyes glancing over Dorian, Felix, and Varania with their obviously Tevinter garb, “are there others of the Magister’s company you would bring into your custody?”

Amir blinked and looked back at them. “His son and apprentices are innocent in this. They helped us to enter and confront him. They should remain free.”

“And the rest?”

He turned to the three. “Did any of his soldiers help you?”

“No,” Varania said. “They are all Venatori, and most are even more zealous than him.”

“Then they shall fall under Our authority, for their crimes against Us.” Capella turned her head and nodded to a Fereldan soldier, who spun around to exit the tent. With those words, it seemed the formalities had been concluded. Capella’s stiff back loosened into a more natural state. “There are still a few matters left unsettled, but I think those can be left for later.”

She waved at some waiting servants, who left. The Inquisition soldiers, at Cassandra’s beckoning, followed suit, closing the tent’s flaps once more in their wake.

“On a more familiar note,” Alistair began, completely shedding his more kingly persona, “wow. You know, I never thought I’d see the day when Tevinter magisters actually tried to invade other countries, but here we are.”

“To be fair, your Majesty, as a citizen of Tevinter, I would like to note that Alexius was not acting on behalf of our country,” Dorian said. “Most of my countrymen have no interest in a war with the entirety of the south.”

“That’s a relief, at least. Still, we’ll have to send an envoy to the Archon about this whole mess.” Alistair sighed, as though personally affronted by the idea. Then again, he hadn’t had a great trip north on his last visit, so who could blame him?

Capella put a hand on his arm. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” He smiled at her, and I could’ve sworn I saw literal rays of devotion follow. She indulged him with a smile of her own before turning to face us again. “Thank you for your help. I’m afraid I did not catch your names.”

Dorian bowed again. “Dorian Pavus, of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous, happy to be of service.” He then gestured at Felix and Varania, who also bowed. “Felix Alexius and Varania, both of House Alexius.”

Capella gave another smile. “Thank you, then, Dorian, Felix, and Varania.”

“You’re welcome to stay in Redcliffe,” Teagan added. “We could find accommodation for you, as thanks for your help in ridding us of this menace.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Felix said. “I… will speak about it with my friends later.”

The conversation split up quickly after that. Fiona took Teagan and Amir aside; later, I would learn they were arranging the particulars of the mages’ aid to the Inquisition. Fiona did not want to involve those who were not battle-capable, such as the children or elderly, and made agreements with Teagan regarding allowing them to stay in Redcliffe.

Felix, Dorian, and Varania isolated themselves in a corner, speaking in rushed Tevene. Alistair and Capella came to me, greeting me with hugs and warm smiles.

“That friend of yours,” Alistair said, “Feynriel? I was almost certain he wasn’t real. Until I woke up and Capella had had the same dream, I mean.”

She nodded. “I was wary about it myself, but I remembered you mentioning something about a Somniari. It was too many coincidences, and since we had already warned this Alexius to leave, we decided we might as well act under the assumption that the dream was truth.”

“And what a good thing we did!”

I laughed and nodded. “Yes, he came to me, too, not long ago. I think he must have been conferring with Connor and Varania for quite a while. He’s become very capable, actually. When I first met him, he had trouble controlling even his own dreams, let alone those of people he has never met from leagues away.”

“Where is he, exactly?” Capella asked.

“Tevinter, last I knew.”

Both paused to stare at me with wide eyes. “Tevinter?” Alistair echoed. “And he could still do all that with our dreams?”

Capella began to frown. “Such a gift is… concerning. Are you certain he means well?”

As much as I disliked hearing the words, I knew she wasn’t wrong to wonder. But I didn’t have information on Feynriel’s intent after his move to Tevinter, not in the same way that I had information about Morrigan’s location or just what Corypheus truly was. I didn’t have information beyond this year, beyond Corypheus’ defeat.

“I know that he’s a good person,” I said instead. “I trust him. But if you’re asking about whether he will remain so… that’s something we will learn together.”

She closed her eyes a moment and nodded. “I see. Thank you.”

I wanted to reassure her more, but honesty was my new policy, wasn’t it? It wasn’t always a fun thing, or a comfortable thing, but I could at least try to be as kind about it as possible. It would be cruel to pretend I knew more than I did, cruel to lead them on simply because I liked some option better.

I didn’t know better, now, about the consequences of many actions. We were on equal terms, at long last. She deserved to know. Everyone did.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder, then bent his head low and his voice lower. “About the False Calling—in Denerim, I could barely hear it at all. It was there, but it’s gotten stronger. I don’t know about you, but I’m willing to bet that means the source of it is somewhere nearby.”

“That makes sense,” I murmured, though I did not know where Corypheus might hide. Perhaps between Therinfal Redoubt and Redcliffe? “Be careful. If you get too close… you might not keep control of yourself.”

I didn’t know how that worked. I didn’t want to know. It hadn’t happened to me in the Grey Warden prison, but that was—that had been a nightmare, and I didn’t care to think on it.

He smiled at me and put a hand to my shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Excuse me, Keeper. I’d like to speak with you.”

Turning, surprised, I saw Felix standing a few respectful paces away, though the stiff posture of his neck belied a nervous energy I knew well. I gave my friends a little nod. “Write to me when you’ve returned to Denerim, so I know you’re safe.”

“Only if you write to us when you return, too,” Alistair said, prompting a short laugh.

“Of course, ma falon.”

With that, I walked with Felix to a different area. Like Alistair had moments earlier, he bent his head and kept his voice quiet as he spoke. “Keeper, if I remember correctly, you said the Grey Wardens may be able to save my life.”

“Yes.” I could feel the taint in him, but whatever healers had been seeing to him had kept it at bay long enough—the Joining may yet prove a cure. “But it is not something to be done lightly. If you do this, you will be forever bound to the Order, just as I am.”

He frowned. “You’re hardly a Grey Warden now, though. Grey Wardens don’t have outside jobs.”

“You’re both right and wrong, but there are too many factors that are secrets of the Order, and I would not betray these without cause.” He was dying of Blightsickness, yes, but so had many others. This was not my call to make. “I retired from active duty, but I am a Warden forever. It is not something you simply leave, however we might wish it were.”

“So, my options are to join the Order or die a painful death.”

“You will die a painful death either way. All Grey Wardens do. It is only a matter of when this happens, not if.”

He pulled back. If he weren’t nobility—if he didn’t have the extensive training all nobles seemed to on controlling one’s reactions—I held little doubt that he would have looked horrified. As it was, he looked only pained.

“I can feel the Blight in you, Felix. You don’t have long to decide, and, worse than that… The Grey Wardens are in no position, now, to accept you into their ranks. I could do it myself, as a temporary measure, but you would eventually need to report to a Warden-Commander.”

He looked over to Dorian and Varania, still standing away from the rest, though now Amir had approached them. “What must I do?”

I watched Dorian start charming his way into the Inquisition. Varania stood by, more suspicious observer than active participant. I doubted she would join our cause; her own goals had still not been met. Perhaps Maevaris Tilani would be receptive to an apprentice already so far along.

Felix’s emotions remained well-checked, but his gaze didn’t leave Varania. She looked our way, and though her own thoughts were unreadable, her lips turned up for him, just enough to be noticed. Fenris would hate that, if he knew, and somehow the idea made me want to laugh. They were so unlike each other, Fenris and Varania.

“Normally, you would need to kill a darkspawn and fill a vial with its blood. But there are no darkspawn nearby, and you do not have the time to chase them around the country. Come with me to Haven. I will perform the ritual there.”

“And here I thought Southerners all hated blood magic.” He raised an eyebrow at me, but it felt more for show than out of any true sarcasm.

“I would not call it magic.” Duncan had not been a mage, after all, and he had inducted many to the Order, including myself. “Will you come?”

There was a moment where we were locked in stillness, his eyes boring into mine. But slowly, with a sigh that could shift continents, he nodded.

Perhaps saving him would absolve my failures.

 

After we made camp on our way to returning, Amir pulled me aside. His brow was furrowed until the lines cast shadows deep enough to fall into, and it turned his welcoming face into something best avoided. “Keeper,” he began, voice only just audible, “in that future, the one where Alexius won…”

I waited for him to continue, but he just stared to the side, not so much as looking at me. “What has you so upset, da’len?”

He shook his head and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. The dim light of dusk glowed on his skin. He didn’t look real. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, because we stopped it from happening here, but it was terrifying. And so, so sad. Varric said you’ve been warning people about red lyrium for years, and I-I don’t… I can’t let it do what it did there.”

“It won’t,” I promised, taking his hands in mine. “We can stop them.”

He finally looked at me, and his eyes were wetter than I had anticipated, shining with tears that slowly broke free to make their marks on his face. It gave him more color, made him more real. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I saw what it did to everyone—and what it did to you. Y-you were—you… at first, I thought you were a ghoul. But you talked, and almost made sense, and then you—you did make sense, a couple times, but only…

“You made me promise I would fix it,” he whispered. “You said I couldn’t stop it from happening there, but I could stop it here, and that I had to.”

I pulled him to me in a hug, let him bend his head to press his face in my shoulder. How old was he? Twenty? Twenty-three? It didn’t matter; he was too young for a burden like the one that had been placed on his shoulders. Too young to have some doomed version of myself adding to it. Too young to be expected to be responsible for more than himself.

But I could not change those things any more than I could change the time in a day, so I settled for the next best thing, and let him cry in my arms. I was not his Keeper, nor was I his family, but I was there, so I would have to do. In Haven, Dima could help again. In the field, others would need to fill in.

“You will fix it, da’len, and you will not be alone.” I rubbed my hand against his back, slowly. “The whole of the Inquisition will be with you every step of the way, even when we are not physically at your side. We will help you. We will pick you up when you fall, and we will lend our strengths to you. You bear a Mark that makes people look to you, but that does not mean you cannot ask for help.

“The future you saw will not come to pass, not only because we defeated Alexius, not only because you exist, but because we will be ready. Between you and I, we know what to plan for.” I pressed my head against his, tempted to kiss his temple, but not wanting to overstep my bounds. He had entrusted me with his vulnerability, and I did not want to patronize.

It did worry me, though. I knew red lyrium affected me on a deeper level than other people, that it blurred my thoughts into a mess that could barely decipher dream from reality, but to know it could accelerate the taint in my blood so much…

If Alistair’s flippant estimations during the Blight were correct, I had about twenty years left before my Calling, give or take. But if red lyrium could accelerate that, then who knew? I had never touched the stuff, but I had spent time in its presence. How quickly did it react to the taint in my blood? How much exposure was too much? Would small amounts over long stretches be negligible, or did it make no difference?

There were too many variables to know anything for certain. As it had always been, there was only one truth: Without a cure, the Calling would come, and I would be honor-bound to embark on a literal suicide mission.

I would never grow old.

 

I didn’t have a whole chalice’s worth of the Joining mixture. I didn’t even have any that was particularly fresh. Castor had given me some when I visited Vigil’s Keep, and had not asked why I thought it necessary. Perhaps he didn’t want to know.

Either way, it was enough for one person to Join, and that was all I needed. I took Felix and Blackwall aside, brought them into the War Room when it was empty. It would be a small ceremony, and nothing like the more official ones I had attended years ago.

Both Felix and Blackwall stared at me as I prepared. I had chosen to wear my Warden armor for the occasion, and it was Maleficent strapped to my back, not Littlefoot. While it didn’t fit the way I remembered, it was certainly a better visual than to see Dalish clothing.

I picked up the goblet I had borrowed from the tavern and placed it at the center of the table. Blackwall frowned at it, but he stood beside me when I motioned him to. He kept his hands behind his back, out of Felix’s view. His beard made it hard to tell, but I thought his jaw seemed more tense than usual.

“Normally, it would be your Warden-Commander who commits you to our Order,” I told Felix. Blackwall said nothing. “However, we are short on time, and no one knows how to contact the Warden-Commanders of either Orlais or Ferelden, so Warden Blackwall and I will have to do. I hope this does not offend you.”

Felix shook his head. “Of course not. It’s a surprise, but not an offense.”

“Good.” I looked at the goblet, so small and unnoteworthy compared to a true Joining Chalice. “I will give you one final chance to change your mind, before we begin. It is not traditional, but nothing about this is. Will you commit yourself, Felix Alexius? You will be required to renounce your inheritance, to devote your life to the Grey Wardens.”

Those words burned my tongue in their hypocrisy. Devote your life, Felix, and pretend not to notice that I have left the Order; renounce your inheritance, Felix, and pretend not to notice I have gained one.

But he didn’t comment on that. He stared at the goblet, then looked to me. “I understand. I will do what I must.”

I gave an extra beat, just in case, but he was steadfast. I nodded. “Then you are now a Grey Warden, and it is time to complete your Joining. You will either leave this room a Warden, or you will die. There are no alternatives.”

His eyes widened, but he did not protest. I pulled out the vial Castor had given me and poured it into the goblet. “Join us, brothers and sisters.”

I thought of the Grey Wardens I knew. Most had been good, brave people. Many were dead now, and others would surely soon fall to Corypheus’ schemes. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.”

I thought about the permanence of this act, the certain doom it brought. Few Wardens ever grew old, and I would not be one. “Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.”

I thought of my own Joining. I could still remember Daveth succumbing to the Joining, could remember Ser Jory attempting to run. They were but two of many through the years. Nathaniel’s grandfather, Mhairi, so many of the recruits post-Blight… “And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

It was the only certain thing. “And that one day we shall join you.”

I lifted the goblet with both hands and offered it to Felix, who took it in both of his own. “Felix Alexius, join us.”

Beside me, I felt Blackwall flinch. Felix lifted the goblet to his lips and drank. He set it down, then fell to the floor. Blackwall made some sound I could not interpret, and I went to Felix’s side, pushed the lightest magic forward for diagnosis.

He was alive.

Notes:

a lot of alexius' dialogue was ripped straight from the game itself (though often i used my own interpretation of punctuation)

i'm super using my own hcs regarding things like tevinter customs and general world languages. i also have capella and alistair using the Royal We, which is always capitalized (at least in my version)--though they drop it when speaking informally/unofficially.

also i couldn't help it i had to save felix he seemed too sweet to die

Chapter 12: writing this chapter was agony for some reason

Notes:

apparently, between moving at the beginning of last month & prepping for animefest & prepping for a new pathfinder campaign & the fact that this chapter just did not want to be written, it took me Way Too Long. hopefully it's not as agonizing to read as it was to write!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

As Felix recovered in Adan’s small clinic, sleeping off the Joining’s effects, Dorian cornered me. I had successfully fended off answering Blackwall’s questions about the Joining, but he was much easier to deter. A scholar like Dorian would never let up when there is interesting new information to be learned.

So we sat at Felix’s bedside, and I gave in. I would tell him most things eventually anyway; why not now? “There are some things I cannot tell you,” I warned, “because they are not my secrets to tell. But I’ll answer as many questions as I can.”

Dorian tilted his head at me consideringly. “I can work with that, as long as you’ll tell me when there are things you know but won’t share. Preferably the reason, too.”

“You and I both know that giving the reason often belies the secret.” I raised an eyebrow, and he mirrored the action with a smirk. “I will tell you when it is not my place to share.”

He waited, watching, but I had more time and patience. Not even a minute later, he capitulated with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll take what I can get. First question: What happened to Felix?”

“He has become a Grey Warden.”

“He’s out cold in an infirmary. That hardly seems like a standard Grey Warden activity.”

“The Joining process can be exhausting. I can’t tell you more unless you wish to become a Grey Warden yourself.”

“That’s ominous.” He looked over Felix carefully, obviously examining for any indication that his friend was hurt or wouldn’t recover. “He wasn’t too ill?”

“The Grey Wardens can help with Blightsickness.” Touting it as a cure would be a bad idea, because it wasn’t. Not really. “I suffered from it myself, before my own Joining. He’ll be… he’ll be alright. Healthy, even. It will just take time.”

“He won’t be returning to Tevinter, will he?”

“Not as an altus, no. He is a Grey Warden now.”

“You’re not.”

“Yes. No. I am and I am not. I am forever bound to the Order, but I have been allowed to leave its duties.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. I’d never officially asked, after all. I’d simply left, gradually. “I think it’s because of my efforts during the Fifth Blight. Several of our group left the Order after, to take up other duties. One became a father.”

“And now you’re a Liaison to the Inquisition.”

“Yes. Life is strange sometimes, isn’t it? Some go from Blighted nobody to Inquisition Liaison. Some go from altus to self-imposed exile.”

He laughed. “I think you’re probably the stranger one! I’m just a Tevinter who decided not to use blood magic. You’re halfway to being a wandering demigod, to hear Varric tell it. A shapeshifting oracle.”

“Varric exaggerates; it’s both his best and worst quality. I bleed just as readily and just as red as anyone else. He’s seen it happen many times.”

“I’ll have to ask for those stories, then. You haven’t denied the shapeshifting oracle bit, though.”

“I am a shapeshifter, yes. Oracle… Oracle implies that I would hold that power, that it could be used on command. I do know things, but they are specific and I have learned nothing new since… It has been eleven years.”

“So you couldn’t tell me if I’ll grow old and have children.”

I studied him. I didn’t know his tells, and I did not know the answer to his question, but I did know some things. I knew, too, that whatever I had once written as law… was now flexible. I had shifted things just enough to the left that I could no longer walk the path without watching my feet.

He didn’t outwardly change expressions as we sat. His arms were splayed casually over the chair he’d commandeered, one hand tapping idly.

“You could do both,” I told him, “but I don’t know if you will, not for certain. I know it would be unlikely for you to have biological children, though.”

His eyes narrowed at me, his hand going still. “What do you mean by that?”

I held his gaze and remained as nonchalant as I could. “Well, like me, you are attracted to men. It’s not very common to find a man capable of giving birth, though we do exist.”

A series of expressions I could not name crossed his face, settling eventually on something that resembled the dawning of comprehension. He sat up straighter, eyes wide, mouth open. “You’re like Maevaris, aren’t you? One gender in mind, another in body. Though it would seem the Dalish have some solutions for that—or is that part of the shapeshifting?”

“Shapeshifting only works with a sufficiently different shape,” I said. “Humans, elves, men, women—we are all too similar. Dogs and cats and birds, though, those are different. Those are change enough.”

I could feel his curiosity and questions bubbling up like a subtle shift in the air, and I let them come. I couldn’t answer everything, not when he got into the complexities of magical theory—he was far more learned about that subject than I, and all I knew pertained rather specifically to those ritual spells that could be used to enter another’s mind.

 

I brought Amir and the other advisors to the War Room to explain the impending need to evacuate Haven. There would be need to prepare, so we might save more lives—and though I fully intended to help as much as I possibly could, I would be rendered useless at best when Corypheus drew near.

“If this Elder One can control you because you’re a Grey Warden, then what about Warden Blackwall?” Amir asked.

I shook my head, having already prepared my white lie. “He’ll be fine. I think the reason it affects me so much is because I’m a mage, and I became a Warden during the Blight. I’ve heard that makes certain parts of it more intense.”

He didn’t seem convinced, so I continued, “The Hawkes and I have seen it before. Carver, who is also a Grey Warden, was fine.”

This seemed to satisfy Amir, though Leliana’s eyes lingered on my face. I wasn’t sure how much she knew, and she wasn’t sure how much I did. It was an interesting standoff.

“You mentioned you have a plan for yourself,” Cullen said. “I have noticed your clan seems ready to move at any moment, but other than that…”

“I installed a lock on the outside of my aravel.” Cullen made a face at my words, brows furrowing. “I also intend to take a large dose of magebane. I will be useless, yes, but I will also be unable to harm.”

For a moment, no one said anything. It was a deeply uncomfortable silence, the kind where one is certain that everyone in the room wants to change what is happening, but no one knows how. There were no better options for me, though. I could not risk causing harm by falling under Corypheus’ control, so I needed to make myself both scarce and useless.

This meant removing my magic and keeping me contained.

“Will your clan follow us in your absence?” Leliana asked.

“Yes.” I had told them enough of what would happen. They knew to be prepared to depart as soon as the Breach was sealed, and that I would be in my aravel. The issue was getting the rest of Haven to do so as well. I doubted they would be so quick to trust my word. “They are also ready to help transport other things from Haven. Our aravels do not have much spare space, but what little there is, we are willing to share.”

“That is generous,” Josephine said. It would have sounded sarcastic from anyone else. “All we need now, then, is to somehow convince all of Haven of the necessity to move. Easier said than done, I think.”

“We could tell them about Vir’era’s knowledge, but I doubt they would believe us,” Leliana pondered aloud. “If we had time, perhaps, but that is one thing we don’t have.” I couldn’t tell if the words were meant to shame me for not speaking sooner. I chose to pretend they weren’t.

“Even if they did, where are we meant to go?” Cullen added. “Without a plan, they’re not likely to take to the idea of moving so easily. Some might think we’ll be fine, with the warning.”

“All of Haven will be reduced to rubble,” I reminded them. “We must leave.”

Cassandra folded her arms. “The Commander has a point, though. Where do we go after this?”

I looked down at the map. I didn’t even know where Skyhold was; I could not hope to tell them. It was Solas’ secret, in a way, even if it was one he was quick to share. “We will take the pilgrim’s path out of the Chantry,” I said, quietly. “The same path I once walked to reach the Temple of Sacred Ashes, when it was still lost.”

“Does that lead somewhere other than the Temple?” Amir asked.

“No.” I shrugged, somewhat helpless. “But it will be the only way out. Haven is vulnerable, and you’re all surely aware of that. Solas knows a place we can go. He will tell Amir. I… know what the place is, but not where.”

Cassandra made a growling, frustrated sound, but Leliana put a quieting hand on her shoulder. “You’re certain of this, Vir’era?”

“As certain as I can be, now.” I sighed. “So much has changed in ways I did not expect, that I did not predict. But this… this feels certain.” What would the Inquisition be without Skyhold? A shadow at best, a joke at worst. We needed it, but only Solas knew where it was. We would need to rely on him, and hope that my decade-old prophecies had not been totally overturned.

 

Amir was sent next to the Fallow Mire, to take care of the rifts and troubles waiting there. He was allowed precious little time to rest in Haven beforehand, as most of his hours were spent planning, debriefing, and learning. There was no doubt that he was a capable fighter, but he didn’t know enough about shemlen politics to be such a key member of a group like the Inquisition.

More than once, he expressed to me irritations that he would not reveal to the human advisors.

“They’re constantly calling me Herald, even when I ask them to stop. I’m no Herald, and certainly not one of Andraste. Did you know, Cassandra asked me if I had no room to worship the Maker?”

“I walked in on Josephine speaking with some shem noble or another, listening so politely to his complaining about how many Dalish are here. There are barely any of us!”

“If I looked normal, they wouldn’t even know who I was.”

“Blackwall was surprised I know anything about the Grey Wardens, apparently.”

“Sera won’t even acknowledge that we have it hard, too. She seems to think the Dalish life has nothing to complain about.”

“Vivienne tried to explain how the Dalish deal with mages to me, and got it wrong.”

…and so on. It was unsurprising, unfortunately, but there was little I could do. I was already trying my best to be an example of what the Dalish could be; I could not change minds on my own. Perhaps with time, Amir and I together could bring them to realize just how faulty many of these assumptions were. (I could only hope.)

 

As we prepared Haven for the closing of the Breach—including more subtle preparations for its subsequent evacuation—I learned that Mheganni had been spending significant amounts of time with Solas.

It surprised me. Solas was… I didn’t know how to categorize him, but he reminded me of a professor very tired with his students. And Mheganni was not known for her patience with anything that could fend for itself, was not known for being tolerant of those who disparaged the Dalish.

(She and Sera, so I heard, had gotten into a very loud argument in the tavern while we were gone. I could not pretend to be surprised.)

But I saw the truth for myself: Mheganni and Solas, walking near the lakefront, talking back and forth like it was a debate, yet somehow remaining not only civil, but… I saw Solas smile at her, and though she was slow to respond, she smiled back.

I had to tell her who he was, had to at least warn her of his duplicity.

The how was a greater question. I took her aside after dinner and made a pot of chamomile tea to share. She watched me fuss with the preparations in silence, her attention leaving me feeling like prey.

I forced my hands to hold still and feigned like my heart was not pounding. I could not manage a smile, so I dove right in, though I lost traction quickly. “Mheganni, about Solas…”

“What about him?” She crossed her arms and leaned back, not touching the tea I had set out for her.

“Solas is…” I took a deep breath. I couldn’t betray his secret. Not really. It wasn’t my place to tell even one so harmless as Blackwall’s—who was I to challenge a god? He would find out, after all; of that, I had no doubt. And if it displeased him… if I crossed him… I had no idea what vengeance he might mete.

I didn’t dare try to find out. The air left my lungs slowly, moving the steam that rose from my tea. “You know that I—that I know things.”

“Yes,” Mheganni said, drawing the word out. “I also know that you didn’t tell anyone for a long time, but now you’re spitting prophecies left, right, and center.”

“I—no, you’re right.” It sounded pathetic, stated so plainly. She’d always had a way with words.

“So spit.” When I blinked at her, she waved a hand at the tea. “You brought me here to say something, and it seems to be about Solas. It must be important. You always make tea when it’s important.”

I made tea most of the time, but she wasn’t wrong. I took another deep breath, letting the air stretch my lungs, then blew it out, making ripples in my tea. “I can’t—won’t—say everything. It’s… some secrets are not mine to tell. But you must be careful around him, Mheganni. He is very intelligent, yes, but he is also hiding a very large secret.”

“How large?”

“World-changing.”

She raised both eyebrows, clearly unimpressed with my choice of words. “World-changing the way your secret is, or something else?”

“Something else,” I said, “something… something far more powerful. He is more powerful. Don’t—dirthavara ma, do not underestimate him.”

She sat in silence for a long moment, watching me with that predatory stillness. “He scares you.”

“Yes,” I admitted. Then, “No. Can both be true? His intentions here seem good, and he is a boon to the cause, but what I know… what he…” I stopped myself.

“What he what, Vir’era?”

I neither looked at nor answered her.

She heaved a great sigh. “You are scared of Solas for reasons you won’t say aloud, that you have told no one else. Well, maybe Cullen. He had your journal. But you also respect him—Solas, I mean. You think maybe he could be good.”

“I—yes, that’s… that about sums it up.”

“Tell me this, then: Will he hurt me?”

I looked up into her eyes, green like forest moss, and had no idea. I didn’t know the particulars of what happened, not anymore, but I knew my journal claimed Solas said nothing of his true identity because the Inquisitor was the Inquisitor.

Mheganni was just a hunter.

“I don’t know,” I told her. “Maybe. Not physically, though, I don’t think. He is… more inscrutable than most. I don’t know what he wants.”

“We’re on an even playing field, then.” She shrugged and picked up her tea. “You’ve given me your warning, and said you think he’s good enough to trust in the Inquisition. I think you need to let me make my own decisions for everything else. If I get hurt, it’s my own fault. Is that agreeable?”

I wanted to protest. She didn’t know who she was dealing with, not really, but… “Get him to tell you what… who he is before you make any big decisions.”

She watched me with those predator’s eyes, then nodded slowly. “Alright. That makes sense.”

I could only hope it would be enough to protect her. I could only hope the Dread Wolf would not be angry with us.

 

“Can’t we stay, Keeper?” Tamlen asked. He sat in my aravel, watching me tie down jars of herbs to make room for Adan’s stores. He was supposed to be studying the book of ancient elvhen writing, but had long since abandoned even the pretense. “I like Haven.”

“Ir abelas, da’len,” I said. I paused long enough to look at him. His face, still round with baby fat, was pulled into a quiet plea. “Haven is a good place for a town, but not a good place for the Inquisition.”

“I hate moving all the time. I miss Sundermount.” He looked down at the book and frowned at it. “Shemlen and city elves don’t have to move all the time.”

“It is a terrible burden,” I agreed, shoving a few jars around to try and find the optimal positioning. “Perhaps, when my duties with the Inquisition are over, we shall join Keeper Lanaya near Ostagar.”

“We wouldn’t have to move anymore?”

“Only if we wanted to. King Alistair gave that land to our People. No shemlen could chase us away.”

He traced the grain of my table. “Would… would it only be elvhen?”

“I don’t know. So far, it’s only Dalish. Maybe others will join us later.”

“Could Adegoke come? And Kumbukani?”

I tied a knot to keep the jars in place, then made sure Tamlen met my eyes. “If they want to join us, I would always ensure they have a place with our clan.”

“Really?”

“Really. They may not be Dalish, but that does not mean they should be turned away.”

“What about Driscoll and Jewel? And Connor and Myrvaise and Emily and Elizabeth and Cynthia?”

My eyebrows climbed higher on my face with every person he named, but I couldn’t find it in me to deny him. “They would all be welcome, if they chose to live with us.”

“And Cullen?”

If I did not already know that Tamlen didn’t have a sly bone in his body, I would think he was trying to trap me. His question was earnest, though, and it made my heart swell and skip. “I-if Cullen wanted to, yes, he… I would be happy to have him live with us.”

“Okay, good.”

And he went right back to reading, then, like all was now well. Perhaps, for him, it was.

 

Cassandra offered her help to load the aravels with feed for the animals. As we worked, she took the chance to ask me questions—and I took full advantage of the excuse not to look her in the face. Sometimes, answering was easier that way.

“The Dalish do not believe in the Maker, do they, Keeper?” she asked.

“Not usually, no,” I said. “There are some who do, of course, but we have our own religion, our own gods.”

I could feel her look at me, but I kept my eyes on the bags I was piling. “And what about you, then? You have said you believe your prophecies to be a gift of your own gods. Do you believe in the Maker?”

It felt like a trap. “I have no strong feelings either way about Him. He is not my god, and I have no evidence that He exists, but a lack of evidence is not proof that something is untrue. The existence of my gods does not mean yours is false.”

“Are you saying you have seen evidence that your gods exist, then?”

“I have.” I heard her stop moving. I carried on. “It is not something I can prove to others, not with the same ease that it was proven to me, but I have evidence enough to believe they are real. My gift told me as much.” I would not mention Fen’Harel or my interactions with what remained of Mythal.

She huffed, a loud, though not quite angry sound. “How convenient.”

“Do you think I am lying?”

“No, but I do not know if I believe what you are saying. Could you have made a mistake?”

“Not in this.” I had spoken with Mythal. Fen’Harel was in this very town, as we spoke. No, I was very certain of my gods’ existence, even if I did not know their intents, even if most were beyond reach. “Did Andraste not have visions from your Maker?”

“Are you comparing yourself to Andraste?”

That—yes, that was enough to still my hand a moment. “I am not Andraste. I mean only that, if it that is possible, then why would my situation be different? Surely my gods are capable of the same feat.”

Cassandra huffed again. “It sounds to me like you are comparing yourself to Her. But you are right. I can see the similarities in your situation, even if I do not like it. Perhaps your gods are responsible. Perhaps they do exist.”

“It is more than perhaps, Seeker.”

“And?”

I glanced at her. “And what?”

“What difference does it make? Should I pray to elven gods now, too? Haven’t your gods abandoned you, just as the Maker turned away?”

These words had me turning entirely to face her, stopping my work. “Cassandra,” I said, “what is the true issue? Do you truly wish for me to teach you about my gods?”

“Do you truly not wish to teach me?” she asked, but there was bite in the question, derision in the echo of my words.

I was not so anxious in this subject. Confused, yes, because I did not know where these thoughts of hers had come from. But not anxious about the whole of it. There were sureties here. “It is not the Dalish way to force our religion on the unwilling.”

She looked near mutinous for a moment, then turned away with a sigh. “No. I do not suppose it would be.”

“You are still angry with me.”

“Of course I am.” She picked up a bag of oats and moved it up onto a high shelf. “You knew of Most Holy’s death, and did nothing to stop it. Perhaps you could not have, but you did not even try. You do not worship the Maker. You say your gift does not come from Him. How can I accept that this is part of His plan, if you do not acknowledge it?”

I wondered if she would ever forgive me. “That is up to you, I think. All our gods, your Maker and my Creators, are gone from this world in all the ways that matter. Your Chant says the Maker turned away; my tradition says Fen’Harel locked the Creators in the Fade. We are alone, for better or for worse, and must simply make the best of it.”

“I do not think that helps as much as you want it to,” she said, “but I suppose I should thank you for the sentiment.”

“It might be better to speak to someone who shares your faith about this matter,” I admitted. “Perhaps Cullen could help.”

“Perhaps.”

 

The day that we closed the Breach was unassuming. Amir had returned the day before, but we did not want to wait. Most of Haven was ready to depart, though they did not know the urgency of the situation. I had informed only Fiona, in our downtime, of the details. The nervous energy of those of us in the know seemed to trickle down into the populace.

Felix was long gone by then, sent to report to Weisshaupt and Tevinter. They needed to know what was happening here.

I could not keep my heart from pounding. The entire day, blood rushed so loud in my ears that I could scarcely hear anything that was said to me. My clan buzzed around, checking and rechecking the aravels, futilely attempting to soothe the halla and harts, adjusting and readjusting minutia that would likely be lost in the evacuation.

We had scouted the pilgrim’s path. It was not wide—a decade of rediscovery was not yet enough to tame a place left wild for centuries, not in this case. It would work, though. Even the brontos could fit, and they were the largest.

The sky was clear but for the Breach and the mountains’ biting cold. It was not yet winter, but the air still cut through lesser clothing. The mages were unaffected, of course; magic is, after all, magic, and a warming spell is not complex. They even shared the magic with those who saw fit to remain near them, which seemed to encourage some of the townsfolk.

Some had talked about making a feast to celebrate the closing of the Breach, but so few moved to actually enact this that it did not happen. Instead, focus remained on the relocation that was, officially speaking, slated to occur in the next week.

According to rumor, we had declared intent to stay in an Orlesian keep to the south, though nothing had officially been said. Still, it was popular enough that few realized it was untrue, and the preparations were made.

I went with Amir to the Breach, when it came time to make our final attempt at closing. It happened at midday, to allow more time to begin moving people, and it was…

It was anticlimactic.

I stood among the mages, and we lent our magic to Amir, channeling raw energies into and through him as though he were a staff, and he turned it to the Breach. Some change must have happened, some refinement that we could not manage on our own. His Mark, after all, was the only thing that could affect it, and we could only lend it power.

For all the great surge of power, for all the energy it took, it was over in mere moments. Amir lifted his hand, grasped at the Breach, and closed it the same way he closed every rift. I knew nothing more would happen, but still I waited with bated breath as the sky healed with only a strange green scar to denote the horror that had been unleashed.

And it was over. We returned to Haven. Most were jovial, all but dancing through the final stages of packing. It took longer than it should have for the languid joy that suffused the town, and each stretched second tore at my composure until I felt threadbare enough to see right through.

“You don’t look so good, Mittens,” Varric murmured to me.

“I don’t feel so good, either,” I said. My hands clutched each other tightly, and I could not convince myself to loosen them. Some scouts and a small number of soldiers had been sent ahead hours before. The first carts were heading out, and my clan’s aravels were only waiting on me. “I hate this, Varric. I feel like a coward. I want to stay, to help, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous. I’m… I would be too dangerous.”

Varric grabbed my hands and tugged them until I met his eyes. He tapped the scars that crossed my fingers. “How many times have you been the hero already?”

“I’ve never been a hero, Varric. Heroes don’t… People like me aren’t heroes.”

He scoffed and used one hand to poke a few places on my body: my right shoulder, my ribs, my side. Scars from Fort Drakon, from the Dragonbone Wastes, from the Butcher of Lowtown. My clothing covered them all, but he seemed to know where each was. “Your scars tell different tales.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

He sighed and squeezed my hands. “Mittens… Vir’era. People don’t get scars like yours from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. One or two, maybe, but you’re covered in them. How’d you get them? Tell me.”

I touched my shoulder. “Fort Drakon. A shriek cornered me, broke my staff. I would have died, but Littlefoot killed it.” I touched my ribs. “A genlock tried to stab me when I tackled it.” I touched my side. “The demons of that blood mage in Darktown were too many for me, and I would have been overwhelmed if you and the Hawkes didn’t show up.”

“So, in order,” Varric drawled, “you got one from saving the world from the Blight, another from fighting darkspawn who probably would have killed people if you didn’t stop them, and another from fighting to save a woman’s life. I don’t know, Mittens, that sounds pretty heroic to me.”

“I wasn’t… I was just there. I knew. It was the right thing to do.”

“Exactly. And this time, you know that you can’t help, for reasons outside your control. What part of that sounds cowardly? You’re going where you’re needed, and this time it just happens to be off the battlefield. You’ve been on it enough. Let someone else collect scars this time.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I pulled him into a hug. “Ma serannas, ma falon.”

“Anytime. Now, go. Be where you need to be.”

Notes:

if any of you happen to be attending animefest in dallas this year (2019), lmk! i'll be there, cosplaying as vir'era for saturday and probably most of sunday! i'd be happy to say hi <3

Chapter 13: the hills are alive with the sound of music! except it's mountains and not as fun

Notes:

please note: this chapter contains drug use in the form of magebane. it's probably the only time it'll occur, but vir'era is under the effects of what i describe as a fairly powerful drug for the first two scenes. as those are effectively retellings of in-game scenes, you can safely skip to the part which starts with 'As I had predicted...' if descriptions of drug effects make you uncomfortable.

Chapter Text

I waited until the lock on my aravel was secured, for that final click, before I took the first dose of magebane. The bottle was small enough to fit in my hand, but even a single gulp had the potency to lock away my magic for hours. I had brewed it specifically for this.

The feeling of magebane was far less similar to a Templar’s Cleanse than I had anticipated. A Cleanse was disorienting and innately wrong, and it’s less that magebane was not also these things, and more that it was also… It gave the distinct impression that nothing was real, that my body was a prison and I its prisoner.

I could still control myself. As my aravel began to move, this became difficult, as though I could no longer find my center of balance. I rocked with the aravel over Haven’s uneven roads and along to the Pilgrim’s Path. I did not know when we reached it, or how long we traveled. To ease the jostling, I laid myself down among my furs and waited.

The False Calling was more distant, with the magebane. Like a song being sung in a nearby room, instead of at the door. I wondered what that meant with thoughts slow as molasses, wondered if perhaps the source of all my problems was my magic, after all.

It was hard to discern when Corypheus and his army reached Haven. My aravel and clan were long gone by then, and interpreting the changes in the False Calling proved to be difficult. Like eavesdropping on a quiet conversation through a thick wall, I simply could not comprehend enough of it to know for certain what was happening.

Aravels don’t move quickly, though. As a tingling sensation of returning entered the core of my being, as the False Calling grew louder, I drank more magebane. I was useless, here—just as planned. Corypheus could not turn me against my friends. I was harmless, here.

My aravel had no windows. Aravels were for sleeping and storage, after all, not for living. If I did not need the space on which I dazedly whiled away the hours through a haze of magebane, it would have held things. Whatever things the clan needed it to hold. The statues of Fen’Harel, usually.

Funny, that.

Fen’Harel has been in my bed, I thought to myself, considering the statues’ normal storage location. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if Mheganni knows.

It didn’t matter, I decided, as my mind processed and pondered the situation. I had never been in my bed with the statues, after all. So his temporary residences in my bed were ultimately innocent, surely. And temporary. And statues. (Could he see through the statues’ eyes, though? He was a god. It would make sense enough.)

It had been a long time, though, since I had shared my bed with anyone.

Too long for it to feel cold, sleeping alone. But it never stopped feeling lonely. There is a visceral, primal comfort in the nearness of another living thing, a body close to your own that can be reached out to, touched, pressed against for comfort in the dark of the night, and as I waited, prone, on my furs, there was nothing in the world I wanted more.

It didn’t have to be romantic. In fact, in the moment, I had no room in my head for romance or for relationships that felt so beyond my grasp. My mind latched onto what it knew, what I was certain I could count on, and I wished Varric were with me.

He knew me best, now, of all the people I’d ever met. He knew so much—probably more than I realized—and he had never once judged me for it. I wanted him there with me, in arm’s reach, to keep me grounded. I couldn’t let myself think of Haven, couldn’t let myself wonder who would die, but I couldn’t fall asleep for the worry, either.

The magebane was calming, to an extent. I knew if I were more aware, if life were clear and I had full control of my faculties, that I would be a complete wreck. But there is a difference between the calm of forced distance and the calm a friend could bring.

If I’d asked, he may have even come. Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t muster the energy to wipe them away, and they ran down to my ears as I blinked. I didn’t want Varric to see me like this, didn’t want anyone to, but I could trust him with my vulnerability, I knew I could.

He would hug me and say something like, “Aw, Mittens. You’re doing fine. You’re where you need to be, and you saved people. You did good.”

He might say, “It’s alright. I’m here, for whatever that’s worth. Everything is going to be alright.”

And maybe, “I’m always here for you, even if I’m far away. Just send a letter, and I’ll do whatever I can, whatever needs doing. Or I’ll pay someone to, if it’s not something I can do.”

And when I had calmed enough, he might start telling stories. “Hey, do you remember that time Big Bird decided he needed to map out the Wounded Coast? I don’t think you came for that particular trip, but we ran into no less than three angry mobs…”

Or perhaps, “So Hawke and Rivaini got it into their heads that they would help Aveline patrol Hightown at night, remember that? And for some reason, they did this by picking fights with every gang in Kirkwall. I think you’ll remember the stab wounds…”

I could almost hear his voice. I didn’t know most of the stories, but I knew how Varric told tall tales, and I was something of a storyteller myself. Not like him, no, but enough to embellish and make up some interesting things in this drug-induced daydream. It wasn’t quite enough to distract me entirely from what I was fleeing, or why I was in the state I was, but it was enough that my shoulders relaxed.

I took the last of the magebane and let my imagined Varric talk.

 

“Keeper?”

Head still fuzzy from the waning magebane, I looked up. My door was open, and cold mountain air sapped all the trapped warmth, rushing it away. Standing there, looking in, was Mheganni. I tried to greet her, but only managed a soft groan. I reached out, my hand flopping in her direction.

She pursed her lips, but entered. Teddy peeked out of his pocket, and Charybdis’ cold fox nose pressed against my fingers. Mheganni helped me up, draped my arm around her shoulders, and shuffled me out into our camp.

I couldn’t tell if it was the snow or the somber air, but it was far more quiet than a camp had any right to be. Seeing us, Dima—eyes still red and wet (had Amir yet found us?)—came to support my other side. I could barely lift my head.

They walked me to where Dalish aravels met shemlen tents, then further still, until we were among Amir’s advisors and inner circle. Dorian was pacing, a small flame orbiting his head in flickering, anxious circles. Everyone seemed anxious, but he was the most obvious, the brightest.

It took them a moment to notice me. Varric was the first. “Mittens!” he called, coming up to hover as Mheganni and Dima waited to learn where to put me. I hummed at him. “Shit, you look like you’ve been run over by a bronto. Princess, Mezzo, what…”

“He took magebane,” Mheganni said.

Varric’s face darkened. “I didn’t know that was part of the plan. Going away, yes, but magebane… that stuff’s powerful.”

“Mmhm. ’Swhy. Hadda.” My words were half-incoherent, even though I was fully aware of what was going on. Getting more than a syllable out was a struggle.

Varric just pursed his lips at me, then waved at a chair, one of the very few around. “Sit him there. He can’t—he won’t be able to stand on his own for a while.”

As they did so, everyone else seemed to notice. Mheganni and Dima stayed near me, Dima with her hands on my shoulder. Varric put himself in front of her to my side, staring determinedly into my face. It was so like how I’d imagined in my aravel. I flopped an arm around him, pulling him as well as I could into a hug, my head lolling against his shoulder as he acquiesced. “Th…nks…”

“Not sure what you’re thanking me for, but you’re welcome,” he said, rubbing my back. I leaned further into him and sighed. What would I do without Varric? “What would you do without me?”

I managed a huff of air, the closest my body could yet do to laughter, then looked up and around. Everyone looked worse for wear to some degree, but there was a fire, and I thought I could feel warming charms in the air, and we were alive. I tugged at Varric’s sleeve—well, pawed at it. “Amir?”

“No sign of him yet. He probably blends in with all the snow.” It was a bad attempt at a joke, and no one smiled.

But then Cullen was there, leaning down to look at me, and I forgot to breathe for a moment. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he said, taking one of my hands in his and squeezing it; my heart mirrored the motion in my chest. “I… we’re all safe, thanks to you.”

I tried to shake my head, and mostly managed, but didn’t vocalize my disagreement. I didn’t want to know, yet, how many had died. It was inevitable that some had, I knew, and I didn’t want to face that, not yet. Not until Amir was back.

Cullen frowned at me, though. “How much magebane did you take?”

“Bottle.” It was the right dosage, according to the books I’d read and the recipe I’d used. And it was still working; I couldn’t feel my magic. I could hear the False Calling, but that was in my blood.

He pursed his lips and stared. How many mages had he seen being dosed with magebane? How many had he administered the potion to himself? “When?” he asked.

I had no idea. I shrugged. Hours ago? No more than half a day, surely, but in the darkness, I wasn’t certain of the time. No one seemed eager to sleep yet, and they all had dark circles under their eyes. It had still been light when we’d left, but I’d taken the last part of the dose long after.

It didn’t matter. I squeezed his hand. “Find… Amir.”

“Your journal said he’d find us.”

“Weak.”

“Cassandra is patrolling. She’s strong enough to carry him.”

“Cold.”

“She took a blanket. I can send Dorian after her.”

I hummed, and Cullen turned just enough to look over his shoulder. “Dorian! Find Seeker Cassandra and assist her in her patrols.”

“What? Why me?” I couldn’t see Dorian from my angle, but I could hear his indignant tone. “It’s freezing, if you haven’t noticed!”

“If you need to pace, it may as well be useful. Don’t you know any warming charms? I thought your specialty was fire magic.”

“No one needs warming charms in Tevinter!” Some grumbling. “You’re lucky I’m one of the few who decided to learn.” There was the sound of snow crunching, which I took to mean Dorian was moving away. I smiled.

Surrounded as I was by friends, time passed quickly enough. No one was in a particularly happy mood, of course, but we were alive and we were together. That, for the moment, was enough. I regained control and function slowly.

By the time Amir was found, I could move on my own, though my connection to the Fade was still weak. I didn’t fully recover until much later, when the relief of escape had left everyone’s minds and the fear of being lost had begun to creep in.

The other advisors debated, then devolved into shouting. I didn’t pay attention to them. It seemed trivial, for some reason, like none of their concerns could possibly matter. I knew that wasn’t true, of course, knew that they were likely raising valid points, but I couldn’t bear the thought of joining in. I didn’t want to fight with them, not now.

I tended to my clan, instead. Maren reported no deaths among the halla and harts, which seemed a small mercy, though several were in understandably poor condition. Kumbukani and Adegoke mentioned hearing wolves nearby; Master Ilen said no aravels or stock had gone missing, though a few repairs would be necessary. The Hahrens had taken a headcount, and everyone was safe and as well as could be expected. Junar even went on a hunt with some of the soldiers, though pickings were lean in such snow.

Clan Sabrae was fine. More than fine, even, for having weathered such a tragedy. Elation tinged the air, smoky and vibrant. We were alive—I had not failed them.

Eventually, we heard the singing. Mother Giselle led the Inquisition’s main camp in song, voices ringing out into the mountain air. I didn’t know for certain if it was a Chantry hymn or simply a well-known song, but it didn’t matter. I knew the tune. I’d heard it before, and as more voices joined in, so did mine.

Keep to the stars; the dawn will come…

 

As I had predicted, had known, Solas pointed Amir in the direction of Skyhold. He didn’t speak up once to claim his due for knowing where it was, nor did he lead us. His intentions, ever inscrutable, did not include glory or fame. Not as Solas, at least.

It took weeks to reach Skyhold. Even once we saw it, two mountains away and hanging like a mirage near the peaks, it was no small feat to reach. We had a whole army, after all, and even the scouts could not traverse mountains as quickly as some would like.

And those weeks were exhausting. We spent the entire day traveling, with but a single break for a midday meal, before continuing on. To help, I was a halla majority of the time, pulling my own aravel. I was, therefore, not much of a conversationalist even when I had the breath for it.

Still. Roughly one month after the destruction of Haven, we were there, in Skyhold, surrounded by its walls, safer than ever we could have been in Haven.

It was—

It was a ruin.

The base stonework was mostly intact, or at least was intact enough to keep it from being entirely treacherous, but most any wood that remained was either rotten or so thoroughly damaged as to be useless anyhow. And still, still! Even so, it was magnificent.

I traced my hands along ancient stones, let my fingers drag on parts worn smooth by the ages, and could not help the complete awe. This was Tarasyl’an Te’las. This was the place where the sky was held back, was the place where Amir would come into his own, and I was touching it.

I had never really expected to live this long. I had half expected to die during the Blight.

But here I was.

And here it was.

“It needs a lot of work,” Cullen said, coming up next to me, “but it’ll do.”

“It’s perfect,” I told him. “Or, at least, it will be. I’m sure of it.”

He smiled down at me and nodded. “I know. I can—I can almost see it, I think. I wasn’t certain, when I read about it, if it would be right, but… It is. We just need to fix it up, first.”

“Don’t go picking out curtains until we’ve patched the holes, now,” Varric admonished. “If we just hide them, it’ll only make it colder.”

“Don’t underestimate the importance of a curtain,” Vivienne said. “We may want to hide the unsightly business of restoration while we conduct some meetings.”

“Shouldn’t we begin restoring first before we think about having meetings we need to hide the restoring from?” Blackwall asked.

“No, no.” Varric waved a hand. “She has a point. Meetings will be happening sooner than restoration can be finished.”

“First,” Leliana interrupted, stepping through, “there is another matter. Come, Vir’era. Let us name our Inquisitor.”

 

The days immediately following the announcement were most aptly described as a flurry of activity. I felt like nothing so much as a bee preparing a new hive, constantly rushing this way and that. The aravels got set up near the stables, and I found—then laid claim to—a small library and desk hidden in the bowels of the castle. This way, I could be available to non-Dalish without needing to open my clan’s space.

Structures were reinforced through large-scale efforts. I was of little use there, so most of my time was spent coordinating with Josephine about who would be where and what repairs were of greatest importance.

About two days into the flurry—three, if the day of our arrival counted—there was a different kind of mess. Varric’s mess.

The Hawkes.

Garrett and Malia arrived at Skyhold and somehow kept it quiet. They simply showed up, and I found out about it only after the fact. I knew they were coming, of course, but I had hoped I’d know before entering my office to see them standing there.

“Hey, Vee!” Malia said, waving.

I nearly walked right back out, half-certain I was dreaming. Perhaps he sensed this, because Garrett came forward and pulled me into a crushing hug. “It’s been a long time,” he said, nearly lifting me from the ground. “You look well.”

“Does he?” Over his shoulder peeked a face that should definitely not have come to Skyhold. I wanted to slap Anders immediately for his foolishness, but he smiled at me, and I lost the will. “He does! Leadership suits you, it seems.”

“Let the man breathe,” came the fourth and final voice. The sheer fact that Fenris had still not murdered Anders in his sleep was astonishment enough; that he seemed comfortable around him? I could not comprehend this for a long moment. It seemed anathema, even impossible.

As I was passed from Garrett to Anders to Fenris to Malia and given hugs from each, the fact that they were, in fact, really and truly here sunk in. I stared at them, at the sheer gall they had to be in Skyhold, to have brought Anders here. “You’re all completely mad.”

“Aw, we missed you, too!” Malia cooed, patting my face. “Also, we figured we could be of use. You know, since it was kind of our blood that even released Corypheus in the first place, and all that.”

We all knew the issue was far more complex than that. “Malia…” I shook my head and sighed. “I wish you weren’t right.”

“Don’t we all,” Garrett agreed. “But we helped cause this mess, so we’ll help clean it up. It’s only right.”

“Varric promised to introduce us to your Inquisitor to get started on that, but we wanted to see you first.” Malia leaned against my desk, and Fenris stood beside her. “Didn’t seem good manners to come all this way and not make sure to greet our friends first thing.”

“I’m sure Leandra would be delighted to know you took at least that lesson to heart,” I said, and she grinned at me. “How long are you staying? How much time do we have?”

The four exchanged glances. Anders pursed his lips. Garrett shook his head. “We don’t know, but likely not for long. Your Inquisition may have recruited the mages, but I don’t think we’ll be very welcome here.”

“You mean Anders,” Fenris corrected. “The rest of us might be fine.”

This just got a roll of the eyes from both Anders and Garrett. “Yes, he means me, we all know he means me.”

Come to think of it, that reminded me… “Shouldn’t you be up north? Somewhere that Corypheus and his False Calling won’t affect you?”

Anders blinked slowly at me. “I—didn’t you know?”

“Know what?”

He glanced to Garrett and Malia, but they didn’t say anything. “I’m not—I don’t have the Taint anymore,” he said. “Not since… Not since Justice.”

That—I—“What?”

“I’m not Tainted. Not a Grey Warden in any sense of the word.” He gestured in the air between us. “I can’t feel darkspawn or Wardens, and they can’t feel me. Justice—I think he took it with him. When he died.”

I knew my jaw was hanging open, that I was visibly dumbstruck, but this was not a possibility I had ever even considered. Fiona had somehow shed the Taint, I knew, so it was hardly as though Anders’ case was unique—but she didn’t do it like that, had never been an abomination… and I’d been there, when it happened, had been the one to kill Justice, so why did I not notice?

His words, of course, were true. I couldn’t sense him in the Taint, now that I was trying to. I would have never known he was a Grey Warden; he was as invisible to the Taint in my blood as either Hawke. He was once again just a human mage.

“Mythal’enasal,” I whispered. “I—that’s good, that’s wonderful! Ir abelas, I didn’t… I don’t… Ghilan’nain’s golden hide, how did I not notice back then?”

“It was a very tumultuous time,” Garrett reasoned. “It’s not important. We’ll be here for a few days, at least. It was a very long climb, as you know, so we need to rest before we head out again. We’re here mostly just to speak with your Inquisitor. A friend of ours has information that we think might be useful. He was looking into red lyrium for us, but with everything that’s going on in the Wardens…”

I hummed. “Loghain Mac Tir, right?”

“Told you he’d know!” Malia said, immediately jabbing a finger into her brother’s arm. “That’s one sovereign and one night’s cooking!”

Garrett heaved a sigh, but tossed her the coin. I still had no idea why they ever bothered making such bets; for as long as I’d known them, they shared their money without second thought. “Yes, Loghain. I know you don’t have the best relationship with him, but he’s been helpful to us.”

I snorted. “That’s putting it lightly. At least he’s done something to help. He’ll do more.”

“That’s the intent.”

Malia leaned in. “He’s asked us to meet him in Crestwood to go over what he’s learned. We came here first. We think the Inquisitor should come with.”

As she spoke, I nodded along. “A good plan. I’m certain Amir will be willing, and we’ve had reports of trouble in the area that needs looking into, anyway.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard half of Ferelden seems to have gone to utter chaos,” she said. “And from what we’ve seen, well, we can’t argue.”

“It’s bad, yes. Orlais is worse, if you can believe it. They were already in civil war when the conclave was destroyed and the rifts began to show up.”

All four of them shuddered. “Well, I guess that takes Orlais off of the honeymoon list,” Garrett said. “Antiva it is.”

“I never cared much for Orlais anyway,” Anders murmured.

Before any further comments could be made, there was a knock at the door. A moment later, Varric peeked in. “Thought I’d find everyone here,” he said. “Hawke, Big Bird, I think it’s time for you to meet Ghost. I told him I’d meet him up on the battlements, so if you want to do your typical dramatic entrance, it’s now or never.”

The Hawkes looked to each other, then to their respective boyfriends. (Husbands? Fiancés? I wasn’t sure.) I cleared my throat, drawing all eyes to me. “It’s probably best not to overwhelm him, at least at first. Maybe just the Hawkes for right now? Anders, Fenris, I’d be happy to introduce you to some of the other members of the Inquisition, if you like.”

“Just don’t go see Cullen without me!” Malia demanded. “I want to see the look on his face when he finds out we’re here.”

I wasn’t entirely sure that would work how she wanted it, but I agreed all the same, and the siblings followed Varric out. Anders and Fenris looked to me, then. “So,” Anders began, “who is it you wanted to introduce us to?”

I had to scramble a bit. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought that offer through beyond keeping Amir from having the full force of all four at once. It could be a bit much. Vivienne was an immediate no-go, at least. Fenris and Dorian would be a disaster, Anders was a volatile topic at best.

Of course, there was one person who wouldn’t judge. It wasn’t his job, after all.

 

The Iron Bull was, as always, incredibly easy to find. The only person to even come close to his height was Adegoke, and even then the Iron Bull very obviously outweighed him. Despite his missing eye, he noticed me walking towards him. Or, perhaps, he noticed Fenris; a white-haired elf was not unheard-of, but one like Fenris would always draw attention.

“Hey, Vee,” the Bull called out, as soon as we were in a reasonable distance. “Who’re your friends?”

I motioned to one, then the other. “This is Fenris, and this is Anders. They’re friends of mine from Kirkwall.”

The Iron Bull’s eyebrows raised, and his whole body turned toward us. “The Fenris and Anders? From Varric’s book?”

“Have you heard of many others?” Fenris asked.

He laughed. “No, guess not. Still, I’m surprised. Seems pretty stupid to bring Anders here, of all places.”

“Garrett and Malia came to speak with the Inquisitor,” Anders said, shrugging. “I wasn’t—we weren’t about to let them go alone.”

“Sure. Probably best you don’t go announcing your presence, though. I don’t think Vee and Varric will be enough to stop whatever Lady Vivienne would do.”

Anders glanced to me. “Vivienne? Not First Enchanter Vivienne, surely?”

“That’s the one,” I said. “She doesn’t like you.”

He pulled his hood over his head. “Maker have mercy. I’d be lucky if she just killed me, I think, and I doubt she’d go so easy.”

“Probably not,” the Iron Bull confirmed. “Vee was being nice. She doesn’t like Vee, but she really hates you.”

Anders just whimpered. Fenris rolled his eyes. “You knew coming here was dangerous, Anders. Do not pretend otherwise.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know she’d be here!” He hid further in his hood. “I’ve never met her, and I don’t want to change that now. I’ve heard enough of how she feels about the rebellion to know it’ll just end poorly for me.”

“Well, I won’t tell her,” Bull said. “Don’t worry too much. It’s busy enough here that you should be able to avoid detection if you’re careful.”

“I do not believe he knows the meaning of the word,” Fenris mused, raising an eyebrow when Anders stuck his tongue out.

With a sigh, I broke in. “I’m sure we’ll manage something. If nothing else, I’m sure you’ll not be here very long, anyhow. Could we perhaps talk about something else, now?”

The Iron Bull took the initiative. “So, I think I probably have you guys at a bit of a disadvantage, here. I’ve read Varric’s book, and heard more than a few of his stories, so it feels a little like I already know something about you, but you’re just meeting me. Ask whatever questions you want.”

Fenris crossed his arms. “I would not take Varric’s book for the truth, were I you.”

“Nah, I know it’s half bullshit.” Bull winked then, though—with one eye—it seemed more like an exaggerated blink. “Still. Former slave, current slaver hunter, does weird shit because of lyrium experiments. Former abomination, current runaway, started the Mage Revolution. Also, you like wine, he likes cats.”

Both Fenris and Anders made disconcerted faces, though Fenris was quicker to shrug it off. “What is your story, then? You are clearly no average Tal-Vashoth mercenary.”

“You got me there. I’d say I’m one of the best, really…”

 

“Will you come with us, Keeper?”

I put my quill down and looked across the desk to Amir. Perhaps I should have expected that he’d invite me to find Loghain. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea, da’len.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“I… I was a different person, the last time I saw Loghain Mac Tir. I don’t think he will take well to my presence, and for good reason.”

He peered at me with the slightest frown, violet eyes scrutinizing. “Because you foiled his machinations during the Blight?”

“Not quite,” I said, looking down to my papers. “I… sentenced him to serve the Wardens until his death. It will be soon, and when he sees me, he will know it.”

“Oh.” Amir was silent for a moment. “You could have had him killed back then.”

“Yes. I could have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

The decision, so old now, had been easier then. Consequences to deal with in the far-off future, not in the present—except that the future was now, and the consequences had come to fall back into my lap. Still, it felt like the right choice. “His death will prevent the deaths of better souls, people who don’t deserve to die.”

“How?”

“When it comes closer, I will tell you. You have enough to worry about without planning for a future which may have changed.”

He looked away, eyes going dark, shoulders curling. “I already am. The difference is that I don’t want to thwart whatever you know, not like… not like Redcliffe.”

My heart bled for him, and I took a deep breath. “You’re right. I… you’re right. Ir abelas, Amir. I don’t mean to discredit you. It’s—you must keep in mind that I am less and less certain that things will go as I once predicted, but if things remain as they once were, we will be going into the Fade.”

Chapter 14: the problem with mutually unrequited love is that it's not unrequited but they're both idiots who think it is

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Somehow, it was only after Amir left for Crestwood that Cullen and I finally had a chance to talk—or, to be more precise, that we finally had a chance to talk about things other than work. Between my traveling in halla shape and the sheer amount of work to be done on Skyhold, we’d been lucky to have any time for tea. We sat in my office, as it was warmer.

“Vir’era,” he started, then went silent.

Keeping both hands wrapped around my cup, I let it rest on my desk and waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I leaned forward. “What is it?”

He glanced up at me, brow furrowed, then returned his gaze to his own cup. “I… I am glad that you’re alright. That you knew about Haven, and didn’t—I’ve… been making a list of those we cannot account for. If you were on that list, I don’t know what I’d… I’m thankful you’re not.”

My chest clenched, and I reached out a hand to grasp his. He squeezed back, gently. “I’m glad you aren’t, either. It’s—it’s a terrible thing, and even though I knew…” I took a shaky breath, looking at our hands. “It’s impossible to prepare oneself for such a tragedy. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of help.”

His hold on my hand tightened. “Don’t apologize for that. You were in danger, and it was—it was good to know you were safe. I—there is one other thing… Vir’era…”

I looked up. He was watching me, now, and our eyes met. He hadn’t stopped frowning. With the overhead lighting, it made his eyes darker, more brown than amber, and all the more mesmerizing for it. Any words I might have said stuck in my throat. I couldn’t look away.

He leaned in. My heartbeat began to climb, moving faster and higher for every millimeter of distance closed. Whether it was relief or disappointment I felt when he stopped, still so far, I didn’t let the feeling continue long enough to decipher.

He seemed to flounder for a moment, mouth opening and closing twice before any sound joined the motion. I waited, uncertain what was going to happen, treasuring the pause of possibility. In the moment, I was convinced he might kiss me.

“Please,” he whispered instead, raspy like his voice refused to cooperate, “don’t ever take magebane again. I couldn’t stand… It was bad enough, in the Circles, to see other mages have so much taken from them. To see you brought so low was a nightmare made real.”

I didn’t know how to respond, at first. What does one say to that? And it was so very far from what I’d thought, what I’d hoped for—I let his words hang in the air. Only when he squeezed my hand and whispered another ‘please’ did I bring my mind back into enough shape to speak. “Ir abelas, ma vh… ma falon. Ir abelas. I never intended to cause you pain.”

“I know,” he said, voice still so quiet. “I know, and it’s not… I know why you did it, and it was a good reason. It just… felt wrong, seeing you like that. Helpless.”

“It felt wrong to be like that,” I agreed. “I have no plans to repeat the experience. I would rather avoid it.”

“Good.” He squeezed my hand once again, sitting straight again. “That’s good. I… I shouldn’t keep you. There’s still so much to be done.”

“That there is.” I watched him pull away and did not stop him. Soon, even his hand left mine. I told myself there was no need to feel cold for its loss, but emotions rarely listen to reason.

 

Amir was only in Crestwood for two weeks—a very eventful fortnight, to be sure, but just the one—and in that time (with travel, it was nearly three weeks), Skyhold became habitable. Not cozy, and not quite what Josephine or Vivienne would call presentable, but habitable, which was a stark contrast from when we first found it.

How so long managed to pass without note, I may never understand. There was so much going on, though, so many repairs and so much to organize, that having a moment to spare was a blessing. I took refuge in my morning tea with Cullen, and even he refused to let anything infringe entirely on that time.

Loghain arrived at Skyhold before Amir. Unlike the Hawkes, his arrival was no secret, and the whispers reached me within the hour.

I decided to find him. Whatever he had done during the Blight, however cruel he had been, he deserved to know his time was nearing. I did not need to forgive him for that.

He stood on the battlements, far out of the way, where only the occasional scout was likely to come by. Attention, it seemed, did not suit him. That was fine. I flew up and landed behind him, waiting a moment as he stared out over the mountains. He didn’t seem to notice, so I stood and called to him, “Loghain Mac Tir.”

He turned around. As he realized who had called his name, I watched his face ripple through several expressions, all too fast to name, until a quiet stoicism quelled it. “Warden Vir’era Sabrae,” he said. Then, “Or should I call you something else now? I hear you left the Order.”

I shrugged. “Call me what you like, I suppose. It doesn’t matter.”

“No,” he agreed, “I don’t suppose it would. I admit, I had hoped you had changed your course, when you left the Wardens. I had hoped I might live a bit longer.”

“One would think an extra decade gift enough.”

He shifted, glancing over me towards Skyhold’s main castle. “I’m not certain any amount of time would be enough. So. When will it be, then? Today?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know the date. I never have. But it will happen at Adamant Fortress. I am not here to threaten you, but to remind you of your debt.”

“A decade more of life to spare another.”

“No. You would not have forgotten that.” I tilted my head at him, trying to see if he might understand on his own, but he just frowned at me. “In Denerim, ten years ago, you let slavers take people from their homes. You took money to allow this to happen. Though I killed most involved with that horrific display, their deaths could not return those already sold as slaves in Tevinter. You treated people like chattel, Loghain.”

As I spoke, his shoulders slumped and his face grew lined. His head bowed, but he looked up at me when I stopped. “Yes,” he answered. “I… did. And you’re right to be angry with me for that. I have had a long time to think about what happened during the Blight, and though most decisions I would stand by, that is one I cannot.”

It wasn’t enough, but it would never be. Nothing could make right that wrong. He knew it, too; I could hear the remorse in his voice, could see it in his posture. “You can never repay that debt. One decade with the Wardens is a reward compared to what those people faced, even in a country you hold such resentment for.”

“You’ll be pleased to know that I never did come to enjoy Orlais, then,” he said. On another person, it might have been sarcastic, but he seemed simply resigned.

I hummed. “I am here to extract a promise.”

“What promise could you possibly expect of me that I have not already made?”

I stared him down and remembered the first time I had told him his fate. I hadn’t been able to look at him, then. “When the time comes, if either Hawke seems to be ready to take your place, do not let them. Face the Nightmare on your own. Do not wait for agreement.”

He squinted at me, but nodded once. “Every day since the Landsmeet has been a nightmare. What’s one more?”

 

After that, I did my best to avoid Loghain. It was easy, really; he rarely showed his face near the castle, and I rarely ventured far from it. With all of Amir’s work in Ferelden, word was spreading to Orlais, and most was troubling.

I wanted to help in a more direct way, but there is a surprising amount of paperwork involved with running a heretical organization. Perhaps that is doubly so when one has a journal about the events to come; I certainly spent a great deal of time looking over notes and plans that I felt had nothing to do with my work.

The peace talks in Orlais were still just in the beginning stages, but plans for a grand ball to be held were well under way. By all accounts, the ball would be held three months from when Amir returned from Crestwood—precious little time to prepare, what with the Wardens and Adamant remaining a looming issue to the west, but I could not control time, nor did I dare try.

Josephine began working her contacts to ensure our invite. “I know you can do little by way of being choosy,” I said to her, “but I will admit that I do not feel comfortable with the idea of standing beside Gaspard de Chalons if it is not necessary.”

“Why not?” she asked, and to her credit, I think she genuinely did not know.

“To put it politely, he has a history of poor behavior towards elves.” I had no proof, of course, much as I’d had no proof that Justinia would die or that Solas was Fen’Harel. “If we must work with him, I will be civil, but I doubt I will manage more than that.”

“I see.” She put a paper aside, then smiled a funny little smile at me. “I think you will be pleased to know, then, that I received a very interesting letter from an Ambassador Briala, who mentioned your name specifically.”

I straightened, blinking. “To what end?”

Josephine shrugged. “She was not forthcoming with the details, but I am familiar enough with the Game to know she seems to think she owes you a favor. I was going to ask you about it later, actually. I think we may be able to use it to our advantage—do you know what favor it is she might owe you?”

“I… had not thought she would owe me. I had rather expected I might owe her, but I will not look a gift horse in the mouth,” I said. I’d written her a letter during my time on the run, yes, but I had doubted she would do more than glance at it. Did this mean she had not only read it, but appreciated it? And if so, what did that mean?

“What for, if I might ask?” Josephine pressed, scooting a touch closer and looking ever so much like an eager gossip.

I could hardly remember the contents of my letter. I had warned her about Gaspard, I knew, and had asked her to deliver a letter to Celene—but what else might I have said? What could have convinced Briala to trust me? “I don’t remember it all,” I admitted, “but I offered her some advice in exchange for delivering a letter to the Empress.”

“Why did you not simply send the letter to Celene?”

“It was for her eyes only—well, hers and Briala’s—and I know there are those who screen letters for royalty.” I shrugged. “It was less to avoid screening, and more to chose who screened.”

Josephine narrowed her eyes at me, her lips curling at the sides. “I thought you did not play the Game, Keeper,” she teased. “That sounds very much like playing.”

“There are times when it is beneficial to know the rules for something one does not participate in. My ambitions are far smaller than the Grand Game, I think.”

“Yet you’re here, in a position of no small power.” She tilted her head and leaned back, steepling her fingers. “Most would say that takes a great deal of ambition.”

“Most don’t have my foresight. I’ve simply been in the right places at the right times, and soon I won’t know when I should be where.” What would I do then? I would be far less useful, more a curiosity or conversation piece. Perhaps I would retire, take my clan to Ostagar and join Keeper Lanaya. That sounded nice.

After a considering hum, Josephine asked, “What is your ambition, then? What is less than the Game, but worth playing it for?”

Peace, I almost said, but that was not quite the right word. Safety, too, did not fit the path I had chosen. Justice—justice came close, and I spared a thought for my old friend, but that was not the answer, either. No, there was no one-word answer, not in Common.

“It’s perhaps a strange idea,” I began, tasting each word individually as it left my lips, “but what I have strived to do for so long is to create the brightest future I can with the tools at my disposal. I want people to be treated well, and I want to save lives, and I will do what I must to ensure it.”

She made a funny sigh and gave me a commiserating smile. “It doesn’t sound strange at all, Vir’era. Somewhat romantic, perhaps even a bit naïve, but not strange. I admit, I feel much the same. It is good to know that I am not alone.”

I laughed. “I should have known you would understand. You’re far too kind for your job, Josephine, and we would be lost without you.”

“I don’t know. You might just be capable of it yourself, you know. Have you ever thought about acting as an ambassador?” As the conversation shifted into lighter topics, I lingered, glad for her company. She did not always get Dalish things right, but she tried—and nothing had to be repeated, no reminders of Dalish culture after she learned them. It was nice.

 

In the meanwhile, there were many things to take care of throughout Orlais and Ferelden that the Inquisition was uniquely equipped to handle—and which did not need Amir’s direct attention. I worked with the other advisors to create teams to handle these things.

“We can’t send Driscoll to the Storm Coast,” Leliana said. “He’d get nothing done. Dima is a much better choice, and she is Amir’s sister, so the Blades of Hessarian might listen to her.”

“If we send Dima there,” Josephine added, “we’ll have to swap Sera for a different archer. Would Mheganni be amenable?”

I considered the current options. “She might, but not with Emily and Blackwall. Perhaps Jewel and Pol?”

“I still think Jewel should be on the same team as Driscoll,” Cullen muttered.

“Trust me, vhenan, not even Jewel can get Driscoll to behave,” I said, distractedly tracing a finger over the names we had listed. “Driscoll and Kumbukani work well together, though. I think we could send them with Sera and Blackwall to the Hinterlands.”

Leliana lifted a brow at me and glanced meaningfully at Cullen. I tilted my head at her, and she lifted the other brow then repeated the glance. As I continued to stare, unsure what she wanted, she rolled her eyes and returned to the map. “Should we send Emily and Elizabeth to the Fallow Mire, then?”

Josephine picked up a few markers, arranging them on the map. “I think they would do better in Crestwood. Perhaps we can send Adegoke with them?”

“And who will we send to the Fallow Mire?”

“How urgent is it there?”

Cullen picked up the reports. “Most urgent right now is the darkspawn on the Coast. After that… There are still bandits in the Hinterlands and Crestwood. The Fallow Mire is concerning, but not pressing.” He sighed. “We need a magical expert for that one. Solas, perhaps. And people who don’t mind bogs.”

“Definitely not Dorian or Driscoll, then,” Josephine observed. “Mheganni gets along with Solas. After she finishes on the Storm Coast, we can make that team. Though, I do feel we are wasting Blackwall’s talents as a Warden if we do not send him to take care of darkspawn.”

“There aren’t many,” I said, “and Mheganni helped me more than once to dispatch darkspawn on Sundermount. She’ll do fine.”

Josephine hummed and didn’t argue further, but the frown didn’t quite leave her face, either. It was just as well; as yet, only Cullen and I knew Blackwall’s secret. In time, my choice would make sense.

“That takes care of Ferelden, then,” Leliana said. “But what of Orlais? We can’t expect Amir to do everything. I know the Exalted Plains and the Emerald Graves are of particular importance to the Dalish; I think perhaps Dima should go to those after her brother is finished, if she does not accompany him.”

Cullen pursed his lips and tapped at the markers we had denoting the Orlesian civil war. “I don’t know that the Exalted Plains would be good for her. She’s not as experienced in battle. If we send someone Dalish other than Amir, I would send Pol.”

“Actually,” I said, “I would like to go to the Dirth myself, if it can be managed. Dirthavaren and the Emerald Graves both.”

There was a beat of silence. “I appreciate your willingness, Keeper,” Josephine began, “but as an advisor, having you here has been invaluable. Not to mention your clan.”

“I could leave my journal if you worry for what will happen,” I said. “I trust you’d use it only when necessary, and my clan is strong. The Hahrens have led it in my absence before, though admittedly not for so long.”

“It’s not just your knowledge, Vir’era.” Leliana leaned against the table’s edge with her arms crossed. She didn’t blink, her eyes as focused as her birds’. “You are invaluable. Your input has helped. I may not like every choice you have made, but you make them with great thought.”

“And a great number of contacts we have made were more willing when they knew you were involved,” Josephine added. “Those from Ferelden or Dalish clans, in particular.”

They could do most of that even in my absence, though. My name could carry weight without my presence, and between Leliana and Cullen, they surely knew me well enough to predict most of my decisions. “Just Dirthavaren, then. With Amir, perhaps, and for only a short while. There will be a clan there, and I think I can convince them to help us.”

“You’re certain you must go in person?” Cullen asked. “You can’t write a letter?”

“Perhaps I could, but I have the means to go in person, and there is so much else happening in the area. I could help.” I knew it was irresponsible to leave my post for so long, and for so small a reward, but… but. It would feel so good, so much better to be in the field again. I was not used to this management business. Even as a Keeper, I led from the front.

The three exchanged looks, then Cullen sighed. “You won’t change your mind, will you? Don’t answer; it was a silly question.”

“At least we have time to prepare,” Leliana murmured.

As we finished initial teams for finishing our varied business throughout our growing sphere of influence, she continued to watch me. It wasn’t a stare, not quite, but I could feel the pressure of her attention all the while.

I didn’t know what to make of it, so I lingered when we finished until Josephine had left and Cullen had made his excuses. Leliana sat, then, and I joined her. She pushed her hood back and stopped hiding her gaze. I met it with my own and waited for her to speak.

“You’ve changed.” Her voice was soft with nostalgia. “You have always been certain of your beliefs, but I remember when you preferred to avoid people. It’s almost difficult to reconcile with who you have become.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked, before I could stop myself. Her anger over Justinia’s death was still raw; I wasn’t certain I wanted to know.

She laughed, though, and it was the first I’d heard her laugh since. “A good thing, I think. Strange, and new, but good. You used to shake like a leaf so often. I do not think I have seen you shake so recently.”

“It happens, sometimes, even now.” I looked down at my hands, still on my lap. “But it is much more infrequent, yes.”

“And you never used to lead anything! It was always Capella, Theron, or Anya.”

“True—but you used to sing! I don’t know when the last time I heard you sing was.”

She waved a hand at me. “I sing when I have time for it, and no one has time for it now.”

“Don’t we?” I gestured vaguely around, attempting to encompass… I don’t know what. Everything, perhaps. “We must make time for the things we love, and I know you love singing. We have time now, and if you are worried, there is no one here. Sing with me.”

“Vir’era…”

“Come now, Leliana. For a few minutes, no more, forget that you have the fate of Thedas in your hands, and sing with me. Fate can wait a few minutes.”

“What will we sing?”

I thought a moment. “Stop me if you don’t know the words.” When she nodded, I began to sing, “Look into the sky, can you see the moon across the ocean?

Leliana, lips curling up, joined her voice to mine, and we sang, “Coming close to me, I can hear the melody…

 

Even with the approval of the other advisors, I would not be seeing Dirthavaren anytime soon. There simply wasn’t enough time to deal with all that was happening there before things with the Grey Wardens came to a head, and if there was one thing I was determined to see through, it was that.

But first…

“Keeper Vir’era. I hoped I might find you here.” I nearly jumped at the sound of Solas’ voice, looking up from the paperwork I’d brought with me to the garden. He stood a few feet away, and I hadn’t noticed his approach.

“Solas! What—what can I do for you?”

He tilted his head and gestured at the space beside me on the bench. “May I?” I nodded, picking up some errant papers to make room. He continued, “Mheganni has told me interesting things about you.”

Anxiety coiled around my ribcage, squeezing. I looked out to the garden, not watching him. “Has she? What sort of things?”

He shifted, but I continued to keep my eyes on anything else. “She says you have a… gift. Some form of prophecy. I told her I have never heard of such a thing, but I know she was speaking the truth. It is very difficult to lie in the Fade.”

I almost snorted. Demons lied well enough—or perhaps they simply manipulated truths and desires enough that they did not need to lie. The end result was the same. “What is your question, then?”

His gaze pressed down on my shoulders, a wolf’s open maw pushing me into the bench, hunching my back, and he took his time in speaking. He did not answer me. “You are unlike the rest.”

“That isn’t a question.”

“No. It is a statement.” He waited again, but I refused to look at him. I don’t know what he wanted. “Who are you?”

“Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae.”

“There is more. Something you aren’t saying.” I could feel the heat of his body as he leaned closer. “Who are you really?”

“Vir’era.”

“Look at me.” My breath was growing short, but I did. His eyes were narrow, his brows low. I fought the urge to shrink away and lost. He repeated, “Who are you?”

“Vir’era,” I whispered. It was the only answer, the only name, I had. The only one that had been mine from the start.

“Banal. Dirth ma mala sulevin.” His words were not angry, but they were intense, and it grew harder and harder to breathe. He did not know, but one can only trick a trickster god for so long…

“A-ar… dirthera. Vir’dirthera ghilana.”

“Banal.”

What did he want of me? “I—I—d-dirthavara; tel’banal! P-please… I don’t—I don’t know wh—I’m telling the truth, dirthavara, just… wh-what—what do you want?”

“What do you know?”

What did I know? Every thought to have ever flitted through my mind was lost to me in that moment. I could hardly remember my own name, let alone anything of import. What could I possibly know, except that I wanted out? I scrambled for the first thing to come to mind. “C-corypheus…”

“Irrelevant.” He didn’t move, but I could have sworn he loomed closer regardless. “You told Mheganni something. What did you tell her?”

I couldn’t remember. Something about him, and about danger. My every instinct begged to turn literal tail, but I couldn’t even remember how to do that. I had known Solas would put the pieces together eventually, that he would know I knew he was Fen’Harel—after Mheganni asked her questions and made her choices, he would surely find out.

I had hoped it would take longer.

“Keeper,” called a voice. I couldn’t recognize it in my haze. “Could you come with me? I need your help, please.”

Pushing myself to my feet with too much force, I stumbled in the direction of the voice. “Y-yes! I… i-ir abel-abelas, Solas, I must… Later? Maybe?”

He let me go. Eyes that were teeth dragged on my skin, a reminder. He would not forget. This was but a temporary reprieve. Even so, I grabbed it with both hands and clung tight.

In my hurry, I nearly ran into my savior, who stood unnaturally still as he waited for me. It was Cole, staring through me to the truth of things with silent understanding. He took my arm and led me from the garden. As we entered Skyhold’s main hall, he said, “You’re scared.”

I could only nod, and Cole hummed. “He forgets, sometimes.” I didn’t care what he meant by that, what Solas forgot; I wanted only away. “Oh. That was wrong. Let me try again.”

“Don’t make me forget,” I whispered, knowing that was what he did. We didn’t stop walking.

“Oh. Past paling, parting, passing… You don’t like to forget. You’ve forgotten so much. It hurts.” He paused, perhaps thinking, perhaps waiting for a response. I gave him time and no answers. “Alright. I won’t make you forget.”

I followed Cole’s lead, but my heart yearned still to turn and hide. He must have known this, because his next words were, “You want to change. It’s okay. I don’t need help now.”

“You lied?” I asked, glancing at him.

“No. You wanted to get away. I couldn’t take you away without your help. It still hurts, though. You want to change. You can change now.”

I sighed in relief, and in the next breath, I was a cat. Cole picked me up; I let him. “I can take you further away like this. You are very light.” I ignored his words and made myself comfortable, letting the world melt away.

 

(Hours later, I awoke on Cullen’s bed, alone and still cat-shaped. Why Cole had brought me there instead of my own aravel, I didn’t dare stay to find out.)

Notes:

elvish translations
Banal. Dirth ma mala sulevin. - Nothing/That's not it. Tell me your purpose.
A-ar… dirthera. Vir’dirthera ghilana. - I-I... tell tales. (lit.) I guide the way of telling stories. intended as: I guide with the way of the stories I tell.
d-dirthavara; tel’banal! I-I promise; it's not nothing!

song - the place i'll return to someday by erutan

Chapter 15: look the exalted plains have interesting lore but are boring to write i'm not sorry

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Vir’era,

Thank you for remembering to write me, even when my dear dolt of a brother forgets. If not for your letter, I don’t know how long it would have been before I knew that you’d both survived the tragedy at Haven. Maker knows Cullen takes his time sending any kind of word back home!

It’s funny. Do you remember Amalia? She’s been talking about joining the Inquisition, you know. She knows you’re one of its leaders, and though she says she doesn’t remember you well, she does remember what you did for her and her father. I’ve half a mind to come with her; if it weren’t for the farm, I would.

Please remind Cullen to write me. You don’t have to be polite about it, either. If necessary, sit on him until he gives in. That always used to work—then again, you might be too small to have much effect. Might as well try it, though, just to see. Let me know how it goes!

We haven’t seen many demons at all since the Inquisition closed all those rifts near Redcliffe, at least. There have been some, yes, but once we knew they die just like any living thing, it got easier to fix that. Mathias made some really ingenious contraptions with water for the fire ones—rage demons, I think you said they were. Snuffs them out right quick, so all we have to worry about is the fire they left behind.

At any rate, we’re recovering. Knowing that the Inquisition survived the destruction of a city, that it’s even growing—and that you and Cullen are alive—well, that’s enough to keep me and the rest of Honnleath from worrying too much. We got through a Blight; we’ll get through whatever this is. Demons aren’t that much harder than darkspawn, and they don’t leave half the people mortally ill.

Write soon,

Mia

 

Mia,

I’ve made sure Cullen wrote a letter, but I did not resort to sitting on him. I’m uncertain whether I should present that as good news or bad, so take it as you will. Know that he was quite sheepish about the whole thing, too; I don’t think he means to forget, and he certainly doesn’t mean to forget for so long that I must badger him into it.

In truth, I wonder if it isn’t a symptom. He stopped taking lyrium, yes, but it is well-known that lyrium can and will addle the mind after so many years of use. Between a decade of drinking the stuff and the withdrawal he suffers now, I think perhaps he simply forgets things which don’t loom as large.

Don’t worry, though. I’ll see to it that he writes more often, even if it means we must pen letters together.

I do remember Amalia. Not terribly well, and I’m certain I would not recognize her if I saw her today, but I remember her. If she has not yet left to join us when you receive this letter, send her to our outposts near Redcliffe rather than straight to Skyhold. They organize groups to come together; she will be much safer.

Do you think you could convince Mathias to draw a diagram of these contraptions, the ones you described for putting out rage demons? There are many places that still are in more dire straits, and though our numbers grow, the Inquisition is still spread thin. We would be very grateful for the help, and we would gladly pay him for the effort.

I am glad to hear Honnleath stands strong. Still, be mindful; demons are much trickier than darkspawn. In the right circumstances, even non-mages can become possessed. It’s very, very unlikely, and probably just about impossible to happen by accident, but one can never be too careful when it comes to demons.

My only wish is that we might go more than a handful of years without some incredible catastrophe. Is it not enough that we have ended a Blight? I may have chosen this path, Mia, but once the Inquisition has no further need of me, I fully intend to take my clan to Ostagar and stop all this running. Perhaps I will learn to farm.

If you do not hear from me for some time after this letter, don’t fret. I am accompanying Amir to Dirthavaren, and will be there for at least a week; after that, there is some business which needs attending in the Western Approach, though I don’t know when we will address it. I will write when I have the time, dirthavara.

Fen’Harel ma tel’ghilana,

Vir’era

 

I waited to leave until one of Leliana’s birds brought word that Amir had reached the Dirth, and did not bother to pack anything. I had sent my things ahead with Amir—what few I needed—as I could fly much quicker than he could travel on horseback. It was part of the final agreement, to ensure I would spend as little time away from Skyhold as possible.

The flight was short. It was made shorter, too, because I had taken the time to observe Leliana’s ravens; they were much faster than owls. I didn’t even have to stop for the night before I arrived at the main camp, though I was admittedly exhausted on arrival.

Amir had done preliminary scouting before my arrival. Several rifts were closed, at any rate, and the nearer of the ramparts had been dealt with. We thus began by heading along the river, looking for the Dalish clan that had come to the area despite its troubles.

(Solas was not there. He had been with them, at first, but he left. I did not ask why.)

“…and we’ve also come across some shemlen calling themselves the ‘Freemen of the Dales,’” Amir told me with a sneer, having recounted what he, Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra discovered in their preliminary examinations of the area. “I don’t know much about them, but I do know I don’t like them.”

Later, we would send other teams to finish any business he did not have time for. Amir was, understandably, in high demand; the ability to close rifts so quickly was sorely needed in any area we could send him. He certainly didn’t have the luxury of rooting out every lost cause or desperate soul, but as long as he made a note of something to be done, we could send someone to finish it for him.

With the vitriol he used in just saying the words ‘Freemen of the Dales,’ though, I had a feeling he would want to take care of that issue personally. I could understand. “They sound like opportunists. Armed ones, to be sure, but opportunists nonetheless.”

Amir muttered something under his breath. “When there’s time, we can’t let them keep carrying on like this. I’ll stop any that I see. If my information is right, they are even responsible for some of what is happening here.”

His information was almost always right. “Then they must be stopped with whatever haste we can muster. I can ensure another party is sent out after you leave, to track down whatever remains of them.”

“Ma serannas,” he said.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I think I see our elves,” Varric called out, drawing our attention to some of the area’s large rock formations. Downstream, just now coming into view, were the sails of aravels. We were too far yet to make out a crest or symbol of the clan, but just seeing the sails was heartwarming.

“Fascinating things, your—sorry,” Dorian said, “I’ve forgotten the word. It’s not landships, I know that much. What are they called, again?”

“Aravels,” Amir answered.

“Right. Aravels. They’re fascinating. I saw how your clan’s aravels moved, Keeper, and it really does look like they’re sailing. Is it magic?”

I shrugged. “There is a little magic. To ease the ride, mostly, so the mechanics of the aravels do not face such stress and break, but they once were made to fly through the air.”

“Truly?”

“It has been a long time since such a feat has been managed, if my understanding is correct, because it requires much more magic than most clans have, and it has been all but forgotten, but yes. Though, I have certainly never seen it in person.”

Dorian stared at the aravels, clearly studying them as we drew closer. I could tell he had a million and one questions on his lips, but I didn’t have the answers, and he knew. Soon, the forms lingering near and beneath the sails became themselves distinct, and we knew if we could see them, they could surely see us. And if we were so close to even a portion of their camp, there was no possibility that they did not know we were approaching.

Still, Amir and I led the way. We were the elves, after all, and most Dalish distinctly prefer to be approached by other Dalish rather than by anyone else—especially shemlen. A bit of caution, learned from centuries of bad blood.

No arrows or blades stopped us in our tracks. A good sign; I didn’t doubt there were hunters watching us where we could not see, but at least there was a feigned trust and welcome. A man approached us—Keeper Hawen, I realized, as we drew closer.

“Keeper Vir’era Hanal’ghilan!” he called. “Andaran atish’an. Shemlen ara falon?”

“Falon,” I confirmed. “Please, let me introduce my companions…” As I mediated the introductions, a few others of Hawen’s clan came up as well, their wide, curious eyes mostly focusing on Dorian. He was, after all, the most unusual, being a shem mage. He took to the attention well, though, and was all smiles. “We’re here on behalf of the Inquisition.”

“Ah. I had suspected as much.” Hawen glanced behind us, but we were alone, and had not led any soldiers to the camp—Inquisition or otherwise. “You will understand my caution, I think. Even with a Dalish Inquisitor and Hanal’ghilan for an advisor, it is a shem organization.”

“And one which originated from the Chantry, yes,” I said. He nodded.

“Will it make you feel better to know the Chantry does not approve of us either, Keeper?” Cassandra asked.

Hawen’s eyebrows raised, and he did consider the question. “I cannot say it changes the picture. Past Chantry-born military efforts have not been kind to my people. That this land is Orlesian should be proof enough.”

“I suppose you have a point.” Cassandra pursed her lips, looking out over the water towards the halted remnants of the Orlesian civil war.

Hawen took her admission with grace and a nod, then changed the subject. “I have heard of your Inquisition. The shemlen are calling you the Herald of Andraste, Amir?”

“Unfortunately. I can’t get them to stop.” He glanced to Cassandra, but she didn’t comment. “It’s better when they say Inquisitor, at least. Best when they say my name.”

“They can be quite stubborn, da’len. Why approach my clan? I am afraid we have come into some bad fortune, and are ill-equipped to do so much as leave the Dirth right now.”

Amir looked to me, so I took the hint to speak. “Let us help you with that. We do not have need for much, and that which we would ask of you is not physical.”

Hawen’s eyes narrowed, though his face remained a pleasant neutral. “I do not know what knowledge we could share that would benefit a shem organization as large as the Inquisition, but if you are willing to give us aid, it is the least we could do to return the favor.”

“Of course,” Amir said. “What are you most in need of?”

Hawen sent us to talk to the various members of his clan who most needed help, and we got to it. It was easy enough, for the most part. Supplies, especially, were no dent in our stores, though searching for a lost brother would take more time.

I suspected Hawen simply wanted to know what we would do, though; had the ‘if’ been important, he would have given us a list himself. No, this felt more like a test. How far would we go to help? What problems were too small, too involved, too much? The Inquisition had incredible resources, yes, but what were we willing to share?

Even Dorian was paying attention. Most of the clan wouldn’t speak to him without Amir or myself nearby, but he still managed to hear about low supplies. “Nobles have been practically lining up out the door to send us gifts,” he said. “We can’t possibly use as much spindleweed as we’ve got. Might as well put it to a good cause.”

Amir’s smile at the words just made Dorian puff up. I could almost see a peacock tail fanning out behind him. Cassandra huffed at them, but I could see her lips lifting at the corners. The two acted very similarly to characters Varric might write in a romantic subplot, and I think she found it endearing, even if Dorian often got under her skin.

Their budding romance was very sweet, indeed. As we began the tedious task of taking care of these errands, Amir caught Dorian each time he tripped over a root—and Dorian made sure to trip very often. At camp, Amir asked every question he could think of about magic, Tevinter, and Dorian himself, and sat nearly in the man’s lap as he spoke.

If Dorian noticed Amir asking the same question a few times over, he didn’t bring it up. Either he liked the sound of his voice that much, or he, too, would take any opportunity to spend time basking in Amir’s attention and presence.

I suspected, knowing how intelligent Dorian was, that it was the latter.

Cassandra and I occasionally shared a look, when their antics got particularly—well. “Do they think we don’t notice?” Cassandra asked me after Amir had spent the whole of dinner paying more attention to Dorian’s lips than his words. “Surely they don’t think we’re that stupid.”

“I don’t believe they do, but I do think they themselves don’t realize,” I told her. Dorian made a particularly suggestive comment, then grinned when Amir’s face and ears went bright red. Cassandra lifted an eyebrow at me. “I mean—I think they forget others might also notice.”

She made a short hum, staring intently across the fire at the two young men. Neither reacted, not so much as a blink. “You may just be right,” she said.

Varric, on my other side, piped in, “Hey, at least they know they’re flirting with each other, and that it’s mutual. Some people just keep it bottled up and pretend to be friends even when everyone around them knows they’re both complete fools for each other.”

Was he speaking from personal experience? Or was this about one of the Hawkes? No, couldn’t be—Anders and Garrett had never been subtle, and Malia’s thing with Fenris, while lower-key, had never included mutual obliviousness.

(Was it me? But… The only one Varric had seen me moon over was Cullen, and that was only after Kirkwall—and Cullen didn’t—well, he might, but…)

I heard Cassandra’s snort. “You have a point. At least I know these two will not sit around twiddling their thumbs and pretending they have no romantic feelings for each other. I often find myself wanting to lock certain people in closets until they solve their issues.”

“Ha!” Varric exclaimed. “Let me know how that goes, if you ever actually do it. It works in books, but people tend to be more complicated. Might be interesting to see how different it goes in real life.”

When I looked at Cassandra for her answer, she was watching me, not Varric, though her eyes did switch to him as soon as I noticed. “Perhaps I will,” she said.

It gave me a strange sense of unease—and no small amount of anticipation.

Was it really me she was referring to?

 

It was hard to hide my disgust for Gaspard. So hard, in fact, that I failed entirely at it, which was certainly not in our favor. Gaspard’s soldiers were the more prevalent in the Dirth by far, and they predictably did not appreciate my distaste for their commander. Most, at least, had the good sense to purse their lips and ignore it.

Hawen was not most, but neither was he one of Gaspard’s soldiers.

“No shem should have claim of these lands, but even I know Gaspard is among the worst,” he told me. “We have taken great care to remain unnoticed by his soldiers. The demons have been a boon for that, so far, even if they are an issue we must also contend with.”

“I agree entirely,” I said. The late afternoon sun warmed my skin against the cold realities of Orlais. “I have never heard of a man so deplorable, so hungry for violence. He would start a new war with Ferelden, would destroy elves for pleasure… That he holds such support sickens me.”

Hawen nodded. “Already he hunts us for sport. That he would think a war is a good idea does not surprise me.”

“What do you mean ‘hunts us for sport,’ Keeper?” Cassandra asked.

He gave her a slow look. “What do you suspect, Seeker?”

Her eyes shifted to me, then back to him. “You…mean to say he hunts elves for sport.”

“Dalish elves are his favorite quarry, I hear.” Hawen gestured to the large rocks shielding the aravels from view at most angles. “Did you not wonder why we chose this spot, and not any of the ruins? We have no connection to this rock.”

“Surely he doesn’t…”

“He does, Cassandra,” I asserted. “It is not well-known, no, but we know. We must know, if we wish to keep ourselves safe.”

“Does that not violate the chevalier code?”

“Does it?” I tilted my head at her. “Tell me, Cassandra, how did that chevalier today refer to Amir before learning his title? And the other soldiers, who do they look at when they greet us? How many do you believe would not hesitate to declare my personhood?”

“There must be some!” She crossed her arms, brows coming low in her fury. “They cannot all be bad! They have made poor impressions, yes, but surely there are those who do not hold such unworthy beliefs.”

Hawen shrugged. “Vir’era, what is that saying about the apples?”

“One bad apple spoils the bunch.” I sighed. “Cassandra, I do not mean to upset you. You are a righteous woman, and I know it is hard to fathom the cruelty that dwells through every interaction between elves and humans. But you must trust me on this: Gaspard on the throne would mean disaster for every elf in Orlais, and might mean war with Ferelden.”

She huffed at me and snarled. “I do not agree that violence is always there. I cannot. I have seen it be peaceful.”

I looked away, thinking. “Not all humans are cruel, no. But neither are all men. Have you suffered at the hands of a man, Cassandra?”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Have you?”

“Not lightly.”

“But you have.” She nodded. “That is, in some ways, how it is to be an elf. Many will know plenty of kind, worthy humans. But we still suffer from what humans have done; you may not have done anything, but someone else has. This is why I do not trust any who idolize Gaspard. With his example to follow, the violence will only grow.”

“He does not endorse these things. He does not say elves should be hunted.”

“He does not need to.”

Stalemate.

I took a deep, steadying breath. “I do not mean to antagonize you, Cassandra, or to act as though you are to blame for a man’s cruelty, let alone society’s faults. This has little to do with you, and everything to do with Gaspard.”

Though her arms remained crossed and she did not look at me, she did nod. “I… do not like it, but I do understand. I do not know if I am ready to believe you, but nor can I blame you. You may not believe me, but I am aware of how bad it can be. I have studied the Chantry’s history. It has not always been a good one.”

“No,” Hawen agreed, “it has not.” Then he turned to me. “Keeper Vir’era Hanal’ghilan Sabrae. You stand with the Inquisition. You help to guide its course, and you see what it does in ways I cannot. Would my clan be protected if we were to ally ourselves with you? Would our religion and culture be respected?”

I faced him fully, squaring my shoulders and bringing myself to my fullest height—he and Cassandra both were still several inches taller, but that was of no import. “To the extent of our ability, your clan would be protected, and no Inquisition soldier would raise their blade to you. No sacrifices you do not see fit to make would be asked or expected.

“Our greatest need is agents and information,” I explained, “not material goods or converts. As the Dalish Liaison, your clan would be directly under my purview. I would ensure you have what you need, so long as our alliance lasts.”

Hawen looked to his clan; most paid us no mind, but a few were watching. Nearby, Amir was helping to show Dorian how to bundle spindleweed for their stores, and Varric was exchanging stories with a hahren. “I will speak with my clan come morning. Tonight, I make no promises. I will send our decision with Loranil. He has begged to join regardless of the clan’s decision.”

My smile was surely too wide for such words, but my heart was too light to care. The Inquisition sorely lacked Dalish voices—sorely lacked elven voices as a whole. This was just one step, but one step usually precedes another, and it would be good for things to continue in this way.

And, if Josephine was right, we wouldn’t even need to resort to Gaspard for our invitation to the peace talks in Halamshiral. Things were not what I had written, not quite what I had expected—they were better.

 

When Amir continued westward towards the Approach, I returned to Skyhold. Hawen’s clan ultimately had agreed to aid our efforts, mostly through the occasional report on the conditions of any area they made contact with. Loranil would take a more active role, but he was the exception.

Josephine was the first to greet me upon my arrival, smiling with good news. I followed her to her office; she all but bounced the whole way there. “I remember you said you did not want to have ties to Gaspard,” she said as we sat. “Am I wrong to assume this did not change?”

“No, it hasn’t. Why?” Despite her smiles, I tamped down on my hope.

“I have good news, Keeper! I had thought we might need to obtain our invitations to the peace talks from him, but…” She pulled a piece of paper from one of the drawers on her desk, and laid it that I could read its contents. “Thanks to you, I was able to work contacts in an entirely different direction: Ambassador Briala has invited the Inquisition to the Winter Palace.”

I stared down at the paper. It confirmed her words; Briala’s own signature was at the bottom of the page. Specifically, she invited Lord Amir Lavellan of the Dalish and his Inquisition—but my name, too, was just a bit further down.

I am eager to meet all of the Inquisition’s illustrious advisors, but none more so than Keeper Vir’era, who has made himself quite infamous.

None more so than me? Creators, that was a lot of pressure. With luck, I would not disappoint. I could never hope to live up to whatever expectations she had built, and did not care to. My priorities were elsewhere; I had only ever wanted to make things better, however I could.

The letter mentioned something about lodgings, as well, but that was for later consideration. I looked back to Josephine, her eyes sparkling. “Ma serannas, Josephine. You are a miracle worker, I think.”

She laughed. “If anyone has done miracles, it is you and Amir, but thank you. I’ve already contacted tailors in Val Royeaux, and they will be on their way here shortly. Some preliminary uniforms are in the works, and everyone will need to be fitted, so if you…”

I didn’t see the uniform drafts, as she didn’t have them with her, but I agreed with her assertion that the Inquisition should wear uniforms. We were not random nobility or governmental associates: we were a military, and one mostly unaffiliated with Orlais. It would be better to establish ourselves as distinct but unified.

It would also make it harder for anyone to mistake the elves and qunari among us as servants or bodyguards. It would not stop that, no, but it would draw attention to the fact that we were not. I would take any small amount of precaution I could against the Grand Game, especially when in their court. I could give them no reason to look down on myself or the Inquisition.

Of course… “I have but one request for the uniforms, Josephine.”

“If I can make it happen, I will. What is it?”

“I must still look Dalish.” I made sure she was looking directly in my eyes as I spoke, so that she would not misunderstand. “I will wear a uniform and whatever else you think is necessary, so long as it does not disguise that I am Dalish. If I am to wear a mask, it will bear my vallaslin. If the uniform is an Orlesian design, I would bear my clan’s crest.”

She made a few notes. “I do believe it can be done. You’ll have to show me the crest, and if there are colors of particular importance, I would like to know them, but—yes, I think we can have something arranged. I think you might even like it.”

I wasn’t so sure, but she smiled, and I took her word for it. She knew the Game well, and would not steer me wrong in that, at least. “Alright,” I said. “Ma serannas.”

 

“Is this seat taken?”

I looked up from my dinner to see Krem, hovering at the seat across from me. Smiling, I shook my head. “Only if you wish to have it.”

“Good.” He smiled back and sat down. “I, uh, was hoping to talk to you, too, actually, if that’s alright. Ask you some things and whatever.”

“Of course,” I said. Had he been waiting for me to come to the tavern for this? I usually took my meals with my clan or in my office. “What’s on your mind?”

He shrugged and stirred his food around on his plate. I thought it was nerves, but the action seemed too deliberate. Perhaps he just liked all his food mixed together. “Couple things. Not… not too big, not really, but, well.” He gestured with his spoon. “One of ‘em is something only you could answer, I think.”

Only me? But he didn’t know about my foresight, did he? “How so?”

“’Cause you’re like me. I mean, there might be others somewhere around, but I haven’t met any.” He coughed. “Men like us, I mean.”

Ah. I cracked a smile. “Self-made men.”

He snorted. “That’s one way to put it, sure. Anyway, uh, I just wanted to know—you said you didn’t know much about, uh… well. You look pretty much like any other elven man, and sound it, too. Most wouldn’t even suspect.”

“It’s true. But, ir abelas, I really do not know how or why.” It was my turn to stir my food, though I did it with less aim. “I know I am grateful for it, but my memory can tell me nothing of how I came to be like this.”

“Magic?”

“Probably.” I sighed. “It’s… a complicated thing. As far as I can tell, I simply appeared in the Brecilian Forest, Blighted, looking much as I am today—though with far fewer scars. I might suggest the shapeshifting, but I learned that after, and it doesn’t work that way. Ir abelas, I wish I could tell you more.”

He grunted. “Don’t think I’d want to fuck around with magic and my body anyway. I’m fine as I am, just, you know, curious. It’s frustrating sometimes—my back hurts if I bind too long—but armor’s a good cover. Wouldn’t know if I was shaped like a lamppost or a pot under a good layer of steel.”

“With the right helmet, you could be several angry weasels.”

“That’d be a sight. Probably more hissing, though. Do weasels hiss?”

“I have no idea. But I understand the curiosity.” I had often wondered how much more difficult things would be if I still dealt with the rest of what having a vagina usually entailed. Mostly, I was thankful I didn’t. I had a foggy recollection of menstrual pain being crippling, and no desire to make it clearer. “If I remember anything, or hear anything, I’ll tell you.”

“Sure,” he said, then bit his lip and glanced around. “There’s, uh, another thing. I could’ve asked Dalish, probably, but she’d laugh at me.”

He was blushing. I refrained from pointing it out, opting to nod in what I hoped was an appropriately encouraging way. “Ask away.”

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, glancing again around the tavern. “I’ve gathered that Dalish, ah, courting works… differently. From what I’m used to, I mean. And, well. I don’t—there’s a girl. Dalish. Not—not Dalish-in-the-Bull’s-Chargers-Dalish, but, like, normal kind of Dalish, like you. I mean, it’s not her name, she just is Dalish.”

I put a hand up, halting his rambling. “You want to know what the appropriate steps are?”

“Uh,” he said, “not—well, yes, but… Dalish courting is like marriage, right?” I nodded, and he kept talking. “Right, because I don’t know if I mean to go that far, but I just—I don’t want to upset her or give the wrong idea, but I do like her, and I want to get to know her and I’d like to… see if she’s open to the idea. Of me, I mean.”

I couldn’t help the smile. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to take offense to it. “We do have more casual relationships, too, sometimes. That’s how most courtships start. But it is a good idea, and it can be difficult to remember the cultural differences if one is unprepared, so I’ll help you.”

“You will?” he asked, sitting up a bit straighter.

“I will.” That got me a smile, and I began, “First, you should know that gifts in a Dalish romantic relationship are only for the most serious of couples…”

Notes:

fen'harel ma tel'ghilana - (may) the dread wolf not guide you

-

most of the dalish courting will based on what canon has said with a good mix of personal 'oh this would be neat' headcanoning

also? fuck gaspard de chalons. just saying. i'm not making up extra bad shit to make him seem a Full Villain, either; that's just how shitty he is in canon.

Chapter 16: we're off to kill the wizard, the asshole wizard at adamant

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The next morning, as it so happened, there was an excellent chance to display Dalish courting and culture. All of Clan Sabrae gathered around a fire made at the edge of our aravels, and we welcomed outsiders to join us. It was for a celebration and a test, one that we were delighted to share.

Dima played her crwth and led songs as we waited for the main event, and the hahrens conferred behind me. Krem sat next to me, watching the goings-on with interest—watching Dima, in particular, with interest. I tried to hide my smile; were both Lavellans so magnetic to Tevinters?

“So, you said this was like an engagement party,” Krem began, glancing around, “but I don’t see anyone being congratulated.”

“They’re not engaged yet. Remember, I said it was also a test.” I pointed at the wide clearing of space near the fire. “We’ve made a stage, there. Soon, our happy couple will come to prove to the clan that they are suitable for each other, and should be allowed to marry.”

“That doesn’t sound like a party.”

I shrugged. “I suppose it depends on who you speak to. It’s mostly a formality, anyway, though I hear Pol and Ellana chose to do a song and dance.”

“A… song and dance? Didn’t you say they’re trying to prove they should be married?”

Now I smirked at him. “I told you it was a party. Yes. One of the final steps is gaining the hahrens’ approval, though it is, as I said, mostly a formality. This is done by the couple proving that they can work together for a common goal. How they wish to show this is up to them, and there is no shortage in ways that have been done. Performing a song and dance is a popular choice.”

“I don’t really get how that shows they can work together,” Krem said, scrunching his nose, “but at least it makes more sense than a man asking a girl’s father if he can marry her.”

“Traditions are a strange thing, aren’t they?” I asked. He laughed. “Variel and Arshil wove a blanket that told one of the stories of our gods, then told us the story as they displayed the blanket. I’m told that Hahren Paivel and his wife performed a reenactment of their favorite story.”

He tilted his head, apparently considering the information. “Is it always arts and singing and such, then?”

“Not always, no. It is more common, but not at all the only choice. Mheganni’s parents finished their aravel.” The clan had helped to build a great deal, I was told, as an aravel takes far more precision to be effective than a blanket or a performance, but they’d done enough to satisfy the hahrens.

“Good.” Krem coughed. “I mean, good to know. Interesting. Didn’t know that before, obviously.” He coughed again, then shifted. “What about you? I mean, you’re not married, right? I know—uh, well. Are you married?”

I couldn’t help but lift my eyebrows as Krem went on, and tried not to laugh at his expense. “No, I’m not. I haven’t exactly led the sort of life that allows for things like romance and marriage, and there are… personal reasons, I suppose, that I… I’ve just never pursued it.”

Krem nodded, and turned back to where Dima was leaning in to hear a child’s request. “What do you think you’d want to do, then? To prove you should marry someone or whatever.”

Music, of course, seemed the obvious answer, but perhaps it seemed too obvious. And I didn’t know, if ever I were to be married, whether my husband would know how to sing. The only time I had heard Cullen—no, stop right there. I couldn’t let my heart get away from my head. The reasons I was unmarried were legion, and I did not even know if Cullen so much as shared my affection.

“I am partial to singing myself,” I answered, keeping my voice light enough that Krem did not press. “But it is meant to be a collaboration, so I would always have to consider what my husband-to-be might want, as well.”

He made an affirming grunt. “Makes sense.” I caught him looking at me from the corner of his eyes. “Is it… I know your clan doesn’t have an issue calling you a man, but is—is it ever a problem? Would you still have to marry a man?”

His words pulled on my heartstrings, and I put my hand on his shoulder. “Ir abelas, Krem, I should have remembered how strict Tevinter is about such things. My people are by no means perfect, but this is one thing that we do not worry for. A man is a man because he says so, and one cannot control love. We marry for love, in whatever form it takes. It simply happens that I am attracted to men, so I would marry one.”

He nodded, quickly. “But if you liked women, you could marry one, then?”

“Of course, da’len.” Krem was not much younger than me, but the term felt right regardless. I squeezed his shoulder, and he leaned in to bump against me.

“Thanks. I… well. Can’t say I wish I was born Dalish, ‘cause I’m happy where I’m at, but it’s good to know that it’s—that not everyone cares. I know the south has never cared as much as Tevinter—Grim and Stitches are evidence enough of that—but, well. The Dalish are different. And being a man who wasn’t born one is different, too.”

I didn’t get a chance to respond; at that moment, the small gathered crowd began whooping too loudly to allow for chatter. In our cleared stage, Pol and Ellana walked in from opposite sides of the fire, waving. Dima paused her playing, and when the couple nodded, she started a new tune.

Pol stepped around and began to sing, “I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning…

He wasn’t the best singer, nor the best dancer, but he managed to be charmingly enthusiastic and earnest, clearly winning over his audience even without expertise. Ellana was a great match—a bit shyer and clearly more nervous about people, but her voice was clearer, and she seemed to forget her nerves as they swept each other in circles around the little ‘stage.’ The music grew louder and faster with their footsteps, and soon we were all clapping along.

I’ll gladly ride the waves so white, and you will marry me!” As the couple finished their song, they spun around one more time—and fell, but threw their hands up anyway, laughing enough that we knew they weren’t hurt.

I joined their laughter and joy, and the hahrens moved forward to give their blessings. Beside me, Krem was clapping, too. “Way better than the Tevinter way,” he said, and we joined in the congratulations.

At the fringes, I saw some other non-Dalish who had come to observe the commotion. Among them stood a few I would recognize anywhere; I smiled and waved to Varric and Cullen and received the same in kind. I did not wonder whether Cullen would ever agree to sing a song with me for the hahrens’ blessing. I did not.

(I did.)

 

The tailors that Josephine had brought to Skyhold were predictably enthusiastic at the undertaking, and I wondered how long that would last. At least we would look strong and sharp, and maybe even good. Their sketches were too chaotic for me to make sense of when I caught a glimpse, but perhaps that was for the best.

To my surprise, they asked to see my ceremonial robes, and hummed and examined and compared to no end.

“Are the colors significant?” they asked.

“Green and brown are common for the Dalish, and gold represents Hanal’ghilan.”

“This metal halla skull thing?”

“My clan’s crest.”

“The embroidery?”

“In the image of Ghilan’nain’s vallaslin, which I bear.”

And so on. Once in a while, the tailors would confer with each other, muttering in quick, jargon-laden Orlesian that I could not quite parse. They measured every inch of my body, even reaching their measuring tapes to places that had me blushing, moving my arms and legs as they needed. I would have protested the treatment if I could not clearly see them doing much the same to a very patient Vivienne.

They had fewer questions for her, unsurprisingly, and she seemed to know what to expect. I was clearly broadcasting my discomfort, because she smiled at me and said, “Don’t fret, dear, this is how it goes. You are in good hands, I assure you. The best outside of Celene’s personal tailors, in fact.”

“But of course!” one tailor said. “Nothing less for the Inquisition. No one can stop talking about you for more than a handful of minutes; we simply had to ensure we would be mentioned, too.”

A very Orlesian reason. As the circumference of my thigh was measured, I did my best to relax. “As long as I am consulted about any inspiration you may derive of the Dalish, I will leave the process of creation in your hands.”

“We are artists, Ser Vir’era! We shall not disappoint. Lady Josephine has explained to us your concerns, and we will make certain you look as much Dalish as you look part of the Inquisition, ne vous inquiétez pas!”

“Désolé, mais je m’inquiète toujours.”

The tailors tittered, apparently delighted at my use of Orlesian, and that did nothing to reassure me that they would be as respectful as I wanted—but, well, hopefully they would take more inspiration from my robes than from whatever stories they’d heard in Val Royeaux.

At least Vivienne looked pleased. While we rather deliberately did not stray from easy, light topics (“I hear your clan is readying for a wedding” led to Orlesian weddings and from there to parties and somehow back to what these peace talks might look like), Vivienne and I managed to have what I found to be an enjoyable conversation.

Of course, she always at least spoke civilly, even to those she did not like; she only asserted her dislike when opportune moments came, and I knew this. I did not know if she disliked me, and she likely wanted it that way—and I could not help but hope that she might not. I didn’t agree with her view on Circles, but I didn’t hate her. She was not evil, not even as selfish as I might have once expected.

She was just one of the lucky ones, and luck can be so very blinding.

 

Kumbukani swung her sword down at me, and I jumped backwards, scrambling to leave paralyzing glyphs in my place. The blade hit me even so; my shield spell was the only thing saving me from a truly terrible bruise. My glyph did force a moment’s pause from her, at least, which was enough that I could call up roots to ensnare her legs.

I ducked around her side, ignoring the way she stabbed her sword in my general direction with a swear. I brought Littlefoot up—and had to spin away from a burst of frost from Vivienne’s staff. Kumbukani was still caught, for the moment, though some flames flickered in my peripheral vision, so I shrunk down to skirt the edges as a cat.

Driscoll did well enough recapturing Vivienne’s attention. His blasts of force magic rocked even the ground around us, and when I was directly behind Vivienne, I raced forward, becoming a mabari mid-run.

I leapt for her back—and was punched from my course by Kumbukani’s force magic, leaving me rolling in the dirt for a few feet. I pushed myself up onto two feet again, raising my staff and a wall of fire to separate Kumbukani and Vivienne from myself and Driscoll.

Driscoll panted and wiped sweat from his face, but didn’t take his eyes from the two across the flames. I came to his side, waiting for their move.

With a shout, Kumbukani simply ran right through the wall of fire, raising her sword to take a swing at Driscoll. He yelped and scrambled backwards, and I shot Littlefoot out to catch her blade. My arms vibrated with the hit. She used the momentum to duck under and sweep Driscoll’s legs from under him. In moments, she was on top of him.

Meanwhile, Vivienne and I exchanged glancing blasts of frost and nature magics, circling away from the charred line of my faded fire. We each pressed forward with each shot, moving quicker, and as soon as she was in range, I ducked low and thrust Littlefoot’s blade up toward her neck.

She had her staff up, clearly about to send its blade in my direction, too, but I was just that hair quicker—just that hair more experienced in battle, perhaps.

“Draw!” Cullen called, walking into the arena. “Driscoll, you’re captured. If Vir’era hadn’t blocked Kumbukani’s sword, you’d be dead. Your staff can be used as a weapon as much as a focus; don’t forget that. It might save your life.”

Driscoll groaned loudly. “I’m a lover, not a fighter! Can’t I just stay here and look pretty? Isn’t that what you do?”

“I can still fight,” Cullen said, “and I do so, when it is necessary. I stay here to work on strategy and train our soldiers, not to look pretty.”

“Well, then, I’ll stay here to comfort the soldiers and look pretty.”

At the edge of the ring, I heard the Iron Bull’s distinct laughter. “Don’t let Cullen get you too down! It’s nice to have someone that looks pretty.”

“You’ll protect me, right, Bull, darling? You’re big and strong enough.”

“Yeah, sure. Just stay near me and look pretty.”

“It’s what I’m best at.”

As Kumbukani let Driscoll get up, and he took the opportunity to go flirt more with the Iron Bull instead of listening to any other advice Cullen might have, I rolled my eyes. Listening to them was worse than Dorian and Amir. At least those two had some measure of self-control; the Iron Bull and Driscoll were a chaotic, horny mess.

Cullen just sighed and shook his head. “You three did well, at least. Kumbukani, you do rely a bit too much on your physical attacks when going up against someone like Vir’era who can trap you. Try using your magic more. You’re perfectly capable.”

“Yeah, I know,” she grumbled. “Most mages are like Driscoll, though. It’s usually fine.”

“Usually won’t save your life against the Venatori.”

She huffed. “Yeah, yeah. If I’m gonna practice more magic, though, it’ll cut into my sparring time. You fine if I don’t help as much with the new recruits?”

“Yes. Jewel and Krem have offered to help out, so we’ll be fine.” Then Cullen turned to Vivienne. “Lady Vivienne, fine form as always. I’d recommend keeping a closer eye for attacks from behind, but I realize Vir’era’s shapeshifting is a special case.”

“No, dear,” Vivienne insisted, “it is still a good recommendation. He might be the only shapeshifter we know, but that does not mean there are not other ways to sneak up from behind. Amir and that demon are both quite adept at appearing when it is least expected.”

“Very true.” Last, he turned to me. “Vir’era, you should keep awareness even of opponents you’ve trapped. Kumbukani wouldn’t have hit you if you’d realized she had kept track of where you were.”

“You’re right, of course.” Tunnel vision was a terrible habit, and had proven incredibly difficult to break. It was just so much easier to focus on one opponent at a time—whoever was in front of me or most vulnerable. “Will there be a another match I can join in for more practice some other time?”

He nodded. “I’m planning a mixed match set tomorrow. Team size will depend on how many agree.”

“Mark me down,” Kumbukani said, immediately. “And Ade, too, he could use the practice.”

“I think I will sit that one out,” Vivienne said. “Josephine and I will be with the tailors all morning.”

Cullen looked to me, eyebrows up in silent question, and I nodded. “I will participate. If you like, I will spread word to my clan, as well. Some of the hunters may wish to join.”

“A fine idea. We may have multiple bouts, if we have enough volunteers.” After a few moments more of idly discussing the plans, Vivienne and Kumbukani bid us adieu, and Cullen shifted his full attention to me. “Vir’era, if you have the time to spare, could we speak? Somewhere a bit more private, preferably.”

My heart began to pick up its pace, even though I knew his tone to mean there was business he wanted to talk about. Something sensitive, perhaps, given the request for privacy. I smiled and motioned my arms towards my office. “I believe I’m nearer. At least, there will be fewer stairs to climb.”

He huffed a small laugh, and we walked in comfortable silence. When my door was shut and we were sitting in front of my desk, he sighed, long and slow. “Do you remember Samson?”

“Not well,” I admitted. “I… I do not know much about him, except that he was one of Meredith’s victims, that he was unpleasant, and that—well, that he would be where he is now. What he is now.”

“Did you…” He pursed his lips, frowning down at his hands. “Did you try to help him?”

The shameful truth was no, and I realized it all at once when he asked the question. I looked down at my own hands, as if they might tell me why I had forgotten him, but received no insight. “I—no. I didn’t. I… I can’t say that I truly forgot. I knew. But I—no, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t even try.”

Cullen nodded. “I didn’t, either. I didn’t know what you did, but I knew enough. I had heard he was doing unsavory things for lyrium. There are places he could’ve gone, to recover. He’s not the only one. Many ex-Templars do whatever it takes to get their lyrium. It’s part of why I stopped taking it. It would be too easy for me to become just like him.”

“Cullen…”

“I won’t be.” He looked up, meeting my eyes. “Thanks to you, I won’t be.”

I reached over, putting my hand on his arm. “Thanks to you. You are the one who chose to stop, not me. I support the decision, of course, and I think it’s the best thing for you, ultimately, but it was you who made the choice.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “And maybe I would have made it even if you weren’t here, but you made it easy.”

I squeezed his arm. “Don’t you dare doubt yourself, Cullen Stanton Rutherford. You are a wonderful, strong man. It was you, and it was always going to be you.”

It felt almost like a confession, but if he heard it, he made no indication. He put his hand on mine. “I’m trying to show my appreciation, Vir’era. You’re supposed to accept it, not fight me about it.”

“Well, maybe you need to appreciate yourself, then. I certainly do.” As I spoke, he laughed and released my hand, and I took it back slowly.

“I think Dorian and Varric’s egos are enough for the Inquisition to deal with. It’s probably for the best that I keep mine in check.” He grinned, leaning on my desk with one arm, and I couldn’t help but mirror the pose.

“I’ll argue with you about your self-worth later, but you’re right about Dorian and Varric. It’s probably a good thing Malia isn’t a permanent addition to our forces.” I loved her, I did, but Malia tended to think so highly of herself that she encouraged Varric’s exaggerating by contributing to his stories of her exploits with her own embellished details.

Cullen snorted. “Actually, I think we could use an egotistic woman, if only to help balance things out. We’ve had mostly the men, so far. All the women here seem to be completely aware of exactly how powerful they are. Except maybe Sera. I… don’t understand Sera.”

I shrugged. “I’m not certain Sera understands Sera, and I think it’s on purpose, so at least you’re not alone there. You’re right, though—we’ve ended up with a bunch of egotistical men, and a few too humble for their abilities, but a very impressive cadre of women who know it.”

“Amir is one of the ones you think too humble, isn’t he?”

“Do you disagree?”

“No.” He rested his head against his hand, eyes shining with something bright. “But I’m wondering if it isn’t a Dalish trait, somehow. Like all that ambition in Orlais, or the well-documented Fereldan stubbornness.”

“Careful, now,” I murmured, but I smiled anyway. “Most of my people are very proud, and we know it. Amir is a special case.”

“And you?”

I considered it. “I… am proud of the things that I have worked for: my clan, my magic, my learning. Even, to an extent, my singing. I see no reason to have pride over the things that were handed to me, though. I did with them what I thought was right, as any moral person would. That’s all.”

“Mm. I suppose that does make sense.” He heaved a great sigh and sat back, watching me. I looked back, hoping that it wasn’t obvious how I was admiring the way the fire played off his hair, making it look even softer, even more inviting, and I forced myself back from touching it. He moved incrementally closer, slowly enough that I almost didn’t notice, and took my hands in his. “Vir’era, about Adamant…”

“I won’t stay behind,” I said, pressing my fingers against his. “I’ll be fine. Corypheus won’t be there.”

“Your journal said his dragon will.”

“His dragon cannot control me.”

His grip tightened, not enough to be painful, but certainly enough not to ignore. “I can’t—we can’t risk losing you. I—I need you to be safe. You’re too valuable to the Inquisition, t-to me.”

He didn’t look away, but I did. I looked down at our hands. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, for once, and I could feel the callouses on his hands against those on mine. I held harder, my fingers turning white with the pressure. “Ir abelas,” I whispered. “I can’t stay behind, Cullen, not when I can be there, helping. You have my journal. You know what will happen.”

“I’m not talking about your gift, Vir’era.” His voice was almost as quiet as mine. “Just you. Void take that journal; it doesn’t matter, if you’re not—given a choice, I would choose you, every time.”

“I… ma serannas.” I took a slow breath, then peered back at him. “But, Cullen, will you not be there? Will you not be in danger yourself, leading the army?”

“I have to. It’s my job, as their Commander.” But I could see his shoulders dropping, his hands going slack.

I held on, not letting him slip away. “Then you know it is my job, too. I am not a Commander or a Spymaster, but a good Keeper does not send people where they are unwilling to go themself. I must be there.”

He nodded, quietly, and let out a long breath. “I wish you were not right, but you are. Will you—please, Vir’era, take care. For me. Be as safe as you can.”

“I always am.” Quirking my lips into a half smile, I added, “Besides, I have luck on my side, don’t I?”

The quietest laugh left his lips. “I suppose you do. Hopefully, it will always bring you back to me.”

“It seems to have worked so far.”

He leaned closer. “Vir’era, I—”

My office door opened. “Keeper! Amir is back and ready to report.”

We stood quickly and followed Adegoke out, the interrupted words forgotten. It was time to make the plan for how to attack Adamant.

 

Traveling to Adamant with our forces was no easy task. Even with Orlesian forces all focused on each other, we were still an army, and we had war machines. Trebuchets were heavy, huge things that required both man- and horsepower to move. The journey took just over two weeks of hard marching, and felt too much like the escape from Haven for comfort.

Again, I spent most of the day as a halla, better able to travel and pull in that shape, only regaining my natural form when we stopped to rest. Most of my clan did not join us; they were not part of the army. A few insisted on helping, though I did my best to keep them to roles that had the least risk. Perhaps it was favoritism, but our clan was already so small—I did not want to lose anyone, if I could avoid it, and they had not signed up for this.

Josephine and Leliana were less hesitant than Cullen to allow me along. They only ensured I would keep my mind, knowing as well as I that we would need every capable hand we could spare.

I would accompany Amir, as would Dorian, Solas, and Cassandra. Other teams had been organized, too; most of Amir’s inner circle would act as strike teams to keep our soldiers as safe as we could manage.

Those who knew of my gift knew that it was very likely any with Amir would be walking into the Fade today. Our team had been chosen for that—Solas knew more of the Fade than anyone, Cassandra was our best against demons, and Dorian… Well. I suspected Amir’s choice had more to do with affection, but Dorian was a very capable mage who respected but did not fear the Fade.

I was terrified of it.

I didn’t say as much to anyone, but it was true nonetheless. I did not know what would happen if I set foot in that place. Would I even be able to? I wasn’t supposed to be here, in Thedas, and the Fade knew things that the flesh did not; it was impossible to predict how it would react to me.

Still, I had to go. I was determined to. With Amir, I could ensure fewer Grey Wardens lost their lives to this terrible betrayal, and in the Fade, I could ensure it was Loghain who remained to destroy the Nightmare. It was time for his penance, a plan a decade old, and I could not afford to let it fail now.

When Adamant was within view, I could feel it. At the very edges of my consciousness, mingling with the ever-present echoes of a False Calling, the Taint grew stronger. This was an old place, long ago Blighted, and I felt that curse deep within the earth as surely as it was in my blood—as surely as it was in the blood of every Warden at Adamant.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

I was not the only one who had nightmares. I knew Cullen suffered from them, too, and I could hear, when mine were too much for sleep, the cries and whimpers of others in our camp. At least it was rare, now, for me to scream in my sleep. My nightmares had become rote.

I stared at the fire, wishing I were asleep. Cole came to sit with me. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“What for?” I asked.

“I can’t make the nightmares stop for you. They come from your blood, bubbling, breaking, bursting, creating cacophonies you can’t control. You’re not afraid of the darkspawn.” He sat so still as he stared into the flames. There was no doubt that he was not quite human.

“No,” I agreed, picking up a stick to poke at the fire. “I’m not.”

“You’re afraid of what happens after. Thirty years, give or take. It has already been eleven.”

My hand froze for a moment, and I pulled my knees tighter to my chest. “Yes.” The word was barely a whisper.

“Your friends are trying to fix it. They don’t want to die, either.” He sat up straighter, somehow mimicking Capella’s posture perfectly. “We can’t just disappear like Maric did. Ferelden needs us, Alistair.” He looked at me again. “It’s hard. Even the Grand Enchanter doesn’t know.”

And how would she? It hadn’t been intentional. She’d even tried to Join again, but it wouldn’t take. Had something made her blood too pure to be tainted? Could that even happen?

“The answer is the easy part. But first they must ask the right question.”

And when I looked up again, Cole was gone. We knew the answer, after all. The Taint could be cured. All that was left was to figure out how. Cole’s words echoed in my mind, though. If ‘how’ was not the right question, what was? What were we missing?

Notes:

for the dancing and the dreaming

loooooots of personal dalish culture headcanons. feel free to use if you like i'm mostly just making shit up as i go and trying to make it fun and new and interesting.

ne vous inquiétez pas - don't worry!
Désolé, mais je m’inquiète toujours - sorry, but i always worry

Chapter 17: the long run

Notes:

this is, i'm pretty sure, my longest chapter to date. it's almost long enough to be two chapters, even, but i didn't want to separate it up like that.

a lot happens! i hope you're ready!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The morning that we began the full march on Adamant Fortress dawned with anticipation, all the world seeming to hold a collective breath. Though our march was not silent, there was very little chatter.

I did not make this final stretch as a halla. Instead, I rode my hart alongside Amir on his dracolisk. My old Grey Warden armor had been polished for this, and while its plates would protect better than my robes, it no longer felt like a second skin. I had forgotten how the straps pressed against my shoulders, had forgotten that tugging too hard would make my collarbone ache with the memory of Fort Drakon.

It took me twenty minutes to arrange the strap so that it did not rest directly on that scar. I knew it would likely return there as I battled, but at least I could keep the discomfort at bay while I rode.

Cullen rode beside us on a horse. My hart, Spirit, was taller than his horse, and it was just enough that I was, for once, of a height with him. Perhaps in other circumstances, I would have taken more delight from the situation, but as it was…

Adamant loomed before us.

With the sand and the sun, I kept expecting myself to grow hot. Deserts were meant to be unbearable, weren’t they? Overwhelming with heat and mirages, disorienting and dangerous—but the Western Approach was not. It was dangerous, and perhaps disorienting, but it was no warmer than the rest of Orlais, no dryer.

The sun still reflected in sadistic waves from the sand, but heat did not warp our vision or parch our throats. This was not a natural desert, and it reminded us that with every step we took. This was a forsaken, Blighted place. Whispers of it touched my soul, tugged at every scar a darkspawn had inflicted upon me, pulling shivers from my skin.

I could not be done with this place soon enough.

We dismounted at a distance where our mounts would be safe, leaving behind a skeleton crew of soldiers to watch them. Cavalry would be of little use against a fortress like Adamant; no point in extra death. A forward battalion was readied, the trebuchets prepared, the battering ram pulled forward.

Shield bearers formed a turtle shell under which our team would approach. Only when the doors had been breached would we move forward. I watched Cassandra and Varric exchange a lingering conversation, watched Dorian fret over Amir, watched Solas kiss Mheganni’s palm.

Cullen’s hand on my elbow drew my attention away. His head was bent forward, like he couldn’t decide whether to lean closer to my level or not, and his face was lined with concern. I gave my best attempt at a reassuring smile. “It’s not too late,” he said. “You could stay with me.”

“I know,” I answered, “but this is something I need to see through. I’ll come back.”

“You can’t know that.” He pressed closer until our bodies were nearly touching, hunched over until all I could see was him, and I could not ignore the fluttering in my chest. I put my arms up, around his neck, bringing him through that last distance and holding tight.

“Dirthavara, vhenan.” He couldn’t speak Elvish; I could get away with this one, selfish declaration. “Ma vhenas ma him; ar vir suledin. I will return, I promise.”

He did not hesitate to hug me back, his arms going around me and pulling me as close as our armor would allow. I could feel his face press against my neck, and allowed myself to do the same. I held on a touch longer than was perhaps proper, not letting go until Cullen did, too, and let my hand trail up to his face as we separated, holding his cheek. “I will come back,” I repeated.

He took a long breath and nodded. “I will be waiting,” he said, and for a moment it looked like he would say something more, but no words followed. He just stared down at me, and I up at him, then stepped away.

I turned to my team, and we stepped under the shield formation for the final approach to Adamant.

 

War is loud. It is clanging metal and heaving stones and pained shouts, underscored by footsteps and panting and bowstrings. Demons lent their bone-scarring screeches to the cacophony, rendering it nearly unbearable. I could feel, mired in with the Blight and the presence of so many Wardens, that the Veil was threadbare here. It had likely been so even before all of this.

I followed Amir’s lead. We struck down demon after demon as we forged our way. Once or twice, I would urge him in a different direction. “There are more Wardens to the left.” or “I sense Wardens coming behind us.”

For his part, he listened—and, more than that, he did what he could to spare them. “No killing blows if you can avoid it!” he told us. “If we can save them, we will!”

It was a far more optimistic thought than was perhaps warranted, but I appreciated it anyway. Not that we saw many Wardens, really; those we did come across tended to run when they saw us destroying the demons. Whether it was self-preservation or something else… I didn’t know. We didn’t have the time to chase them down regardless.

We did come across one group that was less than pleased with the circumstances, not terribly far into the fortress. I could hear one of them shouting at an ensorcelled mage, begging him to see reason. He did not, of course. He fell with the demons.

They raised their weapons against us, and at Amir’s glance, I stepped forward. There was not a single face among them that I recognized. I wasn’t certain if I should be happy or sad, searching as I was for the ones I knew, yet hoping none had fallen. “Wardens! I am Vir’era Sabrae, senior Grey Warden of Ferelden! The Inquisition is here to help put an end to this madness!”

“Warden Vir’era Sabrae?” a woman asked. “I thought all the Wardens of the Fifth Blight had disappeared.”

The words were encouraging. “We did. I came back to help the Inquisition, to prevent all of southern Thedas’ Wardens from being destroyed; we would welcome your aid, if you would lend it.”

She looked at the others with her, and they spent a moment in silent discussion. In the corner of my eye, my companions inched along, antsy to leave, but I stood still until she looked back at me. “We’re with you, ser.”

I nodded. “Spread word, Warden. Knock the mages out if you can; they may yet be saved. Your Commander has been manipulated, and you are being used. We will not harm any who do not first raise their blades against us.”

With that, we were gone. I did not watch to ensure she would hold true, instead choosing to trust, and following Amir as we continued on to the battlements. The Hawkes and Loghain were out here somewhere—we were due to find them soon enough.

The thought had barely finished crossing my mind when we came across Malia. She and a handful of Inquisition soldiers were holding off a Pride demon, and though they were doing well against it, the other demons surrounding and harassing them turned it into a very unstable situation.

I swung Maleficent around for an arcing blast of cold, distracting the nearest shades and completely redirecting a rage demon. The rage demon turned on me, and I dealt with it as I had so many others of its kind.

Amir’s arrows pierced some of the Pride demon’s eyes, backing it close to the wall, and our soldiers took advantage to cut deep into its legs. Cassandra and Malia cut through the shades methodically, and the area was quickly cleared.

“Where are the others?” Amir asked, walking up to Malia.

She looked around. “I’m not sure anymore. Garrett and Anders went further up, and I told Fenris to clear the way for more of your soldiers. No idea about your other teams or Loghain, though.”

“Well, hopefully we run into them. We don’t have the time to look. Will you join us?”

“Sure. Not doing any good standing around with my thumb up my ass, am I?” She grinned and fell into step behind Amir, and we continued on.

It wasn’t hard. Perhaps it should have been, with Adamant and the Grey Wardens’ reputation, but it simply wasn’t. Corypheus could perhaps control the mages bound by whatever ritual he had concocted, but he could not do it well. They were clumsy at best, their reactions halting and slow; the others had no heart in the fight.

The demons were the biggest trouble, and even they had become little more than tedious to deal with. Once in a while there would be a demon that posed actual threat, but they were so few and far between that they hardly mattered.

Either way, it was clear that we were winning.

Inquisition forces overwhelmed the demons around every corner, as more and more of the Grey Wardens yielded or surrendered. I saw Wardens sitting against walls, weapons on the ground in front of them, simply waiting while we and our soldiers pressed forward. Not one face among them all did I recognize. I told myself this was good, but did not believe it.

Garrett and Anders found us and fell into step with barely more than a hello; Fenris and Loghain were at opposite ends of a long stretch of wall that positively teemed with shades. It was starting to feel truly endless, all the fighting. I was growing tired. When was the last time I had spent so long in battle? When was the last time I had used so much magic?

Up one set of stairs, down another. Greater terror, despair, rage… and shades beyond counting. Clear the area. Nod at surrendering Wardens. Wash, rinse, repeat.

When, at long last, we came through to the greatest gathering of Grey Wardens, I thanked the gods with a silent prayer. The courtyard wasn’t full; there was a cleared space in the center, where cracks in the Veil were visible to even those among us who were not magically-inclined.

“That can’t be good,” Malia muttered.

On a balcony above, a woman who could only be Warden-Commander Clarel was saying something. A rallying speech, I thought, but I was too distracted to pay attention. Amir pushed forward, forcing Wardens to allow a path. “Stop this madness!” he cried. “You’re being manipulated!”

A squirrely-looking man, almost certainly Magister Erimond, moved up, speaking over Clarel—or trying to, at any rate.

“You have no right to speak!” I shouted. “Who are you to claim knowledge that would help the Grey Wardens?”

“I am the man who is helping! Unlike your Inquisition!” He raised his arm into the air. “I have ensured these Wardens will stop the Blights once and for all!”

“You have ensured they are slaves! You have sullied the Order!” My hands gripped Maleficent’s shaft tightly, hard enough that it almost hurt.

Amir gestured at the mages already bound to demons. “You created an army for Corypheus, and we are here to stop it! Please, Clarel, listen to us! This is Warden Vir’era Sabrae, a Hero of the Fifth Blight! Do you not think he would jump at the chance if this were true?”

Clarel began backing up, staring at Erimond. I could not see their expressions well enough to know what nuances could be seen on their faces, but I knew enough. Clarel had doubts.

“I warned you, Clarel! I told you he would lie!”

Her head whipped to me, and I saw her lift her staff. Erimond beat her to the punch, tapping his own to the stone. “My master thought you might cause trouble, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!”

Corypheus’ Archdemon crashed into the top of the fortress with a brain-melting bellow, and at last, the hesitation was lifted. Wardens shouted, Inquisition soldiers braced, and Clarel lashed out against Erimond.

She was too late to prevent the growing rift from being torn open, though. Demons immediately began to climb through, sparking up wild battle once more. We started to deal with them, but Amir kept moving forward. “After Clarel!” he called.

Could we avoid it? If he stayed here and just closed this rift, would going to the Fade be unnecessary?

He was moving too fast for me to articulate the thought. I glanced around, trying to keep track of the people who’d been with us. Garrett and Anders had disappeared in the melee, and Fenris was beyond earshot in the chaos. Malia was at my side, though, and Loghain was not far.

“Loghain!” I shouted. “With me!”

He followed in my wake without complaint. Dorian, Solas, and Cassandra were all but glued to Amir, and all we had to do was chase after them.

Clarel’s path was not a hard one to stay on. Neither she nor Erimond moved particularly fast, and there were lines of scarred stone trailing behind her. We might have caught up sooner, might have avoided catastrophe, if that damned Archdemon had not harried us the whole way.

It wasn’t trying to kill us. If it were, we would be in far worse condition. No, it simply got in our way over and over, snapping in our direction and blowing gouts of its corrupted breath to stall our progress.

When it finally stopped, it had set its sights on Clarel. The scene felt all too fast and all too slow all at once, as though I had seen it a hundred times: Clarel bit, the dragon advancing, the edge of an abyss, and Clarel’s final sacrifice.

I could have avoided the Fade. I could have flown away.

I dove in.

 

“Is this really the Fade?”

Amir spoke from somewhere on the ground near me. Our group was scattered upon various surfaces, gravity holding no visible law. I could feel the pure magic of the place as surely as I could see Amir—and, oh, wasn’t that interesting? He glowed.

Not in the kind of way that made me shield my eyes, nor in the way that indicates full-bodied happiness, but in a soft, diffused sort of way. The glow was strongest around his Marked hand, but had spread to every part of him. No one else was glowing. Just Amir, with wispy tendrils of the Fade sliding around his hand, up his arm, across his torso…

He didn’t seem to notice. No one did, not even Solas—though Solas did give me a strange, narrow-eyed stare. I only blinked slowly at him, and swore I could see a large wolf in his afterimage when my eyes were closed. My skin crawled.

“It is,” Solas said, answering Amir’s question.

“I’m too young to die,” Malia complained. She pushed down from a pillar where she stood sideways, falling momentarily to the ground before coming to stand at the same angle, on the same plane, as Amir and I.

I could hear Loghain make some comment, as well, before following Malia’s lead and joining us. I looked around, trying to understand the Fade, even though I knew there had never been a scholar to succeed in such an endeavor. Rightfully so; the landmasses in the Fade only seemed to make as much sense as a dream.

How fitting.

“There was a rift in the courtyard,” Amir said, then pointed to a swirling mass of bright green that seemed plausibly in reach. “There. It’s our only option, right now.”

By instinct, we clumped close together. No one seemed at ease in this liminal space, and being physically in a place that one was only meant to access through dreams was incredibly disorienting. I had been to the Fade before, in dreams and during the Blight, but never had it shown itself like this to my unconscious mind. This was something altogether new, and I did not like any of it.

When I looked somewhere, it would remain relatively constant, with only the strange configuration to give away that it was unnatural. But if I looked away, then attempted to look back, it would have reshaped itself into something else entirely. I saw cliffs that became statues; statues that became buildings; buildings that became empty pools. The discomfort in my bones grew stronger.

There would be no backtracking. “Everyone, stay within view, please,” I asked. “I don’t know that we will be able to find each other again if we become separated.”

“A good plan. The Fade is notoriously tricky for those unfamiliar.” For Solas to agree so easily, it had to be a very real danger. I suppressed a shiver at the thought.

“Comforting!” Malia exclaimed. “Super comforting! Very good to hear, definitely wanted to know that. I wasn’t going to wander off anyway, but for that, Vee, you get to hold my hand.” And then she did, in fact, take my hand. “This way, you’ll have to listen to your own advice, too.”

“Oh, I like how you think! Come here, Amir.” Dorian beckoned with one hand. “You’ll hold my hand.”

“I’m not holding hands with any of you,” Loghain grumbled, glowering around. As if to spite him, Dorian wiggled his free hand in my direction, and I obliged him, taking hold of it. I saw Malia do much the same to Cassandra, who huffed, but did relent. Even Solas acquiesced to holding Amir’s other hand when it was offered.

Cassandra held out her other hand to Loghain with raised eyebrows and a frown. All of us stared at him, and he crossed his arms. “We are not children,” he said. “I am older than all of you; I am fully capable of walking without aid.”

He was not older than Fen’Harel, could not possibly be, but there was no reason to say as much. Solas tilted his head and said, “Suit yourself, Warden Loghain, but do be sure to keep close. I cannot guarantee how the Fade will react to our physical presence.”

Loghain grumbled some more and still did not take Cassandra’s hand, so we moved on. Walking hand-in-hand(-in-hand-in…) slowed us some, but with how the landscape continuously changed, I felt far more secure holding onto them. If my grip was too tight, neither Malia nor Dorian complained.

It did not take long to find the Divine’s memory. She was—to me, it was obvious. She could not be the Divine, because she was clearly not human. There was something in her that warped just like the rest of the Fade, shifting ever so slightly beyond my field of vision. It aged her.

When I met her, she had been fairly young still, for a Divine. But this spirit, or echo, or whatever she was—she was old. Lines collected on her face with every passing moment, though her skin renewed each time I looked away. She kept aging to match what I had once expected, colorless and crumpled. My skin shivered as I watched, a ripple that started at the base of my neck and ended at my fingers and toes.

It felt like my body wanted to reshape itself, too.

The idea nauseated me enough that I did not pay attention to the conversation with the Divine’s memory. I did not trust how shapeshifting might work in the Fade. Something about it felt inherently wrong, like I might not recover myself. I suppressed a shudder and fought down the impulses in my bones, forcing them to maintain their shape.

We were soon hunting for Amir’s memories. Loghain suggested splitting up to cover ground faster, but was soundly shut down. It was not the worst idea he could have suggested. Just close.

The memories were… strange. They were suspended in the air, shattered and scattered, and their echoes spoke as Amir recollected them. I could almost see the scene myself: the Fade made the stage, reflected their contents. The Divine hung above, in Fade and memory, trapped there, here.

But her memory was not the only being to notice our presence.

Chittering spiderlings—too large for normal spiders, too small for the giant ones—swarmed upon us, and we were forced to break our safety line to dispatch them. In the distance, a roll of thunderous laughter let us know: we were seen.

“Maker’s hairy ballsack!” Malia exclaimed, shoving her daggers wildly into the creatures. “Why! Why, why, why! This makes no sense! There’s no water here!”

“Why would spiders need water?” Amir asked, even as he lined up shot after shot.

“Spiders? These are freaky little—fish things!” Malia jumped when one began to climb her, and I shot it off with a bit of frost from Maleficent before returning to keeping them all the fuck away from me.

“I see maggots,” Cassandra said. “I do not understand.”

“Little fears, most likely,” Solas explained. “They are different depending on the viewer.”

“Oh. Disgusting.” She cut another in half, and Malia whined again about… whatever it was she was seeing. Fish of some sort, apparently. I tried not to look to closely at the spiders, and felt sorry for Amir seeing the same thing. He most likely had to deal with far too many of their larger cousins on his missions.

We did cut them all down after a moment, regrouping quickly into our awkward conga line of hand-holding, if with looser fingers. Everyone seemed to itch for their weapons, and it competed with the fear of becoming lost. I suspected we would not be easily lost, now that the Divine’s memory and the Nightmare had both found us, but it was still too strong a fear to ignore.

When the Nightmare spoke to us, using Corypheus’ voice, I almost managed to ignore it—almost. It was focused on Amir at first, its mimicked voice playing out only in my ears. “… You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fear is me.”

Amir was silent in response. It was unusual enough that I peered around Dorian at him to find his face set with determination. He kept moving onward, ignoring the taunting words, knowing there was only one way out. It was admirable.

Still, the Nightmare made certain to jeer at us each in turn as we wandered the meandering pathways of the Fade, stopping only to fight its fearlings when they came upon our group or to collect more of Amir’s missing memories. It was not a kind creature.

As we came across a shattered eluvian: “Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din.”

“Banal nadas.”

Near a broken statue of Urthemiel: “Greetings, Dorian... It is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father.”

“Rather uncalled for.”

After finding a memory behind a cauldron: “Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your faith has been for naught.”

“Die in the Void, demon.”

While we finished another group of fearlings: “Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Fenris is going to die, just like Bethany, just like your father.”

“Well, that’s going to grow tiresome quickly.”

When we found a vial of Archdemon blood: “Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, the brilliant commander. Pity the one time you tried to rule, you failed so miserably. You had to be beaten, humiliated, lest you destroy your own country. You even doomed the Wardens by bringing the Inquisitor down on them. You destroy everything you touch.”

“Is that all you’ve got? It’s nothing I’ve not said to myself.”

It was impossible to see if the demon’s words were finding purchase in our friends, but I knew it was trying, and I knew it was touching the rawest nerve, the ugliest open wound it could find. I prepared myself for its attention, heart rate building and pounding beneath my skin like it had not in some time.

The Nightmare, when it focused on me, seemed to speak from everywhere. Its voice permeated my mind, diving deep into the marrow of my bones with that humorless chuckle. “At last we meet,” it said to me. “I have watched you for so very long, little impostor.” My hands tightened around Dorian and Malia’s, and the Nightmare laughed. “Did you think you forgot on your own? You were never meant to be here. Your plans have been for naught, and I grow stronger for your fear. You have fed me well.”

I shuddered, fighting the urge to transform into something small and unnoticeable. It knew my every anxiety, my every fear, and I had many. Far more than the average person. It was not lying, but—well, Loghain had a point, earlier. I swallowed down my unease. “I am stronger than my fear. I am stronger than you.”

The Nightmare’s chuckle was too dismissive to make my words feel like anything more than a futile protest. I could only hold onto hope—the hope that we would be alright, that my old prophecies would not fail here, that this thing could be cowed long enough to allow our escape…

…even if it meant sacrifice. I looked at Loghain and found his eyes already on me. He nodded, and that was enough. He knew what had to be done. He knew why he was here.

Beside me, Malia squeezed my hand. “We’ll be fine,” she said. “We always are. And then we can tell everyone what they missed, and how heroic we were.” I forced a smile for her, but could not make it convincing.

A wall of stone melted before us, and a huge collection of memories hovered in the revealed plains. Amir started walking towards them immediately, but the sight of them scraped against me, and I felt rooted to the spot. They were near enough that the faintest echo of their contents made it to our ears—not enough to decipher, but enough that I dared not move.

I knew those sounds. Or maybe I didn’t, not now, but I had known them, once. Dorian turned around when I did not follow, began to speak; the Nightmare beat him to it. “They’re yours, little impostor.”

I could take them back. The Nightmare laughed, loud enough to drown out the echo of a sound I knew to be my name, even if I could not identify the vowels and consonants, could not hope to repeat it. I remained frozen.

“Keeper?” Amir asked. I did not respond.

“Take them, little impostor.”

I—could do it. I could take them. I could remember again, could know who I was and where I had come from, could have a past that was more than Blight and oracle. I could become myself. I could take the fear back, weaken the Nightmare…

“Do not.” Fen’Harel—no, Solas stared at me. “It is a trick,” he said. “These may well be your memories, but there will be consequences if you retrieve them.” I looked at the undulating, glowing field of them. In the middle, dark and impossibly large, was another eluvian.

No.

It… was something else. It looked like an eluvian, yes, but there was something inherently different to this mirror. Echoes of memories rang out. I thought I could see tabby fur in the dark glass, and my world shifted on its axis as I stared.

Ten years ago, I would have squeezed Malia and Dorian’s hands and stepped forward, ignoring anything Solas might say. I would have told them where to find my journal, and I would have taken back my memories, would have touched that pillar of dark glass. Perhaps even five years ago.

But now, I could not. Those memories belonged to someone else, to the me from Before, who had died when my last memory faded. That was not me, even if it once had been, and I knew, no matter how much fear I had given the Nightmare, no matter how much I reclaimed, it would not be enough to compare to Ages of people’s fears.

“Well, little impostor?”

“Do not, Keeper.”

I could do so much more. I was so much more. I was Keeper Vir’era Hanal’ghilan Sabrae, and it was my sacred duty. I could not leave them now. I closed my eyes and turned away, tugging us back towards the rift just out of our reach. The Nightmare roared, and I glanced back to see every memory contort into fearlings, a tidal wave of tiny spiders.

Solas slammed his foot against the ground, cracking it to pieces. The fearlings drifted away on an impossible island. Dorian jumped at the sight, but we did not linger to see if the effort would last. Malia and Amir peered at me, and I shook my head. This was not the time or place to discuss what had happened. There would be time later.

We passed by many other strange things. Most were too strange to contemplate longer than the time it took to observe them; what use was a single glowing flower in a realm wherein things barely existed? Statues carved themselves from floating rocks, gone when we looked again, and lonely implements of daily life scattered themselves throughout our path.

A child’s toy. A burning candle. A deck of cards. Tables set for people long-dead, beds made for distant children—time and space were unimportant here. It all collided, an impossible mess our mortal feet were never meant to touch. In the distance, the only thing that never moved was the Black City.

It was always just as far as it had been last.

We passed through a graveyard of fears that taunted us with our names and the names of people we knew. Vir’era Sabrae – Incapability, mine read. I looked away. Malia Hawke – Destroying Everything. She didn’t comment on it. Mheganni Sabrae – Being Left Behind. Somehow, that hurt more than my own.

Amir found the piece of memory and pulled us out quickly. I didn’t see his grave, nor did I want to. Fears like that were too intimate to share unwillingly. I hated that I even knew Mheganni and Malia’s, hoped no one had taken note of mine. The graves were gone when I sent a glare over my shoulder. I should have expected no less.

At least the rift grew ever closer, the Divine’s memory burning brighter in her guidance. I took my turn to squeeze Malia’s hand, my eyes solidly on the strange tunnels before us. “Not much further now,” I murmured. “We’re almost out.”

We walked the damp, dark tunnels. Despite the water splashing up at our feet, we were not wet. The final memory we found in front of a dark eluvian. I saw a flash of my own reflection, impossible but true nonetheless. I knew it to be mine the way one knows one’s shadow, but this reflection was not an elf, and was gone when I blinked.

I did not know what would happen if I touched it. The simple idea terrified me, and I stayed away from it, only drawing as close as needed for Amir to receive the memory. Then, at last, we had the full memory. At last, we knew everything that had transpired when the sky was rent.

Corypheus used Grey Wardens to hold the Divine helpless, had called her a sacrifice and used his stolen orb in some ritual—a ritual that Amir interrupted. He had gone, alone, to the Temple of Sacred Ashes against my specific rules, and he had tried to help. The orb bestowed the Anchor on him, and he was sent to the Fade with the Divine.

The Divine, the true Divine, had helped him to escape back into the mortal world. Then she died.

“The Wardens?” Malia whispered.

“Corypheus was controlling them,” I said. “You remember the prison.”

I felt her shudder. “Maker. He’s more powerful now. I guess that prison really did work, even if it wasn’t enough. Fuck. [Fuck, Vee. I let this monster out.”

“I don’t know that anything would be enough,” Loghain said. “But it is Weisshaupt that will need to answer for it. They’re the ones who left us vulnerable.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Amir interrupted. “For now, let’s concentrate on defeating the Nightmare. When we’re out, we can talk about who should do what.” He tugged us forward when no one argued, through the water that was not wet, and beyond a series of arches into the Nightmare’s lair.

A chittering, screeching sound assaulted us, horrible beyond measure—it felt like my soul was contorting under my skin. I could feel my skin ripple in response, twitching away from elven, bones straining to stretch and shift into something different and noelwd. I swallowed bile, whined as I forced my body to still.

“Tell Leliana: I’m sorry. I failed you, too.”

The Divine’s memory crashed against the Nightmare, bright and golden among the green haze of the Fade, then gone. But the Nightmare was pushed back, too, only a fraction of its immense power left behind.

This battle I had known would happen, but could not describe satisfactorily. The Nightmare’s shadow, its Aspect, was as reliable as the rest of the Fade, disappearing and reappearing. Its small size belied its power, and every time it shrieked, I had to drop low and will my skin to retain its shape, had to remind my body what it was meant to be.

(I wondered, in a distant and disjointed part of my mind, what it wanted to become. The eluvian’s impossible reflection was gone, and dead, and forgotten, but I could not help but wonder…)

I spun Maleficent around myself when I had my bearings, blasting cold enough to freeze the fearlings that swarmed our feet. I put glyphs in front of the Aspect, but it did not move in ways the glyphs could affect, and it floated too high to be restrained any kind of root from the Fade’s earth.

Amir’s arrows and Dorian’s fire were a start, and when the Aspect was still long enough for Cassandra or Loghain to reach it, their blades did pierce what passed for skin. Solas and I concentrated on the fearlings, kept them away from our companions.

I could not see Malia most of the time, but she got the jump on the Aspect a few times, her daggers sliding to the hilt in its body. Once—only once—I caught it in a sweeping cone of cold along with the fearlings.

The final blow (for as much as a blow can be final against a tiny portion of a much larger creature) was dealt by Amir. The Aspect had opened its mouth to scream again, and Amir’s arrow sank deep into its ugly maw, halting the sound before it could begin.

“Go!” I shouted, pushing first Solas, then Cassandra to the rift. I snatched Dorian’s hand and tugged him that way, too, scrambling to follow. The Nightmare’s true body loomed. We had seconds. “Loghain!”

“For the Wardens!” I glanced back when I reached the rift. Loghain was charging the demon, sword held high, any pretense of following Amir abandoned.

Amir reached out, but Malia grabbed his arm and pulled him until he, too, was running to the rift. Silently, I thanked Loghain and Elgar’nan, then jumped out of the Fade.

 

I twisted and tumbled as I fell through the rift, and nearly landed on my head. For all the chaos I left behind, though, the courtyard in Adamant Fortress was shockingly still. People were piling in, and I saw many of the Inquisition’s other strike teams nearby, weapons out, but there was no immediate threat beyond the rift itself.

Cassandra pulled me up and out of the way just in time for Malia and Amir to make their own grand entrance—unlike me, Amir landed on his feet. He took only a moment to glance around before lifting the Anchor and closing the rift, trapping the Nightmare in the Fade.

Whatever demons had been pouring from the rift when we left had long since been taken care of, and the Nightmare’s preoccupation with our party had perhaps prevented more from swarming it. While the atmosphere was far from content, and despite the many weapons still drawn, no one was fighting.

I looked around, gauging the expressions I could see, but it brought no new information. I caught Anders’ eye as he, Garrett, and Fenris rushed up, and began to move towards them—and then I saw Cullen, moving just as quickly in my direction, his face a war of emotion I could not parse in the time it took for him to get from one side of the courtyard to in front of me, and as I stared up at him and began to say something—

he kissed me.

He swept me off my feet quite literally, drawing me up into his arms with a desperate hold so tight that it hurt, pressed me as close to his body as physics and armor would allow, and he kissed me. His lips to mine, our faces mashed rather clumsily and somewhat uncomfortably, warm and strong and impossible, yet real.

I made an incredibly embarrassing noise, and then he stopped, which was the last thing I wanted, but my brain was still stuck on the fact that this was happening at all, and I couldn’t seem to make anything work—not words, not hands, not lips or even breath. He wrenched away with the most horrified look, eyes wide, jaw slack, and I could feel his panic as if it were my own.

“Oh, Maker, I shouldn’t have done that—Vir’era, I am so—” He began to blubber apologies, and started to put me down, his face as pale as I had ever seen it but growing red at a concerning rate.

As his arms loosened on me, though, that seemed to be the impetus I needed, and though words still were beyond my capabilities, I grabbed him around the neck—nearly punching him in the effort—and hauled myself back close enough to press our lips together again. I could feel his arms freeze around me, then hold tight again.

This second kiss did not last long—though I doubted the first lasted as long as it had felt in my head. Still processing that this was happening, I couldn’t yet look him in the face, so I moved from kiss into hug instead, shoving my face into that ridiculous fur around his neck and just breathing.

Around us, I could hear some commotion, but I couldn’t be assed to care. Cullen hugged back, still bearing all of my weight, like he couldn’t stand the thought of putting me down, and I—I loved it. “Ar lath ma,” I murmured into the fur, when I found my voice again.

He pulled back, and I couldn’t deny him anything, so I did too, looking him in the face. He put me down, slowly, arms lingering, then brought one hand up to hold my face, far more gentle than could ever have been necessary for someone like me. “I know you said you would be back,” he told me, slowly, “but I was terrified anyway. This is not how I intended to kiss you the first time, but I was just so relieved to you again…”

I took his hand in mine and kissed his palm, wishing he weren’t wearing his gloves. “I always keep my promises,” I said, even if we both knew I had only been hoping. “And I—I’m glad you kissed me. But let’s talk later? When we can be alone.”

His whole face burned a bright red and began to sink into the fur. “R-right. That’s—that’s probably a good idea, yes. We need to… finish this other stuff first.” He breathed deeply, composure returning to his shoulders, and took my hand to kiss it. “But we will talk later. And more.”

I didn’t dare consider what ‘more’ might mean, nor did I pull my hand from his when he did not let go. We turned to see most of our friends pointedly not looking at us, though a few—like Malia, with her giant grin—were happy to stare. Garrett held a hand in front of Malia, and she dropped a golden coin into it without losing her grin. (My friends were officially the worst, I decided.)

A Grey Warden coughed awkwardly as he came up. “Where is Loghain?” he asked.

Amir glanced behind himself, but Loghain did not appear. I saw him clench his hands. “He sacrificed himself for us,” Amir said. “Without his effort, we would not have escaped.”

The Warden floundered, shoulder falling. “We—we don’t have any senior Wardens left. With Commander Clarel gone, and Warden Loghain, too…”

I wondered if that had been deliberate on Erimond and Corypheus’ part. Kill or bind all the senior Wardens first, to ensure no one with any significant rank could provide dissent… Brutal and clever, if true. (Another reason why there would have been no familiar faces, but I shoved that thought away. Our plan had been good. They should all have been far away anyway.)

Amir looked away from the Warden, and I joined as he assessed the surroundings. Adamant was hardly in ruins, but it was certainly in disrepair, and the Wardens who had survived Erimond’s machinations and the Inquisition’s assault were bedraggled at best. Many were barely standing, and some couldn’t manage that much at all. Thedas’ southern Grey Wardens were in a sorry state.

I turned my attention back to Amir, and found him considering me with a tilt to his head that could only mean he had an idea. “Not quite,” he said. “Perhaps there aren’t any left within the Order, but… Keeper Vir’era was a senior Warden.”

I froze. I couldn’t even deny it, standing there in my old Warden armor, Maleficent on my back. The Grey Warden looked to me with large eyes, clearly desperate. “Ser?”

“I left the Order,” I said, quickly. “After the Fifth Blight and Kirkwall, I left. I haven’t been a proper Warden in years.”

“You’re the closest thing we’ve got,” he insisted, taking a half-step closer. “Please, ser.”

Amir nodded at me. “Just for now. Until we can settle things with Corypheus and Weisshaupt can send a replacement, or until the Warden-Commander of Ferelden returns.”

And who knew when that would be? In my desperation, I glanced up to Cullen, and he nodded, too. “We could arrange it that you would still operate out of Skyhold, and I’m sure these people are more than able to take care of most things without direct supervision.”

This was a terrible idea. I was already a Keeper and an advisor to the Inquisition—how much more responsibility could I take on? Even if it was only temporary, I knew enough about being a Warden-Commander to know that it was itself a huge undertaking, and certainly nothing to be underestimated. Castor had always been busy.

But, Creators, I couldn’t say no. Not because I was being forced to say yes, though there was significant pressure. I knew they would accept it if I refused, just as they had accepted my need to participate in this mission. No, I couldn’t say no because it simply wasn’t in my nature.

“…Alright,” I murmured, then cleared my throat. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

The Grey Wardens all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, and Amir smiled bright enough to rival the sun, but the thing that really set my heart racing was Cullen’s lips against my hand.

He had kissed me, I recalled, as Amir began to see to what else needed taking care of. It was enough to make me forget everything about the Nightmare. Cullen had kissed me, and he had meant it, and I had kissed back. We were going to talk about what that kiss entailed, but he had made it clear enough already that my heart soared: he wanted to kiss me again. (‘And more,’ he’d said. I hadn’t been so eager for such a vulnerable talk in ages, but all I wanted was to take him to my tent and talk and… not talk.)

He had kissed me!

Notes:

elvish:
Ma vhenas ma him; ar vir suledin. - You are my heart; I will endure.
Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din. - unknown/untranslated canon line. my best guess: tell me, rebel/traitor. you will never win. your pride will be your death.
banal - never/a negation

Chapter 18: loose threads loose threats

Notes:

how's everyone holding up? i hope you're all staying home as much as you can, leaving only for those necessities; covid's no joke, whatever memes we make of the situation. i'd like to say that this has given me more time to write and get some extra chapters to keep you company, but my job is considered 'essential' so i'm still working, if from home. i'm still writing, but it's not as quick as one might expect from the overall self-isolation rule...

stay safe, everyone! wash your hands and all that jazz. 20 seconds with soap.

feel free to join my discord (link at the end) if you want any updates on my situation! or to just talk, or for the occasional discussion on things like varric's nicknames and what lovely idiots vir'era and cullen are

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Actually getting to a tent where we could be alone took very, very long—or so it felt. We both had far too much responsibility to simply disappear. I began gathering the Grey Wardens, having them collect their dead and account for the rest. Most of the bound mages were still under Corypheus’ command, even without their demons, and they struggled against us.

We imprisoned them, for lack of better options; until I was certain they could not be saved, I refused to kill any more than had already been killed. Perhaps Castor would know how to contact the Architect—if any knew a way to free these poor souls, it would be him. It would take time, because Castor was not exactly easy to get ahold of right now, but it was the best option.

It was strange, being in charge of so many Grey Wardens. I had grown used to leadership with my clan, true, but that was far less involved, somehow. I rarely gave explicit orders to anyone in my clan. The Wardens, though, seemed to need direct and specific orders.

I barely knew enough of the Orlesian Order to give them.

I had them organize themselves to the best of their ability, asked them to prepare documentation of who was left, and who might be the best choice for leadership roles. I knew, too, that it was all but certain that most of these people had more time as a Grey Warden than my total of perhaps two active years. (Kirkwall didn’t count for much. I had barely been a Warden then.)

They were happy for the orders, at least. Or maybe just glad that someone was giving them something else to focus on, something specific to do. Or, maybe, they were just grateful to still be alive. It didn’t matter. I set the tasks and said I would check in again come morning.

Cullen was wrapping up at around the same time. I waited for him at the fringe of a throng of soldiers, smiling when he spotted me but otherwise silent. A small flush graced his cheeks, and he made his last orders before dismissing the troops. He didn’t wait long, didn’t linger to watch them go; as soon as they began dispersing, he was at my side.

I smiled as he took my hand, and he smiled, too, as he led me to his tent. I followed, my heart fluttering as it hadn’t in years. Ar lath ma, I thought. It was the only thought I had room for in my head. Ar lath ma, ar lath ma, ar lath ma.

Before I knew it, we were sitting on his cot, hands bare and interlocked. Even seated, he was taller, but at least this way it was more even. He squeezed my hands. “I… had wanted to kiss you for a while,” he admitted, the first to speak. “I wanted to be more romantic about it, but it’s something I have wanted for some time.”

“Me too,” I answered. His eyes were so gold in the soft candle glow of the tent. “I—I know it might be out of order, or early, or maybe late, but Cullen, I-I want you to know that… I love you.”

I could hear his breath catch, and he released one of my hands to cup my face. “I love you, too, Vir’era.”

My heart skipped a beat and swelled so much that it seemed to drive all the air from my lungs. I floundered for words, my free hand clenching and unclenching with aimless, confused delight. What did we do from here? I couldn’t gather the brainpower to figure it out.

“I-I… I want to be yours,” Cullen said, words rushing a bit. “However you will have me, I want that. But I don’t—I know most Dalish don’t… take human lovers.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a bit at that. “I—you’re right, but, well…” I thought about the Dalish I knew, from Velanna to Amir. “I know so many exceptions. What does it matter if I am one more?”

Cullen kissed me, then, chaste and quick. “Are you certain? It doesn’t… I don’t… It’s never bothered me, whether a person is human or elf or anything else. I might not have even thought of it, but you’re a Keeper, and…” He coughed. “Mheganni may have… said something.”

She meant well, and perhaps the Hahrens would be displeased enough to prove her point, but Mheganni was not important in this discussion. Cullen was. I was. Just us. “If my clan has issue with it, I will speak with them. It’s uncommon, but I will not let that stop me, not if it does not bother you.”

“It doesn’t,” he said. I wondered if it would always seem so straightforward; Hahren Linara would not make it easy on us, on him. Paivel might be more welcoming, but he liked me a great deal more than Linara.

Still, their approval wasn’t necessary. I let my free hand settle on Cullen’s thigh. “Then we will worry about them later.” He smiled at me, and another thought came to mind. “You—you said you don’t mind about race, but… you don’t mind that I’m a man? Whatever biology had to say about it, I still am a man.”

“I know,” he murmured, and his hand squeezed mine. “I’ve never cared about gender, either. I don’t have a great deal of experience, if I’m honest, but I have enough to know that I’m attracted to men. And… well, I have always found you attractive. Knowing the shape of your body didn’t change that.”

What did I do to deserve something like that? My heart fluttered in my throat, and it was all I could do to whisper, “Cullen.

“I’ve never been in a proper, adult relationship,” he said. “But I’d like to try with you.”

“I feel the same,” I told him. “Ar lath ma, Cullen, ma vhenan. I love you.”

He leaned his forehead against mine. “Say it again? In Elvish.”

I smiled. “Ar lath ma.”

“Ar—ar lath ma,” he tried, and it wasn’t accurate, but it was perfect for the simple fact that he tried. “Ar… lath ma.”

“Yes,” I said, smiling wide enough that I could feel my cheeks straining. “Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

He leaned in and kissed me then, and whispered against my lips, “Ar lath ma.” My heart soared. I pulled him in and pressed close, shifting until I was all but fully in his lap. I could feel his smile against my mouth, and perhaps that should have made it uncomfortable, but I was too delighted to care.

Our armor was the greater issue, but that didn’t last long… and neither did our clothes.

 

It didn’t take long, the next day, for Malia to corner me, though I was grateful to notice that none of the other usual suspects were around. It was just the two of us—until Amir, too, slipped into the tent Malia had herded me into.

From the way they both had their eyebrows drawn together and how Malia was pursing her lips, I figured it was about what we’d seen in the Fade. What the Nightmare had taken from me and taunted me with. I took a deep, preparatory breath and waited for their questions. (I waited for Garrett, too, but he did not appear, and I had to wonder if Malia had kept quiet.)

“Vee,” Malia started, the familiar nickname half-aborted. She lifted a hand, but stopped before it got anywhere near to reaching, and put it back down, her frown lines growing deeper. Years of absence yawned between us, however voluntary they had been. I did not know how to bridge the gap they had created.

Amir did. He put a hand on Malia’s shoulder for just a moment, then gestured for me to sit on one cot and Malia on the other. He stood between us. “In the Fade,” he said, “when the Nightmare showed us all those memories, it said they were yours.”

“Yes,” I said. “They—they were.”

He shared a glance with Malia, and she leaned forward. “Why did it take them from you?”

I shrugged. There was no sure answer to her question, not as far as I knew. “I don’t know. I suspect… Given how it took Amir’s memories, though that was probably under Corypheus’ direction, I think the Nightmare has the ability to steal memories. Especially those related to or which cause fear. I think it grew stronger for every memory it stole.”

“Do demons work like that?” she asked. “I admit, I don’t know much about them, but I thought they got power by, I don’t know, being really old or something. Maybe blood magic.”

“There are many ways for spirits to gain power, just as there are many ways for them to turn from helpful to harmful.” I smoothed the hem of my tunic to the best of my ability, laying it flat against my legs.

“Even if they do work like that,” Amir said, “that doesn’t explain why it had so many of your memories, Keeper. From what we saw, it only had a few at most from anyone else, and usually just one very strong fear. Yours… there was an entire field full of them.”

I swallowed, gathering the will to force my voice to work. My mouth opened without sound a couple of times, and they waited. I didn’t know what to say, could not organize a single comprehensible sentence to put to words the sheer idea of exactly what had passed in the Fade, what choice I had made. It was something ineffable, somehow.

Malia moved until she was just at the edge of her cot. “Take your time.”

“We’re here for you,” Amir agreed.

I clenched my hands, bunching my tunic into a wrinkled mess, and nodded. If I could not start with what they were asking, I would work around it. When you do not know the words you need, use the ones you have. “My name is a word,” I blurted. “It means ‘the way of the story,’ or something to that effect. It was not always my name.”

Slowly, meanderingly, I told them who I was and wasn’t. What, perhaps, I was. Without the memories the Nightmare had taken, it wasn’t easy. I didn’t always have the words or the answers. (Where had I come from? How did I arrive here? Was I perhaps something like Cole? No answers came. None made sense.)

“If I had taken the memories, I would not be who I am,” I told them. “I would become who I was. I don’t know what that would mean, and I… I couldn’t do it. I’m needed here, as I am.”

“It was offering you a deal,” Amir concluded. “The Nightmare wanted you to take your memories, because it would mean you wouldn’t be you, and might not be here.”

I pressed against a wrinkle in my tunic, trying to erase it. “Something like that, maybe.”

Malia took my hands and squeezed them. “You chose to stay,” she said. “You could’ve gone back, or at least could have tried to, but you didn’t. You chose to stay.”

“I-I… yes. I did.” She was giving me a look like I had done her some great favor, but my choice had been far more selfish. I was loved and needed and important here. I could help and knew how. I knew nothing of where I was from, if I had anything there that could even remotely compare to Thedas. My curiosity was great, but not that great.

I’d had everything to lose, and very little to gain.

She smiled at me and squeezed my hands again, then pulled me in for a hug, covering the gap like it was nothing and moving to sit beside me. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

“Me too,” Amir added, putting his hand on my arm when Malia pulled away and left her own arm on my shoulders. “Whatever your reasons for staying, I’m glad you did. And—it doesn’t matter who or what you were, not unless you want it to.”

I wasn’t so sure. “It means I wasn’t born Dalish, or even an elf at all.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he repeated. “You are—you are still Hanal’ghilan. If I can be called Andraste’s Herald when I do not even follow the Chantry, you can be Hanal’ghilan even if you were not always elvhen. At least you are elvhen now; I still don’t follow the Chantry, and I don’t think I ever will.”

It made as much sense as anything. There was something about it that still felt wrong in a way that was hard to put words to, like it was toeing a dubious moral line, like my existence as it was in Thedas had appropriated things not meant for me… But I couldn’t remember any other life, now.

Whoever and whatever I had been was dead. I could not return to being him. And, whatever shape his body had been, mine was an elf. I was Dalish. That would have to be enough. “I suppose you’re right, Amir,” I said. “But, well, at least now you know.”

“Does Cullen know?” Malia asked.

“Of course,” I said, momentarily affronted—until she raised an eyebrow. I relented immediately; I had, after all, lived in her home for three years, eaten at her table, and had never breathed a word. “I told him when I joined the Inquisition.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Alright, I definitely want to know why he found out first, but we’ll address that some other time. Does he know about what happened in the Fade?”

“No, not, um. Not yet. We… didn’t exactly spend much time talking about that last night.”

Her face split into a huge, toothy grin that was frankly unnerving at such close range, and I prepared myself for whatever bawdy comment was about to roll off her tongue. She only snickered, though, and when I looked to Amir for support, he was also far too delighted for my comfort.

I sighed, as noisily as I could, and did not hide the way I felt about their ganging up on me. “I am not telling you about last night.” Malia immediately began whining, but it was far more tolerable than the awkward distance she’d held while I explained the memories from the Fade. I feigned a vague sense of annoyance, but she didn’t slow her roll, and I’ve never been particularly good at lying.

Malia would tell Garrett, I was sure of it. Fenris and Anders, too, knowing the Hawkes as I did. I could perhaps have asked her to keep it secret, but… the secrecy was growing old, and it no longer seemed to be quite so important. I knew they would be leaving soon for Weisshaupt, and whatever might be waiting there—that was the true question, the real importance.

 

My daily routine didn’t change much, even accounting for a new relationship. Cullen and I continued to make time in the morning for tea. He consistently pretended to be faring better than he was; I pushed him only on the days it seemed worst.

During the traveling days back to Skyhold, I spent most of my time familiarizing myself with the Grey Wardens that were accompanying us, the ones so unceremoniously promoted to Warden-Constable and Senior Wardens. (Creators, I was a Field Commander, however temporarily. What had my life become?)

I decided to be reassured when neither they nor any lists of the Wardens present at Adamant included names I held dear. There were a few names that struck me as familiar; I had met plenty of others the few times I’d been to Vigil’s Keep. One of the Senior Wardens was Maya, who’d come to Vigil’s Keep from Honnleath ten years ago.

She seemed to find Cullen’s status as Commander quite hilarious, and our relationship even moreso. “Is it just a thing, when you become a Warden? I swear I haven’t known a Warden elf to be in a relationship with another elf. We all seem to find humans.”

“Does Theron count?” I asked. “Or is he the exception that proves the rule? He did leave the Order.”

“He had to, clearly.”

“Couldn’t stay and still be with Zevran. Pesky little rules.” We both laughed for a moment. “It is odd, though, isn’t it? For so many Wardens to be attracted to men, even when most are men themselves, this makes sense by law of numbers. But there have always been quite a few elvhen Grey Wardens. Perhaps fewer than shemlen, yes, but not beyond reason.”

“Especially since the Blight.” I raised an eyebrow at Maya’s words, and she shrugged, flopping an arm in a vague gesture. “It’s well-known that it was an elf who killed the Archdemon, and Constable Neria likes to make appearances around town. Plus, Commander Castor never goes anywhere without Darrien.”

I supposed it made sense. The few elves who could afford to go to Vigil’s Keep were welcomed with open arms, might even send money back home to help others come, too. And I doubted our keep had been the only one to see such an influx of elves. “Castor has never been good at being alone,” I said, instead.

“Twins never are.” Silence, for a moment. “I hope they’re alright. Commander Castor had been sending people on some mission, but they kept disappearing. He sent people to investigate, but they never came back, either. Not even Neria. That’s why he went himself.”

Our plan had worked, then. I couldn’t meet Maya’s eyes, knowing as I did what had happened, how so many had been overlooked. “They survived the Blight and the mess the Architect caused right after. It would take a great deal to stop them.”

“I’m not sure if that’s reassuring or ominous, honestly. I don’t think we can take anything more than we’ve already got.”

I stared ahead. “They’ll be fine. That mission is very important—if anything, they have simply been caught up in it.”

“I hope you’re right, ser.”

 

I spent my nights with Cullen. We didn’t have sex every night, nor even most nights—we could hardly muster the energy for light conversation after such long days of travel, let alone anything more involved.

It had been a very long time since I shared a bed with anyone. Ten years, if Littlefoot didn’t count. It was… it was mostly nice. Not entirely, though. Both Cullen and I struggled with nightmares, and though a warm body was a comfort, it could not stop the terror in my blood, nor the traumas of our pasts.

Neither of us screamed ourselves awake, but sometimes Cullen would hold too tightly, and sometimes I would kick. These were better only in that they disturbed no others, even if it meant we often bothered each other into wakefulness.

“Does it ever get better?” Cullen asked one night, after one of his nightmares woke us up. We were nearly back at Skyhold, and our combined nightmares had awoken us more nights than not.

“Sometimes,” I answered, unwilling to lie, even to comfort. “When things are calm, or when I’m too exhausted to dream, I don’t have nightmares.”

“Not taking lyrium makes them worse.” He trailed gentle fingers against my arms, a nonsense pattern going up and down. “Adamant didn’t help, either.”

I pushed myself slightly closer, lingering in the heat of his body. “Withdrawal and trauma make terrible bedfellows. It will ease, vhenan.”

“Yours linger. Not that Adamant couldn’t cause any, but…” He took a slow breath, and I waited for him to continue. His voice was slow, words almost shy to leave his mouth. “You speak, sometimes. I don’t understand it all, but I understand enough to know it’s not all about Adamant. There weren’t darkspawn there.”

I pressed my face against his shoulder and breathed in gradually. “Mine will never lessen entirely,” I murmured. He tensed, and it was the only way I knew he’d heard my words. “I am a Grey Warden, bound to the Order by blood, even if I—no matter how I try, I cannot leave it all behind. It is a part of me, and will be until it takes my last breath.”

“What do you mean?” He didn’t relax, pulled my body closer even as he tilted my face to look me in the eye. “Vir’era…”

“Ir abelas, vhenan. I should have told you before.” It was a truth I did not like to acknowledge. “Wardens are made such through the Joining ritual. I mentioned it in my journal, I think, if only in passing. It binds us to the Blight…”

I saw no reason to hide these secrets from him. He knew everything in my journal, anyway, and had not told a soul. He could keep the Grey Wardens’ secrets, too. He would have to know someday, even if our love did not last, because my Calling would come, and he was all but certain to outlive that. I saved that for last, though. It was the hardest to force from my throat, the most difficult to voice. I did not want to die.

“How long?” he whispered, when I had explained that all Wardens would face a Calling, had explained what it would mean.

“It’s never certain,” I hedged, hoping he would know it could be longer, “and the others from the Blight are searching for a cure, but… Alistair said most have about thirty years.”

It had been ten years since the Blight, and about eleven since Ostagar. I watched as he realized this, realized I had perhaps twenty years left, if we were being optimistic. A great deal could happen in twenty years, but it would still be before my time, and it would be a horrific death. (The pessimist in me wondered how the Blight, red lyrium, and Corypheus might shorten that estimate. I ignored him as well as I could.)

“Maker,” Cullen said. “Vir’era…” No other words followed, but he held me all the tighter.

“Ir abelas,” I said again. “I should have told you sooner.”

He pressed his forehead to mine. “It wouldn’t change anything. And—well, your friends have done the impossible before. I don’t think it would be stupid to hope they might do it again.”

If anyone could find a cure, it was them. Capella might not be with them, but Castor had become a capable leader; with Theron and Anya, they’d be unstoppable. I didn’t want to hope for too much, didn’t want to wind up disappointed… but I couldn’t stop that seed from taking root in my soul, and did not have the heart to rip it out.

 

There was everything and nothing to be done before the peace talks at Halamshiral. Josephine was a mess when we arrived back at Skyhold, constantly in meetings organizing this or that or chasing down the various members of our party to ensure we were prepared to the fullest extent.

We all received mandatory dance lessons, and while Vivienne and Dorian were quickly dismissed, the rest of us were not so lucky. Varric eventually proved he did, in fact, know most of the steps to the most important Orlesian dances, and Cole was conveniently nowhere to be found.

Even Mheganni was somehow roped into it all. Well, perhaps not ‘somehow’—she was part of my contingent, and as such did need to know at least the basics. She grumbled to me as we danced. We took turns leading; Orlais loved power plays in all forms.

“It’s not like I’m going to dance at these talks,” Mheganni complained. “I do not understand why I must learn these shem dances.”

“If any of the Orlesians realize you’re not a servant, they might ask you to dance to test us,” I said. “They’re probably too stuck up their own heads to understand that we’re not joking when we elevate our elvhen to their level.”

“They’re all stupid.” She glared down at the floor when our feet bumped during the next steps. “Just like this dance. Why do they insist on staying so close the whole time?”

I shrugged, concentrating on which way we were supposed to turn now. “You probably won’t need to dance, but it’s better if you know how.”

“I still think it’s stupid. Can’t I just say no? They already think we’re savages. It’s not as if they’re going to think any worse.”

“Perhaps not, but this is an opportunity to ensure they might think better.” She had a point, though, and I had very serious doubts that any Orlesian would ask even one of the elvhen attending to dance, Amir notwithstanding. His status as Inquisitor made him an exception and an oddity that the Orlesians simply could not ignore.

I nearly stepped on Mheganni’s toes as we stepped to the sides and back, and her answering growl was so animalistic that I thought, for a moment, that Charybdis was near. “Sera’s not learning to dance,” she argued, utterly petulant.

“Sera’s neither Dalish nor part of the presenting group. She’ll be using her Red Jenny methods to get in with the servants, however that’s supposed to work. They’re not supposed to know she’s there.”

“Why do I have to dance to be part of the group?”

I stared at her, my very soul aging. “Mheganni…”

She just grumbled. “I know, I know. Appearances and all that rot. I hate Orlesians.”

I could only sigh. I didn’t exactly disagree, but she didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need the encouragement.

 

I had expected Solas to find me again, eventually. I had not expected it to take quite so long.

“Amir tells me the Dalish call you Hanal’ghilan.”

I looked up from my desk, where the Dalish reports and Grey Warden reports had mingled into a hazy soup of ink and parchment. Solas stood just in the hall leading up to my office, hands behind his back, head tilted as he looked at me. I nodded, answering, “They do, yes.”

“I understand that you are capable of shapeshifting into a golden halla.” Solas still didn’t quite enter, but he leaned against the entrance, arms coming around to fold in front of his chest.

“Among other things, yes.” I didn’t stand, nor did I invite him further in. We’d had a few decent encounters, but that did not negate the time he had pushed me into a panic attack, nor my general discomfort in his presence. I was too wary of what he might do, what he might say.

His face was a placid neutral, a shade too warm to be detached, a shade too cool to be peaceful. I couldn’t read the ocean of thoughts below that still surface, but I knew it must be there, deep and all-consuming. He peered at me, eyes just that much narrower than usual. “I would like to speak with you about Adamant, and what happened in the Fade.”

A non-sequitur if there ever was one, but I inclined my head slowly, and pushed my hand out to gesture at the free chair. “Come, sit.” As he did so, I did my best to gauge his temperament. His movements were deliberate, but smooth, none of the ill-contained power that might belie the Dread Wolf’s endless anger. Good. He was, at least, not in a bad mood.

He crossed his legs and rested his arms on those of the chair. “I don’t expect you would tell me about the memories the Nightmare taunted you with?”

I half-smirked and shook my head. “Ir abelas. That is rather personal. I am sure you understand.”

“I do.” He tilted his head again, even as he bent it towards me. “I suspect it is something to do with what the Nightmare said to you, when it accused you of being an imposter.”

I hummed and did not answer. “What is your question, Solas?”

He sighed. “How long have you been here?”

“Do you mean my office?” I feigned ignorance.

“You are fully aware what I mean,” he said, his mouth ticking into a brief scowl. “Don’t insult either of us pretending otherwise.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feeling of the chair beneath me, the fabric against my skin, the brush in my hand. “As long as I can remember,” I said, instead. “At least twenty years.”

“You remember nothing else?”

“No.”

He hummed, and drew his hands together, resting the tips against one another. “Interesting. I had the distinct impression, in the Fade, that you are not exactly who you appear to be.”

“Who do I appear to be?”

“A man. Dalish and proud,” he said, a sense of slight mockery in the words, but not so much as to comment on. “A Keeper who cares deeply for his people and his clan, with a complicated past.”

“And what of that do you think might be less than true?”

He sat back, considering me. “A great deal of humankind seemed to surround you, though I did not have the time to study.”

I spread my arms. “And now? Do I seem different?”

“Perhaps. I suppose it doesn’t matter much, does it?”

“I think that depends on one’s perspective, but I will admit I think it doesn’t matter. I am who I was yesterday, last month, last year. Perhaps I was not always this person, but no one is static. I will be different again in ten years’ time. Won’t you?”

He was very, very still, and stared at me without blinking. I let a faint smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Does that answer your question?” I asked.

“It is more than what I had. Thank you, Vir’era.”

“Banal.”

Notes:

ar lath ma - i love you
ma vhenan - my heart
ir abelas - i'm sorry
banal - nothing, used here as in 'it's nothing'

Chapter 19: o shit yo we goin to a BALL

Chapter Text

Linara cornered me in my aravel one evening. Cullen and I had not ben subtle about how we swapped between locations when it came time to sleep, and I was gathering some things with which to prepare tea come morning. She stood in my open doorway and put her hands on her hips. “Keeper.”

I motioned for her to come in, abandoning the tea supplies for a moment. “Aneth ara, Hahren. What may I do for you?”

She heaved a great sigh even as she came in, and we both sat at the tiny table. “The Commander, Keeper? I always suspected it would be a shemlen with you, but, Creators, you do nothing by half, do you?”

All I could do was shrug, helpless to explain my emotions. “I suppose not. I—I don’t expect you to approve, Hahren. I know it is far from normal. But you must know I will not change. I… I love him.”

“Unfortunately, I figured as much.” Linara leaned her head heavily against her hand, staring at me with furrowed brows. “I won’t pretend to like this, Vir’era. It’s not how these things are done. But nothing about you has ever been normal, so I’m not surprised, and I’m too old to fight about this.”

I pulled back, suspicious at those words. She never missed an opportunity to berate me; why would this be an exception? I didn’t have to ask, though, as she answered my question for me. “We both know nothing I can say would change your mind. You’ve already said as much, and all of your decisions before have been the same.

“Don’t take this for approval, though. It isn’t. You aren’t even following our customs for courting—you’re not even pretending to. And he’s not just some shemlen man, either; he’s the leader of a shemlen army and a former Templar. There are so many better options—but I said I wouldn’t argue. And I won’t.” She pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face to her hand. “But I don’t like it, Keeper. I don’t.”

“I know,” I murmured. “We seem a poor match, and I am supposed to represent our People, but I cannot control my heart, and I will not apologize for acting on its desires, Hahren. Ma vhenan Cullen him.”

“I know,” she said, her voice a heavy stone sinking in sand. “I think everyone has known for a while. Mythal protect you, Keeper.”

I didn’t know what she thought I needed protecting from, and I didn’t think I wanted to.

 

“So,” Varric drawled, sliding into the chair across from me with ease, “you and Curly.”

I raised my eyebrow and continued cutting my potato. “You and Cassandra.”

He actually chuckled at this. “Yeah, I didn’t see that one coming, either. What can I say, though? I’ve always been weak for confident, decisive people. But I’m not here to talk about me and the Seeker. I’m here to talk about you and Curly.”

I sprinkled cheese and the night’s meat of choice onto the potato. “What about us? You’ve known how I felt for a while. You know we knew each other in Kirkwall.”

“Sure I do.” He speared some of his own potato on a fork. “But most people like to talk to their friends about new relationships. Share in the excitement, you know.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did say most people. I think we both know I’m not most people.”

I gave him a dry stare. “And I am?”

He laughed again. “Alright, alright. You have a point.” We lapsed into a moment of mutual silence, taking the first couple bites of our dinners. “Are you happy?”

“Very.” I couldn’t help but beam, the joy of my fledgling relationship too much to contain. “He and I are both imperfect, but he is everything I want. I love him.”

Varric shook his head just a little, but he was smiling. “I’m glad. You deserve a happy ending, you know. As much of one as any of us are likely to get, anyway. And Curly, well, I might not know him as well as I know you, but I think he deserves one, too. You’ve both been through a lot. It’s good that you can find some happiness with each other.”

“You, too, Varric. You put on such an unbothered face, but you deserve to be happy, too.”

“Aw, Mittens, you’re gonna make me cry. I don’t want to cry. It’ll make my dinner taste weird.” He waved a spoon at me. “So, is he any good in bed?”

I choked on a laugh, but thankfully had already successfully swallowed. “Varric! Oh, Creators, you [know I’m not telling you that. I’m not telling you anything about that.”

“About what?” Cullen’s voice startled both of us as he sat in the chair next to mine. I turned to greet him, and he brushed a hand against mine, returning my smile.

“Private matters,” I answered.

“Your sex life,” Varric clarified.

Cullen’s face went bright red. “Oh. Er, thank you, Vir’era. I’d… rather that stay private.”

“If I could get answers out of Big Bird, I’ll get answers out of Mittens,” Varric vowed, “but I can be patient. Just know it’s inevitable. You’re only prolonging when I find out!”

“Varric, ma falon, dirthavara: it’s not something so shocking that you’d be clutching your pearls. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks with your own imagination.” I let my arm press against Cullen’s, felt him press ever-so-slightly back, and reveled in the knowledge that I could do more, if I wanted. It was my place to do more, even. I was wanted.

Cullen cleared his throat before Varric could address my comment, cutting into his meal as he very unsubtly changed the subject. Varric gave me a bemused look at Cullen’s distinct lack of segue. “The Grey Wardens who’ve come to Skyhold don’t seem to have any knowledge about the whereabouts of your comrades from the Fifth Blight…”

 

Dorian, it turned out, was a much better chess player than me. Still not as good as Cullen, but at least Dorian didn’t need Cullen to go easy on him in order to win. (I figured it was a good thing, though, that our army had such a good tactician, even if war is not chess.) I watched them play, grateful that I didn’t need to contribute.

“It’s been years since anyone has been able to match me at chess,” Dorian said, reaching for a pawn before retracting his hand and moving a knight instead. “I’m glad to finally have a challenge.”

“The same to you.” Cullen glanced over to me after the words left his lips, then moved one of his mages. “Ah, sorry, Vir’era. You’re not a terrible player.”

“No, I know what you mean. I’m certainly not very skilled at it, no matter how much time we spent playing in Kirkwall.” I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. How was I supposed to guess what moves my opponent might make?

“Delightful irony, that,” Dorian commented. He smoothed his moustache as he considered the board. “But I’m sure you’ve heard that before.” When I hummed an acknowledgement, he said, “You’re a rather strange pair, you know. Dalish mage and a Templar—hardly what anyone would expect. I think it’s driving Vivienne up the wall, actually.”

I could imagine so. “Well, we have a great deal in common, then, don’t we, Dorian?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” He breezed his fingers over a few pieces, tapping each one’s head before he made his move.

Cullen snorted. “Of course not. A Tevinter altus and the Dalish Inquisitor are an even stranger pair, I’m sure.” He countered with some move that I knew had a name but could never remember the name of.

“Feeling fancy, Commander?” Dorian didn’t even think about his move. “Amir and I are different—not nearly the amount of history you two have. It took you ten years to make your move. I only waited a matter of months.”

“We barely knew each other ten years ago,” I said. “Plus, he was working in Kirkwall’s Circle, and I was living in the city’s sewers.”

Dorian shuddered. “I retract my judgement; you were right to wait until our dear Keeper cleaned himself up, Commander.”

Cullen shrugged, feigning casual confidence that was betrayed by the light blush on his face, and said, “Vir’era was attractive even then, if a bit dirty.”

‘A bit dirty.’ What an understatement—but I wouldn’t complain about a compliment. I squeezed the arm I had around him gently. Dorian made a put-upon face, so I tried to turn the tables to him. “Have any of our assorted Dalish attempted to lecture you on the proper courting rituals and how you’re flouting them, or is Cullen the only one to receive that honor?”

Dorian’s eyebrows went up and he looked around the courtyard, checking over both shoulders. “I’ve managed to avoid it so far, so keep your voice down! I know I’m not doing things the Dalish way. Amir knows it, too. If we wanted to do things your way, we would. He might be a bleeding heart, but he does have a spine. He’s told me what’s important to him. Courting isn’t.”

“I suppose most of it is rather outdated,” I conceded. “And I’m hardly one to judge.”

“Precisely.” Dorian sniffed and moved a pawn. “I’d rather avoid a lecture when the only one whose opinion matters is perfectly happy with our arrangement. It’s more serious than I’m used to—but I think I like it.”

Cullen was too busy frowning at the board to speak, so I kept the conversation going. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure Amir would be, too. He needs something just for himself right now, you know. I hope you can be that.”

Dorian’s lips quirked up to a self-satisfied smirk, but his eyes were soft as silk. “I hope so, too. He’s such a bleeding heart. Someone has to remind him to be selfish sometimes, and I am very good at being selfish.”

“And an insufferable winner,” Cullen added, moving his king. “Is it too early to ask for a rematch?”

Dorian considered the pieces. “If you say how handsome and what a good chess player I am and reset the board, I’ll show mercy.”

I probably should have been able to see how the arranged pieces would inevitably result in Cullen’s loss, given how much chess he and I had played, but it was incomprehensible. Were there really so few valid moves that Cullen couldn’t win? I’d have to trust their judgement.

“You are the most challenging chess partner at Skyhold,” Cullen said.

“And?”

“And probably Orlais.” Cullen began to reach for the pieces, but Dorian slapped his fingers.

“And?”

“The most challenging outside of Ferelden.”

“We can argue that some other time. You’re missing the part about my stunning good looks.”

Cullen groaned. “Yes, yes, you’re very vain for good reason. May I reset the board now?”

“Because I’m so handsome?”

“Yes, because you’re so handsome.”

“The handsomest?”

“You know my opinion is very biased in favor of someone else.” He gestured to me, and I laughed, unashamed and also tickled.

Dorian brushed the thought aside. “The handsomest human, then.”

“…Fine.”

Smug as could be, Dorian leaned back and waved his hand over the board. “Then, by all means, be my guest.” Cullen rolled his eyes, but began resetting the pieces all the same.

 

“Vir’era, can I ask you a favor?”

I jumped a bit when Cole spoke, having not noticed his approach, and nearly dropped a stack of reports regarding the Grey Wardens. He didn’t often come to speak with me, and though I suppose he could have simply been making me forget, he’d told me he wouldn’t. I motioned with my head for him to walk with me, and he fell in step. “What is it you need, da’len?”

“Adamant.” I didn’t break my stride, continuing the walk from Skyhold’s training grounds to my office. Cole took a moment before he expanded. “The demons there were bound to the mages who were bound to Corypheus. He could control them.”

“You want to be sure it can’t happen to you,” I said.

“Yes.” He peered at me from under his hat, and even though he was notably taller, it somehow felt like he was the one looking up, not me. “Will you bind me? You’ve worked with strange spirits on this plane before.”

“Have you asked Solas?” I knew Solas would not agree, but… I didn’t know how to do what he wanted. I knew only what might come of this fear of his.

His shoulders hunched up. “He said no. He likes spirits, but he won’t do it. He says it’s blood magic, and that I’m not a normal spirit.”

“You’re not like any I’ve worked with, either, you know.”

“Broken, bound, bereft, stolen skin sealing him in. I know.”

Was that how Justice had felt? I concentrated on the feeling of the paper in my hands, trying to overwrite the memory of a spirit-blade. “Your body is entirely your own, not something that you took when you came here.”

“Yours is, too.”

I frowned, parsing what he said as we stepped up the castle stairs. I wasn’t sure I understood—but nor had I ever thought much on the subject. There were no memories that were not my own in my head, so even though my journal claimed I had not always been elvhen, I had never thought about what it might mean. It was good—strange, but good—to hear that this body was my own.

But it didn’t solve Cole’s problem. “My expertise is with removing spirits,” I said, slowly, “and especially with removing demons, returning them to the Fade. I don’t know that I could bind you in the way you ask.”

“But I can’t—I can’t let them force me to do things!”

We walked past some of the many who fancied themselves important, and I gave shallow, polite smiles to satisfy their greetings but did not break my stride. “Cole, I have books that explain how to summon, how to control, and how to banish. I do not have binding rituals.”

“You know what Anders did.”

My steps stuttered, and I ushered him down the stairway to my office. “I—it wouldn’t work how you want it to. It would hurt. It would change you. It would require a host, a-and—and it would drive you both mad, Cole. You would lose all your access to the Fade.”

“Could Corypheus control me?”

“I don’t know.” I tugged him into my office and shut the door. “Ir abelas, Cole, but I cannot say that he would not be able to, and even if it could stop him, I would not do this. It would destroy who you are, corrupt you.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I have seen it!” I shouted, dropping my papers to my desk and rounding on him, though I held my feet still and my arms at my sides. “It happened to Justice and Anders!”

“I’m not Justice!” He stood so close, hovering over me, but did not reach out.

“Exactly! You’re something else, Cole!”

“How can I be something other than myself?”

“How can you have a body of your own?”

He threw his arms up and walked a half-circle away. “Why won’t you try? You can’t let me hurt anyone else. You don’t want me to, I know you don’t. It hurts you to think about it. It reminds you of Vengeance.”

I took a slow, uneven breath. It was easier, now that he was not looking at me, to be calm, to try and be rational. “I cannot do that to you, Cole. I know how it would hurt you. Speak to Solas again. Ask Amir to help convince Solas.”

“There’s more. A choice: to be, or not to be.” He still didn’t turn.

“That is the question.” I faced my desk. “I cannot make the decision for you. You should choose, if you are able. It’s—it’s you. Your life.”

“I didn’t know it was a choice. Facts frozen in fear, face your fate…” He trailed off, voice disappearing into a murmur mortal ears could not hear. I looked at him over my shoulder, and he was staring into the distance in the direction of… Well. I didn’t know what.

Eventually, he turned his eyes back to me. “You think I should try to become more human.”

“I—I want that, perhaps. But what I think, what I want, is not important. What do you want, Cole? Who do you want to be?”

“I don’t know.” He blinked slowly. “I will ask Solas again. And Amir. Varric, too. Thank you, Storyteller.” I gave him a small smile, and he ducked out.

I blinked at my office. I could remember most of the conversation—Cole really did try not to make me forget—but there were gaps. I sat to begin going through the Warden paperwork and wondered how it was that Cole had his own body. I wondered how I did, too.

 

Vir’era,

Finally! At long, long last! Maferath’s hairy balls, you two took your time, didn’t you? I have been waiting so long for either you or Cullen to man up and admit you’re fools for each other, you have no idea. I’m quite certain I knew Cullen liked you before he did.

Of course, I’ll have you know that it’s both very romantic and very frustrating that it took you almost dying for Cullen to get his act together. And don’t pretend you didn’t almost die, either. I might not have been there, but I know sieges aren’t safe for anyone involved, and especially not on the front lines, and ESPECIALLY not when you go into the fucking Fade, pardon my Orlesian.

Andraste save us all. You’ll have to explain that bit to me properly when we see each other again—and we will be seeing each other, mark my words. If I have to go to Skyhold myself, that’s what will happen, though I don’t know when I’d be able to do that. As soon as you’re both done with all this very important world-saving business, you had best send yourselves down here for a visit.

Don’t tell Cullen—or do, it probably won’t change anything—but I’m counting you as family, now. Have for a while, really, but I didn’t want to make anything strange for him while he was still all worried about if you would return his feelings or not. I’m quite certain Cullen intends to marry you someday, if you’ll have him. Dalish marry, right? Or something similar?

I hope you’ll say yes when he asks. I’m sure it’s not going to be anytime soon, what with the mess going on, but I know Cullen, and I know he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. And then you’ll never be able to escape me, because you’ll be my brother, so best be certain you like Cullen enough to deal with the rest of us, too.

I’m glad to hear Maya’s still doing alright. I remember when she left to join the Wardens—funny to think that was largely thanks to you, too. We don’t hear much from her anymore, but apparently that’s normal for Grey Wardens. You’re the weird one who keeps writing.

Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Makes it easier to keep an eye on my brother, for one, and generally means I get all the best news before anyone else, for another. Writing with you has done wonders for my social circle, lately. Everyone wants to know the latest news from the Inquisition, without the tall tales that come from hearing it on the grapevine.

So write me soon, with the juiciest information you have! Unless it’s about your sex life, which is now also my brother’s, which I therefore do not want to know the details of.

Congratulations again,

Mia

 

I considered writing a paragraph about how much I enjoyed having sex with Cullen, specifically to annoy Mia, but ultimately decided against it. That was something for him and me, not anyone else. I did make sure to keep her up to speed on Inquisition news, as ever, no matter how much trepidation I felt building in my bones as we neared the peace talks.

Briala was an unknown, in so many ways. I knew her name, knew her connections to Celene, knew she had power in Orlais, but I knew nothing about how to predict her, especially now. Had her circumstances changed? What had she done with my advice? What had happened in Orlais in the build up to this civil war?

(Why so many countries were constantly on the brink of civil war, I didn’t waste energy attempting to figure out.)

“To be honest, the details are a little fuzzy,” Josephine told me. It was the final fitting, and the only moment I was able to corner her for answers. The tailors weren’t paying us any mind, either, speaking instead to each other in a flurry of Orlesian I couldn’t hope to keep up with. “I know Gaspard made several public insults, and that there was some kind of attempted revolution among the elves of Halamshiral, but not more than that.”

“It was more than just an attempted revolution, my dear,” Vivienne said. “It was one of Gaspard’s own plots. It backfired spectacularly, of course. He has never been very good at the Game, though he is not to be underestimated. He was hoping for just that, you see…” I listened as Vivienne explained the events leading up to Gaspard’s open battle for the throne.

Gaspard had insulted Celene with some play or another, and had insinuated that she was too infatuated with her elven lover to make proper decisions regarding Orlais. He had also encouraged his chevaliers to ‘visit’ the alienage and test their swords, stirring up unrest that was already growing for a host of reasons.

According to Vivienne, the play was too obvious, and everyone had seen the trap for what it was: he wanted to divide Celene’s attention, implicate her as an incapable leader. He’d likely hoped she would raze the alienage to stop their revolution, despite her well-known reputation for being tolerant (if not kind) to elves.

Exactly how the revolution had been halted was a matter of great debate and gossip. The commonly-accepted answer was that Briala had acted as a liaison and done whatever was necessary to convince the elves of the alienage to stand down.

“Whatever Celene did, it was the right choice,” Vivienne declared. “She did not fall into Gaspard’s trap, and she did not lose any more standing with the Orlesian court.” But the Empress had lost some standing, of course. Orlais didn’t condone slavery, no, but they were not fond of elves. Any action that treated them as equal was frowned upon.

Had she killed the elves as Gaspard wanted, she would have lost more than an alienage. I knew it would have cost her Briala—and I wondered if perhaps it still had. Briala was our in to the peace talks, but it didn’t seem she and Celene were working together.

“No, I’d say the elven forces seem to think of Celene’s army as the enemy of their enemy, and neither friend nor foe,” explained Vivienne.

Josephine nodded. “That matches what I’ve heard, as well. Most of Orlais finds Celene too progressive, but the elves think she is not progressive enough. Her hold on her throne was tenuous already. I think Gaspard would have more support if the elves had not taken up arms against him, actually.”

“No one thinks the elves could overthrow Orlais,” Vivienne said. “I don’t think even they truly believe that. But in a time of civil war, they are a threat. That they don’t actively fight Celene has become a significant point in her favor, whatever else the court might think of Briala’s little attempt at revolution.”

As explanations went, it still left quite a few gaping holes. Where, exactly, did Briala fit in to the civil war? How estranged were she and Celene, and why? What of Michel de Chevin and the eluvians?

I asked none of these questions. Neither Josephine nor Vivienne would have the answers, so it was a moot point. Instead, I asked, “What does the Orlesian court think of Briala?”

“They think she’s an upstart, of course.” Vivienne raised an eyebrow as if that was hardly something worth asking after. “They won’t admit that they’re scared of what would happen if she gained more power, but they are, and everyone knows it. Still, they don’t want to address her formally, because that would grant her legitimacy they don’t think she deserves.”

“Then why has Celene brought her in for the peace talks?”

“Empress Celene knew this would happen eventually, and that ignoring the problem will only make it worse.” I didn’t like how Vivienne called Briala a problem, but her tone was approving, and this wasn’t the time to get into a debate about elven rights and welfare.

“The court also seems to think that Celene and Briala have some sort of agreement,” added a new voice—I looked over to see Leliana leaning against the wall. “Whatever Briala has done could very well be attributed to a clever tactic on Celene’s part, if they play their cards right.”

Vivienne watched Leliana approach. Josephine smiled, apparently agreeing with her friend’s conclusions. “It could make Celene seem even more powerful, now that Orlais knows just how much even a small group of elves can do, if she could convince them that Briala supports her.”

I kept quiet, but the three women began discussing what Celene and Briala’s strategies could possibly be, and if it was good for Celene’s claim to the Orlesian throne or not. Too much was unknown, and I had nothing of note to add to the speculation.

 

The journey to Halamshiral was short. Unlike Gaspard and Celene, Briala did not own any homes or buildings in the area to house us—but several members of the Orlesian court had decided to step in to amend that. Briala herself was to stay at the Winter Palace, in rooms Celene would provide, but she made sure to greet us when we approached the city.

It surprised me, for some reason, to see her wearing a mask. I knew that it was more than just a piece of fashion in Orlais, but I had somehow not expected to see her wearing the mask before the ball. Perhaps that was foolish of me.

“Inquisition,” she called out, dipping into a shallow curtsey, “welcome to Halamshiral.”

We gave equally-shallow bows from atop our mounts. “Thank you for the invitation, Ambassador,” Amir answered. “It is our honor to be here.”

“It is you who honors us.” Her words were rote, but she smiled kindly enough. “We have arranged stables for your mounts.” She gestured, and a young elven man came forward. We all dismounted, and soon some of our soldiers and agents were helping to guide the mounts where the man led.

Amir, his inner circle, and we advisors followed Briala to an open-air restaurant, where food had been prepared for our arrival. With a smile in Amir’s direction, she said, “I have spent some time with other Dalish, so I asked the chef to prepare a meal that I hope will remind you of your clan.”

“Ma serannas, Ambassador,” Amir replied. Briala’s smile widened, and though I was uncertain how much Elvish she knew, she was clearly both familiar with and amused by the phrase. I wondered how the court would react to such things, and decided to push my luck.

The other advisors and I joined Amir and Briala near the head of the table, as did a few of her top lieutenants. Introductions were made just before we sat, and it was a silent-but-unanimous decision that put me beside Amir. Josephine sat to my other side, and I faced one of Briala’s lieutenants—a man called Thren. He didn’t hide his staring at my vallaslin, though he did make it subtler when he looked at Amir’s.

“It is a great pleasure to finally meet you, Keeper,” Briala said, inclining her head deeply in a way she had not for the other advisors. “I have heard much about you.”

She had likely done research, then. I returned the bow. “And I you. It is always good to see another of the elvhen reminding the shemlen we are not to be ignored.”

“I could manage nothing without those who have joined me.” I knew this was not entirely true; she had the ear of the Empress, or once did, but the words pleased her lieutenants, who all nodded in a quiet acknowledgment. “Please, eat and relax, Inquisitor, Keeper. You have traveled long. We can speak more when our bellies are full.”

The food was not quite Dalish, but it was a decent approximation. I supposed it would be difficult for non-Dalish to know our recipes, and a restaurant like this almost certainly used very different methods of preparation, so I gave them some leeway. They probably had put things on a stove or in an oven, luxuries few Dalish ever encountered.

Briala kept conversation both minimal and light—or as light as an Orlesian does. Commentary about the journey was brief, but she was very curious about Amir’s dracolisk, and again about Clans Sabrae and Lavellan. She asked a few things of the others at the table with us, but did not linger on conversation with any of our shemlen companions.

It was hard to see if this bothered anyone, given how far I was from them. Josephine took it in stride and adjusted with ease, and Leliana was no longer the chatty young woman from the Blight. Cullen was a bit stiff, but diplomacy, talking to people, had never been his strong suit. I could hear Dorian’s voice, as charismatic as ever, and the Iron Bull’s laugh reached us with perfect clarity.

The young woman sitting across from Cullen seemed to delight in his discomfort, going out of her way to engage him in conversations that inevitably turned to remarks on just what she thought of shemlen society. He weathered it well, I thought. As well as one could hope.

After, we were brought to the grounds of the estate that had agreed to house us. Our soldiers would camp outside; there simply wasn’t room enough for so many, even if rooms were shared and people slept on floors. Thren would be staying in the home with us, though, as our host on Briala’s behalf.

The mansion’s owner was Comte Something-or-other, and though he greeted us with great enthusiasm, and even seemed to be on decent terms with Briala’s agents, he quickly retreated to his private rooms.

Thren glanced down the group of us that would be staying in the mansion, eyes hopping from person to person in a way that could only mean he was taking a head count, and a furrow folded his brow. “We’ve prepared ten rooms,” he said, “as you had said would be all that was necessary, Ambassador. Most of you will have to share.”

“It’s not a problem, ser,” Josephine said. “We took that into account when we made the request, and we will split ourselves; many of us already share habitually. Thank you for preparing the rooms.” She bounced in what was almost a curtsey, face bright with a smile.

Thren’s suspicious look only deepened, his eyes narrowing as he looked to Amir. For his part, Amir nodded, and this seemed to be enough for Thren to keep going, though his lips remained pursed. “Right. Follow me, then. We’ve a special room for the Inquisitor, and the others are nearby.”

Chapter 20: balls come in pairs

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Thren’s discomfort and confusion at realizing that the Inquisitor intended to share his room and bed with a Tevinter mage would have been more amusing if it weren’t so common a theme. At least he seemed less upset about myself and Cullen, though I could tell it still did not sit well with him.

Still, he let it happen. Or perhaps accepted that it was not a fight worth having—either way, he left us after ensuring we did, in fact, choose this arrangement ourselves. It was mostly sweet, even.

Briala was far more interested in these arrangements when she met us for breakfast the next morning. “Inquisitor, I hope your room was adequate. We did not anticipate that you might share it.”

Amir smiled, though a telling blush rose to his cheeks, impossible to hide on his pale skin. “It was more than enough, Ambassador, I assure you.”

“We could prepare other rooms. I am certain the comte would be accommodating for the Inquisition, if he realized he had been so poor a host.”

“Ma serannas, but that won’t be necessary. Those of us who shared are rather in the habit of doing so.” He took a bite, perhaps hoping to dissuade further conversation.

Josephine intervened with the sort of grace an interruption was never meant to have, saying, “Ambassador, you are a perfect host. I hope you will forgive our misstep in not informing you of our intentions for several members to share rooms, including the esteemed Inquisitor Lavellan himself.”

“I should take it that it is, in fact, a choice for all, then?” She turned her gaze on me, and though her mask did cover half her face, it did nothing to lessen the intensity of her stare. “What of you, Keeper?”

“Entirely voluntary,” I said. She didn’t waver, so I tried a smile, adding, “Dirthavara. My lover may not be Dalish, nor even an elf, but he is mine by choice nonetheless. I would quite prefer not to waste a bed when we would only share regardless.”

She moved her focus back to Amir, though it had lessened as she, too, took the time to properly eat. “Tell me, then, Inquisitor: how did you meet your man? Thren tells me it was the Tevinter, which seems a surprising choice.”

By this point, we were all becoming tired of the ‘surprise’ over Amir and Dorian or Cullen and myself, but it seemed endless. In Amir’s case, particularly, it had always had a tinge of judgmental accusation by the public, who disliked Dorian on principle and only just accepted Amir.

(To say nothing of the Dalish, who were largely confused and often disapproved. My clan, though they had yet to speak up, certainly watched Dorian more critically than Cullen.)

Despite the public reassurances, Briala did pull me aside after breakfast to speak in her office—which was presumably the comte’s, in fact, but which she had clearly been using for some time. She moved around the desk with easy familiarity, eyes on me, not on her path or feet. “Please, Keeper, take a seat.”

I did so, and she followed suit. “Ma serannas, Ambassador. Is there something with which I can help you?”

“I believe so.” She nodded. “First, though, I would like to ask once more, now that we are in private: did you and the Inquisitor truly choose the relationships you claim? You were not pressured in any way?”

How old was Briala? Too close to my age, surely, for ‘da’len’ to be anything but an insult, but not anywhere near ‘hahren’ being appropriate, either. Her name would have to do. I smiled at her care, knowing well that elves the world over, but especially in places like Orlais and Tevinter, were often pressured into romantic entanglements they did not want—and that was the kind way of putting it.

“Dirthavara, Briala, I would have left if it were anything less than fully consensual. I am fully capable of ensuring my desires are known and respected, and Cullen is quite the gentleman about it.” She still frowned, so I kept speaking. “It helps that I have many friends in the Inquisition who would support me if I indicated it was less than desired for even a moment.”

“And the Inquisitor? He may hold power, but that does not preclude pressure—and Tevinters are known for seeking power for themselves.” Her eyes were sharp and steady, cataloguing me.

“As I understand it, Amir was the one to convince Dorian that romance was an option,” I told her, “so I do believe it is his choice. Your concern is kind.”

“My concern is learned.”

“That does not mean it is not kind.”

She did not belabor the point, though the set of her lips remained tense. “You would do well to be less frank at the ball, Keeper. Orlesians will find you easy prey if you speak so candidly.”

“You have been quite candid yourself,” I pointed out.

“I am not speaking with an Orlesian, and you would be a fool to think I am being completely honest now.” She wove her fingers together and settled her hands on the desk.

I shrugged. “I’m aware of Orlais’ reputation. It would be a fool who thinks I am naïve enough to believe someone’s every word just because I think they are kind.”

This, at last, made her smile. “You are too earnest, Keeper. It smacks of naiveté, whatever the truth may be. It does, however, explain the letter you wrote, and why it was the only one we received.”

“I gave all the information and advice I was able to, and it is rather difficult to receive letters consistently when one is on the road, as most Dalish are obligated to be.”

“And still it was odd.” She tilted her head ever so slightly, and though her lips still held a small curve, the emotion behind it was unreadable. “Such specific pieces of advice, and so apt—to say nothing of the letter for a woman not yet at court, who did not even balk that you had led us to expect her.”

“I’d heard rumors, and while Orlais may not be my home, it would be devastating for Gaspard to sit upon the throne.”

“Devastating for whom?”

I raised my eyebrows. “I think the list for whom it would not be devastating is quite a lot shorter, no matter the support he has charmed from those with military might.”

“I should take it you simply wished to keep the status quo, then?” I could not see her eyebrows, but I got the distinct impression that she was raising them, as well. “Who does this benefit?”

“I think it is apparent enough.”

“Perhaps. But how does it benefit you?”

Oh, Orlais. So utterly secretive, so self-oriented… “Must it?”

Her eyes narrowed and she came to an unnatural stillness. “Please, do explain, Keeper.”

“You’re quite right to be confused and suspicious, Briala. It had little to no bearing on me, personally. I am not Orlesian, nor do I intend to make Orlais my home; though I have spent much time in Ferelden, I do not claim it, either. What is the point, then, of keeping a pacifist empress on her throne? Why should I care if a warmonger takes it?”

I waved a hand in a sharp, undirected movement. “The reasons are convoluted and would take time to give, as they are largely extrapolation. Suffice to say that I had the information and thought it would be crueler not to use it, so I sent that letter. Gaspard must not come to power. It is that simple.”

“You will not explain whereby you came to this information?”

“And give away my source?” I was no spymaster, but Briala was. “We are on the same side, Briala.”

“For now, yes.” She leaned back in her chair, letting her arms fall to rest upon its own. “But I suppose you’ve a point, and it would be foolish to antagonize a friend, wouldn’t it? Thank you for your time, Keeper.”

“Of course.” I stood, taking the dismissal for what it was, and Briala stood with me, coming around the desk. “I will see you tonight, Briala.”

She nodded. “The carriages will be ready an hour before the start of the ball. I hope you and the Inquisitor will see fit to ride in mine.”

I didn’t have to wonder if she had extended this invitation to the other advisors. The Inquisition was led by an elf, and Briala wanted to make use of that, to show we could hold power, command respect. I dipped my head. “It would be an honor.”

 

The Inquisition arrived at the Winter Palace ready for anything. Like Celene and Gaspard, a company of our soldiers patrolled the outskirts, ostensibly to prevent outside attackers. The Inquisitor, advisors, and inner circle would be in attendance, and we were dressed to impress.

Our uniforms, though made to be practical should things go awry, were also in a military style that was, by Orlesian standards, classically fashionable. I found them a bit strange, but what ceremonial garb wasn’t? Each advisor had an iteration, and those who reported to us wore slightly simpler versions. The basics were the same throughout, though color and cut varied; those who wore the Dalish iteration, like me, had green and brown with gold accents.

Amir’s was the most striking, of course. Largely in a shade of white that very nearly matched his skin, the only color on his uniform matched the Mark on his hand and his Mythal vallaslin: a bright green sash that wound around his waist and draped over one shoulder. Everything else, buttons and all, was white. It made him into quite the vision.

(How he would keep it from being stained, I didn’t know, especially since he did not have the glasses that allowed him to see things up close…)

Medals had been forged for each of us to denote the things Josephine had deemed important—particularly any factions we had ties to. Amir’s would have been much lighter, but Josephine worked her magic and finagled several medals to affix to his sash, even if a few had been created specifically to make him look more impressive.

I was grateful that the sash rested on the left shoulder, as mine—like all the advisors’—was quite heavy, and would have eventually begun to aggravate the old injury from Fort Drakon, were it on my right. Josephine had had a field day, as far as I could tell, digging into my past to find anything and everything impressive enough to warrant some kind of medal. It was almost atrocious, but the Orlesian tailors had loved it, so I had to assume it would work to our benefit.

(At least, in the end, we did not have to wear any masks.)

Falling into step behind with and Briala, we marched to the Winter Palace’s gates. At my side, the other advisors matched my footfalls, and the inner circle held a loose formation behind us. Inquisition soldiers created a path for us, announcing our arrival as surely as any herald, and we drew a great many stares.

Amir gave no indication that he heard anything, exchanging some small talk with Briala before she continued on to gauge the reception we could expect to receive. I, however, had no such distraction, and the Orlesians were not particularly quiet about their muttering.

“The Inquisitor, a Dalish savage?” someone scoffed.

“And arriving with that elf upstart, no less,” his companion agreed.

“How many savages did they bring? Should we have them escorted out?”

“It’s not worth the trouble—yet.”

I focused on ensuring that my posture was impeccable, my face politely blank. I could give them nothing, would have to be beyond reproach. I might have worried about Mheganni—and on some level, I still was—but she understood just how fickle Orlesians were, and how much more weight they gave to bad news than good.

If I wanted to make it through the night without driving her or myself into an unbecoming fit, I would have to concentrate only on ensuring that I was perceived well.

As Amir began to schmooze and ingratiate himself with the various attending nobility, I let Leliana lead me into the palace’s vestibule. “You said Morrigan is here?” she asked, looking over the crowd.

“She should be, yes,” I affirmed, mimicking her. I didn’t have much of a vantage point, though, and no one I could see looked like Morrigan. “I admit I don’t know where, though.”

“I suppose she’ll be expecting us. You don’t think she’ll avoid us, do you?”

I had no idea. “Not intentionally, I hope. It’s been so long since I saw her last; I’d rather like to speak with her.”

Leliana scoffed. “If she wanted to speak with either of us, she would have made an effort before now, I would think.”

“She did avoid even Daylen until he chased her down.”

“Strange that he was never at court with her. I don’t think the Empress even knows about Daylen, let alone Morrigan’s involvement in the Fifth Blight.”

She was probably right, but Morrigan had always been so covetous of her secrets. She cultivated an air of mystery. Perhaps some of it was self-defense, to ensure Flemeth could not find her, but I rather suspected that she simply liked being a mysterious and knowledgeable witch of the wilds. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Mm. You’ll come find me if you see her, won’t you?”

“Only if you’ll do the same.”

“Of course.”

I glanced around again, but there was still no sign of Morrigan. At the other side of the stairs, all three looking singularly uncomfortable in their dress uniforms, stood Cassandra, Cullen, and Varric. I so rarely saw Varric wear anything that covered his chest; he was almost unrecognizable. Cassandra’s hands kept clenching and moving to her hip, where her sword would normally sit.

Cullen—I was, admittedly, not the most fond of these uniforms, but I was fond of how it looked on Cullen. For his part, he seemed to dislike approximately everything about it, so I would certainly never force it on him myself… but I could admire it now. His jacket was perhaps a touch too tight, going taut across his chest with every breath. I just knew the tailors had done this intentionally, and I couldn’t decide if I ought to curse or bless them for it.

I was certainly not going to be the only one to notice, nor the only one to become distracted by it. It felt good to know that someone as attractive as Cullen could find me attractive, too; I didn’t mind if the world also appreciated his beauty. Beauty deserved to be shared.

Leliana’s hand on my elbow brought my attention back to her, and she smirked. I wanted to be unrepentant, but such was not my nature, and a blush heated my cheeks. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“It’s time to prepare our entrance. Josephine has gone to give our list to the crier, and Amir is drawing close to the doors.” She began to walk that way as she spoke, and I trailed along. I could see the various members of our large party converging, and could only hope the size would not cause a scene.

Briala had several of her own people—include a few humans—who would be announced with her, prior to us, and between Josephine and the court attendants, everyone was quickly placed into an organized line according to the order the crier would announce their names.

Though the doors were closed, I could hear the calling of a seemingly endless list of nobility above the quiet din of a crowded ball. Was there any noble in Orlais who had not come? I doubted it very much. Thankfully, for the most part, even those who stretched belief didn’t hold too many titles. I did hear, as we entered, the introduction of a comtesse whose claims included an arling in Ferelden and a revered position among the Avvar, both of which I rather doubted to be strictly true.

At least that explained why Josephine had dug up every and any plausible title she could find for each of us. She had also personally arranged the order in which we would enter, with Amir leading the way and herself pulling up the rear—I was to go just before Josephine, and this gave ample time for my heartbeat to build into something overwhelming.

I kept my head high and my shoulders back, concentrating on the simplest aspects to keep myself from worrying that I might stumble on the stairs. Amir’s announcement and the list of his inner circle seemed to be over in an instant, despite their number, and it was soon time for the advisors.

“Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath…” Somehow, despite the staccato rhythm, the crier’s voice was little more than a drone. I watched Cullen walk with the posture only soldiers ever master, and he looked nothing less than determined. To do what didn’t matter; I saw several of the attending nobles titter and fan themselves as he passed by.

“Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court…” Leliana walked with a dancer’s light precision, all grace and guile even in a military uniform. The nobility murmured again at her, fans not stopping.

“Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae,” the crier called, and I glued my eyes to the wall above Empress Celene’s head, forced my ears to remain on his droning voice to drown out the crowd, “Hero of the Fifth Blight, Field Commander of the Grey Wardens of Orlais, Champion of Ferelden and Redcliffe, Hanal’ghilan, and Dalish Liaison to the Inquisition!”

Josephine’s list of my titles had been embarrassing enough on paper. The fact that I was able to walk more than half the length of the ballroom floor before he finished was utterly mortifying, even though I kept my steps even with Leliana’s. My face could have been aflame or drained; I had no way of knowing, and both seemed of equal and terrible likelihood.

I could not breathe in the pause before Josephine was announced, but did restrain myself from gulping for air as soon as I heard the crier’s voice ringing out with, “And Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet…”

The Orlesian nobility seemed happy to ignore her in favor of staring at me. The Iron Bull could claim all he liked that their masks did little to hide emotions; it worked plenty well for me. Blank masks all pointed in my direction, muttering growing to a barely-contained roar…

Josephine had insisted that it was important to enumerate my titles to emphasize how much contact I’d had with shemlen society, and how respected I was, but Orlais had never cared about Ferelden’s opinions of a person, and the Grey Wardens were too secretive and too recently-defamed to be of significance, surely.

I stood before Empress Celene and gave her the shallowest bow Josephine would let me get away with; this was not the time nor place to make a scene by refusing to show the expected respect to someone of political power, and I was, after all, trying to keep her on her throne. I may as well show it in a way the Orlesians would understand.

Celene did not curtsey back, but she did nod, and the murmuring rose in volume again. It was loud enough that I almost did not hear as she said to me, “We are so pleased to meet you, Keeper Vir’era. You are like the sunlight breaking through the clouds, and We have waited eagerly to know your face at last.”

“The pleasure is mine, your Majesty,” I replied. “I have long dreamed of coming to Halamshiral, and no stories can capture its essence.” I thought I could see the woman beside Celene smirk, but it was gone when I looked, and I did not linger. Celene had all of her other guests to greet, after all.

I saw Leliana leading Amir to the doors, looking far too serious for a ball, and didn’t follow. It was Amir’s job to hunt down whatever clues being the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste could get him; it was everyone else’s job to ensure no one became too concerned with where he’d gone.

Cullen had waited for me, and I took his arm when he offered it. We began to make a wide circle around the ballroom, seeing and being seen. Cullen described to me where the Inquisition’s soldiers had been placed, and we paused at every familiar face to receive preliminary reports. Though little of it was interesting, it was enough to drown out any comments the Orlesian nobility might have about me.

Still, to be effective, we could not spend the whole night at each other’s sides. “I’m sure Briala’s people would be happier to speak with you if I’m not around, anyway,” Cullen said. “Come find me if you learn something interesting or just need a break.”

“Of course, vhenan.” I was already trying to figure out how many breaks I could get away with. “Will you save a dance for me?”

“Every last one,” he promised. “Though I’m not much of a dancer.”

I smiled up at him, letting my hand linger on his arm even as we parted, trailing down to his hand until we could no longer casually reach each other, and then I turned away to see what I could learn from the crowd.

“What a touchingly chaste display.”

I almost jumped at the voice. I glanced around, knowing my gaze had been too focused on Cullen. The voice had sounded familiar, but—there, smirking, in a gown only Orlesian by silhouette, stood Morrigan. She was maskless, which was enough to make her stand out on its own, and held all the same self-assured poise I remembered. I smiled. “Morrigan.”

“Vir’era.” She held out a hand, and I obligingly offered my arm. “Let us walk, hm?”

She steered me to walk the perimeter of the dance floor, and though the crowd was thickest there, they parted readily for her. “Imagine my surprise,” she told me, “when, upon my arrival at the Orlesian court, the Empress herself was already waiting to welcome me.”

“I’m sure it was very surprising. Pleasant, too, I hope.”

“Would I have stayed if it weren’t?” She gave me a look out of the corner of her eye. “It is to both our benefit that I am used to your eccentricities. The moment she said your name, I nearly laughed.”

“That would have been a scene, I’m sure.”

“Indeed. I considered leaving. If you knew I was coming here, who else might? But it was safer to be known, and Empress Celene did seem quite taken with the idea of keeping me at her court, even before I explained what I could offer. I wonder if that is not your doing.”

I shrugged. “If it is, then it was by coincidence. You would have proven yourself, but I needed to send the letter, and could not wait for you to arrive.”

“Do you know what Celene is so interested in? Why it is that she employs me?”

“No. Something to do with magic, but beyond that…” How was I supposed to know? Leliana said Celene had a fascination with the arcane. Was that not enough reason?

“I see.” We walked in silence a moment. “In your letter, you said you had information for me that you did not want to put to paper.”

Quick to the point as ever. “Yes. I’d—rather not talk about it where we don’t know who might hear, though. This ball is hardly secure, regardless of the importance of its attendees.”

“Attendees like your Inquisitor?”

“Among others, yes.”

She tugged my arm until I met her eyes. “I cannot leave the Empress for long. Machinations abound tonight. But tomorrow—tomorrow, I will come to you.”

Into the home provided by Briala’s people, but surrounded by Inquisition soldiers—though her proposal was certain to change before the night was out, given that she would need to pack her things on the morrow. I smiled. “As soon as we can find a secure, private space, I will tell you. Dirthavara, Morrigan.”

From how her eyes narrowed, she caught what I didn’t say, but she nodded nonetheless. “Keep your mysteries a while longer, then. I will know it soon enough.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“In the meanwhile…” She glanced down at the ballroom floor, which was now to fill with dancers; the announcements had finished. I saw a few of the Inquisition’s own hanging around the edge, though none yet made any move to dance. “Empress Celene is interested in speaking with you.”

“What?” My feet scuffed against the floor, barely keeping from a full-out stumble in the wake of this statement, and I had to force my jaw to remain in place. Despite her being the one on my arm, she continued to guide me—straight, I belatedly noticed, to where the Empress and her entourage would be. “Why?”

“Why, indeed?” Morrigan’s fingers held tighter to my arm, though I had not made an effort to free myself. “Certainly it cannot be connected to any strange letters.”

“I told her everything I could.”

“Did you, now? I’m afraid Orlesians, for all that they read far too much out of far too little, seem to find letters like yours to be quite the mystery. I expect she’ll want you to explain yourself.”

“You didn’t explain?”

“And what was I to have said?” Morrigan scoffed. “A mysterious gift does little more than pique their curiosity, Vir’era. I should think you know this.”

I tried not to deflate too visibly, but I knew she was correct, and it only made my heart pound all the harder. I had not anticipated sharing even a word with the Empress, let alone an entire conversation. Nothing had prepared me for such a task; I could only hope she would not think less of the Inquisition for my nerves.

Morrigan gave a quick squeeze to my arm. “Eyes up. I’ll not be scolded for presenting you in such a state. You are a respected member of the Inquisition. Act like it.”

The flush of embarrassment was enough to beat down some of the paling dread, and I swallowed down my bile. My heart continued its attempt at beating its way through my ribcage, but I could do nothing for that. (I was tempted to try a glass of wine, but there was hardly time to drink one as Morrigan strode past a set of guards.)

Three women in identical dresses tittered as we approached, then sauntered off. Morrigan deposited me in the space they left, taking her arm back. “That Commander of yours looked familiar,” she drawled, an obvious ploy at distraction, but a welcome one.

“He was a Templar at Kinloch Hold during the Blight.”

Both her eyebrows raised, and were it eleven years ago, she would have probably dropped her jaw. “That is the man from behind the blood mages’ barrier?”

Creators, what I wouldn’t give for a memory as sharp as hers. “He’s changed a bit since then.”

“To say the least.” She shook her head, smirking. “I would never have guessed it, to look at him. Perhaps congratulations are in order. I assume he is no longer a Templar, if he is with your Inquisition?”

“Yeah, he left their order. It’s something of a long story.” And not mine to tell, not really.

“Mm, I suspect it would be.” Morrigan’s smirk grew into a smile, and she turned to the side with a shallow curtsey. I followed her gaze and quickly dipped into a similarly shallow bow when I saw Empress Celene approaching. “Your Majesty, I present to you Keeper Vir’era.”

“Thank you, Lady Morrigan.” Celene turned her smile on me. I was not trained in Orlais’ bardic arts; I could not say how genuine it was. “Keeper Vir’era, it is such a pleasure. I have been hoping for a long time to speak with you.”

It felt like a dream, really. Surely this was conjured up by some demon of the Fade, offering praise as though it was my due—but the Inquisition could not afford the insult if it were not, so I pulled out a smile. “I’ve certainly done nothing so extraordinary as to warrant your attention, your Majesty.”

“A few words may seem like little to your people, Keeper, but they are the life and breath of the Game, and yours were of particular interest.”

Dirthamen himself had fewer secrets than Orlesians, I could swear by it; I did my best to appear as inconsequential as one could possibly expect under the circumstances. “There is nothing to gain with a change in the throne, and everything to lose,” I said, hoping she would like the words.

She kept smiling, though I could now see it reaching her eyes even behind her mask. “I must admit, I was surprised that a Dalish would take such interest, regardless of what knowledge had crossed your path.”

“Orlais’ politics do not affect Orlais alone, for better or for worse.” I wrapped one hand around the other, hoping she could not see them shake. “Though I would hesitate to call your country perfect, your Majesty, it would certainly be worse under the governance of your cousin.”

“Do you speak for yourself, Keeper?” she asked, and I wondered, for a moment, what she meant. Of course I spoke for myself—who else could I speak for? But this was easy to answer: I could speak for the Inquisition, for the Dalish, and even for Orlais’ Grey Wardens, now.

I tilted my head, knowing I could not afford to lose her support for any of those groups by claiming to speak only for my own opinion. “I speak the truth as I see it, your Majesty.”

“Interesting words from an oracle.” Celene paused, looking me up and down in a plainly considering motion. “I suppose you are never without work, with your gift.”

“Not a day in my life.” Not one I could remember, at any rate.

“Would you ever consider coming to my court?”

“I’m afraid I would be of little use. A gift like mine is fickle, your Majesty, and cannot be commanded by any mortal.” I wondered if Fen’Harel could command it, could force new knowledge upon me. It did not seem outside the realm of possibility—but I did not relish attempting to find out.

“A pity, then, though I suspect you travel where you are most useful.”

“Bien sûr.”

Her lips flickered into what could almost have been called a grin, if only it had lasted. “Merci beaucoup pour vos conseils, Keeper. J’espère qu’Orlais pourra vous aider.”

I had no good answer. “Moi aussi, votre Majesté.”

Notes:

bien sur - of course
merci beaucoup pour vos conseils - roughly, thank you for your time (accurately: thank you for your advice, ish)
j'espere qu'orlais pouura vous aider - i hope that orlais can help you
moi aussi, votre majeste - me too, your majesty

-

at this point i swear i ought to just bite the bullet and tag for random bits of french. also, don't worry, the ball continues in the next chapter! there was simply too much for one chapter alone... fuckin orlesians...

Chapter 21: in orlais you trip on dicks

Notes:

as i am updating, the US is clashing again over the unjust deaths of black people at the hands of police. this time, the victim was george floyd. if you are able, i encourage you to visit this site, full of handy links, to see how you can help.

Chapter Text

Josephine intercepted me immediately after my meeting with Celene finished. She bustled me off to the side, a ceramic smile masking the panic that her grip on my arm belied. I didn’t put up even a token protest, attempting instead to mimic her smile, though mine was likely far less refined.

Her expression did not particularly change even as she turned to question me. “Keeper, why did the Empress speak with you just now?”

“Much the same reason as Briala, I think,” I answered, also maintaining my smile, and gave her the quickest summation of the encounter that I could manage. “I think it is to our benefit, Josephine, I really do.”

“Vir’era…” The mask of her smile, which had slipped slightly as I spoke, fell entirely for a moment, and she looked around the ball in a long, sweeping motion. “I hope you are right, but we can take no chances. You’re not trained in the Grand Game, and there are few better players than Empress Celene.”

“She wasn’t as interested in the Inquisition itself, at least. She offered me employment, actually; I think it’s safe to say she thinks I am important, even if she does not like me.”

Josephine blinked. Then her shoulders sagged for only a moment, and she took a deep breath, her easy smile reappearing. “You might have mentioned as much. It could just be to keep you close, or even to see what you might say, but it’s a good sign. You refused her, I’m sure?”

“Of course. I’d be fairly useless to her, really.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Still, she seems to want to be in your good graces, and certainly wants to keep you close. We may be able to use this.” I could see her plotting things out, watching as she performed the kind of strange calculus that allowed the right glove on the right table to ruin a man’s entire life. Her eyes refocused on me in short order. “That is, of course, if you don’t mind being our pawn?”

“I don’t imagine you’d ask anything of me that I would object to,” I said. Being a pawn in general sounded unpleasant, but allowing Josephine to use the strange sort of clout I had gathered and knew not what to do with—well, that was only reasonable. Something had to be done with it, and I respected her, knew she had decent morals.

Her smile widened into what I thought must be a genuine one. “Thank you, Keeper. I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

“You always do. Please let me know what I must do, if there is anything.”

“Of course. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve left my sister alone for five minutes, which is five minutes too many, and I must make certain she hasn’t gotten into any trouble.” The wince that followed the statement was enough to explain how likely it was, and I restrained my laughter as I waved her off. Her work was never done.

My first order of business was clear: I had, after all, promised Leliana that I would find her if I saw Morrigan, and, well, I’d certainly seen Morrigan. Leliana had taken up a post that allowed the best view of the entire ballroom, and even as I walked up to her, I saw Emily and Elizabeth walking away, the smirks on their faces evidence enough that they’d delivered some kind of news.

(A corner of my mind hoped it was something damning against Gaspard.)

Leliana raised an eyebrow at me. “I saw that Morrigan found you,” she said. “I’ll have to whine at her later for not saying hello to me, as well.”

“I think she was told to collect me, actually,” I admitted. “Empress Celene apparently wanted a conversation, and knew that Morrigan is a friend.”

“I didn’t realize she would let herself be used for other people’s errands, no matter how important they fashioned themself.” Though Leliana looked calm and collected, I could hear the mirth peeking through her words, a remnant of the vivacious bard I’d first met. Maybe Morrigan could help pull more of that out.

I grinned. “I don’t think she relished in it, but it happened all the same.”

“So it did.” She leaned in close, voice dropping to a level I could only just hear. “How angry will she be, do you think, if I told someone here stories of how she and Alistair used to bicker?”

“I think it depends on the story. Some she might enjoy retelling herself.” How many people could claim to have bickered with the King of Ferelden as his equal? She probably had more embarrassing stories about him than either of us had of her, too. “If you’re careful enough, she might not be able to complain without admitting her part.”

Leliana laughed—actually laughed—and stood straight again. “Oh, Vir’era, I do so love how you think sometimes. You’re a treasure. I’ll just have to figure out which story would have the most devastating effect, now.”

Delighted, I wished her luck, then left her to her own devices. Whatever stressors this ball brought, it was worth the effort, I thought, for how happy it seemed to make Leliana.

I began to patrol the ballroom, which realistically meant that I started to wander somewhat aimlessly, keeping my eyes and ears out for anything of particular interest. Most of the attendees were too tall for me to garner anything of use in the most crowded spaces, with my line of sight being limited to, when I was lucky, shoulder height.

If they spoke of anything interesting, that, too, was beyond my ability to ascertain. There was a lot of talking in circles, with theatrically loud complaints about only the most banal of details. Did it matter, really, whether a person’s mask was decorated with obsidian instead of ebony? (What was the significance of a minor noble’s choice in furs?)

Perhaps Josephine, Leliana, or Vivienne could decipher these things. I filed the information to deliver later, just in case, and looked instead for Briala’s people. They might at least be able to tell me if I ought to be extra wary of someone specific, rather than the general suspicion my normal anxiety and paranoia brought about.

Finding elves was a simple enough task; finding Briala’s people was less so. Unlike the Inquisition, her entourage wore no uniform. They did not even all wear masks, let alone masks that were all of a style. Of course, given their skill sets, I supposed it made more sense that they were difficult to find.

I was becoming tempted to simply start asking every elf I passed if they worked for her, on the off chance that might work, when someone called to me.

“Keeper Vir’era!” the voice exclaimed. The butchered pronunciation guaranteed the person to be Orlesian, so I brought myself to a pleasant neutral presentation before turning to its source: a young woman with a half-mask and a practiced smile.

I had hoped I might recognize whoever was calling my name, even though I had not known the voice, but I had no idea who this woman was. Still, I smiled and tried to feign my way through it. “How may I help you, my lady?”

She giggled, in the way one does at a pleasant surprise, so I figured those had been the right words. “You are a treasure! I was hoping I could bother you for a dance, if you are not busy?”

Suddenly, I found myself wishing the conversation with Celene had gone on for much longer. This is why we had taken lessons, though, and I certainly did at least know the basic steps, which ought to be enough to satisfy the lords and ladies here. I tried to keep my smile from being too stiff as I replied, “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

I began to offer my hand, but she beat me to it with a wide grin. “If you do not mind, my lord, I prefer to lead.”

The relief I felt was immediate. It was far easier for me to follow these dances than lead them, especially when I was nearly a head shorter than the partner I was meant to be leading—at least I was not eye-level with her chest, though. That would have become too awkward too quickly. Instead, I smiled. “What serendipity; I prefer to follow.”

She giggled again, and I wondered if there was some euphemistic meaning to the phrase that no one had seen fit to inform me of. Her hand was warm through the glove she wore, though, and she brought me to the dance floor with practiced ease. We were not the only pair in which a woman was leading, but I was the only elf that I could see dancing.

“It is such a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” she said. “I am Lady Amélie d’Alyons. I have never met a Dalish before—and your Inquisition has so many!”

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Amélie,” I replied, following the simple steps of the dance closely, so as to both distract myself from any less savory things she might say, as well as to ensure I did not step on her toes. “We Dalish do tend to be insular, but several clans have acknowledged the importance of the Inquisition’s work.”

“Please, do tell me: is it true what they say? The Herald of Andraste does not even believe in Her?” She was smiling, but this was something Josephine had coached us on.

“It would be difficult not to believe in the existence of a woman in historical record,” I said, carefully. “It is true that few Dalish worship the Maker, though.”

She hummed, and I wondered if that answer was disappointing. It was a non-answer, of course, but I was under the impression that such was standard among Orlesians. Still, I forced myself to wait for her to continue speaking, no matter how nerve-wracking the silence became. “What of yourself, then? Is the Inquisition not a holy endeavor for you?”

“Is it not a holy endeavor to heal a broken world?” ‘Holy’ was such an Andrastian concept, really. What did it mean to be holy, to do holy things? Were my duties as Keeper of my clan holy? Had my gift, or its knowledge, been holy? I was the closest to a priest the Dalish had, but did that equate to being holy?

Amélie giggled, like my words had been funny. “I suppose you are right!” Her hands urged me into a dip, and I hoped she did not intend on anything more complex than that. “Do the Dalish truly…”

Her questions became more general, seemingly harmless even for all their ignorance, and I weathered them to the best of my ability. Josephine’s rigorous coaching had covered even these topics, thankfully, and I made my best efforts at answering in ways of which she would approve. I liked to think I was largely successful.

 

Lady Amélie, it turned out, was only the first in a long line of Orlesians apparently eager to dance with me. After the fifth dance, I was ready for a break, but I dreaded the thought of anyone turning to Mheganni instead—she had made it clear enough in our practices that she hated Orlesian dances, and I did not want to subject her to that on top of their insensitive questions. It would be a disaster for all involved.

If nothing else, my dancing certainly improved throughout the course of partners. I did manage not to step on anyone’s toes, but it was a very near thing, and I started to move in the wrong direction several times. Most of my partners took it in stride, but a few made disparaging remarks I didn’t care to dwell on.

Curiously, as though the first dance had signified something to everyone around, every partner offered to lead. It was to my benefit, especially when most were too tall for me to see around and guide away from potential crashes, but also made me wonder why. I did not voice my confusion.

The questions ranged from insensitive assumptions about the Dalish to genuine queries about the Inquisition’s work. I tried to probe in turn, as was polite, but knew so little about anyone that it was largely futile. (I admittedly did not try very hard with those who asked if the Dalish truly had moonlit orgies, or who tried to curry favor by complimenting how civilized I was.)

While some of this did bring knowledge I felt Leliana or Josephine might make use of, most of it was, simply, useless. I still did not know what was different between what my journal had predicted and what had actually transpired, nor was I able to speak to any of Briala’s agents, who most certainly were not among those lining up to spin me around the ballroom.

My rescue came in the form of Amir, who swept in to steal me away just as my feet were beginning to ache. “Ir abelas, Keeper,” he said. “I hope I am not taking you from something important.”

“On the contrary, I think I’m quite happy for the interruption,” I told him, following as he brought me to stand safely away from anyone who might ask for a dance. “What do you need, da’len?”

“The shem mage woman you mentioned when we were preparing—Morrigan—you’re certain we can trust her?” he asked.

“She’s strange and cultivates an air of mystery around herself, but yes, I trust her.” I tilted my head, squinting a bit. “Did she come to find you, then?”

He nodded. “She told me about the servants’ quarters and gave me a key. I suspect it’s…” If Amir’s face could get any paler, he might well disappear. He looked down, clenching the key in one hand. “…Is it a greater tragedy when death is accepted and expected, or when it is a surprise?”

I covered his hand with both of mine, pressing with my best attempt at reassurance. “Death and tragedy are always a pair, da’len. There is no objective scope to either.”

“I hope I am wrong about what waits in the servants’ quarters. I doubt I am.”

I could not remember, exactly, what to warn him of that I had not already said. He knew to expect attack around any corner, to be prepared for it; Sera had snuck in among the servants specifically to ensure she could get him proper weaponry and armor. Quietly, I told him, “You are doing more than enough already, da’len. You cannot prevent every tragedy. Focus on what you must do, and use what spare attention you are left with for everything else.”

“It never feels like enough,” he whispered.

“No,” I agreed, “it never does.”

 

Not wanting to entertain Orlesians, I made my way to Cullen when Amir departed to investigate. He was surrounded by Orlesian nobility, all tittering and cooing over him, and while I certainly felt he was worthy of such admiring, it clearly made him uncomfortable.

I watched him lean visibly away as a noblewoman came to, presumably, ask him for a dance. He wasn’t frowning, but his lips were thin and his eyes tight, his shoulders creeping slowly up. It reminded me of when he’d held his tongue around Meredith, and I wanted nothing more than to take him from the commotion.

A terrible idea took root in my head, and I didn’t have time to think it over. I brought out my sappiest smile and caught Cullen’s eye, watching his brows furrow as I sidled in closer than I might have normally done. He smiled, but it was confused. He didn’t lean away, though—in fact, he leaned in, then further when I beckoned him down so that I could whisper in his ear.

“Amir’s investigating the servants’ quarters,” I told him, “but I’m rather tired of being paraded around by Orlesians, and you look like you need a break.”

“That’s all fine, but why the whispering?” he asked. To hear him, I had to lean in enough that I could feel his warmth.

I stifled a grin. “It looks more romantic.” I could almost feel his confusion, so I said, “They may be less persistent if they know they haven’t a chance.”

“Or they’ll be worse.” But he was smirking when he stood straight again, and he took one of my hands to wrap around his arm. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

As far as ensuring the Orlesians had something to talk about that wasn’t where the Inquisitor had disappeared off to, I wasn’t sure this counted, but I beamed at Cullen and let him lead me away. His gathered admirers erupted into a flurry of murmurs as we departed.

“Have you even had a chance to speak with any of Briala’s people?” Cullen asked as we stepped outside.

I sighed, hiding a groan within it. “Not a one,” I said. “You’d almost think these Orlesians were actively trying to keep me away from anyone.”

“Are you sure they’re not? I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“I suppose it’s a possibility, but it seems highly unlikely. They might have kept me from getting to you, then.”

“I’m glad they didn’t.” We walked to stand at a balcony, and I released Cullen’s arm in favor of leaning on the railing. He did the same beside me, his newly-free arm coming to rest on my back, a reassuring and welcomed weight.

“Gaspard sent someone to speak with me,” he said, the casual tone a complete mismatch for how his hand was gripping the railing. “Apparently, he thought he might sway the Inquisition to see his side.”

It wasn’t a surprise, not really. Cullen knew, that, too; Josephine had mentioned there was every possibility of it, since we were arriving the Briala, and thus appeared largely unaligned. I put my hand over his. “I’m certain Amir has no interest in that.”

“I should hope not.” Cullen sighed. “Even if he doesn’t own up to being racist, his speeches are troubling. Have you read any of them?”

“I’ll admit I haven’t bothered.”

“That’s just as well. He doesn’t go into detail, of course, but his plan after ascending to the throne is to, and I quote, ‘return Orlais to its former glory.’” He sneered, huffing his distaste in a way that I found almost paradoxically comforting. “I may not know exactly what he means by that, but we’ll say that I have a hunch it would involve retaking Ferelden.”

There were people—many people—who still remembered the war that bought Ferelden its freedom. It had barely been more than forty years, and while Gaspard was certainly too young to really remember, he was old enough to resent, and powerful enough to act on it. I did not doubt Cullen’s conclusion. “You know, I think I’ve seen rather enough of war. I’d prefer to avoid another.”

Cullen’s breath caught, and I looked up at him to see a tense-jawed sadness staring back at me. “I’ll make sure of it,” he said, “even if I must duel Gaspard myself.”

I pulled his hand to my lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Ma serannas, ma vhenan, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Even so. The last thing you need—the last thing any of us needs—is another war on the heels of this one.” He kissed my temple, a very brazen display compared to our normal, and I smiled. I didn’t quite know how to interpret his words, as he’d certainly seen enough horrors himself that there was no need to single me out, but it didn’t seem important enough to comment on, especially not when I was much busier trying to decide if I should try a full kiss in this semi-privacy.

“I trust Amir to make the right decision.”

“I only wish enough Orlesians had half the sense he does.”

His words startled me into laughing, and I looked up at him. “Come on, now, we’re taking a break. That’s enough dour talk until we’ve recovered enough to go back in.”

“Alright, you may have a point.” I raised an eyebrow and he just smiled, though he did glance over his shoulder. “Do you think they’ll stop asking us to dance if we make it clear we’re spoken for?”

“I think it depends on what you mean by ‘make it clear,’ vhenan.”

“Words probably won’t be enough, will they?”

“No, I rather think words would only fuel the fire.” I grinned, knowing there would be no better time than the present if I wanted a kiss. “Actions, though—even these Orlesians will surely understand that, don’t you think?”

A sly smile slid up his lips, and I wondered if he hadn’t been hoping for that answer. My grin grew wider in response, and then he was pulling me tight against his body, tugging until I was on my tiptoes even as he leaned down to make it easier to kiss me. I couldn’t help but giggle like a teen at his zeal, but I answered in kind, wrapping my arms around his neck and threading a hand into his hair.

Not too far off, I could hear the telltale gasps and tittering of onlookers with new juicy gossip. I decided that, this time, I didn’t mind; after all, it had been rather intentional.

 

After that, I made my rounds to check in with whoever I could find. Mheganni stood in an alcove with Solas, and as I approached, I noticed that she actually seemed happy. Solas said something to her, and she snickered, glancing in some direction he’d indicated. To my surprise, he grinned, too, larger and more delighted than I would ever have expected from… Well, from him, either as Solas or Fen’Harel.

It was Solas who noticed my arrival, and though he didn’t stop smiling, it became restrained, eyes narrow in a way that speaks to observation more than mirth. “Keeper,” he greeted.

“Solas, Mheganni.” I nodded to them both, and Mheganni raised an eyebrow at me. “How has your night been, so far?”

“Not as bad as I thought, for a shem ball,” Mheganni said. She picked up a little skewer of meats. “The food’s good, even.”

I noticed a small pile of skewers on the table by her plate, and was glad she’d at least found something to enjoy here. (Something other than complaining about Orlesians, anyway.) Solas added, “Most of the nobility pays us little mind, but the servants have been happy to keep our plates and cups full.”

Did wine even affect a god, or did he simply enjoy the taste? “That’s good to hear. I’ve been fielding them all night, and it’s certainly not what I’d call fun.”

“I noticed,” Mheganni said. She sneered a bit in the direction of the dance floor. “I told you I wouldn’t need to learn those stupid dances, though. No one’s even come close to asking.”

I wondered how much of that had to do with her being one of the Dalish with the fewest shemlen accolades and how much it had to do with her general disposition as soon as any shemlen opened their mouth in her vicinity. It was probably for the best that I kept those thoughts to myself. “I suppose you haven’t noticed anything of interest?”

“Orlesians suck at lying.” She tilted her head back and forth. “Almost as bad as you, even, which is stupid, what with how they’re all… What’s that shem phrase? Smoke and glass?”

“Smoke and mirrors,” Solas murmured.

“That. Really, they just spend the whole time making obtuse statements and then acting like anyone can tell anything from it. Direct questions get their feathers ruffled.”

“I think Josephine would say it’s about what they don’t say,” I said, and Mheganni grumbled.

“They should just speak straight. It’s far less confusing for everyone involved.”

I looked to Solas to gauge his opinion and caught him smiling at Mheganni in a way that made my throat tighten. Did she know his truth now? They stood so close, each angled to the other, mirroring the glances and gestures. I pushed the corners of my lips into a smile, looking away from Solas before he could take my gaze as a prompt to speak.

Mheganni’s green eyes narrowed at me, her own lips tilting down. I forcibly relaxed my shoulders, saying, “Yes, you’re probably right. Nothing else, though? Of interest to the Inquisition specifically, I mean. I’m checking in with everyone.”

She tilted her head, but I just waited, and soon Solas said, “Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—nothing seems amiss, but we will keep a watch here.”

“Perfect.” I nodded again, smile firmly in place. “Let someone know if that changes.”

“Of course,” he said, and I left.

Behind me, I heard Mheganni asking where ‘smoke and mirrors’ had even come from, anyway. I was out of earshot before I could catch Solas’ answer.

 

I found Driscoll hanging off of the Iron Bull, smirking at every Orlesian in the vicinity, and flirting horrendously with anyone who spoke to him. The Iron Bull, for his part, seemed content to sit back and play the part of… was it eye candy? Did he count as eye candy, or was that intended for conventionally attractive people only?

When I caught his eye, the Iron Bull gave a minute shake of his head, and I let them be. Whatever Driscoll’s plan was, I wanted no part of it. (Some of the nobles, I thought, seemed more than interested, staring plainly enough that even I took notice.)

Dorian was nowhere to be found, of course; I suspected he was helping Amir. Kumbukani was also absent—conspicuously so, given how I found Adegoke standing stiff as a board in a corner, holding a tiny plate of sweets like a shield.

“Did your sister leave you here alone?” I asked him, and he nodded, frowning down at his plate. He poked at one of the confections and wrinkled his nose when a tiny cloud of powdered sugar poofed over everything. “Have you been given much trouble?”

He shrugged. “Not really. No more than usual, anyway. But I feel like I say the wrong thing every time anyone tries to speak to me.”

I knew that feeling all too well. With a reassuring smile, I asked, “Would you like to join me for a while? I’m checking in on everyone, and you’ve got a better vantage point than me.”

His frown melted into a little smile of his own as he chuckled. “That’s one way of saying it. Did you even find anyone else?”

“I found Solas and Mheganni, then Driscoll and the Iron Bull, and now you, so… not really, no.” I took his arm when he offered it. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a more productive evening than me?”

“Unless you count finding out that Orlesians can somehow fuck up a cookie, no, probably not.” I didn’t even have to ask, because he sighed and added, “Somehow made it taste like a pity party. Didn’t even know that was possible.”

Given that the ham had tasted of despair, I supposed I was unsurprised, but it certainly didn’t sound appetizing. (What did a pity party taste like? I wasn’t curious enough to find out, but I supposed that salt and charcoal would be apt and also mostly edible.)

We made our way around, and I found myself left mostly in peace as long as I was on Adegoke’s arm. On the one hand, it was absolutely a relief, as I was almost entirely danced out. On the other, though, it hurt my heart to see just how poorly Orlesians thought of qunari. Adegoke was large, yes, and had an intensity to his face when he concentrated on something, but he had never been anything but kind and respectful that I had seen.

It was, as I had suspected, much easier to spot people with Adegoke doing the looking. He couldn’t find everyone, of course; Sera and Cole were hardly going to be out here in the crowds, and even Adegoke’s height wasn’t enough to reliably spot dwarves among the throngs of schmoozing nobility.

Unfortunately, no one had anything particularly notable to report, let alone something that would help Amir. I supposed it was a good sign, especially since it all seemed to be going in our favor, and in favor of both Celene and Briala. I even managed to avoid so much as seeing Gaspard.

Eventually, we made our way to Cullen, who was once again surrounded—though this time, it seemed to include at least one palace guard, a chevalier, a couple of maskless men in mercenary clothing, and a few elves. His noble admirers hadn’t exactly left, but there was more of a buffer, and his shoulders were not nearly so close to his ears.

“…whole thing was nearly destroyed in the process,” he was saying, his audience listening with rapt attention, “and it’s old enough to be effectively beyond repair. We’ve sent people out to save what they can and demolish the rest.”

He had to be talking about Adamant, then. Avoiding the most terrible parts by explaining the structure itself, too, which seemed rather wise. There were plenty of things that had happened which didn’t need to be public knowledge, no matter how glorious a new ear might think it.

He stopped and smiled as we approached, though, and I let go of Adegoke’s arm to take my place at Cullen’s side. When I was near, he leaned down and asked, quietly, “Have you seen Amir? I saw him dance with Florianne, but he’s been missing since.”

I pulled my lips into what I hoped would seem like a coy smile, so those watching would think he was saying something romantic; I doubted it would stop them listening in, but it was worth the attempt. Cupping a hand around my mouth, I stood on my tiptoes to murmur in his ear, “No, but that means it’s almost over. Watch the Grand Duchess carefully.”

When I pulled back, he was smiling softly, and if he hadn’t looked up to where Celene and her advisors—including Grand Duchess Florianne—were standing, I might have thought he hadn’t heard my words at all.

As if on cue, heralds began calling for attention, and Celene moved up to the balcony railing above the dance floor. Florianne, hands behind her back, smirked from the Empress’ side, and I glanced to the main ballroom doors as though I had any hope of seeing Amir enter from my vantage point.

Cullen grew very still, the hand he’d put on my waist gripping tight. My own breaths felt shallow as Celene began speaking, and I heard nothing she said. If Amir didn’t show in time, what should I do? Could my magic stop Florianne in time—would such action on my part be taken for its intent, or treated as an attack? We didn’t have anyone close enough for physical intervention—

Shocked gasping tore my attention to the ballroom floor, where Amir was striding towards the balcony with his head high and shoulders back. “Grand Duchess Florianne,” I heard him call out, and between my relief and the theatrical gasping of the Orlesian court, the rest became little more than accusatory sounds.

Amir was resplendent, though, and I was so very proud. For all that he carried himself according to Orlesian customs, and was even arguably following them in his cornering of Florianne, he was still so visibly Dalish that it made my heart soar. His white uniform was as pristine as when he had arrived, somehow, and the only color visible on him was the matching Fade green of his sash, his Mark, and his vallaslin.

I melted against Cullen, and he took my weight without complaint, his own grip on my waist loosening as Amir neatly stopped the attempt on Celene’s life before it could even occur. We watched him follow her, Gaspard, and Briala to a terrace, and I knew that all we had come here to do was, effectively, done.

It really didn’t even take long for the rest to sort itself out. Gaspard was taken away to await death for treason; Briala was announced as the new Marquise of the Dales; Empress and Marquise both thanked the Inquisition and Amir, who said a few pretty words about working and being stronger together.

With the civil war now officially over, and the evening’s machinations at their end, the Orlesian nobility began to let loose. Everyone, it seemed, was on their way to being utterly drunk for one reason or another, though most were in celebration. Whether they truly liked Celene as Empress or not, the end of the war was reason enough to party.

I was about to pull Cullen to the dance floor at last when Morrigan intervened. “A word, if you would, Vir’era.”

She took my arm and led me to a nearby alcove, whose previous occupants flounced away as soon as they noticed her approach. “I thought you should know first, though I suspect you already do,” she began, “but Empress Celene has seen fit to lend my services to your Inquisition.”

“Yes, I knew she would,” I said. I tilted my head, peering up at her; she projected a calm and vaguely amused persona, nearly the same caustically sarcastic one from ten years ago, but with the maturity only age can bring. “I’ve been looking forward to working with you again.”

She smirked, raising one eyebrow. “Have you? I suppose I shall take that for a compliment. I will need to spend tomorrow packing my things and arranging for their delivery to Skyhold, but I see no reason I cannot return with your company. Surely you don’t intend to leave in the morn?”

I couldn’t help but pull a face; night had long since fallen, the sky full dark. It would take plenty of travel to get to Skyhold, yes, and we really shouldn’t dally—but I had great doubts that anyone would be prepared to travel any distance the day after such excitement. I certainly would rather not.

Morrigan laughed, not waiting for me to put voice to the expression. “I thought not,” she said. “I shall join you for dinner, then. I think Kieran would be very happy to meet you.”

“It would delight me to finally see him.”

The words were enough to bring out one of her rare, genuine smiles, and it made her look so soft that I almost didn’t believe it was real. It didn’t last long, though; soon that sense that she was laughing at something no one else could see returned, and she shooed me away with one hand. “Off with you, now. I must inform your Inquisitor and Ambassador.”

“Don’t forget to tell Leliana, too,” I reminded. She rolled her eyes; clearly even age hadn’t removed that particular habit.

“I’m certain that bard already knows,” she said, “but fine, I’ll tell her. Now go! Return to your Commander, tell him the good news, be romantic, whatever it is you so clearly want to do to him.”

I didn’t bother protesting. “I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow, Morrigan.”

She shooed me away, already moving in the direction of where Josephine had spent most of the night. Smiling, I did as she bade and returned to Cullen, though I only paused long enough to take hold of his hand. “Come, vhenan. I believe you promised me a dance.”

“Did I?” he asked, but the smile on his face and the way he let me tug him to the dance floor betrayed his intent. “I’m not very good at this, you know.”

“Neither am I.” I smiled, and he put a hand on my waist and pulled up the one already holding mine, arranging us into a basic Orlesian dancing form. “I don’t care if we’re terrible at it. I just want to dance with you.”

He held me closer than the dance typically called for, the lights in the room making him glow softly; he was impossibly handsome. Maybe that was just because he was mine. I looked up at him, certain I had the face of a fool in love, and decided I loved him too much to care.

Chapter 22: the moments in between (are mostly set up)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Well, Vir’era?” Morrigan crossed her legs where sat at the small writing table in the room Cullen and I were sharing, one eyebrow lifting into a high arch. “We are in as private a place as we are likely to get, now. Out with it.”

“I want to prepare you,” I said, slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting my hands in my lap, “because I do not think you will like this information.”

She crossed her arms. “Get on with it, then.”

I took in a slow, deep breath. “Ir abelas, Morrigan. I… have lied to you.” She gave me a dry look, and I had to resist the sudden urge to roll my eyes at her. “Yes, I know you’re aware of that, to some degree. But this is something about—it affects you, and I hope you will hold your judgement until I have said my piece. After, you may be as angry with me as you feel.”

“If you dawdle much longer, it will not make me any less cross, Vir’era. You are not a child; speak, or do not.”

I nodded. “Your mother is far more than she ever revealed to you. I’m sure you understand this on some level, with what you know of—how she has continued living so long. But it’s more even than that.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I have her Grimoire still. I’m quite certain I would have noticed if she were hiding the sort of magic one requires spirits or demons for.”

“She did not write this in her Grimoire, and it was not a spell.” Probably? What even was Mythal now, and how did she come to live in Flemeth? (What happens when a god is killed?) Was it fundamentally different from how Justice had come to live with Anders? “Flemeth is a—a vessel, I suppose, but I don’t think that’s quite right.”

“Putting aside that she was not in her own original body: for what is she a vessel, pray tell?”

“I am not lying to you now, dirthavara.” Morrigan lifted one hand and rolled it with an exaggerated nod, urging me to continue. “She is a vessel for a piece of Mythal.”

She stared at me, and between the heartbeats that begged me to keep explaining, she stood, the movement enough to keep me silent. “You do not mean to simply confess to how you failed to kill her, as I asked ten years ago.” I began to apologize for that, but she huffed. “Do not bother. Daylen admitted as much years ago; I have already had my time to be angry for it.”

“I wish it were so simple as that.”

“It never is, with Flemeth.” She strode to one of the windows. “You mean to tell me your gods exist, then, and my mother is one, somehow.” I didn’t see her face, but I could hear the sneer in her next words. “If this is true, she hid it very well. I would never have suspected.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Would you?” She looked over her shoulder at me. “I was prepared for any number of revelations. I feared it might be about Kieran, after your letter—ah. I had wondered. You wrote, ‘Mythal tel’elura.’ I did not understand why, when I received the letter. It seemed an ill omen.”

I didn’t remember writing that. I didn’t remember most of the letter, actually, but I trusted Morrigan’s memory, and it did seem like something I might write. “Ir abelas. I had thought to try and comfort you.”

“You missed that mark quite splendidly.”

“So it would seem, yes.”

Silence held a moment, but if Morrigan was to be angry with me, then she would be angry with me for the full reality, not a portion. I breathed in and said, “There’s more, of course. I don’t know when, exactly, or how—it will happen after we’ve gone to the Arbor Wilds—but your mother, or Flemeth, or Mythal, or whatever you wish me to call her, she will… Call to the soul of the old god in Kieran. He will go to her, but she is not after him. Just the soul.”

Morrigan whirled to face me. “She cannot have him!”

“She won’t.” I would ensure it however I needed to. “But for this, there is something you must remember: Mythal is real, and she exists within your mother, whether you believe her to be a god or not.”

She stared me down and started to pace, every movement an echo of the animals she could become. My mind’s eye conjured a tail to lash behind her, tall ears to lie flat against her head, and I was glad that Morrigan never transformed without specific reason.

“Dirthavara, Morrigan. Kieran ara dareth.”

“Tell me how you will ensure this.”

I didn’t know how wise it was to inform her of the Vir’abelasan. I couldn’t be certain she would take my warning to heart. But she could not be allowed to drink it, not if she wanted to be and remain free of her mother—of Mythal-who-is-Flemeth—so I told her, anyway. She deserved to know the risks. Any choices after that were her own; I could only endeavor to ensure I was there at the Well’s discovery, to remind her of its price.

 

For all that ending the Orlesian civil war helped the Inquisition’s efforts within Orlais, it certainly did not make things any less busy. If anything, in fact, things seemed only to grow busier as the news spread. We had a surge in elven volunteers; I suspected that at least a few were, in fact, agents of Briala’s—but she had likely sent agents ages ago, and that was something for Leliana to worry about.

The Grey Wardens were put to use with great care. I could not allow their destruction, especially not after having been thrust into the position of Field-Commander. Still, they could not simply sit back and watch. We found things for them to do, and kept it appropriate for their strengths and numbers.

Amir ventured to Emprise du Lion even as the Chantry called for Cassandra and Leliana to return. He would go to the Emerald Graves soon, as well, and I wondered for only a moment what it would take to convince everyone to let me join him—only a moment, because it was all the time I could spare the thought before something else needed my attention.

(I would not be going to the Emerald Graves any time soon.)

Varric pulled me to his table in Skyhold’s main hall. “Mittens, I need some advice.”

“And you’re coming to me?” I asked, eyebrows migrating slowly up my forehead. “I think I feel honored, but I’m mostly concerned about what could possibly get you to admit you need advice.”

“Har, har.” He crossed his arms, looking to the fire. “I’m serious. I—you know things. Do you know about Bianca?”

“Which one?” I asked.

He snorted. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He thrust a paper in my direction. “She sent me a this letter. I know it’s from her, because it uses a code we came up with when we were young and stupid.”

“Ah.” Some part of me that sounded quite like Malia had to be pushed down to avoid making a joke about Varric no longer being young. He was frowning too much for it to feel right. I glanced at the letter, but it was… not the Common alphabet. “You’re worried.”

“Of course I’m worried! She says she knows where the red lyrium is coming from, and she wants me to meet her there!” He dragged a hand down his face. “I may not know exactly what she means, but I know it’s nothing good. I have this—feeling, I guess. Also, she only used the one code. It’s sloppy. She’s never sloppy.”

Multiple codes being stacked would make more sense, I supposed, but that wasn’t the issue, and I put the letter aside. “Do you want me to tell you what I know?”

“I—I don’t know, Mittens. Bianca and I, we… ah, you probably know already. We were young and stupid.” He let out a sigh heavy enough to break wood. “I moved on. I had to, you know. If I wanted to do more than wallow. She did, too. But it wasn’t because we wanted to. Not for me, anyway.”

I could feel old emotions well up inside me, ones I had not addressed in years, and I remembered an orange sunrise, a quiet goodbye, and a ship that took me away. “I know what that’s like.”

“It’s shit,” he said. Looking at me, he tilted his head. “I kinda thought new love would make it stop hurting.”

“Life is never so easy, is it?”

“That’s why I like writing more.” He waved a hand at the letter. “She’s worried about something. Something big. I have a feeling I know what happened, and… I don’t know what to do about it.” He half-snorted. “Maybe you’re even the wrong person to tell.”

“What do you mean?”

He shifted, shoulders drawing up as he looked away. “You told me… Aw, forget it. I’m probably just being paranoid.”

“Not without reason.” I reached out and put a hand around his shoulders. “Life has been hard for you, but I’m here. You’re my friend, Varric, and I love you.”

He turned and pulled me into a proper hug, with a squeeze that lasted before he let go. “Thanks, Mittens. I needed that. And, for the record, I love you, too.”

 

“Are you Vir’era?”

I blinked, looking up from where I’d taken a moment to sun myself, in cat form, on one of the benches in the Skyhold gardens. A young boy stood there, watching me, and smiled when our eyes met. I didn’t recognize him at first, but it came to me quickly, and I stretched back into an elf. “Kieran. It’s nice to meet you, da’len.”

His smile grew. “I’ve been wanting to meet you. I didn’t think you would make sense.”

“Oh?” I asked. “And how did you think I wouldn’t make sense?”

“Mother says you’re an oracle, but you’re just a traveler.” He tilted his head. “You came a long way.”

“That I did.” I patted the bench next to me, and he sat. “Not many people recognize me when I am a cat, you know.”

“I know. They can’t hear it.” He hummed something that seemed like a song, but it was too short to follow. “Nobody else can. Not even Cole. I asked.”

“You have unusual circumstances.”

“That’s what Mother told me.” He kicked his feet. “She told me to find you today. She said you wanted to meet me, but she’s busy.”

Truly busy, or just busy avoiding me? “She was right,” I said. “I’ve wanted to meet you since… well, forever, I suppose. Morrigan and Daylen—your parents, I mean—they’re my friends. Of course I would want to meet their child.”

“And because I’m unusual.”

“Yes, that is part of why.”

Without trying to disguise himself, Kieran stared at me. I got the distinct impression that he was looking at—and maybe for—things I could not see. It didn’t bother me; unlike when most shemlen stared, he did so not because I was an elf, but for some inscrutable reason of his own. I wondered how many of his oddities could be attributed to the Old God’s soul in his body, and how many were due to Morrigan and Daylen’s parenting.

“Mother didn’t tell me you could hear the old song,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s stronger in you than in Father.”

I couldn’t help but worry that was a bad thing, immediately, though I had no idea what it meant. “Do you mean the Calling?”

“That’s part of it.” I watched as his gaze slipped over my shoulders, following invisible lines, and tried to divine his meaning. Cole was clearer. “It doesn’t want to stay.”

Was that why Grey Wardens had to leave? why it Called them away? “I would not keep it.”

“It’s stuck. Like feet to the earth. It can’t jump. You will need to push it.” He mimicked pushing something very forcefully, leaving his arms straight in front of him.

Well, I had no idea just what that meant. Was the Blight—whatever part of it was kept in me as a Warden—somehow drawn to me through a gravity-like force? It would have to be at a molecular level, if not an atomic one, but… (Creators, how does one even see such small things?) “Huh.”

“You don’t understand. That’s alright. You will.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the Oracle.”

Kieran just grinned. The next topic was far more mundane: he’d seen Tamlen around, and was curious. Few children had come to Skyhold, and fewer stayed at the Imperial Court.

 

“Would it be more efficient to send a newsletter announcing everyone’s romantic entanglements, do you think?” Josephine asked, staring with a frown at a pile of letters from the Orlesian court that, presumably, largely consisted of various proposals or other romantic inquiries for the Inquisition’s members.

“Maybe, but I have this feeling that it wouldn’t go over well,” Driscoll drawled. “Not that most of our people are particularly quiet about who they’re seeing—I heard about that scandalous display, Keeper!”

I fought down a blush and cleared my throat. “You’re one to talk, Driscoll.”

“It’s expected of me,” he said, rolling a hand as if that might explain everything. “I earned my title, thank you very much. Worked very hard for it.”

“Dris, not now, please?” Jewel interrupted. “You’re my brother, and I really do prefer not hearing about how or why you became known as the Slut of Ostwick Circle, okay?”

Driscoll moaned dramatically, leaning back against the couch and throwing his arms over it. “Fine! You wound me, though. My proudest achievement, and you don’t want to hear about it. I feel so unloved.”

Jewel pushed Driscoll’s leg off his lap and shoved some of the letters over. “Do us all a favor and put the completely indecent ones aside for special care.”

This had Driscoll perking up. “Can I answer them?”

Josephine sighed. “No. Unless they are addressed to you, I suppose, but even those I would rather check before you cause a scandal we don’t want.”

“As opposed to the scandals we do want?”

“Precisely.” She smiled, waving an arm towards me. “Vir’era and Cullen may have chosen a poor spot to kiss, but since they have been known to be in a relationship, it is a minor scandal that reinforces what everyone already knows. Even Amir and Dorian were a good scandal.”

“And what about you and my brother then, hm?” Driscoll’s lips curled into a knowing grin. “I hear he’s going to duel for your hand.”

I glanced between Josephine and Jewel, but Jewel seemed now to be terribly engrossed in the upside-down letter he was holding. Josephine wavered. “Well, yes, but it’s not unheard-of for such a thing to happen if one of the partners in an arranged engagement finds love. And Jewel is a Trevelyan, so he has enough status to satisfy my parents, which means I don’t have to ask him to be my paramour.”

What was the equivalent male word for a mistress? Did one exist? How predictably absurd that I could think of nothing. I wondered if it was even considered a position the way mistress was, knowing as I did that Vivienne held such a title with pride.

The conversation moved on without me. “Jewel’s too noble for all that, anyway, whatever Orlais might think,” Driscoll said. “I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about this sort of thing.”

I knew that tone. Light but declarative, not looking anyone in the eye… Driscoll was lying, though I couldn’t place why he would bother lying about this. “Have you and the Iron Bull spoken much on the subject?”

“I refuse to be tied down,” he answered. “Bull understands.”

“Unless it’s sex,” Jewel muttered.

“That’s the fun kind of tying down, so it doesn’t count.”

“You know, he would be amenable, I think,” I said, slowly, “to a more exclusive relationship. I know for a fact he has not slept with anyone but you in more than a month.”

Driscoll squinted at me. “And how do you know that?”

“Krem and I talk. He’s quite supportive of the idea, you know.”

He pulled a face, and on anyone else it might seem like embarrassment. “I’m not—he’s… It’s just not a good idea. I’m a mage, and he’s Qunari, for starters.”

Not for long, I thought, but I kept my mouth shut. “But you do have feelings, then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it,” Jewel pointed out. “Saying that the biggest obstacle isn’t a lack of romantic attraction… Driscoll, you know I’ll support you, whatever you choose to do. And I’m sure our parents would, too.”

“And if I choose to be a whore?” Driscoll asked, not looking at anyone even as he pulled himself straighter, a near-dignified air of defiance wafting off his person.

Jewel sighed. “At least you’ll know what you’re doing.”

 

I took the Iron Bull aside, brought him to my study and locked the door to speak in privacy. “I need to speak with you about your mission to the Storm Coast,” I said. “The one from the Qunari.”

He crossed his arms. “I think I should probably be upset that you found out so fast, but I’m guessing it’s not because someone told you.”

“Not so much, no.” I sat in the chair behind my desk, and the Iron Bull sat before me. “You should know that their information is faulty.”

“The Qunari?” He raised the eyebrow above his good eye. “That’s a surprise. We’re good at getting information about Vints.”

“Be that as it may, I have good reason to believe you will be underprepared. People will die if you do not bring reinforcements.”

He leaned back. “That’s the thing, though: we can’t. If we bring any more, they’ll know. We march an army in there, and we’ll never stop whatever bullshit they’re getting up to, but with a strike team to coordinate with the dreadnoughts, we can.”

“And I maintain that it will not be enough.”

“Are you doubting my company?”

I bit back a fruitless comment. “I’m worried for them. They are good people, and this ambush… It seems destined to go poorly.”

“Destined, huh? Like the Winter Palace?” I nodded. He uncrossed his arms, resting them instead on the chair. “Alright, I’m listening.”

Without telling him exactly what the result would be, or the choice he would face, I explained the basic situation. His face grew dark, brows furrowing. I had seen him play chess with Cullen and Dorian; this was a grim reflection of that expression. “You must bring more people with you, the Iron Bull, or you will be in dire straits.”

“They’ll be watching the Inquisitor,” he said. “If we bring more than usual, if it looks like we even might be coming to stop them, the whole mission will be a bust. Stealth is crucial.”

“People will die.”

“Yeah, I know. But more will die if we don’t stop them.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, groaning. “It’s too roundabout to send any Inquisition troops over the sea, and I don’t doubt word would get out. Even if we sent some of the inner circle on a ship and had them commandeer it or something, the risk is too high.”

“What about over land, from the other direction?”

“There is no other direction. The Vints chose the Storm Coast for a reason; it’s pretty closed-off if you can secure it.” He clicked his tongue, and I tried my best to recall the maps of the Storm Coast that we kept in the war room, even as I knew he was correct. He flopped a hand in the air. “I’ll let my contacts know, see if they’ll reevaluate the mission. Maybe the Qunari can get us more backup. You’re basalit-an. They’ll at least take it seriously.”

His face did not get lighter, though, and the frown lines only deepened. I remembered how the Arishok in Kirkwall had been. I could only hope Arishok—the one I called friend, who had been Sten during the Blight—would encourage his people to heed the warning. Even so, though…

Even so, I wondered if it would not be better, after all, if the Iron Bull became all that Hissrad could not be.

 

Arishok,

Ir abelas. This letter will likely be too late. I have been told that the Iron Bull will be taking his mercenary company and the Inquisitor to the Storm Coast as soon as Amir has finished his business in Emprise du Lion. I do not know how long it takes my letters to reach you, but I am sure your reports are faster, and I will not abuse the Iron Bull’s connections to warn you of inevitability.

I am sorry, ma falon. I cannot, in good conscience, stop the tragedy. I have given my warning to the Iron Bull, but even though he insists he will ask for more help, that my warning will somehow be enough, and I fear that it will not.

I know Amir well enough now to know how he makes his choices. It is the same choice I would make, in his shoes, and I hope you can forgive me. I hope you can forgive him and our Inquisition.

If this has crossed some line, I understand. If you can no longer count me among your friends, I understand. I will think kindly on you always.

Dareth shiral, ma falon. Ir abelas. May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.

Vir’era

 

(If the tables were turned, I wondered, would I forgive him? I liked to think so, liked to hope I was so kind.)

 

Cole went with Amir and the Iron Bull to the Storm Coast. The necklace from the Rivaini seers wasn’t working, as I had known it wouldn’t, as I think even he had realized—they would be going through Redcliffe on their way back, to help. I wondered what would happen, which he might choose.

I knew, too, that soon Blackwall would disappear. Amir was almost certain to save the man, but I myself did not know how to feel. It was different from Sten, who had also killed innocents; Sten had not realized the people meant him no harm. Blackwall—Rainier… He had assassinated a family.

Whatever good he did now, it would never erase that. Perhaps he was more like Loghain than Sten, if on a much smaller scale. I had never forgiven Loghain. I did not intend to.

I put the thoughts aside. Agonizing over it would help no one.

 

I was sitting with Leliana up in her roost when Morrigan came to find us. She came the mundane way, and Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Why do you bother with stairs when you can fly, Morrigan?”

“Does Vir’era not take the stairs?” she countered; it was a decent observation, as I myself also usually walked rather than flying. “I am watched enough without inviting more stares by flaunting my abilities. It is not a parlor trick for their amusement.”

Did Celene even know that Morrigan could shapeshift? It seemed entirely possible for that to have never come up, considering Morrigan’s love for cultivating secrets. “Are you settling in well?” I asked.

“Well enough. ’Tis a remarkable place, this castle. I can see a great deal of renovation has been done to restore it to its long-lost glory.” She sat with us at the table.

“Do you mean to say that your room is still drafty?” Leliana asked.

“No, but the hall has yet to be completed. I had to remind Kieran that a fall is dangerous even when one can fly.”

Leliana wrote a note. “I’ll see if we can’t have that fixed soon. We wouldn’t want your son to get hurt. But the room itself is acceptable, then?”

“More than adequate.” Morrigan smirked. “I would not compare it to my quarters at the Royal Palace, but allowances must be made for the state of disrepair this castle must have been in when you found it.”

“It certainly wasn’t fit for habitation, that much is true.” Leliana summoned one of her birds and gave it the note. A few whispered instructions later, the bird took off. Morrigan watched it go. “If I know Josephine—and I do—she’ll make sure the wall is properly blocked by tonight, even if it takes time to do the repairs properly.”

“Your concern is appreciated—and surprising,” Morrigan observed, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knee. “Here I thought you had become some jaded spymaster, using lives as a chess master uses pawns. Does the bard who wept to hear of Redcliffe’s plight yet survive?”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha. It is good to see you, though. I haven’t been able to see most of our friends from the Blight since it ended. Motherhood looks good on you, Morrigan. And Kieran is delightful.”

Morrigan’s face softened into something tender that she would never have shown us just a decade ago. “He is, isn’t he? I am grateful each day for that. Daylen, too. They are everything I did not think I could have, when I was a child.”

In all my years, I had never thought seriously about children, had never desired to have one of my own—in no small part because I simply couldn’t, not after becoming a Grey Warden, not without a miracle or outside help. But now, seeing so plainly on Morrigan’s face just how much she loved her son, I thought that I might like that, too. I tried to distract myself by asking, “Is Daylen good with children? Or, at least, with Kieran?”

“With children?” Morrigan laughed. “No, he’s terrible with children. But he tries for Kieran, and Kieran is exceptional enough that they can understand each other. I imagine either of you would have been a far better choice to raise a child than myself, but that is not the hand fate dealt us.”

Remembering Kirkwall and Darktown, I shrugged. “I think you may have been the best choice, at the time.”

“Probably,” Leliana agreed. “I don’t think it would be easy to balance being the Divine’s Left Hand and a mother. An occult advisor is far more doable.”

Morrigan raised her eyebrows, but didn’t argue. “Be that as it may, I did not come here to speak about things which cannot be changed.”

“Was there something you wanted to speak about?” I asked.

“Indeed.” She shifted to more fully face Leliana and tilted her head. Her words came almost slowly, just dipping her toes into the conversational waters. “Rumor has it that you, Leliana, are being looked to as a candidate to become the next Divine. Is this true?”

Leliana nodded. “Yes. I don’t know how I feel about the decision, if I am truthful, but I can’t help but wonder if it is not a sign.”

“They are also considering the Seeker, are they not? She was the Right Hand, I am told.”

“Is there something you want to know?”

“Such impatience.” Morrigan was half-smiling, though. She crossed her arms, lifting her chin. “I find it… interesting that the Chantry, in the wake of this Divine’s death, would look to her Hands, that they might be the next to lead. I wish to know what you intend to do about it.”

“Do about it?” Leliana repeated. “Are you asking me if I want to be the next Divine?”

“That is one way of looking at it, yes.”

Leliana hummed. I saw her glance down to the side, fingers tracing along the table. “It is unexpected, I must admit.” Her eyes flicked to me. “Or, it is unexpected to me. Did you know this would happen, Vir’era?”

I nodded. “You and Cassandra were always going to be considered. I think even Vivienne is a contender, though I admit I am not partial to her methods.”

“Who do you favor, then?”

I shrugged. “Is it a surprise that I favor you? Cassandra is a good woman, but she would enact change at a snail’s pace. The world may not be ready for what you will bring, but that does not mean it should not be done.”

“Such a mild-mannered radical,” Morrigan murmured. “I wonder how many even realize.”

“Not enough,” I said.

“You know, Amir reminds me of you sometimes,” Leliana said. “He seems to hold many of the same ideals.”

It was true, though I had no idea how deep the similarities went. I did know one thing: “He has a kind of self-assurance I have never mastered. He’s exactly what we need, now.”

“A bit hard to ignore elves when they keep becoming the most important figures in Thedas,” Morrigan agreed. “Pity Theron isn’t here. The three of you could shake the world to its very core.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think Leliana could manage it herself.”

“Neria did say she never understood why only human women could become priests in the Chantry.” Leliana smiled, slow and creeping yet altogether unassuming. “I think it is long past time for that to change, don’t you?”

Morrigan grinned, and though she was yet human, the expression left an unavoidable impression of a wolf’s fangs. For someone who disliked the Chantry, she was reveling in the opportunity to alter it.

Notes:

Mythal tel’elura - mythal does not see/sees nothing (const. by me)

Chapter 23

Notes:

so july was a month. on top of the general 'rona stress and all the societal stress from living in america rn, i am also finishing a bunch of training documentation for my job and moving! it's been busy. i tried to get this finished before july ended but goddamn life was just a lot.

but we're inching ever closer to the end of canon inquisition! we're certainly more than halfway through this and what i had planned for it. i think it'll end up being a total of maybe 30 chapters? it'll include some things that happen between inquisition and trespasser, which will be its own fic. not sure how long that one will be. probs p short, maybe max 10 chapters if i stretch it out a lot. so we're looking down the barrel of about 17 chapters 'til twots is done! (which, at this rate, is... what, a year and a half more of writing? lmfao) what a journey

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

I sipped my tea and watched Cullen shuffle through his morning ablutions. He moved slowly, back tense and face frowning, the barest hint of a tremor in his hands as he brushed his hair. It was a bad day, I gathered, the withdrawal hitting hard. I wondered if it was connected to the weather; there was a low, pulsing ache in the worst of my scars that foretold coming snow.

Pouring tea into his cup and preparing it, I said, “There’s elfroot in this blend. Drink; it should help.”

Cullen glanced over, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror, and nodded. “Thanks.” He didn’t finish with his hair yet, leaving his pomade unopened in favor of coming to join me. A really bad day, then. He sighed as he sat, letting his legs stretch out to rest against mine.

He wasn’t sweating, at least. That happened only on the worst days, the days when even his pride was not too much to be the one to ask for help. Still, I would need to ensure he drank enough water, that he ate anything at all today. I leaned forward and ran a hand through his curls, and he glanced from the corners of his eyes. “Would it help?”

He knew I meant healing magic, and we both knew it could always help, but I let him choose. He swallowed a large gulp of tea, then closed his eyes and leaned into my hand. “Yeah.”

I didn’t do much. Withdrawal was complicated, too tied up in brain functions I did not understand, and the most I could manage was easing his symptoms. Still, even if that was all I could do, it was something. In time, I hoped, the withdrawal would be but a memory. I caressed his face as the magic ended. “I’ll come by later, in case it flares up again.”

He stared silently into his tea for a moment that stretched into discomfort. Only when I opened my mouth did he respond, and it was not a direct answer. “I don’t know if I can give the Inquisition everything it deserves,” he whispered, still not looking at me.

I wanted to tell him this was nonsense, because it was, but I knew that was not the right thing to say right now. “You already are,” I said, instead. “You work longer than everyone except maybe Josephine, you personally train new recruits… Cullen, ma vhenan, you give the Inquisition more than it asks.”

“It deserves more,” he insisted. “You deserve more. I can’t—without the lyrium, I can’t… I’m so weak. I can’t stop thinking about… The withdrawal makes my hands shake, makes everything hurt. It feels like I’m back in Kinloch. Sometimes, I even wonder…”

I couldn’t stop the small gasp at the admission. Taking his hands in both of mine, I pressed closer until he gave in and pulled me into his lap. I held one hand to my chest and wrapped the other around my back. “Count my heartbeats and listen to my voice, vhenan. Whenever you are uncertain, or even if you only want comfort for a moment, come to me. Let me help you.”

His hands were tense as he slowly brought his eyes up to meet mine. “Vir’era…”

“I mean it, Cullen,” I said. He was quiet in the way of one who disagreed but did not wish to continue arguing, but I took it for a victory. “You are enough as you are. You do not need the lyrium, and I am so proud of how far you’ve come. Even on days like this. I am always proud, vhenan.”

“I’m not.” He tipped his head until his forehead touched mine. “I was not a kind person in Kirkwall.”

“You were misled and mistreated in the worst possible place for you after Kinloch. That you survived it and became who you are today is incredible.”

“I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”

“And who you are is enough.” I put my hand on his cheek and gave him a small, chaste kiss. “The thoughts may not leave,” I conceded, “but I want you to know, to always be certain, that you do not need to push yourself beyond your limits to be enough for me. You are enough. Ar lath ma.”

He sighed, a release more than any sound of frustration, and though his hands were still tense, I took that to mean he was closer to a better headspace. “Feel my heartbeat and listen to my voice,” I told him again, and then I began to sing. “Lost in darkest blue…

 

It was, of all people, the Cadash sisters who first brought a group of orphans to Skyhold. As soon as they arrived, I wondered why it had not previously been brought up in war table meetings. All wars created orphans, of course, and this war was certainly no exception, despite its origins.

None of the children were older than twelve. Perhaps any teenagers had managed to find work; I hoped this was the case. Still, it was no small group. Emily and Elizabeth had gone with a small team—including Scout Harding—to search for rifts not yet found, and each member carried in at least one child, with more walking at their sides.

I moved to help as soon as I could, and Emily didn’t protest handing off a young elven girl to me. “This is the Keeper,” Emily said, as she shifted the girl’s weight to me. “He’s good people. He’ll help.”

The girl just blinked between Emily and me. I gave her a small smile. “I’m Keeper Vir’era. What’s your name, da’len?”

She shook her head. I looked to Emily, who shrugged. “She doesn’t talk. Eats just fine, lets us know when she’s got to wee, but doesn’t say a word.”

An issue to deal with later. “How many…?”

“Fourteen in this lot. No one was helping them, so we figured, hey, the Inquisition’s got its hands in all the pies anyway, what’s one more?” She tugged a bit on her beard, glancing over all the children. They stood in a clump, staring around and leaning on each other, nearly asleep on their feet. “These’re just the ones we could convince to come. We’re not exactly, uh… kid-friendly.”

Elizabeth shrugged her way into the conversation. “Speak for yourself; the little buggers love me. We sent a bird ahead; did Leliana prep someplace for the beans to sleep? Someone to take care of them, maybe?”

It had been a flurry of preparation, actually, especially since very few people had the time to spare to watch children. Most of the people at Skyhold were here to work—except, as it happened, my clan. “Clan Sabrae will be their temporary caregivers. We’ve set up an aravel for them, but, well… we weren’t expecting fourteen.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think one aravel’s gonna cut it. They aren’t that big. I’m sure we have a couple empty rooms somewhere in this castle, right?”

“Not any that are fit for children to sleep in at the moment.” Rebuilding took too long. Thinking fast, I said, “I can have my aravel prepared for some of the children.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Yeah, alright. Might work in the meanwhile, at least ‘til some proper rooms can be made up for ‘em. You’n’Cullen’ve been sharing most nights, anyway, right?”

“I’ll just have to tell him I’m moving in more permanently.” Which, oh, I should probably have asked him first, but… One boy shook himself awake, and I was quite sure Cullen would not begrudge my impulsive decision. “Your note said there were others?”

Hefting a different child into her arms, Emily grunted an affirmative. “Yeah. Couldn’t bring ‘em all in one go, ‘specially since some didn’t seem to trust us much, but we got some soldiers to watch the rest. Mostly humans and elves, like this lot.”

I began leading the way towards my clan, trying to calculate the likelihood that we could finish one of the empty receiving rooms to create a temporary dormitory for however many children had been gathered from across southern Orlais. “How many?”

“Didn’t count. At least a dozen when we left.”

“Plus more kept showing up,” Elizabeth added. “I think a couple of the local towns heard we were trying to help and decided to bring all the orphans to us. I get why they brought the qunari tots, but you’d think they’d keep the kids they knew.”

“Qunari children?”

“Yeah, a few. I think there were maybe five? Didn’t speak much common.” She gestured at the young one clinging to her side. “Most looked about his age, I think. Dunno how qunari kids age, but it didn’t seem too different. One of ‘em was a baby, couldn’t even crawl yet.”

I sent a formless prayer to Mythal to protect those children—or maybe it was thanks that they had lived long enough to come to our soldiers. “How did you find them?”

“We didn’t. A farmer found ‘em hiding in his barn, got all pissy. The oldest knew enough common to tell us their parents were dead. Used some qunari word for it, didn’t seem to get ‘mom’ and ‘dad,’ but we could figure they didn’t have anyone.”

“We didn’t ask how,” Emily added. “It was hard enough communicating as is.”

I nodded, but didn’t have time for further questions, because we had arrived at my clan. Ineria took the little girl from me, and I saw Hahren Linara taking the child Emily had. “Keeper,” Linara said, looking over the children, “I do not think we will have enough room in the aravel.”

Though she was frowning, I could also see her rubbing one hand gently against the back of the child in her arms. “We’ll use my aravel, too,” I said, and her eyes cut to me quick enough to hurt. “I’ll stay with Cullen until better accommodations can be sorted.”

Her eyes narrowed, but when she glanced over the children again—many of whom were gaunt and dirty—she nodded. “It will be tight, but it can be done.”

“Let me help you prepare it,” said Mheganni, nearly startling me when she appeared from around Ineria. I caught a glimpse of little Tamlen behind his mother, too, peering around at the other children, but holding tight to Ineria’s skirt.

“Ma serannas,” I said to Mheganni. The sun was yet high in the sky, but there were many things in my aravel that were not ideal for children to get into. “We should start now, I think. Hahren, if you would…?”

“I can handle the children, Keeper.” She nodded to me in dismissal, then turned to the little group, using her free hand to wave for them to follow her. “Come along, da’len. I am Hahren Linara, and this is Ineria, and we will be taking care of you. It is time for lunch. You will eat, and then you will bathe. I know it has been a long journey.”

Mheganni fell into step with me easily, and we began putting into bags those things that absolutely could not remain in an aravel full of children. Mostly, this meant tools and medicines; I did not own much, and never had.

Unsurprisingly, these orphans were at the forefront of my mind, even as I packed away the inks and needles for vallaslin. “Do you like children?” I asked Mheganni.

I thought I could feel her staring at me, but I did not look up from my packing. After a moment, she said, “I do. I have always wanted my own.”

“Other than Tamlen?”

“He is Ineria’s boy, no matter how much I may like him.” I heard her piling my few dishes into one of the baskets. “I want to have a family. Tamlen and I—my Tamlen—we spoke of it, years ago. We had planned to have two by now. Maybe more.”

I glanced over my shoulder, but she was now pulling out my teas and shuffling them into the basket. At a loss for what else to say, I murmured, “Ir abelas.”

“It was a long time ago.” She sighed. “I don’t know if Solas… I don’t know if the gods will ever bless me with children. What of you? Do you want children of your own?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, putting aside any implications about Solas. The closest I’d come were Tamlen and Cynthia—even the other children in the clan didn’t spend nearly as much time with me, though I supposed it made sense. Tamlen and Cynthia had turned more into apprentices than children, though. “I can’t have children, so I haven’t thought much on it.”

“Why can you not? Is it because of the same magic that took your breasts?”

A bit forward—I hadn’t even fully realized Mheganni would know that I had (probably) once had breasts, though I didn’t try so hard to keep it secret nowadays. “Well, perhaps that would affect things, too, but I was referring to how I am Blighted.”

“It takes this from you, too? Being a Grey Warden did not cure that?”

I couldn’t explain that being a Grey Warden could just as easily have caused it, was arguably even the same thing, not when Capella had found a way to have a child of her own and Kieran was most certainly Daylen’s. The rest of our number would have been unlikely to have biological children, anyway. “I don’t mind. It’s a small price to pay for my life.”

“You do not want children with Cullen?” she asked, and that did give me pause. Her tone was curious, and I couldn’t detect any judgement or shock. It seemed well-meaning.

And, in truth… “I don’t know. It isn’t an option for me, so why should I dwell on it? I have a great deal else to take care of, and, well…” I gestured at the aravel and then outside, where we could hear Linara talking to the children. “The world has plenty of children without parents. If I want to raise one, I won’t have to look far.”

Mheganni just hummed, though she still looked very serious, and went back to sorting through the various accoutrements maintained by generations of Keepers. Unable still to shake the thought of the children from my head, I wondered what Cullen would say if I were to speak of adopting one.

(Not that we were anywhere close to ready and able, but perhaps someday, in the future, it might be an option.)

 

The Chargers returned first.

It was only with their return that I was able to soothe the last of my doubts. Amir was very much an idealist, and while we generally agreed on the most morally-sound course of action, I also knew that he sometimes hoped for too much.

But the Bull’s Chargers were back, and they were alive. Krem walked around like he had no clue how close he’d come to death—handsome and confident and alive. He grinned at me when he passed me on his way to the Chargers’ quarters, and I couldn’t contain an answering smile.

“I suppose it was a success?” I asked him, falling into step.

“Not at all,” he answered, wincing a bit. “But Chief told me about your meeting with him, so we knew going in that it was going to be bad. Not our first mission to go south—just the first one that meant something so big.”

I hummed. “The Iron Bull is Tal-Vashoth now, then?”

“Yeah. Weird to think about, since he’d been pretending it so long.” Krem let me into the room he shared with the other higher-ranking members of the Chargers. “Makes me wonder how much is actually going to change. I know the Chief’s torn up about it, but I don’t think most people are going to notice much.”

“He’s a very good actor. I don’t suppose they will.” But Krem and I both knew just how significant this was. “Still, he’s just lost his home. I think we can try to cover for him if anyone does ask questions, don’t you?”

“Yeah, that we can.” He gave me another half-cocked grin. “I know a thing or two about losing your home. I can keep an eye on the Chief.”

A thought occurred to me, and I rolled it around in my head a moment before slowly giving it voice: “Now that he’s not beholden to the Qun, do you think the Iron Bull will be… perhaps more serious about Driscoll?”

Krem snorted. “The only ones who don’t realize how serious the Chief is about Driscoll are the Chief and Driscoll. You know, for a super-smart spy or whatever, he’s not very good at realizing what he’s feeling.”

“I don’t think that’s covered in Hissrad training.”

“Probably not considered very useful.”

“No, probably not.” But I wasn’t there to gossip, just to revel in Krem’s continued existence. “What about you and Dima, then, hm?”

He coughed and looked away, and I wondered just how much he’d learned about feelings from the Iron Bull. “I, uh. Asked her to walk with me tonight. A moonlit one. That’s—Dalish told me that’s part of Dalish courting.” Face going slack, he turned to me quickly. “She wasn’t just having me on, right? That’s an actual thing?”

“It’s an actual thing,” I confirmed. “She said yes, I take it?”

“Yeah.” His face was slowly turning redder and redder. “The Inquisitor… he won’t mind, will he? It’s her choice, but I know some brothers can be, uh, protective. Of their sisters. If I’m going to get on his bad side for this, I want to know.”

I tilted my head in consideration. “I don’t really know,” I said, slowly, “but I think he’d be happy as long as she’s happy. It helps that you’re so very charming, yourself. I know he likes you a great deal.”

Truth be told, I suspected Amir understood Dima’s attraction to Krem beyond the theoretical. That, or there was something about Krem’s stories that made Amir blush, and since Krem’s stories were never particularly ribald, there weren’t many other conclusions to draw. I said nothing of this, of course.

“Good, good.” Krem nodded, then heaved a sigh as he stared at his still-packed belongings on his bed. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to clean my stuff now—armor and weapons, you know—so unless you’d like to help, I’m going to kick you out.”

I took the cue and bid him well as I left. Some of the other Chargers passed me as I made my way out, and I hoped my smile was not too bright. It was just so good to know they were alive.

 

The Iron Bull invited me to drink with his crew when he returned, and though I was not much of one for getting drunk, I couldn’t help but want to celebrate. It was loud, it was boisterous, and I regretted drinking quite so much when I awoke the next morning.

My whole body felt sore as it only did after a full day of intense travel. I gulped down glasses of water and hid myself like a miserable pile of goop in my office. Try as I might to at least glance through the reports of the Grey Wardens, I only ever seemed to get half a sentence at a time. It did not help that Blackwall had disappeared that morning, the weight of his sins bearing down even on me.

This is, of course, precisely the kind of condition that brings about less-than-kind thoughts.

Morrigan had brought her eluvian. I hadn’t seen it, but I knew it had to be here. I’d avoided visiting her room specifically because of its presence, and though she’d yet to comment, I was certain she’d noticed.

If I went with Amir in the Arbor Wilds—if I followed him into the Temple of Mythal, as I intended to do, I would need to contend with the eluvians. I would need to enter one if I wanted to survive. I could, of course, simply… not go. I could stay with Cullen and the army, or lead a separate group myself.

I knew I would not do that, though. The same part of me that had followed the Hawkes, the part born in the Blight, needed to see this through in person. I needed to confirm it with my own eyes.

And that Temple… Like Kirkwall’s Chantry, it would certainly be destroyed in the aftermath. If I ever wanted to see a true Temple to Mythal, something built before the fall of Arlathan, I would need to go with Amir. That did not make the eluvian less daunting. I could not help but wonder…

“It will not take you away,” Cole said.

I looked up to see him sitting with me. “How do you know?”

He reached out and drew a line that started at my heart and reached out, his fingers spreading wide. “You’re here, now. You don’t go somewhere else anymore.”

“When you say that…” I knew he could feel other people’s hurts, could feel them through how one ache affected another. Had I lost all connection to where I had once come from?

“It’s gone. I’m sorry.” He peered at me from beneath the brim of his hat. “I can’t feel them. You’re all here now. It can’t take you away, but you can’t leave.”

I couldn’t remember my family, whoever they had been, or my friends, and that old wound pulsed a quiet dirge of solemn remembrance. May they find peace with my disappearance, however it had come to them. “You had to choose, too,” I said. “Neither of us can go back to before. Sometimes, there is no in between.”

“Yes.” He scuffed his feet against the stone of my office floor. “I like it this way, I think. It’s hard, but I can remember. And you don’t have to be afraid of leaving. You won’t.”

“Ma serannas, Cole.”

Later, when he left, I noticed that the conversation was no foggier than other conversations I had carried throughout the day. Cole was human, now, or at least more human than spirit, and I… I was Thedosian. I was a Dalish elf, a Keeper, and I would not leave my home.

“Change is good, sometimes,” Cole said. I agreed.

 

Cullen went to meet Amir at the old Tevinter temple that Corypheus and Samson had made use of. (Amir first went to Val Royeaux, and I had yet to hear his reaction to Rainier’s reveal.) I tried not to act like a worried soldier’s spouse when he left—I had no reason to think it would go poorly, even if they did not go exactly as I expected—but I found myself fretting all the same. Nor did I hide it well, to my chagrin.

“Hold your head high, darling,” Vivienne told me, tapping my chin. “Shoulders back. Wipe your face. You’re making everyone nervous.”

“Ir abelas,” I murmured, forcing my body into the posture she’d indicated. Straightening my face to something neutral was a greater task.

“This isn’t the first time you and Commander Cullen have been separate, and it won’t be the last.” She crossed her arms, looking me up and down. “Much better. It becomes easier with time.”

I’d spent more time away from Cullen than with him, but I did not say as much. We hadn’t spent much time apart since we began our romance, and I hoped that was the only reason this felt different. “You and your lover could not spend nearly as much time together as most, could you?” I asked, instead of anything tactful.

“I managed more time than most mages,” Vivienne answered, instead. I wondered what that acknowledgement meant, but dared not ask.

On my other side, Driscoll drawled, “I think I may be one of the few who did manage to spend more time with a lover than Vivienne.”

“Yes, but I spent all my time with the same lover, my dear. Rather a different accomplishment altogether, I think.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged dramatically.

“I made do with what I was given,” he said. “It’s not like either of us will compare to the dear Keeper. The Dalish don’t keep their mages separate.”

Vivienne didn’t comment, but it did beg a particular question—and I figured there it was unlikely for there to be a better time to ask, so I did. “Vivienne, why do you care how I hold myself? It’s no secret we disagree.”

Both her eyebrows raised, and she considered me for a long heart’s beat before she gave her answer. “We disagree, yes, and perhaps we always will, but we do not disagree that things cannot continue as they were, only with how they must be changed. I see no reason that we cannot be cordial, or even friendly. And beside that, you are one of the Inquisition’s most prominent figures. How you present is important.”

I wondered which of us was the greater idealist. Was it Vivienne, for thinking the Circles could be saved? Or me, for thinking they had never been necessary in the first place? “You have a point, I think.” She smiled at me, a smile that said she knew. It was, somehow, not patronizing. “What about you, Driscoll? We know I would abolish the Circles and Vivienne would recreate them. What do you think?”

He blinked at us, face slack. “Oh. Er.” His gaze skittered away like a frightened thing, and he shrugged again, smoothing the silk of the clothes he passed as robes. “I don’t know. It’s not as though what I think matters, does it? I’m not the one who will decide.”

“But you will be affected,” I said. “Surely you have some preference.”

He hummed noncommittally and fluttered a hand through the air, still refusing to look either of us in the eye. “I was fine in the Circle, I guess. I had everything I needed.”

“Would you stay with the Iron Bull, if you could?” I asked, knowing it was an unfair question.

“Yes,” he said. For a moment, I thought he would follow with something flippant, as I had come to expect of him. Instead, he murmured, “As long as he’ll have me.”

“He’d be a fool to let you go,” Vivienne declared. This made Driscoll smile, though it quickly curled into a crafted smirk.

“I know, right? What kind of person could resist all of this?” He gestured at himself, striking what I presumed was an exaggeration of a sultry pose. I couldn’t stop thinking about how he, like every mage I knew, only wanted the chance to have personhood outside their magic.

 

Amir came to my office before even going to the War Room. His face was uncharacteristically drawn, lips pulling down and brows low over his eyes as he walked in. I didn’t even manage a greeting before he asked, “Did you know?”

The answer was almost certainly yes. “About what, exactly?”

“Blackwall isn’t Gordon Blackwall. He’s Thom Rainier.”

Ah. I gestured for Amir to sit, and he did—I took this for a good sign. “Yes,” I answered, putting aside the beginnings of a letter. “I’ve known since before I met him.”

Amir scowled and crossed his arms. “He’s not actually a Grey Warden, but you let him pretend to be one.”

“He is a Warden at heart.” It was a pitiful excuse, and we both knew it. “His secret was not mine to tell, and he has no ill intentions. He has learned that particular lesson.”

“After murdering a family! There were children, Keeper. Children!”

“I will not excuse what he did, and I will not pretend to,” I said. “It was wrong, and there are no qualifiers to that.” Amir huffed, and I considered what to say next. Though I’d known he would find out, had even known he would realize I had not told him, I had never quite figured out how to deal with this. “What is your opinion of him now?”

His shoulders fell, and his face followed. “I dunno,” he mumbled. He looked off to the side, eyes unfocused. “It doesn’t… I don’t understand. Blackwall is so—he seems like everything shems claim to be, and he doesn’t ask for recognition for it, for being a decent person. But what Rainier did… Keeper, no good person does that.”

“Do you believe he has changed?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in the answer, and he looked me full in the eye to say it. “Without a doubt. But that doesn’t change what he did, and that’s… that’s what is so difficult.”

“Would you like my advice, as a Keeper? Not as Hanal’ghilan, not as Vir’era the oracle, but as a Keeper of the People.”

I watched him blink slowly, clearly considering the offer. I wondered if he had been trying to approach the problem the way Josephine would have taught him to approach the other issues he’d been asked to judge. It was a shem approach, but that was generally appropriate in such a shem society.

This, though, had become far more personal. Blackwall wasn’t someone we’d had only tangential contact with; he had lied to Amir, personally. And his intent had been good, even if his past was anything but. The typical shemlen approach—punishment for the crime, and little concern for the person involved—seemed ill-suited.

Amir was Dalish. Blackwall was not, that much was true, but it was past time for Amir to remind the world, once again, that he had not left his people or culture behind when he became the Inquisitor.

I don’t know if he came to the same conclusion, but he sat up straighter, face settling into a calmer neutral expression. “Please tell me, Keeper.”

“He shows remorse, and has proven that he is willing to work to make amends…”

Notes:

you're not alone

 

as we get close enough that the end is in sight, please feel free to let me know if there are any pet hanging plotlines that i've not addressed that any of you want some kind of conclusion to. i've a few things that i know i intend to shove in somewhere somehow, at least

Chapter 24: follow the yellow brick road

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Rainier seemed disconcerted by his sentence of atonement, if the frowning was any indication, and he sought me out almost immediately.

“Did you always know?” he asked, and it struck me how near a mirror it was to Amir’s question.

“Yes,” I answered.

“I don’t understand. Why… if you knew, why did you let me pretend?”

I tilted my head, observing him. His shoulders were hunched near his ears, and his fingers were twisting together; though his beard disguised much of his face, it could not hide the tension that pursed his lips. Would an unrepentant man react like this? I doubted it, though I did not know if that ever could make up for what he’d done.

“It is not my place to judge you,” I said, slowly. I kept my body carefully relaxed, my voice even. “I do not like what you did. In fact, I hate it. I have, in the past, killed and doomed those who have done similarly.”

Rainier shrunk in on himself. “Then why…”

“You have had years to change before we met, and change you have. I am not in the practice of killing good people, regardless of their pasts.” I folded my hands in front of myself. “I will not lecture you. You and I both know how terrible your past is, and nothing will make up for it. Continue to do good. Confront your past.”

He nodded, slowly. “At least I’m surrounded by good examples here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Follow Amir’s lead. He is the best of us.”

“That he is.”

 

I was relieved, one night, when my dreams turned from darkspawn to the Fade. The simple fact that I had the awareness to be relieved told me what was happening even as my surroundings blurred into a sunbeam-laden room. Colorful cloth was draped everywhere, and though it had been some time, the location was nonetheless familiar to me.

Smiling, I moved forward. “Feynriel?” I called.

“One moment!” came the reply.

What he was preparing, and where he was hiding, was beyond me, so I took a seat at the low table, shaded from the sunlight by gilded silks. An assortment of fruits and other sweetmeats materialized as I settled in. The colors seemed too bright by far, yet several set off my sense of déjà-vu. Perhaps they were from Before? I took up a large, pink, egg-shaped thing, and it split open at my touch, revealing white flesh spotted with black seeds.

A moment later, it was Varania—not Feynriel—who walked up. She peered around, and when she saw me, came to join me at the table. “I don’t suppose he’s told you anything, has he?” she asked.

“Not yet, no,” I said. “I haven’t even seen him yet.

“Typical.” She sighed and took up a fruit of her own, which split under her fingers much like mine, until a large pit was removed from the orange flesh.

I began to ask if she knew why we were here, but Feynriel appeared before I could. To my surprise, he was accompanied by Connor. They came and sat with us, and Feynriel grinned around the table. “All of my favorite people in one place! It’s like a dream come true,” he said, before winking exaggeratedly.

Connor sighed and gave me a deadpan stare. “Save me.”

Feynriel seemed undeterred, continuing to smile, so I gave my best sympathetic look to Connor. Varania had less patience, and asked instead, “Why, exactly, did you invade our sleep tonight?”

Feynriel blinked at her, then glanced to me. I shrugged, and he returned his gaze to her and said, “Didn’t you say you wanted to speak with Vir’era?”

Varania’s eyebrows lifted high on her forehead. “And why is Connor here, then?”

“He also wants to speak with Vir’era.” He smiled as he looked to Connor, who shrugged and nodded.

“And what is it that you each want to speak with me about?” I asked.

Varania and Connor shared a look, and at Connor’s nod, she said, “My brother sent me a letter. Weisshaupt will not be prepared for them.”

“Is anywhere?”

“You may have a point, but what I meant is that, even in the Anderfels, none have had contact with Weisshaupt in weeks. This seemed prudent for you to know.”

We’d gathered as much from Leliana’s network, but I didn’t tell her this. “I… see. That’s quite worrying. Not anything that could not have been in a letter, though—is there something else, Varania?”

She smirked slightly. “Astute. Yes, there is more. First, Magister Tilani has agreed to take me for her apprentice, at long last. It seems it only required Felix begging Dorian to beg her—and a test, of course. And second, as a member of House Tilani, I had opportunity to look into the Venatori’s financiers. I have names for your spymaster.”

“How can the Inquisition repay you?”

“By removing them.” Varania shrugged. “They oppose Magister Tilani, and the work that she and I are doing to drag Tevinter into the modern age. We do not have the means to stop them; if you remove them in an order that is advantageous to Magister Tilani, I will require no other payment.”

“And what order is that?” I asked. It would be difficult enough to remember names from dreaming to waking, but to remember an order…

“It will be clear to any spymaster worth their salt,” she said, dismissing my worries. “Simply ask for it to benefit Magister Tilani, and yours will understand.”

I wasn’t certain, but I didn’t know enough about spycraft to disagree. Leliana was smart enough to find a way, and hopefully not all of it would involve murder. (That was not the answer to all life’s questions, however much she might wish it were.) So I dutifully listened and repeated the list of names—thankfully very short—until she was satisfied.

Then, I turned to Connor. “And you, da’len? What is on your mind?”

“Oh, uh,” he stuttered. “It, um, wasn’t actually anything… important? Or, I mean, nothing that couldn’t be in a letter, really, but I told Feynriel it had been a while since I saw you, since I’m still in Redcliffe and all, and I suppose—” He glanced to Feynriel with raised eyebrows. “—he decided to make that happen.”

“Your wish is my command,” Feynriel declared with another wink.

“I do,” Connor said loudly, now looking anywhere but at Feynriel, “have some news about Redcliffe, though? The younger mages…”

 

It was easy to invite myself to come along on the mission to the Temple in the Arbor Wilds. Were I more superstitious, I might have called it too easy—either way, by the end of the week, we began the trek, and by the end of the month, we and all our forces had arrived.

For all the battles I’d been party to, I’d never quite seen a war camp like this. The tail end of the Blight was close, but Fereldan force and Orlesian ones have, predictably, very different cultural needs. Plus, during the Blight, there had been the threat of darkspawn raids. Here in this jungle, what we were concerned with was solely reaching the Temple before our enemy.

Was jungle even the right word for it? The plant life was abundant and wild, the fauna almost strange and certainly colorful—but this far south, it was cold. There was no snow, nor a threat of it, but there was an undeniable chill that edged its way under clothing. Something about it felt distinctly unwelcoming.

We spent only a night in the camp. By midmorning, word came back from the scouts: Venatori and Red Templars had been spotted ahead.

Cullen led the troops first, to clear a path. “Be safe, ma vhenan. I will see you when it is over,” I told him, uncertain how things would go, only that I would see him back at Skyhold.

“We’ll keep them off your backs as long as we can,” he promised. “Focus on keeping Corypheus from getting the Well, at all costs.”

“Dirthavara.” I kissed him, quick and chaste. “Ar lath ma.”

“I love you, too,” he said. With a final kiss, barely more than a brush of his lips to mine, he took up his position among the soldiers, and they marched into the thick foliage. Despite their number, I lost sight of them in mere moments.

I conferred briefly with Leliana, avoided where Josephine stood with Celene, and found Amir suiting up outside his tent. “Are you ready, da’len?” I asked.

He pursed his lips and stared in the same direction our soldiers had gone. “No. If these Sentinels are really ancient elves… How could I ever be ready for that?”

He made a good point. “I suppose not. Make your peace with it quickly, though; we haven’t much time.”

“True. I’ll shelve the existential crisis for later. For now, the normal crisis. Where’s Dorian gone off to?”

I couldn’t tell if that was meant as a joke, or as two unrelated statements. Either way, he stood even as he spoke and began walking in, presumably, the last direction he’d seen Dorian. I followed, catching Morrigan’s eye as we passed her, and then Varric’s, until the whole of the party was trailing after Amir in his hunt for his lover.

We were not taking all of the inner circle in, of course. We needed to be able to move fast, especially when Corypheus came into play, and having a party of twelve would simply be too many. We had decided on seven, taking also Solas and Cassandra. It did not go unnoticed that our group heavily favored mages; I would spend a great deal of the time as a mabari, to make up what we lacked in brute strength.

Amir made nice throughout the camp as he passed through, doling out words of kindness and motivation with the ease of practice. In his wake, I felt both proud and envious, knowing I would never be so well-spoken but delighted that one so good-hearted had come to be the Inquisitor.

Thedas did not deserve Amir.

As soon as Dorian was gathered, almost like a cue, word came that Cullen had managed to carve a tenuous path to the Temple. We were on.

The bright colors of the foliage and birds seemed incongruous with the sounds of battle that echoed through the trees. We followed the trail of scouts, who each pointed us to the next in their line, stopping only occasionally to beat back Red Templars and those few Grey Wardens yet under Corypheus’ control.

“How have you remained exempt from such power, I wonder, Vir’era?” Morrigan asked me after we brought a Warden down. “Surely you would not put us in danger.”

And it was not that I had forgotten, either. “I am not exempt,” I corrected. “But the Wardens here were bound by more than the Blight. I can still feel Corypheus, but even his power has limits. Controlling the spell for the Wardens and fighting to enter the Temple is taking all his attention—and, more than that, his influence is weaker when I am an animal.”

“So there is some risk, then,” she said, and she was not wrong.

“Nothing we do is without risk,” Amir said. “The Keeper knows enough that, if he thinks he will be most useful with us, I won’t doubt him.”

(Was I of more use than risk, though? It remained to be seen.)

 

Getting to the Temple was not difficult. Ford a few streams, climb over hills and through the hollowed trunks of enormous trees, take time once in a while to stop Corypheus’ forces. I could feel that strange pull from Corypheus growing stronger, its discordance enough to make remaining a mabari into a respite.

When we passed Cullen at the base of the steps leading up to the Temple, I turned back only long enough to wave to him, wanting to ensure that, if the worst did come to pass, he would have seen my elven face one last time, and would not have his last memory be of me as a dog.

Still, it was much easier to be a dog than an elf with Corypheus so close. I did not doubt that the whole of me was Tainted, including every and any animal shape I may take on, but it was only the elf that felt the Blight so strongly.

We watched from the shadows, breath held fast in our lungs, as Corypheus killed a Sentinel with hardly any effort, and as the protective statues struggled to destroy him. I glanced about the battlefield, and felt relief when I indeed saw the body of a fallen Warden—then guilt, for this Warden should never have been here.

Still, that dead Warden’s presence would, I hoped, keep me safe. It meant there was a chance, at least, and I did not have to flee the field.

I did not creep down the steps as the others did; I strode forward, still in the shape of a mabari, and was halfway across the bridge already when they finally approached it. I could still feel Corypheus’ presence—his death did not diminish that—and I had no desire to linger near it.

I whined, moving further along the bridge, as insistent as a dog can be, but it was not until the dead Warden’s body began to contort that anyone took me seriously. Perhaps I ought to have warned them about that, but I hadn’t wanted to risk being left behind. Not for this.

They followed me, running across the bridge and slamming the Temple’s doors shut. Inside, the feeling of Corypheus all but disappeared, turning to something distant and unimportant. I gasped into elven shape again.

“What was that?” Amir asked, eyes wide.

“Corypheus has a power similar to an Archdemon,” I said. “He can transfer to any Blighted creature.”

Morrigan focused on me, her gaze like blades at my throat. “You risked our lives.”

I watched Amir gasp, softly, and wondered if he had forgotten what it meant when I said I was a Grey Warden. “Keeper—you could have been…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, and he did not need to. I didn’t know how to answer, so I shrugged and kept moving forward. “In time, my choices will make sense. Right now, we do not have time.”

It was not a satisfactory answer, and I knew it, but I didn’t care. I would face the consequences later, when we were finished in the Temple. Our soldiers were dying outside to buy us time; their sacrifices needed to be as limited as possible.

In the first room, I watched Amir pace the first, simple set of tiles, and helped Morrigan to translate what little we could still read of the inscription. “The sweet sacrifice of duty,” I murmured, more for the benefit of our non-elven party members than anyone else. “A terrible cost, yet entirely worthy to those who would come to this Temple…”

“We must be wary,” Morrigan said. She raised an eyebrow at me. “The cost of any magic is not to be trifled with.”

“No,” I agreed, “it is not.”

Amir squinted at us, but followed along. We made slow progress forward, both Amir and Morrigan commenting on just about every little thing. I added the occasional tidbit—where Morrigan’s textual learning failed her and Amir had gaps—but I largely stayed silent, watching and listening. I could feel eyes on us, measuring our every step and gesture, making it utterly impossible to relax.

It was eerie, the silence within the Temple. I could almost forget that our soldiers were outside, fighting fiercely and bravely against the Red Templar forces. Cassandra ensured we remembered this, though, and the reminder hastened Amir’s steps to the door.

We watched Samson blast apart the floor, and I felt my chest ache disproportionately. A temple was just a building, and there were lives on the line; still, this Temple was truly ancient, and the destruction of any part of its crumbling remains was a destruction of precious elvhen history, things we could learn so much from…

After we battled what forces Samson saw fit to try and slow us with, I grabbed Amir’s arm. “We should walk the petitioners’ path,” I told him. “This is a Temple, and its Sentinels yet live. I would not anger them.”

“Vir’era is right,” Morrigan said. “Whatever is here, we will learn more by not following those who would destroy it.”

“Our soldiers are dying outside!” Cassandra argued. “We do not have time for this!”

“It will not take long,” I insisted. “The path is simple enough. We would be slowed as much by fighting both Templar and Sentinel.”

All eyes turned to Amir.

He glanced around, peering at the gash in the floor, then moving away from it. “If we can avoid hurting the people here, we will. Whoever—whatever—they are, we are on the same side. Keeper, will walking the path ally us with them?”

“To an extent, yes.” I couldn’t remember how much. Not further than the Well.

“Then we will walk the path.” He led us quickly to the first of the paths—and, true to form, it took him very little time to understand how to walk it. We waited at the edges, watching him stalk along the tiles that lit beneath his feet. Though he did need to pause every once in a while, he did, without a single failure, light the whole of the path, all three times.

“I might have expected this to be more difficult,” Morrigan observed. “What manner of test could be solved so quickly?”

“It is, though,” Varric said. “Thankfully, Ghost’s pretty damn good at strategy and puzzles. He even beat Curly at chess.”

I wasn’t certain that chess skills necessarily translated into… whatever skill it was that these tiles required, even if Amir did excel at both. (Honestly, was there anything Amir wasn’t good at? It seemed quite unfair.)

Entering the Petitioner’s Chamber set my teeth on edge. I hadn’t stopped feeling watched since our entry into the temple, and it grew only stronger—until near-silent footsteps caught my ears.

“We’re being watched,” Amir murmured to our group, confirming my feelings. Dorian took a few steps closer to Amir, and I held tighter to Littlefoot’s staff.

When Abelas appeared, his words went more or less in one ear and out the other—I knew the gist of what he intended to say, and I had no great interest in the particulars. Instead, I stared at him, taking in his existence and wishing fervently that I knew even half as much as he did of Arlathan.

“…even if I must destroy it myself.”

“Mana!” I cried, but it was too late, and my distraction had been to my detriment. Beside me, Morrigan shouted, too, taking to the air to fly after him. The split second I had to decide if I would follow was not enough, and my hesitation chose for me: I stayed with Amir. But I knew Morrigan would stop Abelas, or at least slow him enough that we could plead our case.

I trailed after the others. Amir, for all that he was our leader, wound up near the back himself, both his eyes and mine sticking to the mosaics and statues of the Temple. Each Creator was represented, and I longed to linger and study them in detail. So much knowledge, so well-preserved! Even the plant life that encroached on the building had not come far enough to destroy everything!

But our soldiers were outside, dying, and Corypheus was surely battering the Temple in his own desperation. I wrenched my eyes and mind back to the present, speeding my steps to keep pace with our guide and group.

The guide was taciturn and did not bother with Common the way Abelas had; I wondered if this was a choice. (For that matter, why—how—did Abelas know Common? Did he learn it in Uthenera?)

Our guide limped down hallways, and through many of the doors we could hear the sounds of the Sentinels battling the Red Templars. Something in me wound tight and uncomfortable at the idea of doing nothing to help, yet I knew also that stopping to attempt would only delay us further, cost more of our soldiers’ lives.

(Not helping cost the Sentinels more lives. There was no good solution.)

A few times, we passed by wrought-iron gating, and through it, I saw how utterly fierce each side was. There was little doubt in my mind that, given how quick Amir had been to walk the paths, we had chosen the quicker route. Had we needed to fight both the Sentinels and Red Templars… It would have been slow, exhausting going. I don’t know that we could even have managed it.

Our guide pointed to a door and walked no further. I could only just see the barest suggestion of a face, with a deep-set frown. Still, as we passed to and through the door, I inclined my head. “Ma serannas. Dareth shiral.”

I received pursed lips and a curt nod in return, and as I followed the rest of my party, I heard the guide’s uneven steps retreating back into the Temple. Mythal, protect your Sentinels, I prayed. As we neared the sound of Samson gloating, Solas gave me a narrow-eyed look. Had the Dread Wolf heard my prayer? (Did he care?)

There was one final obstacle for us to overcome before we could reach the Well: Samson himself.

His armor glowed and pulsed with a heartbeat I could not hear, and its song—its refrain of the chorus Red Lyrium screamed—matched its steady rhythm. He was louder than any of the other Templars by far.

“Ir abelas, Samson,” I heard Amir saying, his voice far away. I stared at the swollen lump of bright red on Samson’s chest. It was not quite the same as the song from the Deep Roads, on that expedition with the Hawkes all those years ago—but it mimicked the theme. A reprise, louder for the flesh on which it fed.

I could be louder, too, if only I—

The lyrium shattered, its song scratching into fractured pieces even as it continued in the other Templars. Atop that, there was shouting. Samson was angry, of course, and I understood. If someone broke apart the Taint in me, the very thing which both lengthened and shortened my life, I would shout, too.

I pulled Littlefoot from my back and cast shields around my party. “Bellanaris din’an heem!” I shouted. “Sahlin!”

Amir’s arrows were already flying. I felt Dorian tugging on Fade, manifesting his fire through sheer force of flashy will, felt Solas’ more subtle workings that caused no less devastation for the Red Templars involved. In the distance, I felt the greater disturbance, the deep resonance, that indicated Corypheus had breached the outermost doors to the Temple.

(How long had those doors withstood the tests of time? How powerful was Corypheus, that it only took him this long to batter them into submission?)

Cassandra’s shouting was almost louder than the rest of the din put together. I think it would have been, if the song did not call me so. Varric, whose presence at my side I had not noticed, elbowed me. “Cass could use some front-line support, Mittens!”

Right. Right. That was right, I was supposed to be a dog now. I leapt forward, pouncing on an approaching Templar and pushing him to the ground. Mabari claws could not pierce Templar armor, but my teeth caught his vulnerable neck just fine.

The next Templar was not nearly so shocked when I rounded on her. She raised her shield and slammed it into my face. I followed the movement and became a cat long enough to dart between her legs. Then I was mabari again, and I toppled her forward. Someone—Solas?—managed to freeze her solid before she hit the floor, and she cracked in two on impact.

I bolted then to Cassandra’s side as she stood between the last few and Amir. Amir, who was facing off with Samson, despite being at a distinct disadvantage. While Samson wielded a greatsword, Amir had a bow and a set of emergency daggers. I could not watch longer than to know Amir was, somehow, holding his own; the Red Templars were too many for Cassandra alone. We could help him when these were done.

Together, Cassandra and I bullied the Templars down. I went for their vulnerable knees, slowing them when I could not stop them, and Cassandra used her sword to finish the job. It was brutal and efficient enough that I did not even notice when Varric’s arrows turned from our fray, nor when Solas’ magic was redirected.

When Cassandra and I turned to Amir again, we saw him drawing a bloody blade away from Samson’s side. The wound was not deep; the armor prevented Amir’s dagger from going far, but it was enough. It was the last straw. Samson wheezed and fell—still breathing, yes, but not for long.

“Maybe we can bring him to Skyhold for judgement,” Amir said, breathing hard. “First…”

We looked up at the steep trek to the Well of Sorrows and began to climb. Somehow, Abelas was only just arriving—though when Morrigan swooped at him as he ran, I figured it had been her doing that he did not arrive sooner. She landed before the Well as we came to its platform, and Abelas could not reach it.

“So the Well is to be despoiled, then…” he said. He scowled at us, backing away.

“You meant to destroy it anyway,” Amir pointed out.

“To keep it from your hands, yes.”

“Inquisitor, you need its power,” Morrigan interrupted. Abelas’ scowl intensified, his lip curling until I thought he might bare his teeth at her. “If you are to have any chance of defeating Corypheus, we must have the Well.”

“Do you even know what you ask?” Abelas threw a hand towards the Well. I followed the motion, staring into the strange pool.

“Tell us,” Amir said, and Abelas explained that which I already knew: priests to Mythal had deposited their memories and knowledge into the Well for ages—long before any Age had come to exist. To drink of the Well would bind one to Mythal.

I stared at the Well. Was it truly water, or did it only mimic a form we could comprehend? It certainly moved like water, reflected light like water. But the color… It distorted, like there were currents in it that created iridescence. And why was it moving? The room had no wind. The pool was far too shallow for any natural currents.

Perhaps it was the magic. I could feel waves of it pulling and pushing at the Fade, almost alive, could faintly hear what sounded like distant whispers. The Red Lyrium from the Templars below (still strong despite their deaths) nearly overwhelmed them, but they were there, hissing at the very edge of my senses. Though the words were indistinguishable, I strained to hear more… and caught nothing distinct.

“’Tis a serious price,” I heard Morrigan say. “Whatever Mythal is or was, the magic is certainly still strong.”

“Is the price too high?” Amir asked her. “Do you—you said we needed it, but if you’re hesitant, then I’m less sure if I should…”

She paused, and I thought I felt her eyes on me—but when I turned my attention to them, they were both looking at each other. Striding forward, I butted into the conversation. “To be bound to a Creator is no small thing, even if one does not believe them to be gods.”

Morrigan looked to me, then to the Well, and crossed her arms. “If there is no other way, then I will drink. The knowledge alone might be a fool’s gamble, but for the chance to destroy Corypheus and to gain the knowledge… To deny it then would be pure lunacy. Knowledge, after all, is only useful if one is there to use it.”

Amir drew a bit closer, peering down. I moved to his side. “Amir, you are the Inquisitor. You have much to bear as it stands; do not take this burden, as well. Let me carry it.”

“Keeper…” He met my gaze, eyebrows nearly knotted on his forehead. He touched his face, a finger tracing unerringly over the branches of Mythal’s vallaslin. “Is it not my place? Inquisitor or not… I can bear the price. I am devoted to her, anyway.”

“Not as this,” Abelas said. “That which you call vallaslin is barely more than an echo.”

“You have great power, and we do not know exactly what this geas might entail,” Morrigan added. “It might be wise to let Vir’era take it on. If you worry that he, too, holds too much power, then give it to me. I will be able to use its knowledge.”

I saw her give a long, lingering look at the Well. Her fear of her mother, the simple fact that I had said it would bind her to Flemeth’s will, seemed enough to give her hesitation, but her thirst for knowledge was intense. I held no doubts that she would not ask twice if Amir told her to drink, even in the face of the price.

“Do you know, Keeper? What it will do?”

I stepped to the Well and crouched beside it, tilting my head as if that might make anything clearer. It did not. “Exactly as Abelas says. You will be bound to the will of Mythal, and she will have the ability to exert that power, should she so wish.”

“But…” Looking up, I saw Amir frown and glance to Abelas. “Mythal is—he says she was murdered. If she’s… how…”

“How does one slay a god?” I shrugged. “Mythal is not as she was, this much is true. But she exists still, for some measure of the word, and it is enough. Anyone who drinks of the Well is bound to her will.”

And Flemeth’s, for they had become one and the same. Abomination, the Chantry claimed, but I had known my share of ‘abominations’ of sound mind. Whatever she was, goddess still or mere echo, it didn’t matter.

“I would drink, Amir,” I said. “My prophecies are nearly complete, and what knowledge I have left near useless after this. We need its power to defeat Corypheus, and I will be just another Keeper after this. I lead the People in the name of the Creators; very little will change for me if Mythal desires to guide my hand.”

Amir looked to our companions. “What do you think?”

Solas shifted. “It is not wise for you to drink, Inquisitor. You cannot know what it will cause. If Vir’era is willing, let him.”

“I agree with Solas,” Dorian said. “I don’t want to lose you to—whatever it is. The knowledge would be nice, but I know enough about ancient Tevinter magics to know you don’t mess around with things like this.”

Varric shrugged. “We need it. I don’t like it either way, but if Mittens and Chuckles are right—and you know they always are—then it’s probably best to listen to them.”

“I would just as soon let Abelas destroy it,” Cassandra admitted, “but Morrigan says it is the key for this eluvian, and I do not think we will leave the way we came. And we may need its power to defeat Corypheus. I do not know.”

Amir sighed a long, shaky sigh. I heard Corypheus’ song growing louder. “Our time is growing short, Amir. Make your choice, or I will.”

Lips pursing, he turned his eyes to me again, then let them drop to the Well. “If you’re certain, Keeper…”

“I am.”

“Then do it.”

I waited no longer. Instinct told me to wade into the strange not-water, stepping down into the pool and letting the Well surround me. Its whispers grew louder and louder, cutting off even Corypheus’ Blight-song, and when I reached the center, I cupped my hands and brought the Well to my lips.

The world inverted itself, the Well expanding into a huge cloud of swirling gases that shouted at me in Elven.

“Garas quenathra?” came the loudest.

“Ma halani,” I answered. They could see my mind, my thoughts, as I spoke, this I knew with the same foreign certainty that told me my body was my own. “A magister would rend the world and call himself a god. We must stop him.”

The voices overlapped, chaos making them difficult to tell apart. “Ir Mythalavhen him,” I told them, and a chorus of—how does one describe a sound not heard but simply understood? It felt like the dark chuckle of amusement from one who approves but knows far more than they are saying, knows the price is greater than anything I might have understood.

It was a risk I had known I was taking. “Ma lasa mala sulevin!”

The feeling of dark amusement grew.

“Vir mythal’enaste.”

The gas converged on me, crashing into my body with a force it should not have had, seeping into my bones, my marrow, my very cells. I could feel it alter something, though I knew not what, and did not have time to investigate. I coughed back into a world reverted to its normal shape. Abelas had disappeared, and Amir knelt at my side.

“Alive! Good; I did not want to be the one to tell Cullen,” I heard Dorian say.

“Keeper, are you alright?” Amir asked, helping me to stand.

I nodded, dizzy with the echoes of the whispers in my blood and mind. “We must—”

At the other end of the room, a great explosion burst the wall apart, rocking us. I nearly fell again. Corypheus was here. “Through the eluvian!” I shouted. I lifted my hand, letting centuries (millennia?) of Mythal’s priests guide me, let their ancient knowledge open the way through the mirror.

They moved my feet, too, ambulating my body while I adjusted to their presence within me. Rushing through one at a time, I saw my friends dash through the eluvian’s glow and felt how it delivered them to the Crossroads. I felt no tug to anywhere else, could see no strange connections bleeding through this mirror.

The memories of the Well bade me move as Amir disappeared beyond the glass, and I followed their command. I could hear Corypheus’ shouting rage, almost close enough to touch—the second I had passed into the Crossroads, the mirror went dark. A second later, and I felt the connection shatter.

Notes:

translations! a mix of canon and personal interpretations (mostly canon)
Dirthavara. - i promise
Ar lath ma. - i love you
da’len - little one/affectionate diminutive
Ir abelas - I'm sorry
Bellanaris din’an heem - make you dead (a threat)
sahlin - now
Garas quenathra - why have you come/why are you here
Ma halani - help me
Ir Mythalavhen him - i will become mythal's person
Ma lasa mala sulevin - roughly, 'give me purpose'
Vir mythal’enaste - the way of mythal's blessing

Chapter 25: meet your maker

Chapter Text

I had, even still, half-expected to fall away, out of the world. Back whence I came, wherever that was—but I didn’t. A different, smaller part of me had hoped that, perhaps, the Well’s strange power would restore my memories. It didn’t. My memories and my original home were both lost to me forever. I noted the realization with passive distance as I stepped away from the cracked eluvian.

The Crossroads were so much brighter than I’d expected. Color bloomed in every direction, light streaming from unseen sources to filter through vibrant trees onto the near-ephemeral ground that connected the mirrors. Unable to help my self, I stared in wonderment, meandering a few steps nearer to a great tree that stood at the center, surrounded by the eluvians.

“Morrigan, your eluvian in Skyhold… could we get to it from here?” Amir asked.

“I believe so, yes,” she answered. I turned, and was surprised to see how far back she was. I had not thought I’d moved so far—and, indeed, it was only a few steps that brought me near her side again.

Strange.

She frowned, peering around and moving as though through molasses to the nearest branching of paths. I watched her feet, and though it seemed she moved them as normal, it took her many more steps to arrive than it had taken me to move a similar distance. What was…

Banal shemlen, the voices of the Vir’abelasan whispered, bringing an answer that felt almost familiar. Had I known this, or was that due to the Well’s magic? No matter.

“Link hands,” I said. Everyone paused to look at me, and I saw Morrigan raise her eyebrows. “Do something, at least; we must not get lost here.”

“We will not become lost,” Morrigan said, crossing her arms. “I know the Crossroads well, and can lead us to my own eluvian without trouble. Unless ‘tis you who intends to wander?”

“Not because I intend to wander, though none should.” I glanced about, but no one dissented. “This place is easier for elvhen to travel. It was made for our use.”

“What do you mean by that, exactly? How could it be easier because you’re an elf?” Dorian asked. “Does it know, somehow? Whoever created this place, did they do that intentionally? Or was it just an accident?”

I listened to see if the Well might answer, but there was only silence. “I don’t know. But watch: Amir, Morrigan, please walk to the next eluvian.”

The two, who stood side-by-side, shrugged and began to move. Near instantly, the effect was obvious; though their limbs moved at comparable speeds, and on inspection their feet even seemed to take similar strides, somehow Amir made quick headway. It took him about half the time it took Morrigan to reach the eluvian.

“Fascinating,” Dorian murmured.

“Indeed,” Morrigan said. I saw her frown and purse her lips. “This is new to me. I have never traversed the Crossroads with an elf for any significant length of time. Perhaps Vir’era is right: it may behoove us to maintain contact, at least until we have reached my eluvian.”

It took a moment, but—much like in the Fade at Adamant—eventually we formed a line. It conjured to mind the image of schoolchildren following a teacher, though which of us was the teacher… I supposed it would have to be Morrigan. She stood at the forefront, one hand loosely and reluctantly wrapped around Amir’s.

Then followed Dorian, then me, Varric, Solas, and, finally, Cassandra. It was surreal to have to pace myself to keep from running into Dorian or going too fast for Varric. To be sure, Varric typically had a stride closer to my own, but he and I both had long since grown used to moving quicker to match our human friends.

How did it feel for them to be the slow ones, for once?

Letting Dorian and Varric guide me, I focused my attention instead on the voices of the Well. They were largely silent, and to call them voices was inaccurate. They’d spoken to tell me about the Crossroads’ issue with non-elves, yes, but now they were as much voices as my own thoughts. The information the Well had held crowded through the halls of my mind, pushing against my skull until a pounding headache began to build.

There was just so much, and it was all new—or, at least, new to me. Ideas, half-formed images, notions, all these rushed at and through me. I had barely the time to recognize anything at all before something new took its place.

I grabbed one at random and held it in place: shapeshifting. I knew this already, could comprehend the concepts it called forth. Within it, I saw every shape every priest of Mythal had ever learned. I could not take them all now—having the Well’s knowledge didn’t confer to me the ability to use it—but with enough time to think, I would.

The thought flew off. Potion making: this, too, I was familiar with. I looked at the potions that generations of priests had made, watched their hands stir cauldrons and dice ingredients. Some of these things were unfamiliar, had perhaps disappeared. Others were simple enough. I could learn these things.

I could learn so much. I breathed in the knowledge, let it sit in my lungs, and savored the simple fact that it was mine, now. And, yes, perhaps I was now Mythal’s, perhaps that was the price I had paid for this… but Flemeth was not so different from me. I was only mortal, and Mythal so much more, but Flemeth—Flemeth had started mortal. Flemeth changed things, guided them, much like me.

How much, though, did she know? Even the Well could not tell me. Mythal was great and powerful, and the Well compelled devotion to her, but it told me little of the goddess that I did not already know. I supposed she had not often spoken with her priests. A shame.

Dorian tugged lightly on my hand, and I blinked into his expectant stare. Already, somehow, we were at Morrigan’s eluvian. She stood before its glow with a hand on her hip and an eyebrow rising high on her forehead. “If you asked us all to hold hands simply because you desired to daydream instead of walking like a normal person, Vir’era, I will be disappointed.”

“Ir abelas,” I murmured. “Vir’abelasan… it is—distracting. Not loud, necessarily, but certainly a lot.”

She huffed and jerked her head at the eluvian. “Fine, fine. Go through, then. You will have to tell me of it when we are in Skyhold.”

“Yes, of course.” I would’ve expected no less.

There was something more surreal, somehow, about walking out of the eluvian into Morrigan’s room, than there had been about the entirety of the Crossroads. I could feel myself dissociating, my body moving of its own accord as I observed from a quiet emotional distance. The Well’s information continued to demand acknowledgement, and my headache slowly worsened.

I stood beside Amir as our friends followed me through, one at a time, until at last Morrigan herself walked through and closed the connection. Simply by watching her, I realized I knew how to use her eluvian, and the echo of a memory told me it had once been in a library, or something like a library. A repository of knowledge made physical. In my mind, I saw books floating.

Taking a deep breath, I could smell a storm brewing. I heard myself make some excuse, then watched my surroundings change as my body moved out, away. My feet took a meandering path through hallways and down stairwells until I stood under the gazebo in the garden, snow drifting down around me.

Though there were few enough people out and about—and those present were checking the runes on the garden beds—I did not want to be disturbed. I changed my shape and slipped under a shadowed eave, calm in the knowledge that I would be all but invisible for the time being.

My heartbeat slowed as I stood there, silent and still, my breathing coming at a glacial pace. I let the Well tell me what it knew again, drifted off with it into the Fade as its contents sorted themselves. I did not know all I had access to, now. The Fade was transformed around me, reordering itself into a grand library that I knew to be the Well’s knowledge.

It was tied to me, and I to it. Every book, every scrap of paper in this projection—I could know it all. On some level, I supposed I did, even if not all could be summoned forth at will. As I gazed upon its splendor, I had the impression of wisps tending to the pages. No wisps showed themselves, no spirits nor demons, but the sense of every life of memories spilled into the Well—it was all here. They would bring me what I needed.

“Ma serannas,” I said. For all that the Well was part of me, as Justice had once been part of Anders, it was still distinct, the hand of an arm—a hand that had its own thoughts and memories, to boot.

I sat at a table and let the first book come to me.

 

“Keeper.”

I looked up from the book to see Solas. He was taking in the library, though he stood at an entrance I had not noticed. He did not enter. “Solas,” I said. “Hello.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“The Fade.” I had no false impressions. This place did not physically exist. In all likelihood, it was a manifestation created specifically to help me contain and comprehend the information of the Well.

“And your body?”

Well, if I was in the Fade, then I was asleep. And if I was asleep… Oh, but I hadn’t fallen asleep in bed, had I? I had been in—ah. “I should wake up, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes.”

Having made that decision, I stood, and blinked around at the Skyhold garden. It was covered in a light blanket of snow, and so beautiful. The sky was dark with clouds, but the white snow brightened the world enough that it didn’t matter. I stretched, noting the absence of the headache that had been building. My fingers were not particularly cold, though. I considered my hand at the realization, but it seemed normal.

That could be further explored later, then.

The Well still hovered in the back of my mind, a constant white noise that was not truly sound, but which I could identify no other way. Something like the murmuring of a thousand voices holding private conversations, or perhaps like the dull roar of an anticipatory crowd. Breath not quite held, not quite silent, but also not drowning out all else.

I left the garden and moved to the War Room. Amir, Morrigan, and Cassandra were already there, bent over the map. A scout—one of the few who hadn’t gone to the Arbor Wilds—slipped out when I opened the door, her strides strong.

“It will take at least a week for even our fastest scout to return from the Wilds,” Cassandra said. “Our army will take a month, if we do not work the horses to death.”

“And while we are waiting, Skyhold will be vulnerable,” Morrigan argued. “I doubt Corypheus will tolerate such an embarrassment as he endured in the Arbor Wilds for long. You will need whatever forces you can muster, Seeker, if you do not wish them to return to a smoking pile of rubble.”

“And if we work the horses to death to bring them back, we will have no horses. Our army will be crippled.”

Amir, still wearing his armor, leaned heavily against the table and said nothing, staring silently down at the map of Ferelden and Orlais. I came to stand beside him, observing the many markers still clustered at the Arbor Wilds. His marker—or, the one used to denote the Inquisitor and company—had been returned to Skyhold, a lonesome piece.

“Our priority should be the other advisors,” I said. “Leliana’s birds can send us advice for the moment, but that has limitations. And all their reports will come wherever they are; we will certainly know more with our spymaster present.”

“Good to see you looking better, Keeper,” Amir said, smiling at me. I smiled back. “You have a good point. While we’re hardly incapable without the others, they do usually have more information to contribute.”

Cassandra crossed her arms. “That does not solve the problem of Skyhold’s defenses, nor how we get them here, but… yes. It is probably the best idea so far.”

“If you are worried that Corypheus will follow after Amir,” I said, “then perhaps the solution is simple: Amir should be elsewhere. Just for a short while.”

“And risk bringing Corypheus’ wrath down on some other part of the world?” Morrigan asked. “I suppose there might be places which deserve such a fate, but I do not think these are places you will reach in a short time.”

Amir held up a hand before anyone could continue running the circular argument. “We’re getting nowhere. I’ll send a scouting party to bring the advisors back as quickly as possible. If we’re lucky, Leliana will have sent a bird back that we’ll get by morning. Either way, all we can do for now is wait. So, if you don’t mind… I rather think I need a bath.”

The ladies and I nodded, and he left. Cassandra remained where she stood, glaring down at the map. Morrigan brushed a hand against my shoulder. “Vir’era, if you have no other plans, I would speak with you about the Well.”

“Of course. Come, join me in my office.”

She gestured, and I led the way. It was a silent walk, though not an unpleasant one. When I closed the door behind us, she leaned against my desk and crossed her arms at me. “And so? What does the Well tell you? I am most curious.”

I tilted my head and considered. “It is like… If every book in a library spoke its words simultaneously, or if all the Hahrens and Keepers of the Arlathvhen talked over each other incessantly.”

“And what of this connection to Mythal, then? Have you felt that geas?” I saw her hand clench on her arm.

“Yes,” I said. “No. There is force here, and the memories are… fervent. Something lingers, and the Well can lead me. But I have not felt Mythal’s power so specifically. Only that of her priests.”

Her lips pursed, and she clicked her tongue. “I see. Tell me, then. What kind of knowledge does the Well offer?”

I moved to sit in my chair, and she shifted to face me, sitting as well. “There is too much to know everything it holds just yet. That will take—I don’t know. Years, perhaps. A mind can only retain so much at once. I will make books of what I can. There was a great deal about shapeshifting, about the Dirth’ena Enasalin, about so much magic that has been lost.”

“About eluvians, too, I presume, given how quickly you grasped their use.”

“Yes.” I tilted my head, listening closer to the Well. “Would you like to know more? I can see if the Well has answers for your questions.”

She huffed, but leaned forward. “Tell me about…”

 

I was transcribing the knowledge of the Well when the voices went abruptly quiet, and I felt a pull. The pull was familiar, the way one can touch a new chair and know how the wood will feel; it was a neighbor of the Calling. Quieter, but somehow more insistent. I was standing to follow before I had fully processed what was happening.

It was not difficult to put together. I walked the path that led to Morrigan’s chambers, knowing one of my final prophecies was now coming to fruition. I saw Amir going the same way, not far ahead of me. I sped up to walk beside him.

“Going to see Morrigan?” I asked.

“Yes—you, too? I could wait.”

So polite. I shook my head. “No need. Let us walk together. She will be waiting.”

I felt his eyes on me, but merely kept walking. His pace did not pause, either, and we came soon to Morrigan’s door—wide open, the glow of the open eluvian spilling even into the hall. Leliana stood inside, staring at the swirling mirror. “Inquisitor! Keeper! Good, you’re here—Kieran’s gone missing. He walked into the mirror, we think; Morrigan has already gone after him. I’ll go get more help.”

“No need,” I told her. “We will not be long.”

“Vir’era—”

“Trust me, Leliana.”

She sighed. “I will wait here, then. Be safe.”

I gave her a smile. “Of course. Come, Amir. Let’s find Kieran. You will want to be there.”

Leliana’s eyes sparked, and I thought perhaps she might follow us—might decide that she, too, wanted to be there, even knowing nothing except that I was not worried—but she only watched as Amir and I walked through the glow.

The Fade looked different, here, than it had at Adamant. Not that it had maintained one shape there, of course, but even the essence seemed changed. Perhaps that was Mythal’s doing. Perhaps it was Fen’Harel’s.

We walked forward, and as we moved, the Fade created our path. Morrigan’s voice floated to us through trees that disappeared as her calls passed through them. “Kieran!” she shouted, a beacon as sure as Mythal’s. “Kieran!”

It took us a few moments more to reach her, and each shout grew incrementally higher-pitched, the barest touch longer. This was not the same self-sufficient, sneering Morrigan of the Fifth Blight; I had known this, and yet… My heart ached as we came upon her. She did not run, but she moved first in one direction, then another, half-shuffling in almost the same direction as I was being tugged.

“Morrigan!” Amir called. “There you are! Leliana told us—do you know which way Kieran went?”

“No!” she cried, face crumpled and shoulders slumped. “He—he should not even be able to do this! This is the Fade; I don’t know how…”

I took hold of her arm and held it until she looked to me. “Morrigan. Kieran will be alright, dirthavara. Come with me. I will take you to him.”

“How?” Her hand held tightly to my arm, a hair’s breadth from digging her nails painfully into the fleshy parts.

“Vir’abelasan. Come.”

Her breath was shaky, her eyes wide, and she did not respond, but she let me lead her where the Well willed. The path before us never wavered, even as our surroundings morphed from evergreen forest to ornate temple to underground tunnels. I stepped with confidence borrowed from the Well and bolstered by the last entries of my journal.

A fleeting memory changed the path’s appearance into yellow brick, but I could not chase down the logic. No matter; a fog lifted soon after, allowing Kieran to come into view. And as Kieran was visible, so was Mythal.

“Mother!”

“…Mother.”

“Hello, Morrigan.” Flemeth smiled. It even reached her eyes, for a moment. It cooled again as she looked to Amir and me. “Inquisitor Amir Lavellan—it is good to meet you. And Vir’era Sabrae… how very interesting that we keep meeting, my dear.”

The Well purred at her attention. “In a good way, I hope.”

She laughed. “Is it? I suppose we shall see. It certainly seems to have been in my favor.”

“I would hardly say I’ve been put upon.”

“No. No, I suppose you haven’t.” She tilted her head and peered at me. “I see you made your choice. Let us hope you will not live to regret it.”

“If you are quite done!” Morrigan interrupted, sneering at Flemeth. “Give him back!”

Flemeth’s smile melted away, and her head fell into a considering tilt. “As if I were holding the boy hostage. She’s always been ungrateful, you see.”

I stepped back, content to watch. The Fade was different here. No illusions, no dreams, just a disjointed world of floating rock and eerie green. In the distance, other islands hung in chains like constellations. What denizens claimed those? At that, did this space belong to Mythal?

“Ungrateful?” Morrigan spat. “I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone! You will not have me, and you will not have my son!” Her hands began arcane movements. It would not be allowed, but I was curious.

I didn’t have to wait long. “That’s quite enough,” Flemeth said, her eyes glowing almost the same way Anders’ once had. “Keeper, if you would be so kind.”

The Well pulled me forward again, lifting my hands to capture Morrigan’s and sending a pulse of magic I hadn’t known through the area, snuffing out the beginnings of her spell. “Ir abelas, lethallan,” I said to her. Her eyes grew wide, snapping from me to her mother to her son and back. Her breath hitched as I held her still.

“I had hoped you might be wrong, just this once.” Her voice trembled in time with her fists.

“Wrong about what, exactly?” Amir asked. “Could someone explain what is happening, please?”

“Vir’era drank of the Well,” Flemeth said.

The words hung in the air. I turned to explain more to Amir, no longer compelled to prevent Morrigan from casting, and found him gaping at Flemeth. “You are Mythal,” he whispered. “But—” His eyes flittered to me. “—how? Abelas said—and our stories…”

Mythal urged Kieran forward, and he ran to Morrigan, who held him close. “I’m sorry, Mother. I heard her calling. She said now was the time.”

The Old God’s soul. The entire reason Morrigan had been sent with our party during the Blight. The Well did not tell me why Mythal wanted it.

“Once, I was but a woman,” Flemeth began, “crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the Ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.”

Justice… Ma vir’suledin. What had happened to Mythal? Who had murdered her, and why, and how could justice be wrought? What would Justice have said of this? I did not know, and never would.

Amir’s eyes flicked between Flemeth and me. “She is… inside you?”

“She is a part of me, no more separate than your heart from your chest.” She folded her arms slowly, rocking her weight back and just looking at Amir, who in turn looked again to me.

“It is the truth, da’len.”

Flemeth’s lips curled up into a smirk. “But what was Mythal?” she asked, bringing forth the question on everyone’s lips but mine. “A legend given name and called a god, or something more?” She shook her head. “Truth is not the end, but a beginning.”

She prowled forward, head tilting as she kept Amir in her line of sight. “So young and vibrant. You do the People proud, and have come far. As for me, I have had many names, but you… may call me Flemeth.”

“Flemeth,” he repeated. His eyes grew wider, nearly fully round now. “Asha’bellenar—the Witch of the Wilds. I know your tale, the woman who fled for love and returned for vengeance. The spirit said to have helped you… Was that Mythal, then?”

“Clever boy,” she murmured. “Yes. That is how my tale began.”

Amir peered at me, and I nodded. “You show up in many tales. Most recently, with the Fifth Blight and the Champions of Kirkwall.”

“I nudge history, when it’s required. Other times, a shove is necessary.” She chuckled, and though I could not see her face, her shoulders were even and her stance was strong. Pride wafted off her.

“If that’s true—and if Mythal is part of you, as you say—then why…” Amir’s voice was startlingly clear, considering how quiet he grew. “…why did you never help us? The People needed you. We—we’ve prayed to you.” He touched his vallaslin. “I’ve prayed to you.”

Flemeth looked down and away, her posture closing in for just a moment, just long enough that I knew it was not my imagination. “What was… could not be changed.”

“What about now?” he insisted, taking a half-step forward, knees bending as if to kneel and beg. “You could answer so many of our questions.”

She drew herself back up, arms still tight to her sides, and looked down at him. The weight of Ages beyond counting followed her gaze, and I slipped to Amir’s side. “You know not what you ask, child,” she said.

“But why you? You’re not even elvhen.”

She smiled, small and slow. “For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens.”

Morrigan, squinting, “And what is Mythal, then? Why follow her whims?”

I listened closely, now. I wanted to know, too. For all that I knew Flemeth was Mythal, for all that I knew she meddled in history, I did not know why. I knew so very little.

“You seek to preserve the powers that were,” Flemeth reminded Morrigan, “but to what end? It is because I taught you, girl, because things happened that were never meant to happen—and some that were meant to, did not. She was betrayed as I was betrayed—as the world was betrayed!”

She didn’t look at me. I watched her, and her eyes did not so much as glance in my direction, but I felt the strength of her attention nevertheless, weighing down around my shoulders. The Well whispered tales, several all at once, and I knew they were saying what she was referring to, but they spoke over each other, a cacophony I could not decipher in a language I barely knew. What had happened? What had not?

In the spaces surrounding our little island, the Fade shifted and blurred. Nothing recognizable formed from the ether, but something was trying to. It changed only in my periphery, and I closed my eyes against the resulting nausea.

Flemeth was still talking; I pulled my concentration to her, trying to stave off the effects of the shifting Fade and overlapping whispers. “Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged! Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance.”

Amir, still not quite standing tall, tilted his head, his face twisted up into the same bleeding-heart compassion I had seen on him so many times now. “What will you do now, then?”

“Yes, Mother,” Morrigan said. “What is it you want?”

“One thing, and one thing only.” Her eyes fell to Kieran.

“No!” Morrigan shouted. As the two bickered over Kieran’s creation, with Amir chiming in from time to time, I listened instead to the Well. Its voices had calmed somewhat. They spoke of strange things, impossible things. Spirits on the mortal plane, unchanged; mortals walking the shifting rivers of the Fade; all this as one.

Their whispered words were difficult to parse. Even with their help, I had not gained spontaneous and perfect comprehension of the ancient elven language. Many words were little more than gibberish. Mythal’s name came up constantly—as did Fen’Harel, and a word that brought to mind the pantheon.

How many others could have survived as Mythal did, passing from one host to the next? Had Fen’Harel locked any of them away at all? (Could they hear our prayers?)

“I am many things,” Morrigan declared, her voice shaking in a way that I had never heard before, “but I will not be the mother you were to me.”

Flemeth’s proud face folded in on itself at that. Not entirely, not enough that she was brought low by the words, but enough to know this: whatever Flemeth’s plans had been for Morrigan, whatever she had done in raising her, she did love her daughter. Nothing stings so much as an insult from a loved one.

She turned to Kieran and knelt beside him, taking his hands in her own. Morrigan made a strangled sound and moved to stop them; I found myself taking her arm, holding her back. A ball of wavering blue light pulled from Kieran’s chest and traveled the distance to Flemeth’s, where it settled under her skin and disappeared.

“No more dreams?” he asked.

“No more dreams,” she confirmed.

He smiled and returned to his mother, whose arms were quick to wrap around him. Flemeth shifted her weight to one hip and crossed her arms, watching her daughter with a crooked smile. “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me.”

Morrigan’s arms did not retract from Kieran, and she said nothing.

“As for you, Vir’era…” I blinked slowly under the force of Mythal’s gaze. “I am glad you made the wise choice. Do as I do, and you will fly.”

Ever the one for dramatic entrances and exits, she turned and left, then. “Wait!” Morrigan called. Flemeth did not. Within moments, the Fade had closed behind her, and she was gone.

Chapter 26: a world gone quiet

Chapter Text

“How many times have I owed you thanks, I wonder?” Morrigan asked as we stood in her room, staring at the now-dark eluvian. “It is enough to be uncomfortable.”

“You owe me nothing,” I said.

“No? I suppose we will have to disagree on that.”

Amir, who had watched Kieran run off to do whatever it is children at a military fortress do, asked, “Will he be alright?”

Morrigan turned to look through the open bedroom door. “I don’t know. It is true, what I said: at first, he was but a means to an end. Now, he is my son, and nothing will change that. He has always carried the soul of that ancient dragon. It will be an adjustment. It should not affect his health, at least.”

He nodded. “Then, since he has you, it should be fine.”

“Ha! I need no false comforts from you, Inquisitor, though I thank you for the intent.” Her arms were crossed, and though she laughed, she did not smile.

“I mean it,” he said. He waved a hand after Kieran. “It’s clear how much you love him, Morrigan. More than that, it’s clear you do everything you can to help him, and he knows he is loved. There is nothing more important for a child.”

“Oh. I see.” She cleared her throat and did not look at either of us. “…Thank you.” Clearing her throat again and straightening her clothes, she added, “If you don’t mind, I think I need some time to consider what has happened. Alone.”

She did not have to gesture at the door for the dismissal to be clear, but she did so anyway. I paused only long enough to remind her, “I will be in my office, Morrigan. If you want to talk about all this.” She did not reply, and I did not wait for one.

Amir followed me, silent and white as a ghost. I let him think as we walked to my office, and closed the door after he had entered. We sat, and still he said nothing. My paperwork loomed tall, but it could wait. If only I had some tea… I opened a drawer and pulled out a tin of biscuits. Pulling off the lid, I offered it first to Amir, who took just one, then helped myself.

He stared at the tall wall of bookshelves as he ate the biscuit, and I looked at it, too. It was clean, and full of the sundry items that had been removed from my aravel to make room for the orphans. Jars of herbs, books of elvhen history, scrolls of long-lost spells… Clan Sabrae’s entire collection fit onto one section of the wall. The other walls held histories and essays of human civilization, philosophies by human minds, full to brimming with shemlen ideas and writing, yet only a fraction of all that Skyhold contained.

“What does it mean?” Amir whispered.

“What does what mean?” I asked.

“Mythal. She’s—she’s not just real, but part of Flemeth. A shem woman.” His fingers traced his vallaslin, unerring even though he could not see his own face. “How can a god be brought so low?”

I shifted to face him more fully. “Even our gods are not infallible, da’len.”

“No, I know, but—Keeper, how… The stories say Fen’Harel locked the Creators away. All of them, including Mythal. And Abelas said she was murdered.” His hand formed a loose fist, then fell to his chest, where he held it close. His eyes were wide. “But she was there. And it had to be her, because you drank the Well, and she—she controlled you, Vir’era.”

I stood and moved to stand beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pulling his head to rest against my chest. “She is Mythal, yes. Our stories cannot explain this, but what we have now is only a tiny portion of what our ancestors had.”

“I know,” he said, and his words were a defeat. “I just wish…” He pressed closer, the thought unfinished, and wrapped an arm around my waist. “I chose Mythal,” he murmured. “When I came of age, my Keeper suggested Andruil or Dirthamen, because I’m a hunter and I always liked learning too much. I-I chose Mythal, because she is the Protector.

“But she abandoned us. She—if she can hear our prayers, she has ignored them, and I don’t know what that means.” His hand fisted against my side. “What does it mean, Keeper?”

I brushed my hand over his hair and thought. I did not know Mythal’s intent. I did not even know Flemeth’s intent. Why would a vengeful shemlen woman attract the fractured spirit of a goddess? Her description of their joint entity had sounded very much the same as how Anders had once described his merge with Justice, but surely the process by which Anders and Justice had merged was not the same as Mythal and Flemeth.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Ir abelas, Amir. It is on one hand proof that our gods exist, and on another proof that they are still beyond us.” I lifted his chin to look him in the face, and the light caught on tears that had trailed down his cheeks. A sympathetic wetness gathered in my own eyes.

Gently, I rubbed my thumb over the outermost lines of his green vallaslin. “Whether the gods are with us or mere projections does not matter, in the end. You are still a protector, da’len, and that does not change simply because Mythal is diminished. Your vallaslin is a dedication to an ideal, one that our people have tied to a god. You can untie it, if you wish.”

He sniffed and stayed quiet, leaning against me. “I’ve always tried to honor her. I—it’s not about what she is or if I chose wrong. I just… why didn’t she help? Her answer didn’t make sense, and I—I wanted… I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Me either,” I whispered, and now the tears would not be stopped. I felt them burn their way down my cheeks. I had known this all for so long, but it was different, somehow, to know it passively and to experience it personally. It hurt more, too, seeing how it affected someone else, someone who shared my religion.

My throat felt swollen as I held Amir, blocking any further words, and the world around us fell into silence, even the Well going quiet in my mind.

 

“I feel that I should thank you, Vir’era,” Solas said, sitting across from me. I had not noticed him enter my office; the Well was loud as it told me what I needed to write and record.

I blinked slowly and considered the words. “What for?”

“It is true that circumstances required someone to drink of the Vir’abelasan. I am glad it was not Amir.” He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. In a fraying sweater, he looked so unassuming. The Well did not freely offer his identity, and I wondered if any of Mythal’s priests had ever known.

“You were right to be wary of it.” I put my brush into a small bowl of water and sat back. “The will of the old priests is strong. Ignoring it is… futile.”

“Indeed.” His head tilted forward, eyes narrowing in the shadows created by the movement. “Amir tells me you met the woman claiming to be Mythal.”

Folding my hands on my desk, I took the time to note the feeling of my weight against my chair before I responded. “We did, yes. She was able to use the Vir’abelasan to control me, as we suspected. I did not fight it, but with my experience so far, I do not think I could have.”

“Likely not. Whatever Mythal was or is—whether she is truly a god or not—she is clearly very powerful. To have survived as she did…” He trailed off.

“What do you know about her?” I asked, fully aware that he knew far more than he was letting on, and far more than even I was aware.

“The Fade holds few answers,” he lied, and if I had not known already it was a lie, I would have believed him. “Mythal is a creature far older than even the oldest denizens I have found, and every instance of Flemeth has revealed nothing about the fragment she carries.”

Well, gods would be ancient, I supposed. And his lies had gone unnoticed thus far, with the Veil and wispy hangings of the Fade to hide behind. I nodded. “I hope you will share, if you learn anything new.”

“Of course.” Was that a lie? It had to be. “Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“About Flemeth, and the piece she holds of what Mythal was.” He leaned back, rolling one hand in a short circle. “You knew most everything else.”

My heart pumped faster, pushing my pulse into my neck. What use was a lie here? “I knew this much, yes. No more. It… is why I wanted neither Amir nor Morrigan to drink the Well. It would be a bad fit for both.”

“I see.” His gaze laid me bare. I could feel the Veil pulling taut, could feel the Well’s geas pushing close. The memory of a warm touch suffused my hands, and they did not shake. “Your gift and the Well have told you nothing else about her?”

I swallowed, and memories from long-dead priests bubbled to the surface. “The Vir’abelasan knows… tenets and teachings. Magic. Stories the elvhen have lost. But it cannot tell me more about Mythal than what I already knew. I don’t know how she survived before merging with Flemeth.”

“You do not know what she was, beyond the name.”

Silence held to my throat, stopping any words before they could form. I nodded instead, watching Solas carefully. He was inscrutable. For how little he changed, he could well have been one of my clan’s statues of the Dread Wolf.

“You knew about Blackwall, did you not?” he asked, and still I could not answer. “To say nothing of Florianne and Corypheus would do you a disservice. I have come to realize it is not by your own power, and you are not a creature like Cole. Still, it begs the question: are there any whose secrets you do not know?”

It was easy to read between the lines, for once. My mouth went dry, and my hands threatened to shake if I tried to lift them. “It isn’t a matter of secrets,” I tried, voice coming out far stronger than I felt. “It is a matter of my name.”

“Vir’era. The way of the story.” Head tilting, his mouth moved like he was savoring the taste of the words. “Your story, I presume?”

“I have made it mine.” I ignored the painful pounding of my heart in my throat and pressed my hands against the wood of my desk. Sweat made the surface sticky. “It is the story of this recent decade of the Dragon Age. I know only enough to defeat Corypheus. I… could not hope to predict what else is to come, though I worry…”

“You know enough to worry.”

“Don’t we all, at this point?”

“I suppose. I am curious, if you will indulge me: what worries you?”

If I did not tell him… The Dread Wolf always receives his due, and always keeps his word, even if it is not as one desires it to be kept. But I could choose my words carefully, and perhaps that would satisfy him. “I have met, personally, two of the ancient magisters who breached the Fade. Morrigan’s son held a purified Old God’s soul. A fragment of Mythal has been meddling in history. Red lyrium will not simply disappear, and its existence has frightening implications for what even regular lyrium might be. There is a great deal to worry over.”

He made a non-committal hum. “Indeed. Ma serannas, Keeper. You have given me much to think about. I have just one more question, if I may.” He waited only long enough for me to nod before continuing. “Do you fear the power Mythal holds over you?”

Fear? I blinked and let the word roll through my mind. “I don’t think so,” I answered, slowly. “I do not know if I trust Flemeth, and I am uncertain what she or Mythal might have me do, but in all my interactions with her… She has been of more help than harm. I will bear this burden, and use the knowledge I have gained to educate those willing to listen.”

He nodded once. “A passive path, but not an unwise one. I hope it will not be one you come to regret.” He stood and started to walk away, but paused after his back had been turned to me. “I believe the Dalish phrase is, ‘May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.’”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Dareth shiral, Solas.”

“…Dareth shiral, Vir’era.”

 

Kieran and Tamlen got on far too well. It was all I could do to keep Tamlen’s attention for a lesson when he saw Kieran waiting by the stables. Before we were finished, Tamlen’s impatience had led him to confuse Dirthamen and Falon’Din, and I was forced to end the lesson early. There was no working with him when his mind was so completely elsewhere.

He scampered over to Kieran, and the two began the excited shouting so characteristic of young boys. Mheganni joined me as I watched them run off and gather more children, splitting up into teams for a game. “It’s good that he has more people his own age now,” she said. “The clan has always been too small, and it has lost more than it gained since the Blight.”

Linara stood at the edges of the fray, dragged there by Tamlen. They were too far to hear, but the smile on her face was clear as day. “It has,” I agreed. “I think, when I am no longer needed, I will speak with Keeper Lanaya. Maybe we can join those living at Ostagar.”

“What about Cullen?”

I turned to see both her and Revas staring me down. “Well, I would hope that, when the Inquisition no longer needs me, it would no longer need him, either. I would ask him to come. Ostagar has a few shemlen.”

“What if he wants to be with his family? You can’t bring the clan wherever you like, and he might not want to follow you.” She sat perfectly still, only her breath giving evidence that she lived. At her side, Charybdis began to dig.

“Then that is something I will have to discuss with him,” I told her. “Why the sudden interest, lethallan? We may be close to the end of Corypheus, but there will be some time yet before the Inquisition’s job is done.”

She shrugged and rested her hands on her knees. Her eyes moved downcast, shying from my gaze. Revas kept watching. “Just curious, I guess. I’ve been wondering about what will happen next, where we will go.”

“It is a ways off, now. Plenty of time for making plans.” Putting a hand on her shoulder, I leaned forward until she looked back to me. “You know you can tell me if there is more, right? You don’t have to keep your worries to yourself.”

Silence held around us for the space of two long breaths as she stared at me, face solemn. “I know,” she murmured. “But some things are not mine to tell.”

It had to be about Solas, then. “I understand. You must walk the path that calls to you.”

Her head dipped in a slow nod. She took a breath like she meant to speak, but held it. I waited, and she shook her head. “I don’t know how much you are aware of, Keeper, but I know it is not everything. I… hope you do understand, when it comes to light.”

With those ominous words, she stood and left. I watched her go, too flabbergasted to respond. What could I possibly say to that? What could it possibly mean? My chest constricted around my lungs, and I prayed that she did not intend to follow Solas when he left. Something in the idea left me hollow.

 

Though Leliana had returned quickly, it took far more time for Josephine and Cullen to make it back to Skyhold. Cullen refused to come back without at least a small complement of our troops, and though it was admirable, each day we were parted yawned into long oblivion.

There was more than enough to do, odds and ends to tie up. The mountain never seemed to dwindle, no matter how much we accomplished in a day. I began to understand Varric’s penchant for drink. Dorian joined us, sometimes.

“How do you drink this swill?” Dorian asked, pushing away Varric’s tankard after a taste of—whatever was in it, I supposed.

“Easy. You pick up the cup, put it to your lips, and swallow it down. Allow me to demonstrate.” Varric was perhaps a touch too enthusiastic in picking up the tankard, but for all its sloshing, none of the ale reached the table. He took a great swig, gulping like he intended to chug.

Dorian’s face scrunched into disgust, tongue poking out for emphasis. “Southerners! Heathens, all of you.”

“I thought that was Tevinter,” I mused.

He huffed. “In the South, maybe, but it was your southern Andraste who caused the schism, if you’ll recall. Tevinter’s Chantry is older.”

“Mind who you’re accusing of being Andrastian.” I wagged a finger at him. “I’m Dalish, you’ll recall. We don’t typically have a fond view of the Andrastian Chantry.”

Wincing, Dorian picked his own mug up (full of wine, from the color) and hid his face behind it. “Don’t remind me. I may have said something monumentally stupid to Amir, and he’s understandably cross with me for it.”

“Oh, this I have to hear,” Varric declared. “Alright, Sparkler, which one did you ask? The moonlit orgies or the blood magic? My personal favorite is the child-stealing. Always interesting that it’s never dwarves.”

“Moonlit what?” It figured that he’d have gotten stuck on that particular phrase, but he didn’t wait for clarification. Shaking his head, he said, “No, nevermind. I have no idea what you’re talking about—I very specifically have never asked Amir if the Dalish do any of those things, I’ll have you know.”

“Sure, sure, calm down.” Varric leaned an elbow on the table. “What was it, then?”

Dorian’s face pinched and he shrunk down behind his raised mug, muttering something that got lost in his moustache. From the way his face grew red, I began to wonder if a public tavern was, perhaps, not the most appropriate place to speak of this.

“Sorry, you’ll have to say that again. It’s elves that are supposed to be known for their hearing, not dwarves.”

“That’s a myth,” I said. “Just so we’re all clear.”

“Yeah, I know. So’s the idea that dwarves all know how much a diamond is worth by glancing at it. I mean, I do, but I’m in the Merchant’s guild. Bad example, not important. Back on track: Sparkler. Speak up.”

Dorian huffed and hunched forward over the table, prompting us to mimic the movement. His eyes darted around. “We were talking about Tevinter. Now, I’m not proud of many of the things my homeland has done, but it is still my homeland. I may have mentioned that my family never owned slaves, but many of the slaves I’d seen had been far better-off than the poor in Orlais—” Varric and I both groaned, and Dorian huffed. “—yes, I know it was an idiotic thing to say, but it’s done!”

“Why would you even say that?” Varric demanded. “Come on, I thought you were smarter than that. You had to know it wasn’t a good thing to say.”

“Why, yes, I did realize halfway through that I was putting my foot in my mouth, but I was already saying it—and, frankly, it’s true! Just because it was the wrong thing to say does not mean it is suddenly untrue.” He crossed his arms, pouting like he had won awards for it. “It’s not that I forgot Amir is Dalish, but I may have forgotten what that means.”

I tamped down on the urge to roll my eyes heavenward. What in the world could I say to him? “Dorian…”

“Look, it’s not that I think slavery is a good thing, you understand—but sometimes it is better than abject poverty, isn’t it? Slaves have places to sleep, and food and clothing, all provided by their master!”

“Slaves also have no recourse if their master chooses to bleed them, sacrifice them, or turn them into a living experiment,” I pointed out.

“And those too poor to eat do?” Dorian huffed again, shaking his head and beginning to gesticulate with emphasis. “This is not the issue at hand! Look, I understand that slavery is very much a terrible thing, and that elves have a rough go of it. I don’t mean to make value judgments here. I just—I didn’t think about it, that’s all!”

I reached a hand across to stop his flailing hand. “What you must do is simple, Dorian: apologize. A true apology, where you do not defend yourself at all.”

His nose wrinkled. “I hate apologies.”

“Don’t we all?” Varric patted Dorian’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine. And maybe you’ll hate it enough that you’ll think more in the future, which is probably the whole point of it all, anyways.”

“And how often do you apologize, Varric?”

“Hey, now, it’s happened once or twice. And I learned my lesson, so now I don’t have to do it as often. Easy as that.”

Dorian sank into the table. “Can I at least get drunk first?”

“Definitely not.”

“I ought to curse you.”

Varric laughed. “You’re welcome to try. C’mon, finish up your dinner, then I’ll help you find Ghost. He’s a good guy; I don’t think he could stay mad at you. As long as you prove you know what you said is nugshit, anyway.”

“I suppose bribery won’t prove that?”

“No, probably not,” I said. “Though sometimes a bit of bribery can be used to ease the pain.”

“Would it be inappropriate to offer to blow him?”

I did not resist the urge to roll my eyes that time. Varric, ever the gossip, did not even hesitate to jump in with ideas for sexual favors. Really, for how private he held his own relationship, he was far too enthusiastic about others’. At least Dorian didn’t seem to mind; hopefully Amir wouldn’t, either…

 

There was something odd about knowing that Corypheus was coming this way soon. It couldn’t be long—I didn’t have a description of a siege or a battle of epic proportions, with two large armies facing off. It was just Corypheus and his Archdemon, and they were likely preparing to attack even as Cullen approached.

Still, it felt far more distant than it had any right to. The tension had broken. Our operations had hardly ceased, but I found myself lingering in moments of contemplation. My feet took me to the gardens more often than not. The peace that grew there was strong. It overwhelmed even the raucous nature of children, whose shouts were muted on the rare occasion that they were present.

I took on a new shape, that of a rabbit; though I had yet to dare attempt the sort of creature I would need to be to aid in the fight against Corypheus, Mythal’s priests had often been shapeshifters themselves, and they knew many shapes that I now had access to. It was nice, sometimes, to be a snake, or perhaps a tortoise, or even a mole.

Cole came to sit with me, watching snow drift to the garden and melt into rain as it passed the wards that protected the beds of herbs and flowers. The Well whispered other, more efficient protections, ways to ensure each plant had exactly the conditions it needed to thrive, ways to prevent pests from destroying a crop. I listened and made no move to act on the knowledge. I did not have the time, would not have it until Corypheus was dealt with.

Beside me, Cole shifted, the wide brim of his hat coming to block the unfiltered winter sun from my face. I looked up at him, and found his placid gaze looking into me. I blinked and scrunched my nose at him. “Is it always a trade?” he asked me. “To be human, I cannot be a spirit. To be here, you cannot be there.”

His words rolled around my mind. There was some level of truth to them, and I couldn’t ignore that, but surely not all was so binary? I shifted back into my natural form. “I doubt it is always so simple as that,” I said. “One need not stop being a man to be a woman as well.”

“Yes. Sometimes it can be both. Or neither.” His eyes drifted, following threads only he could see. “Ideas don’t have to agree. They can be different. A man is an idea. You can be more than one idea.”

“It’s not ideas you’re wondering about, is it?”

“The things we think are theories. The universe doesn’t know. But people are made of more. I am human, now. I cannot be a spirit.” He leaned forward. “And there are choices that we can’t change. Being here. Being human.” He blinked. “Did you know? You made another choice at the Temple. I thought you knew, but now I think you didn’t. Corypheus feels too far, and you don’t know why.”

“Waiting always makes things too far and too close,” I murmured, but this was not just anyone making such an observation, and I couldn’t help but figure Cole meant something else. “What—what do you mean, da’len?”

“To be here, you cannot be there, because they aren’t ideas,” he repeated. “To belong to Mythal, you cannot belong to any other, because it isn’t an idea, either.”

Cannot belong to any other? I had never belonged to any but my people—hadn’t I?

Cole pursed his lips. “I’m confusing you. Let me try again: your body only has so much room. You can’t have both voices. The one you chose won. That is why Corypheus is so far.”

Ah. Though it was still cryptic (and, Creators, why had becoming human not made Cole less cryptic?), this made more sense. The Well was so loud that it drowned out even the False Calling. Actually, it seemed to drown out all of the echoes of the taint in my blood, and while that was unnerving, it was not exactly unwelcome. “I think I might be thankful for that, for now. I was tired of that song.”

“Not just for now,” he insisted. “Forever. To belong to Mythal, the Blight had to leave.”

I froze, then. “What?”

“It is gone. Sorrow sings sweeter, stops strife’s stealing.” He touched the scars on my fingers, the ones from Fort Drakon. “They will hurt less, now. No darkspawn can make them sting the same.”

My mouth went dry as I stared down at the spot he’d touched. The scars looked no different from yesterday, last month, last year. I knew Cole was unlikely to lie, but still I listened, straining my mind for any hint of the taint, any last echoes of the False Calling.

Nothing.

He began to smile, and as he did so, tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I pulled him into a tight hug, reveling in the knowledge. There would be consequences, I was certain, but those could be handled later. For now, I was un-Blighted. For now, I was unburdened by the taint and its dark promises.

For now, I belonged only to my People.

Chapter 27: impending doom

Notes:

happy holidays, merry christmas, blessed yule everyone! we're in the home stretch for TT, and there's only one more installment for twots after that :OOO

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Bolstered by the new knowledge of my extended lifespan—and certain that Corypheus’ approach was therefore much closer than my untainted blood could hope to tell—I left Skyhold proper to practice the shape I knew we would need.

Perhaps that was a strong word. Need. Did we need one dragon in order to face another? Had Amir himself not brought down more than his fair share of incredible beasts?

But I was all too aware that Corypheus’ dragon was no standard example of its species. It was not a High Dragon, which we might reasonably be expected to defeat. No, it seemed quite a lot more like an Archdemon, which was crueler by far and an order of magnitude more powerful.

Still, it was definitely not a true Archdemon. It had never called to me. It did not command hordes of darkspawn. It had not begun another Blight. These things being true did little to make it a less impressive foe one-on-one, but they certainly made it easier to manage on a grand scale.

The mountain valleys were deep and heavily forested. Having no desire to frighten anyone, I flew to a space where the trees were tall but sparse, where my transformation had the least chance of causing panic. There was, or so I imagined, just enough room between the trunks to fit a High Dragon.

I hadn’t seen many. Just one, really—in the Bone Pit. But Mythal’s priests had seen many, and they shared these memories with me freely. I could not have explained when or where they met these dragons, or even how such events played out, but I did learn the precise way a dragon shifted its weight when preparing for flight, how its innate magic called upon the air or whatever primal force it was most aligned to.

In my lungs, I felt the tension of holding a breath to burst from the throat with gouts of flame. The lines of my back itched with the false memory of taking flight, and my fingers flexed, eager to find purchase on anything that could hold my weight.

The urge to snarl overcame my greater sensibilities, and the sound that left my throat made the trees shudder. Instinct pushed me to stalk forward, my hands shifting to clawed feet as my center of balance dramatically altered itself. My new wings clung tight to my sides to avoid errant branches, but it felt wrong. A dragon is made for claiming space, for holding all it can see and more besides; making myself small for the comfort of the forest was as unnatural as the Breach.

Still, I kept low. I bellowed, deep and low, and knew that though few would ever truly hear it, many of the surrounding creatures could feel the vibration. The Vir’abelasan imparted a memory of how such a sound rocked a person’s body, and the part of me that was now a dragon relished in the instinctive fear from the parts of me that weren’t.

I practiced moving, crawling around the trunks in the forest and up small cliffs that did not face Skyhold. The trees were so remarkably fragile in this shape. I broke more than a few branches simply bumping into them, with even more ease than it took for my elven shape to break a twig. When I found a fallen tree, I tested its weight and realized how little effort it would take to lift; not wanting to further upset any creatures that might be living in it, I let it rest back in place and left it.

Color was different, too. I had no words for the exact changes, nothing simple in the way of ‘it seemed smaller,’ but I knew that, to some degree, I now had the ability to detect heat through sight. Things simply looked warmer or colder, and that changed the basic shades I already knew. I knew the leaves were cold, though their hue was the same sunny green it had been before.

I saw, too, that the nugs were warm, and that one had been at the roots of a tree until I came near. I could see the warm spot where it had lingered, could smell its panicked path to a nearby burrow. My sense of smell was not nearly so great as this extraordinary new vision, but why would a dragon need to sniff out prey when it could fly above and see their warm tracks?

For an afternoon, I stalked and slunk my way through trees, growing accustomed to how my limbs reacted to the world. My head could go so much further than I expected, peering around bends I could only just get claws around. Rocks and bramble scratched my underbelly, and though the vibrations of their scraping were a novel sensation, there was no pain, and no sensation of their touch to my hide.

Only the places where the large scales met proved to be sensitive to anything; a small rock lodged itself between two, a completely uncomfortable situation. I had to squirm and scratch to free the little thing, and though it was perhaps the size of a human’s fist, that was clearly enough.

When the sunlight began to dim (and oh, how interesting it was to see shadows cooling sun-warmed grass!), I slipped back into a more innocuous bird and returned to Skyhold. I hadn’t had the chance to practice flight, but the Well reassured me that I would know enough. Even this outing had been unnecessary, the priests seemed to imply, but I did not want to take chances. Amir might well be able to deal with the matter himself, but he ought not need to. Every edge we could give him was worth the effort.

 

On my return, I found Mheganni hovering once again at the edges of camp, watching the throng of children. There were even more, now—and while some room had been made in Skyhold, it was still my clan that did most of the watching. (My aravel was yet in use as a temporary dormitory, as well, and I slept in Cullen’s bed.) It was not unusual; more often than not, Mheganni could be found somewhere near the children.

What was unusual was how disconnected she had been from them. More and more often lately, she had stood back and done nothing more than watch unless otherwise prompted. From time to time, Tamlen would run up to show her something, or perhaps the littlest ones, but she did not follow when they returned to the fray.

She smiled at Tamlen, tousled his hair, and ushered him away. When he took her hand and tried to lead her somewhere, she tugged him back, distracted him with a hug, and twirled him off in a random direction. His laughter joined the joyous sounds of contented children, and he did not try to pull her in again.

When I moved to speak with her, a hand touched my shoulder, prompting me to jump. I almost expected Solas, but he was standing beside Mheganni, saying things that brought light back to her face. Instead, the person who had interrupted my melancholy was Driscoll.

He blinked at me, eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “Sorry, Keeper, didn’t mean to scare you. Are you alright? You looked rather… well, you didn’t look alright.”

“I’m fine, Driscoll, don’t worry,” I said, straightening my robes even though they had not been moved. “Was there something I could help you with, da’len?”

“You’re sure you’re fine?” he asked, his arms wrapping around his torso in a facsimile of an embrace. “You’re jumpier than usual.”

“Well, I will be,” I allowed, “when all this is over. I just don’t like the waiting, that’s all. What did you need? Surely you didn’t just decide to ask how I’m doing.”

“You could pretend I did.” He danced his weight from one side to the other, a foot sliding backwards, but didn’t leave. “I… it’s not important.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded once, curls bouncing around his head. “Completely! And it’s not relevant right now, anyway. Nothing can come of it until we’re done with Corypheus.” He looked off at the children, words almost like an afterthought if not for the wistful desperation of their consonants.

“There’s a lot of that going around,” I agreed, and settled in to wait. One of the older qunari children had begun giving piggyback rides to each of the small ones in turn.

“Their Tamassran turned Tal-Vashoth, you know,” Driscoll said, staring at the same child. “Bull got the story from them. She turned Tal-Vashoth and took as many children with her as she could. The Qun would take them back, if they wanted to go, he says. Or if we sent them back.”

I watched the children playing. I knew precious little about the Qun. Plenty of people surely lived happy, fulfilling lives under it, and the children would be no different than any others there. Was that the right call for them? “Did the Iron Bull tell you whether he thinks we should send them back?”

“No. I didn’t ask.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Driscoll draw his arms ever closer around himself. The child giving piggybacks pretended to collapse when two younger ones climbed on their back at once, and the laughter rang out clear. “I don’t think he would have an answer now.”

“Then what do you think we should do?”

“Why do you always ask me that?” His eyes were heavy on my shoulders, and I turned to lessen their weight, looking him in the face. He was frowning, an unusual enough expression that I almost didn’t recognize it. “Why do you care what I think? You’re the one with the prophecies.”

“Surely you must have some opinions,” I said.

“Everyone has opinions! That doesn’t mean they’re all important.” He huffed and stomped a foot. “I’m not a scholar or a philosopher. I’m barely worth being called an Enchanter, and half the world is certain I only got that by sleeping with everyone who got to decide. They’re not even wrong! I did sleep with the people who got to decide. It’s all I’m really good for.”

“Is that why Sera is constantly dragging you into her schemes? I know you’re the one who distracted Junar long enough that the Fen’Harel statues could be given dog collars. I was quite certain she was one you hadn’t slept with.”

“Not for lack of trying. Unfortunately, I’m not a woman, and I don’t care to be one.” He sighed. “Fine, mischief and sex.”

“Ah, so then it certainly wasn’t you who took the time to teach Tamlen how to split a fireball into three. Must have been some other redheaded human in silk robes.”

“Yes, it must have. You need to speak to someone about your vision; I hear Dorian knows how to get decent spectacles made. He did so for Amir, anyway.”

“And it most definitely wasn’t you who offered to help Linara when the children became too rowdy, then proceeded to entertain them with reenacting stories for an afternoon.”

“That was probably Varric.”

“He’d never looked taller.”

“Trick of the light.”

“He was lacking his usual chest hair that day.”

“It needed a wash.”

“Driscoll.”

He stomped his foot again and threw his arms up. “What are you trying to prove to me, exactly? That I’m somehow a good person? I’m not. I may not be the biggest asshole here, but that doesn’t make me a good person, and it certainly doesn’t mean my opinion matters. How am I supposed to know what is best for those children?”

“Were you not taken from your home at a young age and asked to simply grow accustomed to a new place? Did that not affect you deeply?” I asked.

“Of course it did! But that’s not—it’s different for them!” He waved his arm half-heartedly in the direction of the children, who were now, it seemed, playing some sort of chasing game. “I didn’t have a choice, when I got to the Circle. They do.”

“They’re too young to make that choice on their own, and you know that.”

He pursed his lips, staring at them. “Yeah, alright. I also know… one of them is a mage. The second oldest. The Iron Bull thinks that might be why the Tamassran left when she did. His magic had only just shown itself. He didn’t want to become Saarebas.”

Then the others could be sent back, perhaps. Not the mage. But maybe the Tamassran had chosen these children for a reason. It was hard to know when she was dead. “So, knowing that, what do you think should be done?”

Driscoll’s shoulders slumped. “I want to keep them,” he whispered. “Not just at Skyhold. Me. I-I know I’m not… I’m not the best role model, and I wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice, but… Well. I’m rather serious about the Iron Bull, and it’s not like he and I could have children. I might… like to keep them. Call them ours.”

I smiled. “Then maybe you should.”

“I—” He shook his head wildly. “Isn’t it too fast, though? I mean, Bull and I—he’s a mercenary, and he’s only barely getting used to the idea of never being Qunari again, and I’m—Vir’era, I’m the Slut of Ostwick Circle! We’ve barely been together half a year, and most of that I spent pretending we were just fucking!”

“Maybe it is, but they won’t be going anywhere for a while yet. Talk to the Iron Bull. He might surprise you—and either way, the children will be here.”

“I don’t want to scare him away already,” he whispered.

“Driscoll, unless you’re saying you’ll end it all if he disagrees, I don’t think it’s a terrible thing to ask. The children need help one way or another.” I put my hand on his arm, willing him to believe it, and smiled again when he met my eyes. “Just ask him. He might surprise you.”

In the distance, Mheganni and Solas were, at last, dragged into the throng of children. Mheganni grabbed up two and spun them around, their delightedly kicking feet nearly catching Solas in the face. He ducked with grace, accepting a flower crown from a serious little dwarf and giving her a magically-grown chrysanthemum in return.

 

I had hoped to be calm and composed when Cullen returned—a refined, poised person—but when I saw him, I couldn’t suppress the urge to run right up to him. I wasn’t alone, at least; we met in the middle, almost crashing into each other with our delight. He did use the momentum to pick me up into a twirl, like in one of Varric’s books.

Too happy to be embarrassed at the display, I hugged him close, and kissed him when he set my feet upon the ground again (though I did have to stretch up to do so). “Aneth ara, ma vhenan,” I said. “Welcome back.”

“I’m just glad to see you’re safe,” he answered. “I was worried.”

He’d gotten reports, I knew. Scouts and birds had kept Skyhold in touch with its army and commander. Still, I thought I could understand. I let Josephine and Leliana intrude long enough to receive his report, then escaped with him to our room. His room, really, but the orphans still had my aravel, and I was beginning to think I might not care to take it back.

“I’ve news, ma vhenan,” I told him, sitting on the bed and patting the mattress beside me. “Only Cole knows yet—I’ll tell everyone else in time, but you deserve to know first.”

He sat with me, not yet even out of his armor, and raised his eyebrows. “This sounds serious,” he said slowly. “I hope it’s good news?”

“Yes, I think so, but also complicated news.” I had begun the preparations and the delegations, but if Fiona’s experiences were anything to gauge by, things were certainly not going to be so simple.

“Alright, let’s hear it then.” He nodded once, sitting up straighter, ever the soldier.

“You…” I trailed momentarily, considering what had happened since I saw him last. “You know that I drank of the Vir’abelasan, and from my journal, you know some of what it entails.”

His hands clenched to fists on his thighs. “I do. Your notes said you’re well, but now…”

“The Well isn’t hurting me, vhenan, dirthavara.” I put one of my hands on his, and he turned it over to lace his fingers with mine. “There is much we will need to talk about because of the Well—but that can come later, when there is time to understand the knowledge and all it entails.

“What you need to know today is—” The air in my lungs stilled for a half-second, as if it, too, knew how what I would say might change everything and nothing all at once. “The Well has un-Blighted me. I am no longer Tainted.”

He didn’t react at first, just watching me. Then his mouth began to move, though it took another moment for any sound to pass his lips. “You’re no longer a Grey Warden by any measure, then?”

“Yes, exactly that. Like Fiona and Anders before me, I am once again no more and no less than anyone else.” I smiled. “It will be a bit of a mess to clean up—I can’t rightly be the Field Commander of a group that I am not connected to—but—”

I didn’t get to finish the next words. Cullen leaned in close and kissed me, one of his hands holding my head as the other kept him from falling into my lap. Despite the interruption, I couldn’t keep from smiling—which made for awkward kissing, but his sudden reaction and the situation at large just made me too happy to have any hope of stopping.

Cullen pulled back just enough to speak, his breath and mine meeting and mingling between us. “I can’t claim to know if we’ll get to spend the rest of our lives together, but knowing it is an option—ar lath ma, I love you, and nothing makes me happier.”

I reached up to the straps of his armor and began to tug them loose. “Me too. Ar lath ma, vhenan. I have missed you. Let me show you how much.”

 

Cullen’s formal reports in the war room came before my news. They were arguably more relevant to the issue at hand. “…and most of our forces are still on their way back. Some even remain in the Arbor Wilds, to help protect any investigating what remains of the Temple of Mythal. Corypheus was not pleased—but he and his Archdemon fled the field when you escaped.”

“They will not hide much longer,” Morrigan warned. “’Twas no small insult, snatching the Vir’abelasan from his grasp, and he does not seem the sort to suffer any insult.”

“It will be very soon,” I said. “I don’t know for certain when, but my prophecies and the Well are both sure it is soon.”

“We can’t sit still while we wait, though,” Leliana argued. “It is a waste of time to do nothing and act like sitting ducks—”

Josephine waved her pen through the air, shaking her head as she interrupted, “But if the Inquisitor leaves, and that is when Corypheus chooses to attack—”

“We can always shore up Skyhold’s defenses, up our training regiments—” Cullen began.

“And leave what few troops we have exhausted when Corypheus does arrive?” Leliana asked. “That is a terrible idea!”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Amir raised his hand before I could, and the Mark—the Anchor—flared angrily, washing us all in green. Outside of the large windows, above the visible-but-distant Valley of Sacred Ashes, the Breach was tearing once more. The scarred sky began to leak Fade-green light, and though I saw no rifts falling from the heavens, the threat was clear, and the demons would soon drop.

“I don’t think we have time to argue anymore,” Amir said. The light of th Breach and his Anchor reflected so wholly off him that he might as well have been green himself, his vallaslin nearly blending in.

“We don’t have an army to send with you,” Cullen told him, and though it sounded like he wanted to say more, he did not.

“We can call for allies, but they may not arrive in time,” Josephine said.

“It is up to you, now,” Leliana concluded, and her eyes flicked to me. “You said before that you will be able to counter his Archdemon. Are you prepared to do that now?”

As I smiled, the sharp teeth of a dragon pressed against my gum, waiting to present themselves, eager for blood. “Yes.”

 

The Valley of Sacred Ashes was not close, but traveling there with only the inner circle, and knowing exactly where we needed to be, it took no time at all, compared with what had happened after Haven’s destruction. I could have flown there faster, yes, and could perhaps have carried a small team with me, but we needed everyone. Even a dragon could not carry so many.

The old Temple’s ruins were in even greater disrepair when we did arrive than they had been after the conclave’s destruction. I could no longer tell what had been where, and demons poured out, teeming over the ruin like so many maggots on a corpse.

We were not alone: a few forces—mostly scouting companies—had been nearby. They harassed the demons, keeping them largely within the valley. When we arrived, they joined us for a push.

With Amir at the center, surrounded on all sides by his inner circle and scouts, we forced our way through the throngs and down to where Corypheus was grandstanding. As it had for our entire journey, the Breach pulsed at an irregular, glacial pace, and with each cresting flash, two thins happened: another wave of demons bled out from the Fade, and Amir ducked down out of sight.

It was painful just to watch, and I could not imagine how horrible it was to live. By luck or by providence, it happened only twice in our push, first when we arrived, and again partway into the assault.

We heard Corypheus before we saw him. His voice rang out, preaching to those with no room for his hatred in their hearts. It could not penetrate their intelligence, and they fought all the harder for the insult, even as demons and Corypheus himself killed those at the very front of our small battalion.

“Tell me, where is your Maker now?” Corypheus shouted, still hidden behind walls. “Call him. Call his wrath down upon me. You cannot, for he does not exist. I am Corypheus; I shall deliver you from this lie in which you linger. Bow before your new god and be spared.”

“Never!”

It was a lone shout, but not a lone thought, and our group echoed the sentiment loudly, overshadowing any answering quip from Corypheus. He lifted his arm high into the air, and his Archdemon—his dragon—roared, swooping down towards us. Everyone scattered. Amir ran straight at Corypheus himself, Dorian scrambling in a mad dash to keep at his side, and I stood my ground, waiting for the space to clear enough.

The dragon grew closer and larger, snapping open its wings to a truly terrible size that cast everything around in shadow. As soon as Varric slipped behind a tower of rubble, I shouted back at the dragon, letting my magic turn me into its equal. It did not pause in its descent, and with the new height of a dragon’s neck, it seemed all the closer.

I beat my wings, letting the memories of Mythal’s priests lend me the muscle memory for flight, and launched directly for its throat. We collided midair, the opposing momentum driving the air from my lungs. My claws scrabbled against the dragon’s thick, scaled hide, catching just enough to tear, not enough to hold.

The dragon kicked me with its hind legs, wicked talons gouging my underbelly. Its wings crashed down around me, the force of air stunning me. With my grip lessened, it tore away and used the last standing walls of the Temple to drag itself up into the air once more.

I followed its movement, darting to an opposing side when the whole ruin shook. The very ground was being lifted towards the Breach, and my claws threatened to tear from my feet as I continued climbing.

Around this corner, I lost sight of the dragon for too long. The wall shook, the dragon’s piercing scream reverberating through the Valley and echoed by the throngs of demons yet flowing through the Breach. I answered its call with a bellow of my own, the torrent of sound physical enough to rumble through my body and the floating ruins.

A disturbance in the vibrations had me twisting around before the thought could catch up to my conscious mind, and it was a good thing that it did: Corypheus’ dragon fell from over the crumbling top of a higher rock, jaws opening wide. I pulled back to catch it on my shoulder instead of my neck, and opened my own jaws, plumes of vibrantly-hot fire engulfing its unnaturally cold-shaded body.

It clamped down only harder, teeth piercing through even scales. This time, I was the one scraping my claws against its underside, digging in, but I could not find enough purchase to force it away. We tumbled towards the ground, rolling in a roiling riot of wretched wrath, its teeth slowly ripping through the muscle of my shoulder as my claws shredded the hide of its belly. A slow, thick liquid—tar-like, but cold—oozed down my feet, growing with each swipe.

I blew a new gout of flame, and the stench of burning, rotten meat left a trail in our path. As its back took the brunt of both our weights against one of the larger floating rocks, it finally released me to scream the story of its pain to the world. I shoved all of my talons into it and pushed, beating my wings desperately despite the damage to my own limb.

Hoping the heat would help to lift me—or that the effort would at least hurt the other creature—I loosed more fire below me, chancing for one moment that I would not need to watch where I was going. A few smaller boulders glanced off my body for my inattention, and I had to swerve to avoid a much larger one when at last I looked ahead again.

The effort was worth the risk, though; instead of being on my tail, the dragon was weaving up off to the side of my own path. I kicked rocks in its way as I strained towards the low-hanging clouds. They did little more than annoy it, but the milliseconds’ effort to bat them away added up and bought me the time I needed.

Turning as I reached the ultimate height of the floating ruins, I snapped my wings out to their fullest potential and screamed down at the dragon. It snarled back, still racing towards me, and I tucked my limbs in close, diving down as it had done to me.

It, too, managed to avoid my jaws on its neck, and my teeth closed and crunched on its shoulder, a mirror to its attack on me. But my legs had been pulled as close as my wings, and it was I, not the dragon, that managed to shove talons into the other’s underside. My fire earlier had cauterized some of the earlier wounds, and I took a vicious glee in reopening them. The primal mind of the dragon I had become delighted in the pained screaming of my prey.

I kept my wings close to prevent its legs from tearing into vital areas of my body. It scratched the thin membranes there instead, and though dragonwing is tougher than even most leather, a dragon’s talons are designed to pierce and kill. It did not take long for my wings to tear.

I clamped down only harder onto the thing’s body, screaming through the pain. We were falling again, tumbling against the treacherous terrain of the tattered Temple. Its wings flapped futilely, unable to push enough for any proper lift. The floating rubble battered against both of us in turn, our thrashing spinning us uncontrollably down, down, down…

A sharp crack of my spine against one such rock pressed my teeth in deeper, and its collarbone just barely kept my jaws from closing completely. Viscous ooze, whatever counted for blood to this creature, filled my mouth, and I swallowed reflexively, forgetting that I might not be quite so immune to the Blight any longer.

The dragon’s whole body tensed below me. I kicked its underbelly, hoping to distract it from whatever thought had taken its attention away from the pain I was inflicting, but to no avail; it remained stiff as stone. I kicked harder, tearing a forearm down its ribcage, but only a grunt rewarded my effort.

The ground below us was coming faster. I caught glimpses as we tumbled, and began to shift, bracing myself to jump away—

All four of its legs wound close around me, holding my wings to my sides and clamping like vices. The dragon tilted, and our trajectory evened out… with me underneath. I pushed my legs against its body, and it wrapped its wings around me, too, stifling my struggling limbs. Desperate, I released its shoulder and snapped at its neck. My teeth found purchase, but not in time.

We crashed against the solid ground of the Valley, its massive weight plowing me physically into the earth. I opened my mouth as my breath was forced from my body and my body was forced from the massive shape, falling and slipping further into darkness.

Notes:

if there are any pet loose ends any of you would particularly like to see tied up, please let me know! i've a few plans in the works, but my memory is like swiss cheese, and not all the loose ends are intentional, haha.

probably a maximum of 12 chapters left in twots, and quite likely less than that. no promises atm... trespasser will either take forever or no time at all, and I have no idea which.

Chapter 28: leave or stay; change either way

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Vir’era, wake up.”

A hand tapped against my cheek, too light to be a slap but too insistent to ignore.

“Vir’era. Please, there isn’t much time. Wake up!”

I grumbled my discontent, but the hand and voice did not relent. Another hand took my shoulder and shook it. Surely there was nothing left that required my immediate attention—surely I could sleep and recover more! The closer I got to wakefulness, the more pain I felt, and I did not want to know how much would take hold should I awaken fully.

“Keeper!”

The shout, so near to my ear, had me blinking my eyes open with the intent to glare. The cold mountain air was tinged with rays of sunlight that peaked through clouds, and the voice that could not leave me in peace belonged to none other than Mheganni. She was kneeling beside me, her hair beginning to fly free from her battle-braids. One of her miscellaneous creatures—Teddy?—peered over her shoulder at me.

My shoulder ached. Both, this time, as did my back, my head… it seemed the only thing that didn’t ache terribly were my eyes. I squinted at Mheganni, memories scrambling to reassemble themselves into a usable order. The world was quiet.

“We won?” I asked, throat protesting even that much sound.

“As you said,” she answered, then glanced somewhere behind herself. I didn’t dare try to follow her gaze until I had enough of my wits to begin using healing magic on myself. She turned back to me, eyebrows drawn up rather than down for once, and sighed. “Ir abelas, Keeper, but I haven’t much time. I would rather have done this properly, and I didn’t expect you to… it doesn’t matter.”

I could not read her thoughts from her face, but I could make inferences. “It’s Solas, isn’t it?”

“Ir abelas,” she said. It was as much of an answer as it was not. Her hand, still on my shoulder, squeezed, and she leaned down to give the closest approximation of a hug that my prone form could manage. I did not hesitate to reciprocate, shoving any pain down to the depths until this crisis could be dealt with.

“Ir abelas,” I repeated. “Ir abelas, lethallan, I wish I could have told you.”

“No, lethallin, you did what you could. You did enough.” She pulled back. “Apologize to Tamlen for me. Tell him…” She sighed, and pulled Teddy from her shoulder, giving the old chipmunk a kiss before placing him on my chest. “Give Teddy to him. Remind him that I will always love him.”

Suddenly, I didn’t understand. “Mheganni?”

“And take care of him. And don’t forget that I love you, too, lethallin. Vir’era, Hanal’ghilan, who has never lied well.” She cupped my face, and I tried to grasp her arms, but my grip was weak. “I cannot tell you everything, but I can tell you it is more and less than you know. Dareth shiral, Keeper. Ir abelas.”

“Mheganni…” I could think of no argument that would persuade her to stay, not if she would leave even Tamlen. I pressed on through the pain anyway, my voice scratchy and thin. “Please, please don’t leave. Whatever he has told you, do not forget the stories.”

She kissed my forehead. “Dareth shiral,” she repeated. “Ar lath ma.”

My hand fell from her arm uselessly as she stood, and again when I tried to take hold of her legs. With each step she took away, more tears filled my eyes, until the brown outline of her faded into the indistinct background. I blinked to clear my vision, but still she was gone. Reaching out for her, I lurched to the side, collapsing heavily when my arm could not hold my weight.

The quiet world did not help me. Even the wind held its breath in her wake, leaving my breath the loudest sound to break the stillness. It was so ragged as to burn, and between the emotional and physical pain, my mind held no room for any other thought. Hot tears blazed trails down my face as I laid there, helpless to do anything but breathe.

After some time—minutes? Surely not an even an hour—Teddy reminded me of his presence, crawling up to pat at my cheek and squeak near my ears. A rattling breath was my first answer, but he continued. The insistent sound was enough, at least, to pull me into the more immediate concerns of what my next course of action should be. With deliberate breaths, I sent unaimed pulses of healing magic through my body, allowing the magic to do what it would until I was in better shape to direct its course.

I knew the battle had to be over, if only because no demons took advantage of my state to kill or possess me. Wherever I had landed, it was far from anything else. Listening for anyone else, I stayed where I was as my magic performed its own kind of triage. It was hard to say for certain, but I thought that any bleeding must certainly have stopped, and soon enough, my headache, at least, was gone.

My magic took care of the worst injuries to my arms, and I pushed myself to sit, hissing as I did so. My ribs protested the compression, barely even accepted my need to breathe, but I needed to know if anything was more dire.

One foot responded immediately when I tried to move it, with only the same ache most of me had, but the left barely twitched. An immense, burning pain flared as my attention was brought to it; crushed, then. I had seen similar injuries in Darktown, and I forced myself to remember that, to remember those times, in the hopes that clinical distance would be enough to work past the pain.

It didn’t quite work. I could not focus the healing magic enough to be certain I would not heal the bones incorrectly, and my ribs—likely broken, too—would not let me lean forward to remove my boot and set my foot to rights. I laid back against the ground to flatten my back, pushing my magic instead to my ribs, speeding up the healing there…

And exhausting the last of my mana in the process. Unsurprising, considering the battle from earlier in the day, but I could still feel so much of my body in need of healing, and I didn’t have any potions on me. A dragon has no need for potions. Silly, in retrospect. I was never going to win against a creature so much more familiar with the shape.

With my ribs at least no longer screaming in protest, I forced myself to sit. It winded me to make even that effort, and I paused before pulling up my right leg. Slowly, with far too many pauses for my liking, I maneuvered from sitting, to kneeling, to an approximation of standing. I pulled Littlefoot from my belt and expanded the staff back to its true size, sighing in relief as I leaned some weight onto it.

The worn wood seemed to press back against my palm, and a tiny breeze lifted my spirits. We won, I told myself. Not terribly far, the crumpled ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes stood, almost defiant in their continued existence. With Littlefoot’s help, I hobbled in its direction.

 

It was the Iron Bull who found me. He had been leading the ground team with some of the Chargers, doing final sweeps of the area. “Vee!” he shouted, voice boisterous and bright. “Hey, you made it! I saw that stunt you pulled—you’re completely crazy, and I think we need to spar more often. I wanna see how I do against a dragon.”

I could barely get so much as a smile in edgewise, but the Iron Bull didn’t stop talking, nor did he break his stride as I limped forward. His eye, though, took in everything, lingering on my foot and on the chipmunk now peeking out of the lip of my armor. “It’ll be a while before I can manage that again,” I murmured.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he said. He didn’t comment on Teddy. “Looks like your foot’s pretty much fucked. Want a lift?”

“I think most of me is fucked, so I’ll gladly take the offer.” I let him wrap an arm around my thighs and pull me up until I was effectively sitting on his bicep. Given the size of the axe he carried, I felt pretty certain that even my armor’s added weight would not make me too heavy for him. “You don’t happen to have any lyrium potions, do you?”

“Not a drop.” His strides brought us towards the ruins quickly, for all that he didn’t hurry. “Dalish might, though. Or Driscoll, more likely. Dalish doesn’t like how it tastes. Hey, Krem! You seen Driscoll anywhere?”

Krem waved at us from the pile he was standing on. “Thought that dragon’s tooth thing meant he’s always with you or whatever?”

The Bull growled. “Krem!”

“Yeah, yeah. Last I saw your kadan, he was making his way to the big rock to check on the Inquisitor and company.” He waved us on in the same direction, making no comment about my being carried. I gave him a half-wave, having no energy for anything more, and he smiled back as we passed, the lopsided, tired smile of exhausted exhilaration. “Glad to see you made it out, Keeper.”

More familiar faces converged on us as the Iron Bull tromped on. Sera immediately began recounting how she’d taken down five creatures with one arrow, and Kumbukani helped her with demonstrations. Emily and Elizabeth crowed about what a great mabari Clifford was. Cole didn’t say anything, but he caught my hand and squeezed it before disappearing again. Driscoll was the loudest by far when we found him, dramatizing to everyone around how his kadan had saved him from a whole host of demons.

“He’d actually taken out half before I even got there,” the Iron Bull told me, conspiratorially, “but you didn’t hear that from me.” He tilted his head in the way he did when he was ‘winking’ (though I was on the wrong side of his face to see it), and then he turned his attention to Driscoll. “Hey, kadan! Got any lyrium? Vee here used the last of his turning into a fucking dragon!”

Driscoll twirled right over to us, acting for all the world like he had not just taken part in a massive battle against a legion of demons spewing from the very heavens, and pulled out a large vial of lyrium from… somewhere. A hidden pouch, presumably. He held it up to me with a flourish, and the Bull tilted me down just enough that I did not need to reach. “Only the best for our best,” Driscoll said. “I might need to actually try learning that particular trick. For reasons.”

I did not want to know his reasons.

The lyrium slipped down my throat like so much mucus, and with the energy it restored, I went about setting the rest of my body closer to rights. My foot would still have to wait, though I did enough to ensure there was no bleeding and to quell the worst of the pain. Bruises could wait; the barely-formed scabs on my throat and abdomen could not. Reforming torn muscle and fractured bones was enough to drain even that large a vial, especially given the extent of my injuries, but I could breathe easier.

We found Amir being checked over by Vivienne; she was no adept healer, but her battlefield patches were second to none. Dorian hovered nearby, mouth moving a mile a minute as he, presumably, talked himself out of whatever post-battle anxieties were lingering. Cassandra and Varric were there, too—and the rest were approaching from the other side.

“It’s done?” Jewel asked, his sword sheathed but shield still on his arm. “Really done, this time?”

“As done as I can make it,” Amir confirmed. “Corypheus is no more, and the Breach is closed. The anchor’s still here, and the orb was broken, but that much, at least—that much is done.”

“Then I think we should head back to Skyhold!” called Emily. “Send a bird, let them know, and have a feast when we get back! Josie can make that happen, right?”

“It might take her a few more days than just our travels—”

“Great! So we get back, sleep for a week, and then we party! We stopped the end of the world, didn’t we? I think we deserve a good party.”

Adegoke coughed. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d rather get some sleep first. Then we can start heading back. I’m tired.”

Someone laughed; it was impossible to know who. Soon enough, we were all laughing, as hard as our battered bodies would allow. Our relief echoed through the Valley, the chorus reaching into the healing heavens and spreading through the air until the wind could no longer carry it. I almost imagined that Skyhold could hear us.

 

My foot had been utterly crushed, later inspection revealed, and though I had a great deal of practice with healing, it was too complex, too minute, to fix back to as it had been. The bones were put as close to rights as we could manage, and a great deal of lyrium was used to speed the healing far enough that we could be sure there were no complications, but I could no longer move those toes, and walking or standing on it for too long caused the sort of pain one simply can’t ignore.

Because of this, I flew ahead of the group back to Skyhold, and reached it long before the others. (Teddy rode with me, alternating between my claws and clinging to my back. He didn’t love either, but had been far more upset when I tried to leave without him.) News had reached them first, of course, and people were dashing every which way as I arrived. Their jubilation sweetened the air (or perhaps that was the cakes), and even my clan could be seen throughout the fortress, mingling and celebrating.

(I could not disturb their happiness. Not yet.)

I flew directly to Cullen’s office, swooping in an open window and transforming back in the middle of the room. Cullen took pause for perhaps the span of a breath before a grin as wide as the ocean split his face and he scrambled around the desk to greet me. “You’re back!”

“I’m back!” I threw my arms around his neck, kissing him full on the mouth. “It was a difficult battle, and I have new scars, but I’m back. It’s done.”

“Show me,” he breathed, and—after ensuring the doors were locked—I did.

Later, when we gathered our wits about us again and the glow began to fade, he asked, “Is it hard to walk? With your foot as it is.”

I hummed. “Not any more difficult than it used to be, but it hurts after a while. In time, I might be able to heal it enough that it doesn’t, or at least not as much. It’ll never be quite right. It’s okay, though. I… I think my adventuring days are done, now.”

“Are you planning to retire, then? I have a hard time picturing you taking it easy.”

I laughed. “Well, I won’t be doing that kind of retirement for a while yet, it’s true, but I do think I’ll refocus on being Keeper, whenever the Inquisition has no more need of me.”

His fingers traced my scars, pressing just enough that it didn’t tickle. “What would that mean for us? If you’re focusing on being a Keeper.” The words were too casual to be casual; I knew well that he loved me, and expected that he would not want to part, if it could be avoided.

“That depends on a few things,” I began, and I ran my own fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head. “Like what my clan needs, and where we will go. I would like to try and make a permanent home somewhere, if we can—but it also depends on you, ma vhenan. I have no desire to go where you cannot follow. My clan needs me, and I will not abandon them, but I would rather not abandon you, either, if…”

“I was under the impression that your clan didn’t much care for our relationship,” he admitted, meeting my eyes. His eyebrows pulled just the slightest amount together, but his face did not bend into a frown.

“Linara doesn’t, that’s certain,” I said, “and if we are forced to roam again, I don’t know how welcoming the rest of the clan would be. But ideally… Ideally, I want to be with you. I want the clan to have a permanent home, land that is theirs, and I want you to be with us.” I pulled my hand down to poke him lightly in the chest, prompting his brows to raise. “What about you, vhenan? What do you want to do?”

He glanced away. “I’m not quite sure,” he said in the way of one who has ideas but no plans. “I’m not the only Templar who left the Order, though, and there are many who have been left behind by it—after the lyrium takes their mind. I might want to help them, somehow.”

“It’s a wonderful thought.”

“But just a thought, for now. I don’t have the first clue what I’d actually do. I guess we’ll have to see what happens.”

An idea began to coalesce, like solar gases compressing into a star. It would need time to shine, and I would need help to bring it about. “If my clan goes to Ostagar, we might need new things to do. Perhaps we could help you. If nothing else, it would help my people begin a rapport with shemlen again.”

He leaned forward until our foreheads were pressed together and smiled. “I think I like the sound of that.”

 

Tamlen hugged me tight enough I almost couldn’t breathe when I went down to the clan. I returned the favor, though I was rather more careful to ensure I did not crush him—or Teddy, who was clinging now to my shoulder. He was just a boy.

My lingering hold tipped him off that not all was well, though. He squirmed away to stare up at me. “Keeper?” he asked. “Why do you look sad?”

How in the world was I meant to tell him? I floundered, mouth working silently as every word and phrase shrank from his innocent eyes. Eventually, I just shook my head and pulled him back into a hug.

He allowed it for a moment, allowed the others to greet me even as he stuck to my side like a particularly determined burr, silent and anxious as my own shadow. Linara clucked about my limp, and Ilen immediately suggested creating a cane, or perhaps a splint like the Iron Bull had, and I left him to his thinking. Junar asked if I had really been a dragon; Dima checked that her brother was on his way; Pol was more interested in whether I had bested my opponent.

It was Ellana who pulled the same turmoil from my heart as Tamlen. She looked sad even as she came to me, and I thought she must have already known. Words piled in my throat, choking each other out, and she squeezed her eyes shut, nodding. “She left Kerry… Charybdis with me.”

I nodded, struggling to keep from crying.

“Who left?” Tamlen asked, still holding tight to my robes.

I looked down at him, and the welling tears in his eyes told me enough. He knew. I stroked his hair from his face. “Da’len,” I began, my voice cracking, “ir abelas. Abelas’ul—Solas and Mheganni left.”

His lip quivered, breath coming heavily when it came at all, and he whispered, “Are they dead?”

Shaking my head quickly, I rushed to quash that fear. “No! No, they’re not—they’re not dead. Just gone. I… I don’t know where.” Teddy squeaked, and I pulled him from my shoulder, carefully putting him in Tamlen’s shocked, waiting hands. “She—she asked… She asked me to give Teddy to you, and to tell you she will always love you.”

Did it feel like love? She was gone. There had been no time to so much as attempt to follow her after the battle, and I had been in no state to manage it. A scout had been sent after her—after her and Solas both—but I doubted anything would come of it. My journal said he disappeared; if he was bringing Mheganni with him, why should it be any different for her?

Tears dripped from Tamlen’s eyes, and that was all it took to break the dam on my own. I let him turn from me, heart breaking as he rushed to Ineria, and let Ellana bring me into her arms, crying for a friend I had been so sure would never abandon her family. (What had the Dread Wolf told her? What could have ever motivated her to do this? I wondered if I would ever know.)

 

Perhaps I should have expected the visit from Feynriel, as the news tore through every rumor mill and gossipmonger in Thedas. “Is it true?” he asked me in my dreams, Connor and Varania joining us at the tavern table he’d conjured up. (Or perhaps it was a restaurant; the wood was sanded and polished to a perfectly flat, shiny surface.)

“Is what true?” I asked him, brushing a hand absently over the surface of the table. Between blinks, goblets appeared in front of each of us, as naturally as if they’d been there all along.

“Did you defeat Corypheus? It’s all anyone here can talk about—except when they think someone can hear.” He leaned forward in his seat, tense but eager, fingers splayed over the wood in front of him.

It was times like this that reminded me just how young he really was. Connor, too, for all that he was typically reserved, pressed forward until his shoulders began to rise. Only Varania maintained the disaffected distance, though she did watch. A soft smile pulled on my face, and I nodded. “We did indeed. There may be Venatori left in the world, but their leader is dead. I don’t think they can accomplish what they meant to without him.”

“Yes!” Feynriel shouted and launched himself backwards, throwing his hands into the air. “I wish I could have been more involved, but this is good news! Maybe next time, I can do more.”

I couldn’t help a small laugh at the idea—not because I doubted his ability, but the simple desire to do more, the sweet sincerity of his thoughts… He was much kinder than the world deserved. “Hopefully next time, I will do less. You are welcome to take my place.”

“You’re finally retiring?” Connor asked, perking up.

“Planning on it, anyway,” I said.

“Good. Make sure to tell Uncle Teagan, though. Unless you mean to retire from the world-saving down to city-saving, I mean. He still talks about how a Champion of Redcliffe is involved in all this.”

That was both incredibly embarrassing and something that could be shelved for later. I made a mental note to write to Teagan as soon as I stopped anything even vaguely resembling what one might think a Champion would do, and shifted the conversation. “There will be a next time, though. I don’t intend to be involved—not if I can avoid it—but it will happen. The world always needs more help.”

“What do you know?” It was Varania who asked, this time.

I shrugged. “Nothing. Not really, and certainly nothing actionable. But if my experiences are anything to go by, good people are always in high demand, and events will come to pass that will absolutely require the attention of good people. All I can ask is that you be ready.”

“Of course,” Feynriel said, words settling across the room like an oath. The world seemed quieter in that moment, heavy with intention. “I’ll keep an eye out, so to speak, for anything unusual and worrying. It’s easy enough to do, walking through dreams.”

“Would it be easier with some direction?” I asked.

“I thought you said you didn’t know anything,” Varania accused.

“I said nothing actionable, but if Feynriel is going to go searching for trouble anyway, I might as well attempt to point him where I suspect it will be.” She didn’t react to the words, and we turned to the man in question.

He fiddled with some kind of stick he hadn’t been holding before, head wobbling from side to side. “It can’t hurt? Though you know it’s more difficult to find the dreams of people I’ve never met.”

“I know.” My mind swirled. Fen’Harel knew the Fade too well, and on top of being a god, had posed as Solas, a Somniari. I didn’t doubt he’d know if Feynriel tried to enter his dreams. But I knew at least one person who would be at his side, and perhaps Feynriel could find her—and through that, perhaps I could. “You know her, though. I need you to find Mheganni. She left with Solas, and may know something of what is to come.”

“Mheganni,” he repeated, the name a surprised hum. “Mheganni left the clan?”

“Yes.” I didn’t explain. Couldn’t, maybe.

“I saw her dreams a few times, when I was with Clan Sabrae on Sundermount,” he mused, gazing into the distance. The dim lighting around us shifted green, a forest growing up around our table. It was not the pines of Sundermount. He blinked, and it disappeared. “They weren’t happy dreams, back then.”

“I wouldn’t expect so,” I murmured. “Can you find her?”

His head wobbled again, joined by a shrug. “I can certainly try. At least I know her, though it’d be easier if I knew where she was, too. I don’t suppose you know where she went?”

I shook my head. “The last time I saw her was at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Beyond that… she could be anywhere.”

He sighed. “Well, it’s a start, at least. I’ll let you know if I find anything—and I’ll prepare for whatever may come next. We all will, won’t we?”

As he looked from Connor to Varania, the two both raised their eyebrows high. “I mean, yeah,” Connor said, after a moment.

Varania didn’t voice her answer, but Feynriel seemed to take the slight inclination of her head as answer enough, because he grinned and tapped the table. A mess of bowls with incredibly fragrant foods took over every unused space. “Then let’s celebrate!”

 

The party was enormous and planned in such a whirlwind that I barely had time to acknowledge its coming. Amir and the others were back with barely a day to prepare themselves, though at least this was a far cry from the formalities of the Winter Palace. Casual wear was the order of the night, though I did notice a great many of our guests (and a few of our number) sparing the effort to doll up at least a smidge.

(Dorian, in particular, spent three hours primping, and even Amir joined him halfway through. Given how stunning they looked, the time certainly seemed worth it.)

A great many of the faces there were invitees of import that I had never met before. Various Orlesian nobles, a few of the same from Ferelden, and one particularly lost-looking man from the Anderfels (or so I was told). There was dancing, there was music, and—most of all—there was a completely astonishing amount of food. Table legs bowed under the weight of plates piled over each other, whole animals cooked and balanced like showpieces, and kegs upon kegs of any alcohol the heart could desire.

I stuck to Cullen’s side, hovering near the entrance where so very few bothered to linger, and we took turns refilling our food and drink. It was Cullen’s turn when Amir came to speak with me, his eyes light and face lightly flushed. “Keeper!” he called. “I think Josephine really outdid herself tonight.”

“That she did,” I agreed. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay back here; it’s a bit much in there. I keep expecting someone to demand that I dance, and if that goes anything like Halamshiral, they’ll never let me stop.”

“Probably not.” He laughed, taking in the twinkling scene. The joy suffusing the air was candlelit, almost nostalgic, though I couldn’t for the life of me say why. The celebrations after the Fifth Blight had been very different, after all. “You know, I’ve even seen a few of Clan Sabrae in the midst of things. It’s good.”

“Very good. Our people are too insular by far; it’s high time we start pulling them into the rest of the world, I think. It affects us, no matter how much we might wish it didn’t.”

“Clan Lavellan’s on the council in Wycome now,” Amir said. “Or, the Keeper is. I think Dima might go back, try and learn about how to be a councilor. She’d be good at it. She’s had a lot of practice with shemlen, now, same as me.”

“She’ll make a wonderful Keeper.” I could see her, standing among the Chargers, laughing and unashamed. Krem didn’t hide his staring, but he was smiling along. Small steps, but important ones: perhaps they could prove the world can be good.

“Of course she will! Though I don’t want her to go.” He sighed and leaned in enough to bump against me. “What about you, though? Now that Corypheus is finished, what will you do? I know you said you don’t have any more prophecies, but…”

I had one, but I did not know what it could mean. Should I spill the secret, now, when Solas had left? If I told him, he’d almost certainly tell Dorian, and while I trusted Dorian with my life… I didn’t know that I trusted him with such a secret. “I’ve been thinking about going to Ostagar, but I’m not certain,” I said. “There’s still plenty to do here, with the Inquisition. I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, though I may start looking for somewhere that my clan might go when my work is done.”

“You and Clan Sabrae are more than welcome to stay as long as you like,” Amir told me, “even if that extends beyond any duties you may have, or beyond the end of the Inquisition.”

I hugged him. “Ma serannas, Amir. I am glad you were the one at the Temple.”

He laughed, rocking into the hug before pulling away. “You know, I think I am, too. It wasn’t all easy, and there’s a great deal I think others would have been better-equipped to handle—you, in particular—but… I think I’m glad to be where I am, now. It changed me, and I think it did so for the better.”

I patted his face. He looked much the same to me, if a bit older, a bit surer of his steps. “You were always capable of these things, but I am happy to hear it. Now go, enjoy the party. If you hurry, you might even get some of the little sausages before Sera finishes the rest.”

His laughter continued, but he took the cue and meandered in the direction I’d aimed him. Cullen passed him coming back, and they shared a few words out of my earshot, both smiling, both looking more relaxed than they had in ages.

Things had changed, yes. The dark circles under Cullen’s eyes weren’t gone, but they passed for shadows better than bruises now, and his hands didn’t shake as he carried our two cups and shared plate. His eyes, clear and golden, reflected the candlelit joy of the scene, absent (if only for a moment) of the furrowed anxiety that had spent so long at the core of his being.

It was a good night, and a good end.

Notes:

there's only an epilogue left in TT! shouldn't take as long to get up as a proper chapter, either.

i'm also thinking of making a missing moment from mheganni's POV, so that may be coming soon.

thanks for reading!

Chapter 29: come with me and be mine, my love

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Look how the lights of the town, the lights of the town are shining now!

Music suffused the air, all of Clan Sabrae’s instruments having been brought out for the celebration—as well as many belonging to those Dalish who had joined the Inquisition from outside my clan. The walls of Skyhold vibrated with our song, and everyone danced.

Even I joined in the revelry, though I was not usually much of one for dancing. It began in the mid-afternoon, this celebration, and it was… well, more Dalish. There was bramblewine, there had been stories, the bonfire seemed only to be growing as more and more people joined.

There were even several non-Dalish—including non-elves—hanging around, joining in. Krem was all but plastered to Dima’s side, his smile growing more and more dreamy as he drank more bramblewine. There was something to be said for her voice, too, and how well it complemented her crwth, but I suspected such things weren’t the specific focus of Krem’s particular enthrallment.

Dorian, too, was in attendance, though he and Amir spent as much time together as apart, each taking turns to regale different groups with various tales of their adventures. Admittedly, neither attracted so much of an audience as Varric, but they, at least, stuck much closer to the truth. Varric took liberties whenever someone shouted a more interesting idea—or when the mood struck him, which was apparently quite often. “And the tiny voice wanted, of all things, crystal grace! The flower!”

“So, what did you do?”

“Well, we got it some crystal grace, of course. You don’t just leave a person hanging like that, even if they’re in an impossibly small cave and seem completely out of their mind. Especially if they seem completely out of their mind.”

(It sounded almost like something that was meant to be right, but it made no sense! Surely Amir would have mentioned such a strange quest to retrieve a flower crown? Flower helmet?)

The whole courtyard was full. Paivel had cornered Adegoke, regaling him with stories extolling the virtues of the Dalish; Linara and Ineria were taking turns extracting various children from active mischief; Pol and Ellana led the singing and dancing. They were happy, as they deserved to be.

I pushed a cup of bramblewine and bowl of Dalish stew into Cullen’s hands, freeing mine for my own food and drink. “Are you enjoying the songs and stories?” I asked him as I sat.

“I am,” he answered. “Tamlen told me one about Fen’Harel. I didn’t follow it all—he kept changing it and correcting himself—but there was something about a wolf in a dress that was apparently the funniest thing in the world.”

Without delay, my mind conjured the image of Solas wearing a particularly ornate Orlesian ballgown, his bald head shined to a mirror’s finish, and I just about snorted wine through my nose. Cullen snickered at me, bumping against my side. “That was my reaction, as well.”

“Such a graceful pair we are.”

“Why would anyone think otherwise?”

We lapsed into the comfortable silence of eating and watching, then, turning our attention at the display before us. Songs melted into each other, changing chord and tempo without pausing in playing. Dima’s fingers were surely being strummed raw, and I didn’t doubt that the drummers’ arms were growing tired, too, but none showed any signs of stopping.

“And this one for the Inquisitor, the Keeper, and those like them!” called Pol when one song’s lyrics faded. He elbowed Ellana with raised eyebrows as the instrumentalists pulled quieter notes, waiting with the rest of us for which song would come next.

She stood regally tall and began, “Sha ta co ti oh scum ne rivna, sha ta co ti oh nugga Tír na nóg…

A song for elves with non-elven lovers, then, I supposed, recalling the lyrics. Dima’s sweet, clear voice joined Ellana’s without hesitation at the first verse, and with just a glance in his direction, even Amir joined in on the fun. As their eyes turned to me, I realized they expected my participation. Well, at least I liked this song. I stood, putting my bowl and cup where I had been sitting, and kissed Cullen’s cheek. It flamed red, and I delighted in that.

If I was to sing, there was to be no doubt as to for whom. For all his blushing, I knew Cullen didn’t truly mind—not so long as I wasn’t forcing him to dance. “From the shores through the ancient mist, you bear the mark of my elven kiss,” I sang, moving to meet the others at the bonfire. From there, it sounded like half the clan joined in, all grins and grace despite the wine, despite the discomfort with shemlen, despite the disappearance of one of our own.

Our joy would echo here, long after we left, just as our pain, our trials, our triumph. The stones would surely remember.

Notes:

and that's a wrap on TT! i'm working on a missing moment for mheganni next, and found a few others that i uhhhhh never finished, so I may try to finish those and put them up, too, but there's still one more installment in twots before it's over. can't say for sure right now when i'll post that, and i'm not 100% on what i'll call it, either... might be simple, keep with the theme, and call it Halamshiral or the like. maybe The Crossroads? keep an eye out! i'll mention the title on my discord when i figure it out.

either way, it won't be a terribly long one. absolute maximum of 10 chapters, and likely fewer. it will cover a little bit of what happens in the time between the end of Inquisition and the beginning of Trespasser, but it will mostly just be Trespasser. see you there for the conclusion to vir'era's story!

Notes:

floating reminder that i have a twots discord server that you're welcome to join! i post update links there first, as well as the occasional bit of other twots news. it's small but we're friendly; we love to chat!

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