#I STILL HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS ABOUT WHERE VARRIC'S STORY ENDS AND THE TRUTH BEGINS BIOWARE

[queenofbaws]

/slouches real deep into beanbag chair with eyes narrowed and fingers steepled under my chin like a saturday morning cartoon villain

are there actually spiders the size of SUVs in kirkwall OR does varric just describe them that way while telling his story to cassandra because he’s really, really scared of them and wants her to feel a sliver of the abject existential dread he felt whenever the word “spider” was uttered???????????

[bloedewir]

Some of my solavellan headcanon, during the Inquisition playthrough:

- Beginning: questions and asks for tell more. She's interested and sees how much he know and it flattered his pride. But then Solas starts to see a real open-minded person, not a tranquil marionette.

- Solas doesn't want to lie about himself as the romance continues, but guilt is blinded him. Duty above the feelings, despite own desires. My people, my promise, my purpose.

- He arguing with self a lot. Constantly deep inside there's a fight between "what must to be done" and "enjoyable side benefit".

- Inquisitor suspects something. She notice a strange hints, watching him and fully understand Solas is not the person he's trying to pretend to be. Love is blind tho. She doing nothing with that because of fear to hurt him by mistrust.

- Sera doesn't like the affair and reminds about that oftenly. Because she's much observant than other people thinks. Sera senses the lie.

- Varric is Solas' best man during the affair. A hidden solavellan shipper.

- Cole knows everything, but keeps quite. As the Compassion he can't bare the thought to hurt Inquisitor with a truth. But he talks with Solas much, and it's went in a circle: Cole says it's bad to lie -> Solas' guilt becomes stronger -> Cole is upsets, because he's Compassion.

- No matter what that wolf ass said in Trespasser dlc - they had sex. I bet my left hand on it. A whole year of Inquisition.. pfft, not a matter of debate.

- According to this, every night they spend together. Solas shows Lavellan the Fade. And he's a big spoon for sure. Weight of responsibility, the fear and permanent tiredness.. he want to protect her and give some rest, she's feel calm only when he holds her. Vhen'arla, the home of my heart.

- Vallaslin. She asks him to remove it. Because of meaning and because she believes in what he say. To that moment she started to think she's understand, when Solas is clearly honest and open.

- A lot of pressure and hidden pain in Crestwood scene, I think. He's gone too far, he loves to much more then it was expected and allowed. I believe it was just one heart beat for him, and everything changed. Removing of vallaslin reminded him about elvhenan, and who is he and always was. Harellan. So, he want to protect her, step aside to darkness and give her a chance to live, because he's clearly understand: no matter where he goes - she will follow.

- She's not believing this is the end. She continues call him ma'lath, and she knows he loves her, no doubts. Inquisitor presume, all's gonna be alright, when Corypheus will be defeated. By this way, the Crestwood episode give her the strength to make a final push.

- Dorian at her side. He's a friend she never have, like an elder brother. Holds her hand and promises all is gonna be fine. She calls him ma'nehn, my joy.

- Cassandra is a friend and role model. Inquisitor looks at her and seek for strength to be more like Cassandra: responsible, confident and honest in own words and beliefs.

- Seeker becomes softer tho. Because of Varric. Because the disrespect and irritation becomes trust and friendship first. Because it became a something more. Because he's only who make her laugh. Because he's see not only the warrior, but he sees her.

- After the final battle, when Lavellan saw Solas, at the kneel with broken orb, when she heard his voice - she understood. He's leaving, she can't stop him. Is it over.. is they over? A small painful thought could broke her heart, but she was unexplainable sure: it's not an end of their story. She let him go, promised to self to find him by any cost and then finally cried, kneeling within the stone ruins while everyone celebrated the victory.

- Two years made her tougher. Grim, nervous and sad, she's fully concentrated on her duties: Inquisition. There's no more Lavellan, she hides behind "Inquisitor". Day by day, night by night, she doesn't allowed to be self, or that pain may return and bring back sorrow, anger, fear and hurt.

- The Exaulted Council was one of the many other things she has to deal. But the friends made it special. Strangers at first, they became a family. It warmed her heart a bit, reminded her she's is still alive.

- Journey through the eluvians and forgotten old elven history bring back her old feels: both interest and confusion, a doubts and exciting. And finally she started to understand, where it goes.

- Squad looked at Inquisitor with sorrow and pity, like she was a toy in a cruel hands and doesn't understand it yet. I'll save him, that was the only thought, covered by fear, blood and fast understanding she's going to die.

- First look and heart stopped. The whole world has gone. His voice, the voice of man she still loves and.. stranger. Revealing and most wanted truth finally brings her the relief, not a fear.

- When he said about Veil, she surprised: why her heart is still beating, it has to be broken on a million pieces by now. She looked at him, there's a softness in his eyes when he look at her pale face. Ma'lath. My love.

- The mark is gone and the left hand, but pain is gone too. In a strange way life became brighter. She found a purpose, a reason to wake up in the morning.. a hope. It's much more than she had a day ago. I'll save you or die trying, ma'fen. Prideful stubbornness.. it's you taught me that.

*Lost Elf theme playing*

-

that's a long stuff, I'm sorry, I can't fix it on my phone 😣 and I'm remind: not my native language, sorry. again.

[ghostwise]

thus always to tyrants, i

The human city of Kirkwall is busy. The landscape doesn't make sense: crowded buildings, shape upon shape, body upon body, streets criss-crossing into themselves in an ouroboros of human activity. Merrill is overwhelmed, most days. Kirkwall dizzies her.

Seeing Mahariel in Kirkwall makes about as much sense. Here is an incongruity she cannot wrap her head around. She spots him from afar and for a moment the world spins, and she’s lost in time.

Lethallin, you should not be here, you died from the Blight sickness. No, you died in Ostagar. No, wait, you survived; the Blight is over, and you saved us all. Why are you here? You’re supposed to be gone, lethallin, gone. I couldn’t even save one, and I am First no longer. Why are you here? Why are you here?

“Why are you here?” she finds herself asking, and realizes she’s been repeating those words the whole time. Then the world snaps back into focus, and Mahariel is there, just as she remembers him, as if he’d never left.

He scoops her into a hug, familiar and warm, and for a moment she can see above the heads in the crowd. The sun glares in her eyes and she’s weightless.

“It is you!” Hamal laughs. “Merrill!”

“Hamal, lethallin!” Merrill finally finds her voice. “By the Creators! Why are you here?”

Two Dalish elves attract a lot more suspicious stares than Merrill would have alone. It might have made her uneasy, but Hamal is unlike himself. He meets the shopkeepers’ eyes, glances passingly at the guards, a gesture that is fleeting yet defiant. He talks, uninterrupted, and he laughs.

Before the Blight, he had always been so quiet. She remembers how he would let Tamlen do the talking for him, and feels the old ache of loss under her chest. But she lets her heart be carried by the ease of conversation with her childhood friend.

She wonders at how much Hamal has changed. She also wonders which of the stories she’s heard are true, and interrupts his tale with many questions.

“No, that wasn’t me, that was Alistair,” he might explain if asked about rumors from Amaranthine.

Or, “Well, I might have. I don’t recall. It sounds very in-character of me, though,” in response to some question about the Queen.

Or, in a mischievous giggle, “Merrill, where are you getting this information from?”

They walk through the market. They walk through and out of the city borders. She meets Zevran, and realizes that all her nights spent worrying about her friend were unwarranted. Hamal has been well cared for.

She begins to understand a bit more about who Hamal is becoming. She hopes he can say the same about her. But in truth, Merrill does not know much on the topic herself.

These things are hard to explain.

“Where is clan Sabrae now, Merrill?” he asks her, after they have spent the day talking and reminiscing.

Hamal has told her so much about his travels through Ferelden, the dangers he’s faced, and the friendship and companionship he’s found. She knows about the efforts to rebuild Dalish lands in the south, and the newly founded settlement of Var’myathan. She knows a bit, but not much, about what brings him to Kirkwall. Some business with Antivan assassins. His life is so exciting. Not like hers.

“They have been near Sundermount for some time now, lethallin,” she says, slow and tactful.

“Shall we escort you there?” He smiles at her. “I am eager to see everyone, after so much time away.”

“No… no, that wouldn’t do.”

Her answer is too hasty, perhaps. Merill tries to smooth it over with a tiny and entirely unconvincing yawn. “It is so late! I could not inconvenience you and your friend. Instead, what if I come back to see you tomorrow? We can talk more then.”

He blinks at her, clearly perplexed. “It wouldn’t be any trouble, Merrill.”

“Well, they… are likely asleep by now, all of them… and… and-”

“Will you be safe by yourself?” Zevran asks.

Merrill, glad for his interruption, nods firmly. “Oh, yes,” she says, certain of at least that. “I am a capable mage. You needn’t worry.”

“Then we will see you tomorrow.”

Zevran smiles and claps a hand upon Hamal’s back. That seems to settle it. Hamal frowns slightly, but he relents.

“Good night, lethallan.”

“Good night! I will come at mid-day. I’ll bring you some things, too. This cave can’t be all that comfortable—what would you like? Food? Pillows? Anything?”

After being thoroughly assured that Hamal and Zevran do not need anything, Merrill finally heads back to Kirkwall.

Guided by moonlight, she makes her way to the alienage, to her apartment, and closes the door behind her. She feels drained, but at least she’s home.

Here, the pillow where Hawke likes to sit during her visits. There, books and letters left for her by Varric and Anders. Trinkets from Isabela upon the windowsill. Scraps of a humble life. A good life.

From the back room, the mirror reflects her owlish gaze.

Merrill closes her eyes and wonders how she will explain this to Hamal in a way he understands.

Hamal sits with his back to the fire. He has been quiet since Merrill left, as if she took his smile with her.

“What troubles you?” Zevran asks softly.

“She is different,” Hamal says.

“As are you,” Zevran points out, trying to ease the Warden out of his gloomy mood. “It has been a while since you last spoke. It is natural.”

Hamal nods. The light gives his profile a somber appearance. “I miss her,” he admits. It must be more than that, however. He curls into himself as if hurt by his admission.

“She is still here, amor. She must feel the same.”

“Yes. But… I am the one who left.”

Zevran does not say anything else. After a moment he simply opens his arms to Hamal, who quickly moves into the embrace.

This is a conversation they have had many times before. They are so practiced at it, they can just skip to the end.

To the part where he hides in his arms, safe and cared for, until falling asleep.

part 2

[elfrootaddict]

GROWING PAINS - Chapter 1/6

DESCRIPTION: Change. Growth. Hard truths. As the Inquisition’s Lady Herald, El’lana must step-up and help establish the orders’ influence. Many lessons are learnt and life-altering decisions are made.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 4

The month of Firstfall has come around once again in Ferelden and the locals of the Hinterlands are lucky enough not to experience the full-blown, snowy winters of those back in Haven. Nevertheless, the massive expanse of rocky hillside still experiences the icy chilled winds from the Frostback mountains, reminding the locals that no corner of Ferelden can ever truly escape the country’s infamous winter temperatures.

With Liliana’s scouts guiding their path, the trek to the Hinterlands was easy enough to accomplish. Lana, Cassandra, Varric and Solas were able to get to their destination with relative ease and good speed.

During the day, the conversations between the companions were sparse and polite. Each one trying to save their energy for the long journey they had to make each day by foot. By nightfall, they would quietly share their  rations over a small inconspicuous fire, so as to not get any unwanted attention, and then head straight for their tents to get a good night’s rest for an early rise.

And even though nobody wanted to stay up in the freezing night’s sky and talk, neither one of them quite knew what to say to the other in any way. With the diverse range of cultural, religious and somewhat mysterious differences between the unusual party, neither one of them quite knew how to break the conversational barrier in the first place.

Therefore, all they could focus on was the one thing they all have in common - to seal the Breach in the sky. And so it is this reason, and this reason only, that Lana the inexperienced Dalish, Cassandra the devout Andrastian, Varric the charming rogue and Solas the esoteric mage, have come together to seek out the potential help of Mother Giselle. A Revered Mother of the Chantry who has insisted on staying in the Hinterlands to help the refugees caught in the middle of the mage-templar war.

Lana and her companions eventually reach the top of a wide, flat outlier of ground just below the rocky plateau of Lake Luthias. They then catch a glimpse of an Inquisition tent nestled amongst the trees and the group simultaneously release a sigh of relief as they realise they have finally reached the Upper Lake Camp.

Lana finds herself admiring the inconspicuous camp, and feels its location is perfectly situated. As she catches her breath, Lana starts looking around the snuggled campsite and decides to take in her surroundings;

On the left, against the embankment of the plateau are massive boulders running all the way along the side and into the distant forest. To Lana’s pleasant surprise, she notices a small waterfall running into a large, shallow, crystal clear pond with lush green lily pads, and spindleweed scattered all along the water’s edge. However, on the right and several paces away from camp, lies a death-defying edge that overlooks almost all of the northern Hinterlands.

Having lived all her life amongst nature as well as helping the Keeper decide on a new place for when her clan needed to move, Lana finds herself impressed by such a good location for a camp. She even feels somewhat proud of this young, virtuous organisation spreading their influence so quickly and putting their words into action. Which isn’t something Lana is accustomed to, being Dalish.

As proud as she is to be Dalish, Lana knows that the only thing her people have ever truly accomplished is to merely talk about the past and preserve their magic. There has never been an expectation to actually do anything to improve their lives. Just simply ensure they do not forget.

And while she may wholeheartedly agree that preserving the little knowledge her people have left to remember is excruciatingly important, she has nevertheless always itched to do more than just talk and preserve the past.

Suddenly a young, plain dwarf with soft freckles to match her auburn hair, and striking green eyes, walks towards Lana and her companions cheerfully, “Lady Cassandra, I’m glad to see you’ve all made it. Welcome to the Upper Lake Camp. I’m Scout Harding.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you Scout Harding,” greets Cassandra as she extends a polite bow to the dwarf. “Is it the war we’re hearing down below?”

“I’m afraid so. The mage-templar war has spread far. We believe the templar’s strong hold is just west of here, near the river. They’ve probably found a good flat area to build camp somewhere upstream which is tucked away and off the main road. The mages have been sighted directly north. I’m assuming they’ve found one of the caves nearby.”

“Maker, you seem to know alot about this area.” quips Varric with an impressed chuckle.

“I grew up here,” explains Scout Harding proudly. “As a kid I would always go exploring and I haven’t quite stopped since.”

“Well then,” adds Cassandra with a sincere sigh of relief.  “I can see why Liliana has put you in charge of these scouts. It's a pleasure to have you on board. Let me introduce the rest of the team,” and turns to face each companion as she calls out their name, “This is Solas. A mage who has proven not only to be helpful, but cooperative since the day the Breach came into the sky. This is Varric Tethras. He’s…” Cassandra pauses as she tries her best to find polite words to describe the man who has only made her life hard and strenuous. “A rogue. He’s excellent with his bow.”

“Her name is Bianca,” adds Varric defensively. “And she’s more than just a bow. Don’t mind Cassandra miss Harding, we just have a bit of history. Don’t we, Seeker?”

Cassandra groans and rolls her eyes before moving on, “And this, is mistress Lavellan. The Herald of Andraste.”

“It is an honour to meet you, Herald,” remarks Scout Harding with a respectful bow as Lana steps slightly closer to the front of the party. “I heard rumours that the Herald was an elf, but I didn’t quite believe it. Until now, of course.”

Lana’s cheeks flash to a soft pink, “Oh?”

“Please, don’t get me wrong!” cries Scout Harding apologetically. “I’m not saying that it's a bad thing. I’m just saying you’re a bit of a surprise.”

Lana releases a soft smile and laughs, “Trust me. I’m more surprised than anyone.”

Suddenly a scout approaches the party in a hurry, “Lady Cassandra, there is a letter here for you.”

Cassandra tales the letter from the young scout. “Thank you,”  and turns back around to regard her party. “Excuse me, please. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Of course,” adds Scout Harding and turns to Lana with her piercing green eyes. “In the meantime, you should know that the mage-templar war is very close by. We’ve already had a few strays from both sides try to infiltrate this camp but luckily we’ve managed to hold them off.”

Lana slowly turns around to see if Scout Harding is actually talking to her. She may have the mark on her hand, which will help close rifts, but she is in no way shape or form able to handle the responsibility of making decisions regarding the Inquisition. She’s just the Dalish elf. Isn’t she?

“How eh…” mumbles Lana eventually as she clears her throat. “Bad is the fighting?”

Was that the right question?

“It’s pretty bad,” answers Scout Harding with a heavy heart. “The valley below is where most of the fighting happens, and sometimes all the way through the night. A lot of people have had to leave their homes because of it. Everything is destroyed.”

Listening to Scout Harding’s story makes Lana’s heart ache as she imagines what she would be feeling if this was happening in the Free Marches, “I’m sorry this is happening to your home, Scout Harding. This must be really hard for you.”

“Thank you for saying that,” murmurs Harding with a sincere smile. “And yes, it isn’t easy seeing this place desecrated with such violence. Forcing hundreds of innocent people to leave the homes they’ve had for generations. Luckily, we’ve got the Inquisition though, right? Hopefully we’re going to set things right again.”

“Yes,” murmurs Lana with a gentle smile. “I hope we can.”

“Would you mind following me, Lady Herald?” asks Scott Harding. “I can show you the lay of the land before you head down there tomorrow.”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

Once Scout Harding turns around and heads towards the forest, Lana quickly spins on her heel to regard Solas and Varric behind her. With wide, panicked tricken eyes, Lana suggestively begs them to come along with her. The two men turn to each other and share a quick smirk amongst themselves at Lana’s reluctance to take lead, and proceed to follow along at a respectable distance. Remaining close enough to hear what Scott Harding has to say, but not too close that Harding would be addressing all three of them at once.

One way or another, Lana is going to have to realise that with her mark and divine title bestowed upon her, people will look to her not only for hope but for guidance, too. Whether she likes it or not.

Now several paces in the thickets of the forest, Harding, Lana, Varric and Solas eventually reach a clearing that looks out onto the Hinterlands below. The setting sun illuminating the sky with bright pink and orange hues.

“Do you see that hill in the east?” begins Scout Harding. “Just beyond it you’ll find Mother Giselle in a tiny village. The village is tucked away, so you shouldn’t come across any fighting,” Harding pauses and looks up at Lana with concern. “But you never know, so keep your staff close.”

“How do we get to the village from here?”

“Well, you have two ways from here but I would suggest the second; leave camp the same way you entered but stick east. You’ll pass Calenhad’s Foothold on your left which will then lead you all the way down a path that will head north, and at the end of that path will be the village. It won’t take you long to get there and this way you can avoid entering that valley below us.”

Lana looks out to the valley and hears the faint cries of dying men and the smell of burning wood, “Thank you, Scout Harding,” mumbles Lana eventually. “You’ve been really helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” remarks Harding as she offers a sincere, respectful bow. “I’m going to head back to camp. We already have a tent ready and waiting for you and your party as well as a warm meal by the fire. It’s one of my mother’s actually - the recipe - you’ll love it I’m sure.” and turns to leave, disappearing into the trees behind them.

Varric and Solas notice Lana continue staring out onto the valley below and decide to give her some space, and turn back to unpack.

As Lana glazes out, she can see small flashes of magic light up the almost dark valley below. If she didn’t know any better, she could have mistaken them for small fireworks being used in some kind of celebration. Perhaps for a wedding or—

“Herald?”

But it wasn’t a wedding or some other abrotary celebration the people commune over here in the South. The undeniable sound of battle and cries of dying men and women are just far too hard to ignore. Templars killing mages and mages killing templars.

No. Not killing . Murder. It’s simply cold, blooded murder.

“Herald, I believe there was more Scout Harding told you?”

Cassandra walks up to Lana’s side and notices her distressed and distractive gaze over the horizon, and realises that Lana is in no mind to talk strategies. The true horror and panic in young Lana’s large, lavender eyes is impossible to ignore, and Cassandra finds herself sympathising over the naive, inexperienced elf.

Cassandra takes in a large breath before exhaling, looks out towards the horizon, and changes the subject to the real matter at hand, “I have found that war usually does not determine who is right - but only who is left,” murmurs Cassandra as she solemnly turns back to regard Lana and pauses. “You haven’t killed anyone before… have you?”

“Is it that obvious?” murmurs Lana as she finally breaks her gaze and looks down towards her bare feet wrapped in leather.

“Not unless you have seen that look upon your face many times before,” admits Cassandra with furrowed brows. “I had months of training before I killed someone for the first time. When I was still a Seeker, I saw many of my fellow brothers and sisters go through the same vigorous training as I did. They were always so confident in the confines of our Order’s walls, but when the day came for them to put their training to use, they all had the same look in their eyes that you do now.”

“And... did they do it?” murmurs Lana still looking towards the ground. “When it came down to it?”

“They did. The months of training takes over your need to run in the other direction. You almost feel as if you have no control over your own body anymore, and you are simply doing what you have been trained to do many times before. Strike down your enemy or die trying. It was as simple as that.”

Lana looks up at Cassandra with fearful eyes for only a moment before turning her gaze back down, “I don’t think… I don’t think I can do it... if it comes down to it. I can’t take another person’s life,” and pauses for a significant amount of time before looking fiercely back at Cassandra with her voice trembling. “I won’t. I won’t do it.”

Cassandra drops her head as she releases a loud, heavy sigh, “Then you would rather be the one who dies? Instead of the person trying to kill you in return?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“I understand that life as a Dalish has provided you some kind shelter, and I can see that your Keeper took great care in ensuring your clans safely, but you are no longer within the confines of your clan, Herald. Those mages or templars will not hesitate to kill anyone they deem a threat.”

“I know. It’s just…they’re people. Their lives matter. And I don’t want to be the one responsible for taking their life,” Lana turns to meet Cassandra’s subtly surprised expression, “Oh I know, because I’m Dalish and an elf I’m supposed to think we are above everyone else in Thedas, right? Well, I wasn’t raised to think like that. The Keeper always taught me to respect all living creatures in this world. From the worms in the earth to the birds in the sky. You humans or dwarves may not believe in my gods, and yes we have a messy history, but that doesn’t mean you don’t matter. We all matter.”

Cassandra drops her head and sighs, “While I appreciate the sentiment, Herald,” and points her finger to the valley down below. “But that won’t stop them from trying to kill you. Not everyone can afford the luxury of sticking to their morals in times of war.”

The two women break eye contact and gaze back out towards the horizon once again. The sun is almost completely set and the stars are beginning to shine peacefully above, completely undisturbed by the chaos down below.

With the posture of an experienced soldier, but with a heavy heart, Cassandra turns back to regard Lana carefully, “You are the Herald of Andraste, and only you can seal the rifts. You simply cannot die. You are far too valuable to allow yourself to be killed over your morals - however virtuous they may be,” and before walking away completely, she turns back around to meet Lana’s gaze and sternly murmurs. “If you will not kill another to save your own life, then do it to save the thousands of innocent people across Thedas who rely on you. Do it for them.”

As Lana watches Cassandra disappear into the night, she turns back around towards the horizon and notices how quiet it has suddenly fallen. There are no more flashes of magic or cries of dying templars or apostates. Just deafening silence.

Which could only mean one thing - everyone who was fighting is either dead or dying from their wounds in the cold, winter night. Praying to whomever they believe in to offer them a peaceful passage to a better afterlife, and swearing curses on those responsible for their demise.

The dying people haunt Lana’s mind as she imagines them now lying alone, choking on their own blood without a single loved one by their side. Their final resting place being a battlefield that is littered with who knows how many grotesquely cut down or burnt corpses.

Did they have a lover? Children? Parents? Surely not all of them are vicious monsters everyone claims them to be?

Lana takes a deep breath and decides to head back to camp before it gets too dark. The sound of Harding’s mother’s meal is exactly what she needs right now, and could use some conversation over a warm fire to distract her mind over tomorrow.

As Lana reaches camp, she notices the number of soldiers and scouts helping the Inquisition, and if it came to it, would perhaps even sacrifice their lives for it. They have all chosen to help close the Breach and restore order by leaving their loved ones behind. Everyone in this camp is willing to sacrifice themselves to ensure the safety of Thedas. How could Lana not do the same?

They do not have a mark on their hand to close rifts, and yet here they are. They aren’t called the Herald of Andraste, and yet here they are. For all she knows, Lana also might not be the only one here who hasn’t killed before, and yet... here they are.

Realising the extent of choices and sacrifices made by the very people surrounding her, she begins to feel less remorse over the deaths of the people down in the valley who are only spreading more chaos. Suddenly, her empathy towards their deaths begins to fade ever so slowly as she imagines the destruction they have left in their paths.

Are these not the same people who burnt down and slaughtered innocents in pursuit of their cause to seek justice? Are these not the same people who attacked innocent farmers, merchants and children who did absolutely nothing to justify the defilement of their land and home? And are these not the same people who left hundreds of others destitute and turned into refugees?

Lana’s heart and stomach begin to turn over the conflicting nature of war - who is right and who is wrong? And that is when Cassandra’s wise, and truthful words return to Lana’s mind:

War does not determine who is right - only who is left.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 

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Halla & Wolf Series

[buttsonthebeach]

Lost Horizon, Pt. 1

@scharoux has done me the incredible honor of commissioning me AGAIN for a long fic and I am SO happy to be diving back into writing about Rhaella!!!

This picks up almost directly where The Last Game last left off - with Rhaella pregnant and alone in a world where Solas has removed the Veil, despite her attempts to stop him.

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently open as of 12/13/19! Still guaranteeing delivery by Christmas!)

Other pieces about Rhaella I have written include:

1. All Things Green and Growing

2. The Long Road Back

3. The Turning of the Year

3. The Same Kind of Scar (contains explicit content)

4. World Without End (contains explicit content)

5. The Last Game Pt. 1, the Last Game Pt. 2, and the Last Game Pt. 3 (contains explicit content), and the Last Game Pt. 4

Pairing: Rhaella Lavellan x Solas, post-Trespasser

Rating: Teen for violence, references to sex

Warning: Implied/referenced character death for two DA2 characters

*****************

Rhaella Lavellan wondered how many hundreds of years she would have to live before it became normal to wake with the buzz of magic filling her ears, her lungs, her skin - with spirits drifting through walls, hovering near the ceiling - with the knowledge that she had failed to stop Solas from bringing down the Veil.

It had been a month so far, and every time she woke, the knowledge landed on her chest, something real and physical, something it always took her a minute or two to breathe past. The Veil is gone. Thousands are dead. I am here in the city that used to be Kirkwall, surrounded by elves loyal to Solas. I am carrying Solas’s child.

Sometimes, even after she breathed past it, even after she rose from her bed and went through the motions of getting dressed, of pretending to live a normal life, the knowledge returned, and sat beside her, something cold and huge and inescapable. It did that on this morning, when she sat with her midwife, trying to focus only on the words coming out of her mouth, about how her belly was measuring and whether or not the baby had dropped. 

On this morning, the midwife kept slipping in and out of focus, because Rhaella was remembering the house she’d seen in what used to be Lowtown the other day, how everything was arranged within it as if someone still lived there - plates on the table, laundry on a line outside the front door, a child’s doll sitting down at a miniature wooden table with a miniature teacup arranged before it - except the exterior walls were gone. Blasted away entirely by some arcane force. The faded floral wallpaper was scorched with unreadable runes that still flared and glowed, and the icy grip of Terror had closed around Rhaella’s throat as she stood there, staring at it.

I failed these people.

“My lady?”

The midwife slid back into focus. Rhaella shook her head, to clear it, and to indicate her displeasure at the title.

“Rhaella. Just Rhaella.”

The midwife looked down briefly. “Rhaella. I just wanted to make sure you heard me. You are correct to say that you are measuring bigger than we would guess, given the rough date we are expecting your babe. But I haven’t seen anything else in my examination today that would tell us he is coming soon. He has not dropped, and you show no other signs of being ready for birth.”

He. Rhaella had needed something concrete to latch onto in this too-real, not-real-enough world. She had decided that she carried a son, had begun thinking about names. It gave her an anchor to return to when everything else seemed to be spinning out. When she couldn’t seem to do anything else but stare at her left hand, restored again, the palm unblemished by the mark that once let her close rifts. It felt like it was a lifetime ago. Like a story that happened to someone else.

“Rhaella?”

Focus.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I don’t have any other questions.”

“Do you think the father does? I know he wanted to be here today.”

The midwife hesitated around the word father. Rhaella had never once heard her speak Solas’s name. Then again, a lot of people seemed to be doing that. Talking about Solas without naming him, as if his name held some special power, as if he was not a man like any other, made of flesh and bone, whose skin had been warm when he came to her a month before, sitting on a cliff overlooking the sea, and took her face in his hands and told her how sorry he was that he had ripped her world apart.

She’d hated that his skin was warm, that he seemed afraid, that he was not triumphant. She’d wanted him to be a monster.

“I don’t know if he does,” Rhaella said. “If he does I’ll direct him to you.”

The midwife’s eyes slid to the floor, heavy with things unsaid. As heavy as Rhaella felt. Heavy with grief and child. She nodded, said her good-byes, and left.

When the door closed, Rhaella slumped back against the pillows of her bed and stared at the beautifully carved ceiling above her. It was more familiar than the crystal house where she’d first woken in Solas’s new world, the one she’d tried to return to several times before he insisted that she come and stay in the manor he’d chosen in Hightown as his base of operations. That, too, was familiar. Being in a base of operations. The flow of information, of goods, of agents, of soldiers, in and out of the grand house. It felt almost like Skyhold. Except Rhaella was not at the center of it now. Solas was.

Rhaella rose from the bed, dressed herself, trying to ignore the strangeness of having her left arm to help with that task once again, and went out of her room and down the hall to the grand foyer. The walls felt too close today. She needed to go out, even if that meant facing what the world had become.

She knew as she approached the foyer that he was there. She knew it from the buzz of voices, rising and falling like a tide, and from the deep well of magic she could feel in him at all times now. Rhaella paused on the staircase that curved down into the foyer and watched for a moment. Solas was standing there, in his armor, surrounded by maps that he kept suspended in the air, and agents speaking both Trade and Elvhen and the more Dalish-inflected version of the language - making decisions, remaking the world. Nodding at one agent and shaking his head at another, dispatching them both quickly, holding his hand out for a book that a spirit of Learning was handing him, flicking it open, reading something, and then handing it back. Abelas and Merrill were at his side. Two of his closest lieutenants.

Rhaella wondered how she ever let herself believe that she knew him. How any of them had ever fallen for the apostate act. He was more in his element here than she ever had been as Inquisitor.

Solas seemed to sense her then. He looked up, and their eyes met, and she saw his expression shift to something that was half hope, half fear. Something answered within her, something she did not have words for - a twisted, misshapen feeling that stopped her from breathing. She banished it, and descended the stairs.

“Rhaella,” Solas called, cutting through everyone else’s chatter. “How was -?”

“I’m going out,” she said, not turning, already steeling herself for the world beyond the manor doors.

The sunlight blinded her momentarily, but when that faded, she was not surprised to see that Abelas was at her side, having left behind his role as advisor for his role as guard. She’d given up fighting that particular battle two weeks ago. The truth was that Kirkwall was still a volatile place, even a month after the Veil came down.

Hasn’t changed a bit, Varric would probably say. Other than, you know, the spirits and magic and shit. 

She had not heard anything of him. She hoped he was alive somewhere, plotting to take his city back. She couldn’t bear the thought of anything else.

Abelas did not even ask her where they were headed. The destination was almost always the same, anyway. Rhaella headed through the throngs of people - humans with dazed eyes, elves speaking urgently to one another, dwarves standing close to one another in protective, angry knots - down towards the Lowtown bazaar, where there was a field hospital that someone had set up, and which Solas now sent healers and supplies to.

Why can’t you be more of a monster? Rhaella thought again as she entered one of the tents and saw one of his agents taking inventory of the supplies, making notes of which to requisition. Rhaella herself took stock of the herbs and salves in their glass jars. There were new plants now, plants she was still learning the names and properties of. The ancestors of prophet’s laurel and elfroot and felandaris, vibrating now with the power of the Fade. Rhaella wondered how large they grew in the wild, considering how big the clippings Solas’s agents brought in were. Considering how the Fade made everything more itself.

Rhaella went to the bedside of a young elf with an arm in a sling. The colored card pinned to the end of his bed was orange, indicating he hadn’t been seen yet but needed to be seen soon - something they had done in the Inquisition’s many field hospitals. Solas remembered, of course. He had been pleased when Rhaella came up with the suggestion. The patient couldn’t have been older than fourteen. He sat up, bright-eyed, when she sat beside him.

“What happened here?” Rhaella asked, reaching out and touching his arm, letting a pulse of magic flow through it so she could begin to sense the damage. A small fracture and a sprain. She was a little less surprised now by how easily the magic came and went from her body - how it was no longer necessary to give a gentle tug to pull it through the Fade, how it no longer went in and out of her like a tide going in and out of a bay. It just was, like the air in her lungs.

“I got this learning how to use Force magic,” he said. “I sent out a shockwave and knocked myself off of the rooftop where I was standing.”

Rhaella could not help the smile that formed on her lips. Her own child stirred in her belly, drawn as always by her magic as Rhaella began to weave healing strands of energy into the boy’s arm, easing the swelling of the sprain and knitting together the fractured bone.

Are you going to be that daring, little one? She thought, trying to imagine the son in her belly at this age.

“I wasn’t a mage before - well - you know. Isn’t it amazing? I only wish the bastard of an innkeeper who never paid my mum enough to work in his dirty tavern was still alive so I could show him. No one can push me and my family around now. Thank the Maker for Fen’Harel.”

Rhaella wasn’t smiling now. Neither was the elf in the bed next to them, whose face was covered in bandages, only one red-rimmed eye and a thin set of lips visible, as well as the long pointed ears. They snorted derisively, a wet, wounded sound.

“Yes. Thank the Maker that half of Thedas is dead or ruined and every asshole in Kirkwall can set fire to every other asshole if they please. Thank the Maker that the world can’t last long like this.”

The boy’s smile faded, too. Rhaella wanted to chastise the other elf, even as she felt the truth of their words. The same truth that set heavy on her chest every morning.

“I’ve healed the fracture and done what I can to ease the sprain, but you’ll still need to wear the sling for at least three days to give your body time to finish the rest of the process,” Rhaella said. “And you need to be careful with Force magic. That’s an advanced place to start. Is anyone teaching you?”

The boy shook his head, and so Rhaella took a few minutes to explain some of the basics that she had learned from her own Keeper long ago, in that other lifetime. The drills that she and the clan’s other mages ran to refine their control over the various kinds of arcane energy, to ground themselves against the backlash of a spell gone wrong.

“There are several classes in Hightown at noon every day. One in the old Chantry square, and one in the old market - I think perhaps one near the Viscount’s Keep. They are informal, but they are a good place to learn,” she said when she was done. The boy nodded his assent vigorously, thanked her, and Rhaella felt a twinge of something that was hope or fear or both.

Rhaella went to the other elf now, the one covered in bandages. They had a green card pinned to their bed. A healer had seen them and done all they could for them. Still, Rhaella asked if there was anything she could do. Any pain she could ease. With her mind still attuned to healing, she could sense their injuries - burns. Mostly healed now, but they had been nasty.

“You’re working for him, aren’t you?” the elf said in reply.

Rhaella’s hands clenched instinctively.

“No. I’m doing this because I want to. Because I have to do - something.”

The elf was silent a long moment, and then nodded.

“I’m sure that’s why a lot of people are helping him. Everyone seems to think that things have changed for our people. But it’s all the same. We’re all just trying to survive, as usual. The only thing that’s different is that the people at the top look like us now.”

Rhaella’s flesh prickled. She thought of the maps she’d seen Solas studying, the words she’d caught him exchanging with the people around him. The names she’d heard. Dirthamen. Elgar’nan. Andruil.

However many adolescents praised the name of Fen’Harel in the same breath as the Maker, neither of them was necessarily at the top right now.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Rhaella said quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the boy she’d treated practicing summoning an ice crystal in his hand. “But let’s let the young ones have their hope.”

“For as long as it lasts,” the other elf said.

Rhaella spent the rest of the morning working with other injured people - not all of them elves. It broke her heart to see the wariness of the humans and dwarves and even qunari she healed. She tried to give each of them an extra smile, even if there was a numbness in her heart that prevented her own gesture from warming her. The only time her smiles felt real was when she was alone, and she was smiling at the baby within her.

She dallied on her return to the manor, finding a vendor hawking skewered meat simmered in a spicy sauce rather than returning for the large meal that likely awaited her. She’d be hungry again later, anyway. She always had to drag herself back there, no matter how tired she was, no matter how much her feet ached, but today felt especially difficult. Her conversation with the first two elves she helped kept replaying in her mind, piece by piece, like snatches of half-heard song that would not leave her mind. One elf who revered Solas in the same breath as the Maker, and another who condemned him as no better than any other power that had ever ruled their people.

Did I really fail you both?

She almost wanted to turn to Abelas and ask him what he thought. He had been stoic and silent as ever at her side throughout the day, and the only times she’d spoken to him had been to ask him to fetch her salves and bandages while she was working with the injured. She felt guilty for that, now and then - treating him as if he did not exist. But she had made it perfectly clear that she did not want a guardian.

By the time they reached Hightown, and the courtyard of the former Chantry, the latest class for new mages was underway. Here, Rhaella could not deny the small surge of joy she felt to see the spirits of Learning and Command and Power circling around the learners. The chantry behind them still lay in ruins, but her people lived on, and they were learning to control the energy that swirled through everything in the world around them. They had persevered, against every force that had tried to stamp them out - against even the ravages of time, if Abelas was proof of anything.

And yet standing here in this courtyard, Rhaella could not help but think of Varric again. Of the people who had looked at her with fear in their eyes when all she wanted to do was help. Of the blasted-apart house in Lowtown, and the little doll sitting there at its little table, waiting for the return of a child who was never coming home.

Rhaella turned swiftly away from the new mages. She would not stay and help today. She went straight back to the manor, did not even take her leave of Abelas. She climbed the stairs to her room and lay back down on the bed and let the weight of it all descend once again.

She knew she slept at some point, but only because the sound of a knock at the door woke her, and once again she had that hazy moment of confusion about where and when she was.

“Vhenan?”

Solas’s quiet voice, the word that had always meant so much to her, only made it more confusing - the way it could both lift her heart and crush it. Rhaella did not answer him. She sat there in bed, waiting to see what would happen next. He never came in, no matter how long she ignored him. He had at least given her that space.

She heard a sigh, and thought he might turn to leave, but then he spoke again.

“I thought to invite you down to dinner. Only you and I. I wanted to hear about your day.”

Another silence. Rhaella imagined it - the two of them by candlelight, his hand on hers on top of the table, the eager warmth of his smile as he tried to make up for lost time, for deceit, for death. She still did not speak.

“The choice is yours,” he went on finally. “I will be in the sitting room closest to the kitchen. You can always ask to have your food sent up, of course.”

He lingered a few moments longer, and then she heard him turn and walk away, descending the nearby staircase once more. Rhaella didn’t think she’d ever heard a lonelier sound.

*

Rhaella woke the next day certain that she had to find a way to escape.

This was a thought that had come and gone over the last month since the Veil fell. It had been most intense right afterwards, but had then faded somewhat as she began to feel nervous of how close she might be to delivering her child. But now it had returned, like a high tide before a storm.

She had never tried to escape before, not really. Solas had never said she was a prisoner here. But she felt instinctively that if she started trying to walk out of Kirkwall, Abelas would stop her. She was certain that he would say it was for her own good, that he was protecting her from the forces that raged outside the city. She was certain that that was what Solas himself said. That once she had the baby, once he had managed to subdue the Evanuris, she would be free to go. That he only did this because he could not bear the thought of her coming to harm.

Solas had already seen her wield magic once since the Veil fall, on that first day that she found him and railed against what he had done. He knew she was more powerful now, as any mage was. She wondered why that did not factor into his considerations at all. She practiced a little on her own every day, feeling the deep well of her magic. Each spell was like dropping a pebble into dark water and listening for the sound of it striking the bottom - except that sound never came. Between that and the armor she’d had crafted for her pregnancy, which protected her child specifically, she felt certain she could survive on her own, whatever happened.

She wanted to get back to Skyhold. To the last place that had been home. To the people that had been relying on her to stop this all from happening. She needed to apologize. She needed to work to set things right, even if she had no idea where to begin.

The thought would not leave her that day as she walked out to a different field hospital, this one in Darktown. Her eyes lingered on the ships docked in the harbor, on the gates that led out of the city. She hoped Abelas didn’t notice. Then, feeling rebellious, she hoped he did. She might be a match for him now.

The clinic in Darktown was old. It had belonged to one of Hawke’s friends, if she remembered right. Anders. The one who blew up the Chantry. Another man who could never abide injustice, who felt he had to take matters into his own hands, who would accept collateral damage as a price for freedom. Hawke had loved him, or so the story went. Rhaella wondered where Hawke was, wished they could talk about it. What it was like to love men like that.

That portion of her day passed uneventfully. The same kinds of injuries and stories as they always were. She held an impromptu lesson for several elves who had been scraped up while practicing with one another, and her smile was genuine when she accepted their thanks. She could go and do this elsewhere, too, when she escaped. Piece by piece, she could begin to undo her failure.

Then they started on their way back to the manor, and Rhaella was faced with her failure writ large.

As they ascended a narrow stone staircase leading up to Hightown, Rhaella started to hear the dull roar of a crowd of people. No raised voices yet, but there was a restlessness to the sound, and a tension in the air, even more palpable now that magic flowed everywhere. Heavy as her belly was, and tired as she might be, Rhaella still found herself willing her body to go faster, towards the sound, to see what was the matter.

“Rhaella.” At least Abelas had agreed to her request that he call her by her given name. She ignored him anyway.

As she reached the top of the staircase and entered the courtyard, a terrible wailing sound began. The kind of keening that was born out of bottomless grief - a sound Rhaella herself had never made before, but recognized nonetheless. It echoed how she felt when her parents died. She saw the crowd of people now, most of them humans, with some other races mixed in too. They were standing at the foot of another staircase - the one that led towards the manor that Solas was using as his base of operations. A line of soldiers stood at the top of the staircase, preventing the crowd from ascending any further. She could not make out what they were saying to the men and women in the front row of the crowd, but their faces were stern and impassive.

“We will find another way around,” Abelas said, standing at her elbow, not quite touching her, but poised and tense, ready to protect her.

“I want to hear what they’re saying,” Rhaella replied, moving forward, already forming a thin, shimmering barrier around herself.

“I do not think -”

She did not stay to hear what Abelas thought.

This was her fault. She needed to hear what they were saying.

She approached the crowd from the side, trying to skirt around the edges and get to the top of the staircase so she could address them. It was not something she would have done as a younger woman, but after her time as Inquisitor - with how responsible she felt - she was very nearly standing outside of herself, separate from what was happening, only dimly aware that this was a rash idea -

She didn’t see where the first brick was thrown from, or the first piece of rotten fruit, or who cast the first spell. She was too deep in the midst of it by the time that happened. She could only react, strengthening her barrier, making it thick as stone around her belly, still trying to find ways to push through to get to the front, because she could fix this, she could, she could calm everyone, she could assure them that she was still on their side, still trying to find ways to help -

The crowd surged forward, all at once, like a wave on the shore, carrying Rhaella with them, and this was her chance, she would get to the front and she would turn and she would speak and she would atone for how she had failed to stop this -

Then Abelas was there, his Fade step so swift and seamless that it dizzied her. He stepped in, put his arm around her, stepped out, and they were clear of the crowd, on the other side of the soldiers now, hurrying towards the mansion.

“No!” Rhaella shouted, turning around in Abelas’s grasp, trying to head back, desperate to see what the soldiers were doing. Were they fighting those innocent people who only wanted justice for what had been done to their world? Or were they defending themselves? What had they been saying before all of this? She had to know, had to be able to do something -

Abelas was silent until they reached the mansion. Solas met them at their door, eyebrows furrowed, dressed not for battle but certainly for a public appearance, his clothes neat and tailored but not ostentatious. He was not a king, had no desire to rule Kirkwall, but he needed to project authority. She’d heard him discussing such things with his advisors. He seemed shocked to see them.

“Rhaella - were you in danger? I just heard -”

“I want to go back,” she interrupted at once. “I want to try and make peace.”

“Absolutely not,” Solas said, taking half a step forward. She forgot how very tall he was sometimes, how imposing he could be. “It is not safe. These riots are getting worse and worse.”

“Is it any wonder?” She was aware that she was shouting, that others were staring. Merrill was just behind Solas, her green eyes crinkled with concern. “You destroyed their world. They are not rioting - they are grieving.”

“I understand that,” Solas said, his voice rising in kind. “And I will approach the matter as such. But it is not your place -”

“It was not your place to -”

Another wave of sound broke against their ears - was the situation growing worse? Solas strode past her.

“She is not to leave this manor,” he said to Abelas. “Not until this is dealt with. And when I return, we have to discuss the other threats we face. There has been news from the Western Approach about Elgar’nan’s forces.”

Rhaella was so angry that she felt lit from within, like flames might burst forth if she opened her mouth. So angry it immobilized her just enough that everyone was able to sweep past her and shut the door, that Abelas was able to take her by the elbow once more and guide her towards her room. Like she was baggage, and nothing more.

“He wants what is best for you,” Abelas said quietly when they reached her room. “And for the child you bear.”

“Get out,” Rhaella said in reply, unable to look him in the eye.

The only other person she saw for the rest of the day was a serving woman who brought her something to eat for dinner. Rhaella made herself eat it, as she made herself eat everything they brought her, for the sake of the child if not for her own. She still felt angry enough that she might live on that anger alone. Solas had no right to command her. To decide what was best for her and for her child. This was a clear sign. She had to get away. That was what was best for the child.

You will not be born a prisoner, she thought to herself the rest of that evening, stroking her belly.

Solas came to her door later, when the light coming through her window was a rich blue, the color of a clear night. He knocked quietly, and called her name. She did not respond.

“I know you do not like this,” he said. “I do not like it either. I wish - I wish for many things. I wish -”

He broke off and was silent for a long moment. It was not like him to be at a loss for words.

“I have to leave the city tonight,” he went on at last. “Elgar’nan has woken truly and begun amassing forces south of here. I must head them off and destroy him before more of his power returns to him. I swear that I will return to you before the baby is born, Rhaella. I swear that I will keep both of you safe.”

I missed the part where I need you for that. She did not let the words slip free of her lips. She did not want to give him the satisfaction even of an argument.

Solas shifted on the other side of the door, and Rhaella heard the unmistakable creak of his armor. She could smell the oil he’d rubbed into it, too. A thick, metallic smell that made her think instantly of battle, death, and blood. A spike of fear hit her chest. These reports of the Evanuris still seemed like something out of a dream, if she was honest with herself. But if Solas was leaving in such a hurry, and in his armor, they were very real. And very dangerous.

What if he didn’t come back? What if she was truly alone in this new world - the world he had made?

She rose from the bed and went to the door, and stood there, her hand outstretched, not quite touching the doorknob, and then she hesitated. She hesitated long enough that Solas sighed quietly and turned away to go, speaking just once more, so quietly Rhaella almost doubted her hearing:

“Ar lath, ma vhenan.”

Then he was gone.

*

The blue of night deepened, and once it was nearly black, Rhaella dressed herself for leaving and crept out of her room. She was going back to Skyhold, and there was no one who would stop her. Not Abelas, and not the memory of Solas’s whispered words before he himself left. Not the people she’d been helping in the hospitals or in Hightown’s courtyards. There would be enough people to help everywhere. And she needed to get back to the people she’d abandoned, to the last place that had been her home.

She used every ounce of the skills she learned at her father’s side in the dappled woods of the Free Marches to move quietly through the manor. There were hardly any guards inside the building. She was not a prisoner. Not really. But she did not want anyone to try and stop her in any case. She had squirreled away some provisions over the last month, every time the mood to leave struck her, as well as enough gold to book passage on a ship bound for Jader. She just needed to make it to the -

“Where are you going?”

Merrill’s musical voice, even pitched low as it was, was unmistakable. It drew Rhaella up short right as she reached the back door of the manor, which would lead her to the courtyard where the wash and kitchen prep were done, and then out to her freedom. Rhaella’s stomach dropped as she turned to face the other Dalish woman. She did not know Merrill well - she had heard of her through Hawke and Varric of course, a hundred years ago, when she was Inquisitor - but she had been one of Solas’s closest advisors over the last month. Second only to Abelas. Surely she had orders to keep Rhaella here in Kirkwall.

“I’m getting away from here,” Rhaella said. “I’m going home. To Skyhold.”

Merrill looked at her steadily, green eyes betraying nothing. Then she nodded once, decisively.

“Very well, then. Let’s go. I know of a ship.”

Rhaella was so shocked by the turn of events that for the first few minutes after they left the manor, evading the guards on the perimeter who were there to keep people out, she did not even say anything to Merrill. It was only once they made their descent into Lowtown, when they were surrounded by people stumbling drunk out of taverns, that she felt safe doing so.

“Why are you helping me?”

Merrill’s face was grave. Varric and Hawke had only ever spoken of her as cheerful, bubbly, kind. It was hard to imagine that now.

“I spent my whole life in the service of the People. No, that’s not right. I spent my whole life in the service of what the People lost. The magic, and the knowledge. The glory of Arlathan. Not the People themselves. So I suppose I spent my whole life serving the Dread Wolf even before he ripped the sky apart. I thought I might as well keep doing it, seeing as how he had already won. But every day I stand here in this city and I think - I think that there had to be a different way. Just like there had to be a different way for me to fix my eluvian all those years ago. If I had been more patient, less prideful - if we both had -”

Merrill looked down at her feet. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then looked up at the sky. It was different now. There were new stars in new patterns. But the old familiar ones were there, too, if you looked hard enough.

“There has to be another way,” she said. “And I want to come with you and find that other way.”

Rhaella’s throat was tight. She had not allowed herself to feel how very alone she had been this last month. Not until now, when she was no longer alone.

They stopped quickly at a tavern called the Hanged Man, where Merrill approached a couple of sailors and spoke quickly to them, and then they were on their way down to the docks. There was a ship there, finer than the rest, with no one guarding it, and no one on board.

“Good,” Merrill said as they boarded it and moved towards the captain’s cabin. “I’m happy to see the scum of Lowtown still have some respect for her, even now that she’s -”

They were in the cabin now, and there was a large feathered hat sitting in the middle of the bed. A pair of knives crossed above it. Rhaella had only to search her mind for a moment for the name.

“Isabela.”

Merrill nodded and took another deep breath, this one shuddering. “It’s all for the best, really. She would not have liked the world the way it is now. Too much gloom, not enough gold and giggles. She’d approve of us using her ship to get away from here. The men I spoke to in the Hanged Man were part of her crew that lived. They will help us sail the ship to Jader.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Merrill.”

Merrill smiled through her tears, reaching out to touch Rhaella’s shoulder.

“You tried to stop this. I know you did. That’s all that matters.”

As they pulled out of Kirkwall’s harbor, Rhaella realized how much she’d needed to hear that. She felt something loosening within her, like the unmooring of a ship. She was free for now. She and her baby both were. She would make the best of this new world. For the first time, it didn’t feel quite so much like a lie to believe the words.

[big-ass-magnet]

I've been thinking a lot about how the Hawke family only juuuust misses the Hero of Ferelden. 

Walk with me down this path. 

Imagine Carver or Bethany doesn't die, but everyone thinks they did. They wake up alone and badly injured. They are surrounded by charred darkspawn, and Wesley, blighted and dead. Would it be too far off for them to assume everyone else was dragged off by Darkspawn? 

They can't go back to Lothering. They have no idea how to go forward, or where to go. We know the twins are very susceptible to the blight, so they are wandering, alone, hurt, waiting for whatever death might come, be it bleeding out or becoming a ghoul or torn apart by darkspawn. 

And this is the timeline where the Hero of Fereldan didn't survive the joining, and it's just Morrigan and Alistair. And Alistair is a kind soul with a good heart and maybe he has enough arch demon blood left in his supplies that he can muster up a quick-and-dirty joining. So the world rights itself. Now there are two Wardens again, and we all know Alistair prefers to follow. So Warden Hawke does what Hawkes do: they step up. They shoulder the burden. They do what needs to be done. When they hear about the truth behind the fall of Ostagar and the death of the king...

Carver wants justice for the comrades he fought beside, for his lost family, for Lothering. But Bethany? Bethany is Sunshine sweet, all soft smiles and gentle laughter and kindness. Surely she could never have the kind of drive it takes to lead a revolution, to decide the fate of kingdoms.  

But if you've ever taken her to the deep roads and made her a warden, you know that there is anger in her, a deep and bitter wellspring waiting to be tapped. Warden Bethany Hawke is a woman who will destroy Loghain Mac Tir with her own hands.

[Despite the very bad decision we can all admit it is, they let Zevran stay. It might be because he is useful and skilled and clever. It might be because he reminds them of a lost sibling who always had a quick joke and a clever smile on hand when trouble came to call.]

The story unfolds, slightly different but the outline stays the same, and the archdemon is slain and the blight is ended, and Warden Hawke is the Hero of Ferelden. 

Nobody ever seems to refer to the Hero of Ferelden by name. Maybe the name never quite reaches Hawke's ears. Or there are just so many rumors, who knows which ones are true?  Hawke becomes Champion, but Kirkwall is so far away, and by then, Warden Commander Hawke has stepped down and taken up a quest of the utmost importance. 

Then the chantry explodes, the rebellion begins, and the world turns its eyes to Kirkwall. To the Champion. And oh, when Leliana hears the Champion's name, hears that at least one member of her dear friend's family still draws breath...

Warden Hawke cannot lead the Inquisition. They have their own mission to attend to. Cassandra can't know that they're there. (And let's face it, Cassandra is kind of the worst at interrogation; Leliana suspects she's not going to get Hawke's location.) 

See things from Varric's point of view, briefly. The Seeker has left, and he's alone in a far-too-big and far-too-empty mansion, surrounded by ghosts. He's lost in thought when he hears the door open again, and he thinks with a tired sigh, here we go again. 

But it's not the Seeker who appears in the doorway, ready to throw something at him again. It's a Grey Warden, aged beyond their years, ancient eyes in a face that hasn't even reached thirty. 

A face that looks...familiar. 

"I'm guessing you have questions too."  

"Yes," says the Warden, drawing up a chair and sitting down. They look exhausted, and their clothes are still thick with the dust of travel. He can smell them from several feet away. 

"You should talk to the Seeker. She already asked me lots of questions." 

"I would, but I think you're going to give me very different answers." 

Varric raises an eyebrow to hide his growing nervousness. Cassandra hadn't given him more than superficial bruising, but Grey Wardens...they could be ruthless in their pursuit. What would the Wardens want from Hawke? Unless they wanted Anders...

"And why's that?" 

"Because I'm going to ask in a different way." The warden leans forward, and meets his eyes with an intensity that makes Varric shrink back. "I am the Hero of Ferelden. I am Warden Hawke. Where is my family?"

[kunstpause-archive]

Three OTP Questions: Cassia Hawke and Cullen

I got tagged by the absolute best @elveny and the prompt kinda ran away with me and is full of small nods to so many different parts of our story - I’m kinda proud of it. ^^ Fluffy humor incoming.

The prompt:

1. How did they first meet? 2. What did they think of each other at first? 3. Were they immediately interested / attracted or did that come later?

Cassia had been waiting for Adriene to show up for their weekly shared dinner when Varric suddenly stood inside her kitchen, claiming to have serious and non-negotiable business to discuss with both her and Cullen. Not much later found the three of them around their kitchen table, sharing a bottle of wine as Varric started on why he had dropped by.

“When did we first meet?” Cassia asked, sending him a confused look. “You know how I met Cullen. I told you all about it!”

Cullen‘s eyes widened slightly. “You did?”

“Not the details! Just about the accidental meeting in the tavern and, well, that I spent the night,” Cassia hurried up to add, watching his face go from slightly alarmed to relieved.

“Exactly, you only told me some of it, I had to fill in a lot of blanks!” came the protest from Varric. 

“Fill in a lot of blanks for what exactly?” By now, Cassia sounded slightly suspicious.

With a dismissive motion of his hand, Varric shook his head. “Never you worry about that. The fact is I need more information!”

Two pairs of confused-looking eyes narrowed at him. “More information for...?” Cullen asked, his face holding the look of a man who wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted an answer.

“It’s a surprise for now! So, details? Who saw whom first? Was it love at first sight? What was the first thing you thought when seeing each other?” The dwarf had pulled out a notebook and was giving the couple in front of him an encouraging look.

Cassia blinked, trying to sort through the questions one by one. Cullen meanwhile seemed to have a much easier time with this. It looked like he had decided to postpone further questions and play along for now. 

“The first thing that went through my head was ‘Wow, that must be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen’,” he said, looking at Cassia with a warm smile. “Still true by the way.” At the playful wink he sent her, Cassia couldn't help herself from smiling right back. 

“Lovely,” Varric muttered, busy taking notes. “And you, Frosty?”

She wondered briefly if she should come up with something more flowery, but in the end, she only shrugged as she decided to go with the truth. “I think my first thought was something about him being much younger than everyone else in the tavern. Oh and tall.”

Varric looked up from his notes. “So, on the one side, we have incredible beauty, and on the other, well, tall and not old…” He let out a sigh. “How am I supposed to work with this?” he muttered. 

Cullen just chuckled, putting an arm around Cassia as he gave her a fond look. “If you were expecting to get something poetic and overly romantic from Cassia, you might as well give up.” There was no malice behind his words. Over the years they had known each other, Cullen had learned quickly that the woman he loved wasn’t one for exuberant love declarations or overly romantic procedures. Despite being the most eloquent person he knew, Cassia rarely spoke about her innermost feelings, preferring to show her affection, her love in other ways.

“Don’t I know it,” Varric muttered, his eyes not leaving his notes. “You know how long I’ve been trying to get a usable quote from her about your relationship that doesn’t sound incredibly boring?”

Cassia’s eyebrows rose up. “What do you mean? I love Cullen, I’ve said so plenty of times before!”

“As I said - boring,” Varric countered, still without looking up. “Can’t you be a little bit more exuberant? Andraste’s tits, you should see the pages I have of him waxing about your eyes or the sound of your voice or even the way you scrunch your nose when playing the lute…”

When no immediate answer came, Varric finally looked up, only to be greeted by a very confused Cassia looking back and forth between him and a by now slightly embarrassed Cullen.

“What,” Varric snapped. “The man knows how to express his feelings when given the appropriate amount of alcohol.” He shook his head again. “No, this won’t do! I need something more substantial. Something…” Suddenly, he lit up. “Oh, I know! Fenris said something a while ago. Telling me I should ask you about the pond incident? Tell me about that!”

Cassia felt the heat of an embarrassed flush on her face.

“The pond incident?” Cullen chuckled. “I doubt that will help you with whatever you need this for. We barely knew each other and it had nothing to do with us.” 

At his words, Varric’s smile turned into a wide grin. “According to a certain broody elf, it had everything to do with the two of you! But he was very tipsy when he told me, so I am hoping for more juicy details directly from the source!”

“I have no idea what he could have meant,” Cassia, having found some semblance of calm again, said nonchalantly. “It was a simple accident, and I barely even knew Cullen back then. He wasn’t even there!”

“You know Frosty, you are an excellent liar, and I would absolutely believe you if Broody hadn’t spilled the beans already,” Varric said with such confidence that Cassia felt the urge to strangle her best friend at the next opportunity well up in her.

“I’ll have you know that I am going to kill Fenris and that absolutely nothing he has told you is even remotely true!” she huffed as she crossed her arms in front of her, sending Varric a determined look.

Cullen had curiosity written all over his face. “Now I really want to know what this is about.”

“Well,” Varric said with a grin, “you are in luck then, and you are probably going to enjoy this!”

“Varric…” Cassia started but the dwarf simply ignored her, talking to Cullen like she wasn’t even in the room.

“So, there our heroine was, on her way to do a templars bidding after just having found her mystery man from the unforgettable night in the tavern again.”

Cassa groaned at his word, closing her eyes and only barely resisting the urge to hide her face behind her hands as Varric went on.

“A meeting that had shaken her to her core, for it was no less than half an hour later that she found herself so distracted by thoughts of the handsome man that was now no longer a stranger from the tavern to her, that she paid no mind to where she was walking.” 

“Wait,” Cullen interrupted, “you fell into that pond because you were busy thinking about me?” Amusement and disbelief colored his voice and Cassia opened her eyes only to sigh. 

“Well… kind of? I was so excited, and worried of course, but mostly excited and I…” she trailed off, her cheeks flaming red by now.

“She was busy planning on how to get you to kiss her again!” Varric had no qualms about finishing her sentence for her. Nor had he any about embarrassing her further. “That is until she suddenly found herself in a pond surrounded by slightly agitated ducks.”

“Why are you even here?” Cassia groaned at Varric before letting her head fall onto her arms on the table in front of her.

Varric grinned again. “Well, as your best dwarf…”

“There is no such thing!“ Cassia mumbled from underneath her hair.

“As your best dwarf,” Varric said again, a little more forceful this time, “it is my duty to blow everyone out of the water with my wedding toast of course. Pun intended.”

Cullen meanwhile seemed to be unbothered by his fiancée's embarrassment. A wide smile was on his face. “You really walked into that pond because of me?”

“You sound far too happy about that!” Cassia said, still not willing to look at anyone in the room.

“It gets better,” Varric added. “Apparently that pond was really close to her uncle’s house, but instead of going home to change, she rather walked around the city in wet clothes. That’s how distracted she was!”

He sounded so satisfied with himself that Cassia looked up to send him a harsh glare. Unwilling to let his words stand, she sat up straight again. 

“Not true! I was very aware of how close home was, I just wanted to…” She let out a sigh, resigning herself to staying in her embarrassed state as she looked at Cullen again. “I just wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible, so I could see you again.” 

“I was more than happy that you came back the same day.” The look that Cullen gave her was so warm that Cassia smiled again. “But wait,” he added. “You wore different clothes when you came back later.”

Cassia shrugged. “Well, one of the market stalls I passed on my way to the Gallows had a mirror, and I was the spitting image of a half-drowned mabari, and I kind of wanted to make sure you were also happy to see me again, so I ran home to change after all, in the end.”

For a moment, they were just looking at each other, the last hints of her embarrassment fading away under the look of pure love she could see in Cullen’s eyes. 

“Wonderful, so this actually happened just the way Broody said it did? Finally something I can use!” Varric’s voice drew Cassia’s attention away from her husband-to-be. 

“Are you seriously planning on putting that into your speech?” she asked, a weary look on her face.

“Stories need to be told, Frosty. I don’t make the rules!” 

“I’m pretty sure you make up the rules all the time,” Cassia muttered under her breath.

Varric gave her a shit-eating grin before looking at his notes once more. “So, it was pretty much love at first sight, right?”

“No.” The answer came from both Cassia and Cullen at the same time, making Varric to be the one with the slightly confused look on his face for once.

“No? Are you seriously trying to tell me you weren’t head over heels for each other from the very beginning?” 

“On this we’ve always been of one mind,” Cullen said with a smile, and Cassia nodded.

“It was definitely infatuation at first sight, no doubt,” she said softly, “but love…”

At Varric’s still questioning look, Cullen continued, “I don’t think that you can truly love a person without knowing them. Ant we didn’t. Not at that point at least.”

“Not really,” Cassia agreed. “I also think that, for me at least, love is not something that just happens to you, you know? Infatuation does. Lust does. But love is more than that.” Her eyes were set on Cullen’s as she spoke, “It is something you commit to and that you decide on. Something that you make happen.”

“And we did,” Cullen added, his arm around her tightening ever so slightly. “We ‘fell in love’ the moment we decided to do this together, despite the obstacles.”

Cassia felt her heart beat just the tiniest bit faster at his touch, smiling at the thought that something as simple as a casual touch from him still had the same effect on her now as it had back then.

“And we haven’t stopped falling since that day,” she added with a smile.

“Praise Andraste and her dog!” 

Varric’s loud exclamation tore both Cullen and Cassia out of their mutual moment of tenderness.

“I was beginning to think I’d never get enough out of you to do this right, but this? This is definitely something I can work with! The final touch to the chapter… uh, the speech I mean!” 

Before Cassia could say anything, the door opened, and Adriene hurried inside. 

“Sorry I’m late,” her sister apologized, letting herself fall down onto a chair. At the sight of her, Varric closed his notebook with a flourished move. 

“And that is my cue to leave! Curly, Hawkes… have a great evening!” Without further ado, he stood up. 

“Ah, Varric, don’t say you can’t stay for dinner, and after I just got here!” Adriene smiled widely at him, but he only shook his head.

“You know me, books don’t write themselves!” he said with an apologetic smile.

“Books don’t write themselves?” Cassia narrowed her eyes at him.

He only grinned again. “Incidentally, neither do speeches!” And with that, he was out of the door, clearly unwilling to let anyone catch up with him.

“What was that all about?” Adriene asked a moment later, and Cassia only sighed.

“Don’t ask! I am slightly afraid thinking too closely about it.”

Her sister put on a disappointed look. “Och, damn it, I am late one time, and I apparently missed something!”

“Trust me, you didn’t miss much,” Cassia mumbled while getting up to start getting their dinner going. 

“Actually,” Cullen objected, the wide smile on his face giving Cassia pause, “you missed a rather wonderful story about your sister that I believe you would definitely want to know!”

Cassia froze. 

“Cullen,” she pleaded, “Don’t do this to me! Isn’t it enough that you know?”

Adriene had noticeably perked up at these words. “Oh, this sounds good already! Tell me! You’ll be my favourite brother-in-law!”

“I’m the only brother-in-law you have,” Cullen said in a dry tone, and Adriene waved her hand in a dismissive motion. 

“Pah, details! Tell me anyway, you might not remain my only brother-in-law after all, better to get a headstart now!”

A small throw-pillow suddenly flew through the air, hitting Cullen straight in his face. 

“I am warning you!” Cassia’s voice sounded sharp, but there was no real heat behind it.

Adriene just chuckled as she shuffled her chair in between her sister and Cullen. “Don’t be threatened into silence, I will protect you from the flying threats, now go and tell me the story, before Cass finds something more substantial to throw!”

There was a very satisfied look and a rather wide grin on his face. “So, do you remember that time your sister walked into a duck pond?” he started as Cassia slowly reached for another pillow, cursing the day when she had hoped those two would get along.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Truth-Telling

Rating: M Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Violence Warning, Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 4000 Summary: Adaar tells a number of stories about the way she lost half of one horn, each one better at parties than the last. The truth is just too ugly to tell. Post-Promising. Also on AO3. Notes: *inexplicably writes more for this pairing after nearly two years of nothing*

Sometimes, if Adaar does it right, a thick book and a furrowed brow keeps away the various entities who want to talk her ear off through dinner.

She could just take the meal in her quarters, of course, and dispense with the entire rigamarole of it, but—and this is hard to admit, even to herself, but she has to do it—the dim quiet up there unnerves her. Since Haven—since the last, longest night—she does not like to be alone. She is, regardless; there is a distance between her and every other person here that she can’t bridge. But as long as she is among them, nearby them, the creeping tightness in her chest does her a damn favor and loosens up a bit. As long as she can hear the pointless chatter of guards off duty (three of them trying to cajole a fourth into making her feelings known for a fifth, the stout dwarven woman who never smiles; Adaar finds her lips quirking up at that), and the occasional laughter flaring in the grand hall, and feel the body heat warming the place in a way that even repairs to the walls haven’t done, then the dark press of a night filled only with a sickly green flare falls backward.

And there’s a particular laugh that, if she’s lucky, she’ll hear. No chance of that in her lofty quarters.

She takes up another spoonful of stew—the parsnips are awful, but the potatoes good—and as she’s scanning the next page of the dusty tome unearthed from Skyhold’s cellar, she hears it, from across the hall where a crowd of better-dressed people are gathered, drinking wine that was not unearthed from Skyhold’s cellar: a carefully-pitched laugh, perfected for the nobles, seamlessly putting them at ease.

Not as good as the real thing, but good enough. Josephine puts on a certain...mask...while she interacts with diplomats. Adaar doesn’t like describing it that way, but it’s true; she wreathes herself in some invisible stuff that allows her to work an entirely different kind of magic on these people than the kind that the world is currently tearing itself to pieces over. It’s a little unnerving.

But what chance does she have, these days, of getting a few minutes with Josephine without that mask? Slim to none. The Inquisition is booming. She’s in demand, every hour of every day and some hours of the night, besides. The days of Haven—when Adaar could sneak in an hour here or there, under the guise of business but always devolving into gossip and friendship instead—are at an end.

So Adaar stays where she is, half her mind on her book, eating by rote, and sifting through the voices in the hall to listen to the conversation surrounding Josephine. It’s almost like being there, even though she can’t catch quite all of it.

“And that’s...the horns?”

Nobles who haven’t yet met or identified the Inquisitor yet, then. If Josephine can talk them out of coming over to gawk at her, Adaar will be impressed.

“Yes, that is Inquisitor Adaar.” There’s an edge to Josephine’s voice. Adaar clearly missed some insult in the noble’s question, or maybe Josephine is just taking offense to someone pointing her out by her horns. A fond smile uncurls over Adaar’s mouth.

The noble’s voice lowers further, in contrast to the firm tone of Josephine’s. Even a newborn in The Game would have realized that her voice meant, go no further down this path or some of your tasteful and useful alliances will become a burden to you, but this noble’s got the bit in his teeth.

“Do you...one...broken?”

Ah. A point of fascination to the indiscreet: her broken horn, the one that got caught on the roof of a cave because she’s so, so tall, the one that got snared in a trap meant for a bear because she was young and clumsy, the one that got knocked against stone when she hit the ground in a drunken brawl and simply could not hang on after that. Varric has nineteen tales for how he came by Bianca, none of them true; Adaar has many more for how she lost part of that horn.

“I have not presumed to ask.”

Well, this won’t do. Josephine shouldn’t ruin all her hard work in this conversation protecting Adaar’s imagined pride or privacy or whatever. Without any indication of planning to do so, she abandons stew and book and pushes back from her seat; a few people nearby gape at her in surprise at the movement, startled. She ignores these, finally locating Josephine and her hangers-on with eyes after an evening of using only ears, and she strides around the table to make straight for them.

Those funny little masks do so impede the vision; even the fellow asking about the horn doesn’t notice Adaar coming. Josephine, though, does, and her eyes meet Adaar’s with a clear warning: Stay out of this.

She underestimates Adaar, sometimes. Doesn’t she realize that Adaar’s put on a stupid mask before, too, doing a number of dances before nobles who wanted to hire her—her skill, her brutishness, her body—but didn’t want to think about what might be tucked between those horns?

She snags a glass of wine off a nearby platter, thanks the stars that she put on a nice clean coat this afternoon after sparring with Cassandra, and steps smoothly into the conversation. “I hope you don’t mind the interruption,” she says, with an easy smile and a sketch of a bow. No, she is not cultured, she is casual, she is a funny oddity at a museum, here for them to gawk up at. She can’t make out their expressions through the masks, but she knows body language, the stiffening of a spine to steel one’s resolve, the shuddering of a shoulder giving away the flinch of fear.

“Not at all,” one of them says a little breathlessly, the first to bend her knees in a curtsy; the rest hastily follow suit with their own bows and curved necks. “Your Worship,” she adds, and the brief delay of the appropriate address says: I may be afraid, but I have my pride.

Well, that's what Adaar thinks. She's willing to admit she doesn't read these spaces between words as well as some other people probably do. But she likes to make up things to fill them, regardless.

The man who’d asked about the horn gives the briefest bow of them all, and when he straightens, his eyes fixate on it again. Greedy, fascinated. Josephine—Adaar is standing close enough beside her to hear every irritated rustle of her dress and chain of office, however minute—opens her mouth, probably to divert the conversation, but Adaar says, dismissively, “Ugly, isn’t it? Sometimes I miss being symmetrical.”

The greedy eyes widen. Startled that she noticed his blatant stare, impressed by the low bar she’s cleared with her powers of observation? They expect so little of her.

“I didn’t mean to offend, Inquisitor,” he says, lowering his gaze.

“Oh, please, not at all. It’s quite the story, if you’re interested.” She casts an apologetic look at Josephine, playing it up. “Though if I’m interrupting business, please, just say the word. Lady Montilyet tells me I can’t just go blundering into these things.” A laugh, a self-deprecating chortle. “If I’d had her around five years ago, maybe I’d still have the horn.”

She can see in their eyes that they’ve all begun to smile, indulgent, almost patronizing—but interested. Chomping after that bait. And the body language, previously fearful, begins to relax. That’s right, she thinks. I’m just a big funny bear here to do some tricks for you before lumbering away where you don’t have to worry about me anymore. Enjoy the show.

“Surely we have time for a tale from the Inquisitor herself,” another of the women says. “I’ve heard so many stories.”

Josephine regains control of herself. Maybe this is unfair; she never lost control. But she is thinking again about The Game now, not about Adaar’s imaginary pride. “Please,” she says with a gracious smile, “it is a wonderful tale.”

Adaar tells the version best suited for Orlesian nobles: it involves an ill-placed tapestry, an aggressive nest of tuskets, and a job completed despite the loss of the horn. She tells it to polite laughter increasingly becoming uproarious, until even Josephine’s eyes are crinkled at the corners and her laugh has become real again. Even though she knows this is just another story. She’s heard several of them, by now, some in detail and some in passing.

As the story winds up and everyone catches their breath through a few lingering chuckles, Adaar turns to Josephine with a smile. “Can you spare a moment?” she asks. “There’s a correspondence that really should be finished up this evening—I’d like your final review on it.”

She’s regaled them, she’s entertained them, and now she hints at what they really need her for: holding the world together. There are a few tiny nods of approval, of seeing that she has some business sense in her head.

And Josephine plays along. “Of course,” she says, and “please, help yourselves,” to the nobles, and they all murmur goodbyes and do their silly curtsies and bows—Adaar makes one of her own, sharper this time—and they drift away to talk to others in the hall.

In silence, Adaar leads Josephine toward the door not so far off, the one that passes through to her office. Adaar opens the door for her and Josephine walks by, dipping her head in gratitude, and in the glimmer of light, Adaar notices something strange: a shiny bit of fire agate dangling on a slim golden chain in Josephine’s hair. She recognizes it as the gemstone she found in the mud on the Storm Coast a couple of months ago, something she sent back to Josephine after cleaning it.

Her heart swells. That this is some acceptance, some return, of her affection does not cross her mind; she is only happy that Josephine liked the gift enough to utilize it. To wear it in front of Adaar’s betters.

The door shuts quietly, and in the dim room, with the low-banked fire, Josephine draws a slightly ragged breath. None of her attendants are here; it is just them.

“I’m sorry I got involved,” Adaar says, returning her voice to normal with effort. She does not shed the act easily; it’s why she prefers not to put it on at all. “I know you wanted me to stay out of it.”

Josephine lets out a little laugh. A sad little laugh. “I only wanted to spare you from talking about something I know is unpleasant to you. No matter how you dress it up. Foolish of me. You handled them very well.”

“Thank you,” Adaar replies—more for the first sentiment than the last.

“You always surprise me.” Her voice is so soft that Adaar wonders if she was really meant to hear it.

“For the better, I hope.”

“Very much.”

Adaar hesitates, thinking. She shouldn’t take this particular plunge. It’s not a good story, after all. It won’t make Josephine laugh. But she feels...compelled, somehow, toward some imagined closeness.

“You’ve heard a few different versions now,” she finds herself saying. “Which one is your favorite?”

Josephine turns to face her. “My favorite? It’s hard to choose. You tell them all with such gusto.”

“Do you ever wonder…”

She does not need to finish; Josephine takes her meaning immediately, and a thoughtful frown crosses her face. “Of course,” she says. “But I wouldn’t be rude enough—callous enough—to point and whisper about it.” In the wash of firelight, there’s a sharpness to her features, a coldness. She carries daggers of her own; if that dim noble could hear, he would flush from the impropriety she’s accused him of.

“I can tell you,” Adaar offers. “If you want.”

Josephine’s eyes—murky in this dim light—search Adaar’s face, reading something there. “Only if you want,” she says, unbearably gentle, “if it would help to have an ear, then of course, I am here to listen.”

Adaar looks down at the glass in her hand, the untouched puddle of wine. “I think I’ll need something stronger than this.”

Josephine immediately goes to her desk; Adaar watches, increasingly amused, as she shuffles around through a few cavernous drawers and eventually comes up with a thick-bottomed glass bottle full of a fine amber liquid.

“Antivan brandy,” she says, and with an air of defensiveness, adds, “it’s very good in tea. Late at night, you understand. When I should really be sleeping anyway.”

A smile breaks over Adaar’s face, a fond laugh following it that she can’t stifle. “Its medicinal properties are best when unhindered by tea, though, wouldn’t you agree?”

She pulls a few tea cups from another drawer. “I’m glad we understand each other, Your Worship.”

For a moment—just a moment—Adaar nearly tells her to hang formality, but she resists. This is Josephine’s way of showing Adaar respect, the respect that she thinks Adaar deserves and doesn’t receive, and it would be unkind—cruel, even—to throw that back in her face. Adaar takes it for the compliment it is and lets it lie.

Besides. After a little brandy and a gruesome story, the names will come out. Just like that night in Haven. There is a little guilt—only a little—that Adaar can look back on that ugly week with any fondness, but in times as they are, she’ll take what comfort she can.

They settle on the settee in front of the fireplace, with their teacups of brandy and the bottle between them, and Adaar turns the cup in her hands, considering how to begin. She’s never told this story to anyone.

“I’d been with Shokrakar and the Valo-Kas for about a year,” she says finally. Context. Context is important for truth. “I was maybe twenty years old. We took a job to clear a cave system that was close to a town—lot of giant spiders, they were causing problems for the villagers. We got in, did our job, and camped out that night in the mouth of the cleared cave.”

Josephine listens, teacup perched delicately in her hand. Adaar takes a gulp of her own brandy, shakes off the old cobwebs with the burn of it in her throat, and continues.

“I was on watch duty. Middle of the night, and I was tired. Struggling to keep my eyes open. And already a little injured—my kind of fighting, I have to get pretty close to a thing to hurt it, and giant spiders are a lot bigger than me. I’d gotten a bit chewed on. We had a mage—Kaariss—and he’d healed me up, but it always leaves you...tired.” She almost adds, you know? before she remembers that Josephine duels with words, and maybe hasn’t been chewed on before.

Nevertheless, she nods in agreement.

“So that’s why these toughs from the village caught me off guard,” Adaar says, wincing at the memory of her own sloppy work. “Knocked me out. The others woke up and fought, but the villagers managed to drag me away. I woke up in one of their houses.” She clears her throat. “They’d already sawed halfway through the horn, at that point.”

Josephine must have seen this coming, because her next breath is just a little sharp, not an outright gasp. And she doesn’t ask why, but Adaar tells her, anyway.

“Guess some of the villagers took exception to mercenaries. And Tal-Vashoth, in particular. Thought we were using the job as an in to walk around town and maybe terrorize and rob anyone we wanted. Or maybe it’s simpler than that; I didn’t ask them.” She shrugs. “No nerve endings in the horn, understand. They get itchy around the base when the weather’s too hot and dry, but the horn itself? I could feel where I was tied up, where they’d strapped my head to the ground so I wouldn’t move, but the only reason I knew they were sawing into the horn was the sound it made. And the saw itself, making my head move back and forth, just a bit, with every stroke.

“They were pissed I wasn’t screaming and wailing and crying from the pain. Idiots. They did me more damage when they knocked me out with that rock. But they kept at it, anyway, sawing away, and one of them decided it would be much more satisfying if I would just bleed, so he got out a knife and started cutting right down my cheek.”

She touches the lingering scar. It’s a long time past, now, but she can still feel the too-dull edge of that knife pulling through flesh, approaching her jaw. She can remember the panic of that moment, the blind desperation of it, as she realized that the knife would pull down her neck and she would die. And despite how improbable it had seemed—that she would only last one year with the Valo-Kas and then die to some backwater villagers with prejudices—that knife had kept cutting. She puts the cup of brandy down so that when her hands shake, it won’t betray her.

“I don’t remember the next part very well,” she admits. “I was bleeding out, and then there was a lot of noise, and the knife went away. Someone’s—Kaariss’s—hand was over my neck, fixing the wound. And then all the noise died down and I heard Shokrakar say, ‘Sorry, Adaar, the horn’s almost all the way off, anyway,’ and there was this...thump...as her axe swung down and cut the rest of the way through it.”

Josephine has put her cup down, too, though Adaar missed when. This is why she’s never told the story: unlike anything else, unlike any other memory, it has the ability to put her back in that awful, dank room—the cellar, she’d figured out later, so that hopefully if she screamed it would be muffled by the earth and the village wouldn’t wake. With the knife coaxing the lifeblood from her. With the broken piece of her horn lying beside her.

Josephine’s hand creeps over to curl around hers, putting her back where she should be: in a cozy room on a comfortable settee with the brandy burning in her gut. And Josephine’s hand is warm, soft—with little callouses here and there from her many writing implements, in peculiar places—comforting.

“We didn’t get paid,” Adaar says, summarizing now. “We just got out. I could hardly believe they came and got me. Mercenaries. You don’t expect it from them. But Shokrakar...she complained about it all the way to the next job, but she came back for me. That was what mattered.”

She doesn’t know what else to say. This is the truth, as neat as she can make it, skirting some of the worse details: that the Valo-Kas had fled, ceding payment, because no matter what those villagers had done to Adaar it likely did not excuse the slaughter of the lot of them. At least in the headman’s eyes, probably. They hadn’t stayed to find out.

“After you had done nothing but help them,” Josephine says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Shokrakar took me off talking-duty for a while, after.” Adaar manages a smile. “When I first joined up, they liked me to talk to the clients. I’d lived among humans—and a couple of elves, the occasional dwarf—my whole life. I talked to them like I was one of them. That was all I’d ever understood. But that...changed, after. I saw why the Valo-Kas were the way they were. Not so high a price to pay for understanding, I guess. I got better eventually.”

Josephine’s hand squeezes. “You nearly died.”

“And we all nearly died when the Breach opened up,” she replies, “but we’re no closer to understanding that. In comparison, it’s the more worthwhile near-death experience.”

She dares to look up at Josephine. Josephine, who’s fighting tooth and nail for control of her own expression; her pretty eyes are haunted, staring at something that Adaar doesn’t see but can imagine clearly.

Adaar’s hand squeezes, this time. “I know it’s bad,” she says softly. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to go all stoic on my account.”

“It’s awful,” Josephine says, in a voice that’s low and strained. “I don’t see how you just...make stories out of it.”

“Easier than the real thing. Better at parties.”

Josephine’s eyes refocus on Adaar’s. The pale attempt at humor doesn’t work. There’s a deadly seriousness in her face now, an anger. “No one will do that to you,” she says. “Ever again.”

Adaar’s smile widens, just a little. “Are you going to protect me?”

Not a mockery, not teasing. A real question.

“By the time I’m through,” Josephine says, jaw set with a grim determination, “they will be too in awe of you—too amazed by you—to dare. The stories they hear will make you into someone who cannot be trifled with.”

“There’s always the odd cultist,” Adaar points out.

“That is what Leliana is for.”

Adaar brays out a laugh—her first real laugh of the entire evening, loud and unabashed. “And this,” she comments, holding up the gloved hand that shows only a trickle of light from the anchor, “if they get close enough.”

At this, Josephine laughs, too, the sound of it a little wild. Adaar sloshes more brandy into both of their teacups and they drink deep in between hiccups, dulling the raw edge of the moment. Their hands broke apart, at some point. Adaar already misses that contact.

“I’ve probably kept you too long,” Adaar says, when the silence has grown so comfortable that she’s in danger of never breaking it. “I interrupted, earlier.”

“They will be there in the morning,” Josephine says without hesitation, decisively, waving this away. “We haven’t talked in far too long. This has been very somber, but I...I’ve missed you.”

Her face flushes a little red as she says it, her eyes darting away, lowered beneath long, dark lashes. Ah, hope. Traitorous hope. Glimmering like that piece of agate in her hair, catching the firelight. Pretending that the blush is because she’s embarrassed to admit her true feelings, not because of the alcohol catching up to her.

“Let’s talk of pleasanter things, then,” Adaar says, and—because there has been brandy and a painful, personal story, and it has made her a little brazen—she reaches out to touch the gem dangling from the chain. “Did I tell you where I found this? You wouldn’t believe it.”

Startling, Josephine reaches up to touch the gem, too, and their fingers brush. It is a different energy entirely than when Josephine held her hand through the ugly tale, offering comfort; there is an electricity here—maybe imagined by Adaar, maybe not—reminiscent of a thunderstorm.

“Oh,” she says, still coming off a little flustered. “You noticed. It was just so pretty, I didn’t want it to sit away in a box.”

“It is,” Adaar agrees. “It suits you.”

Josephine opens her mouth to say something, but what, Adaar doesn’t know; she closes it again, sheepishly, as if she’s lost her train of thought.

“Better than the muddy grave some fool left it to,” Adaar adds, and then she’s off again: telling a (slightly embellished) story of a dirty, wet fight on the Storm Coast, a tumble down a muddy path, a deluge of rocks dislodged at the end of it. Josephine laughs—and laughs, and laughs—disbelieving but fond regardless.

This is enough, Adaar tells herself. It has to be.

[dreamsneath-blog]

Inquisitor As a Companion

—inspired by this post and following the format of Hope’s with some minor changes, artwork by @kourvo​

Name: Eden Elise Trevelyan Race / Class / Specialization: Human / Mage / Necromancy

There’s too many rumors surrounding her to know what’s truth and lies. Most are of little consequence, but there is one that concerns me. A handful of rebel mages in Redcliffe claim that she was to be sent to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and was meant to stop the peace talks between the Templars and mages. Most of the mages that my agents spoke to appear to have been under the impression that she accepted and had died along with those who attended the Divine Conclave. They were quite surprised to learn she was alive and with the Inquisition.

I’m curious to know what changed her mind.

Leliana

Cole’s reading of Eden

“She once found a rose bush like the ones in her mother’s garden. She made it die, petals black and thorns sharp as daggers. They didn’t deserve to be so beautiful.”

“One mirror reflects, too many distort. She doesn’t know what’s real anymore, either.”

“She’s softer because of you. She cares more. She knows it and doesn’t like it, but she likes you.”

If in a romance with the Inquisitor.

Tarot Cards

What would their tarot cards look like?

Upon recruitment, Eden’s tarot card is The High Priestess, symbolizing the subconscious mind, potential, mystery, and allowing events to proceed without intervention. She’s wearing a black gown with her back against a mirror that bears some similarities to an activated eluvian. In one hand is a fruit that shares the shape of an apple, encased in ice. Wisps of smoke coil around the edges of the card.

After triggering her companion quest, her tarot changes to The Devil, symbolizing ignorance, addiction, bondage, and being hopeless. The mirror from The High Priestess appears once more, but the glass is fracturing behind her with blooms of frost. Black ribbons bind her wrists above her head and she has her face turned away, hair falling into her face.

Should she be romanced by the player, her tarot becomes The Lovers, symbolizing relationships, physical union, personal beliefs and values. She’s facing the mirror, darkened, and is looking over her shoulder with a coy smile. The apple from The High Priestess appears again, but it’s no longer frozen and a bite has been taken from it, and the ribbons from The Devil have been cut and hang loosely about her wrists.

Recruitment Mission

A Hollow Smile

Eden approaches the player in Val Royeaux after they’ve spoken with the Revered Mother and Lord Seeker Lucius, her opening dialogue varying and dependent on which options were chosen during the cutscene. Her interest in the fact that the Inquisitor claims to be capable of closing the Breach is obvious, as is her amusement at whatever she bore witness to. She will ask if the Inquisition’s interest in acquiring the aid of those with magical talents still stands strong, indulging in a brief display of winter magic before stating that, if it is, she would like to lend her magic to the cause. Any attempts at investigating into her past will lead directly to the dialogue in which the player may accept or refuse her offer, with Eden remarking that the Inquisitor need not worry, that in time they will learn much about her and that it’ll be most interesting.

Cassandra will express an unwillingness to bring her into the Inquisition’s ranks, but the decision falls, ultimately, to the Herald. Should the player refuse her, she will leave, but there will be one more chance to recruit her after they’ve met with Dorian in Redcliffe’s Chantry and return to Haven. At this point, she approaches them at the gates and will wonder at what reasons the Inquisitor may have for turning her away a second time when they clearly desire the aid of the mages in the Rebellion. After a bit of dialogue, the player will, again, have the options to accept or refuse her.

She will not be seen again should she be sent away a second time.

Where they would be in Haven / Skyhold: In Haven, she lingers outside the door of the house the Inquisitor awakens in after the first attempt at sealing the Breach in The Wrath of Heaven. At Skyhold, she’s found in the Throne Room near Madame de Fer, observing everyone from her perch.

Companion Quest

Smoke & Mirrors

After the scene Rumor Has It, the player must speak with Josephine in her office, similar to the way Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune begins. The ambassador laments that there are still so many prejudices towards those who are elf-blooded during the conversation, and regrets that she had not looked into matters beforehand to prevent the rumors. The Inquisitor may question the fact that Eden never mentioned being elf-blooded before, to which Leliana will respond that she’s under the impression that Eden herself didn’t know until she either met with Kieran, or heard the gossip. She continues to say that they should adhere to Eden’s wishes, but Josephine will argue that House Trevelyan must know of what’s being said of them to remain in their good graces, regardless of whether or not the rumors are true or false.

Two war table operations will unlock at the end of the scene, Silence the Rumors Against Eden Elise and A Letter to House Trevelyan, performed by Leliana and Josephine respectively. Completing the former will result in agents of the spymaster “sending a message” that puts an end to the stories with almost immediate results, while the latter gives the Inquisitor a letter from Bann Trevelyan’s wife and a request that it be delivered to her daughter.

Upon the completion of either operation, the player must speak to Eden in order to conclude her companion quest. As she made clear in Rumor Has It, she Greatly Approves of resolving the matter through Leliana and Greatly Disapproves of agreeing with Josephine’s course of action. Furthermore, although the game suggests that it’s possible to not hand the letter over to her, she appears to have read it regardless, something that the Inquisitor may comment on for a further loss in approval. In both scenes, she reveals the reason for why she wanted the matter taken care of, albeit with more anger if A Letter to House Trevelyan was performed—she didn’t care about the reason for the rumors and didn’t want anyone else to, either.

She then waves the Inquisitor away, saying that she’s certain there’s someone in need of saving in either her light, lilting tone or one of deep displeasure, ending the scene, but it should be noted that she may be spoken to about the situation again during “normal” conversation.

Scene(s)

A Snake in the Garden

The scene begins with Eden following the Inquisitor to their bedchamber, where the Inquisitor will draw her close at the top of the stairs and move in to kiss her only for Eden to turn her cheek.

“Is that really what I’m here for, Your Worship?”

She then untangles herself from his embrace and leads him to the bed, the scene fading to black. When it continues, the Inquisitor is laying in bed and Eden is standing beside it, dressing herself in her robes, and he will ask if she’s really leaving so soon. The remark makes Eden laugh and she’ll look at the Inquisitor over her shoulder, and ask if he’s really so eager for her to stay. There are a couple of ways to respond and, regardless, Eden will leave the Inquisitor’s chambers, but should the romance option to her question be chosen, the player will be soft-locked into her romance—any other option, and the player’s free to pursue another romance.

By Cruel Magic Taken or In Time for Tea

To trigger By Cruel Magic Taken, the player must speak to Cassandra and must’ve asked Eden about what she had done during her time in Redcliffe prior to joining the Inquisition, a conversation that becomes available only after arriving in Skyhold. The scene is reminiscent to Cassandra’s argument with Varric, with the Seeker confronting Eden with what she has learned—that, at some point in truly recent history, Eden was meant to attend the Divine Conclave and that some mages claim that she’d been given an order to assassinate Divine Justinia V, and is goaded on further by Eden, who doesn’t deny the accusations. 

“Perhaps I was, but that does little to change the fact that I did not.”

The Inquisitor is forced to step between them at this point. Eden may be asked for more details about the would-be assassination plot and she will offer answers that vary from detailed and honest to purposely vague, and they all serve to fuel Cassandra’s anger that they’ve allowed such a woman into the Inquisition. Given that this scene may only be seen should Eden have low approval, there is an option to side wholeheartedly with Cassandra and cast her out from the Inquisition. Otherwise, the Inquisitor may remark that Corypheus killed the Divine and admonish them both—Cassandra for being so quick to anger, and Eden for continuing to provoke her. They may also choose to side with Eden, a statement that is similar to the previous one, but does not result in a scolding for her.

A fourth option is also available to an Inquisitor that’s slept with Eden, and is soft-locked into a romance with her, where they again side with her, but continue to say that they trust her, no matter her history. Both women are surprised by this, with Cassandra saying that the Inquisitor shouldn’t and Eden will echo her sentiment, although a smile will play on her lips.

In Time for Tea covers much of what is said during By Cruel Magic Taken, but the tone is starkly different. Leliana replaces Cassandra in the scene and the Inquisitor finds her conversing with Eden in the rookery concerning the information she’s gathered on Eden’s past. Again, Eden doesn’t deny what she’d been tasked to do, but there’s no argument with the spymaster—she acknowledges that, in the end, Eden had nothing to do with the Divine’s death and says that she’s only curious that Eden changed her mind, given the way she speaks about the situation.

“Let’s just say that it was divine intervention.”

Unlike By Cruel Magic Taken, there is no option to ask Eden to leave the Inquisition, as this scene may only be seen should Eden have high approval and a friendship with the Inquisitor. 

Rumor Has It

Following the completion of Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, be it done before or after Here Lies the Abyss, a scene will be triggered the next time Eden is spoken to. If Kieran’s both present and was born with the soul of Urthemiel, she says that she spoke with the boy and that he said her blood is “very old;” otherwise, she will say that nobles at the Winter Palace recognized her name and commented that, for being “half rabbit,” she didn’t look like one. Regardless, rumors have begun to spread that she’s elf-blooded, and, far from distressed, Eden’s tone suggests more annoyance than anything that such a small thing has given her attention, of which is mostly negative, that she neither asked for nor desired. 

Both Leliana and Josephine have been looking into matters concerning them, which has only soured Eden’s mood further. Towards the end of the scene, she will request that the Inquisitor speak to them about it and, preferably, use the spymaster’s perspective to silence the rumors instead of following whatever romantic ideal Josephine has in her mind.

Here, her companion quest, Smoke & Mirrors, unlocks and becomes available for the player to pursue.

Apple of Her Eye

Upon returning through the eluvian at the end of The Final Piece, speaking to Eden will start a scene in which she muses that the end of the Inquisitor’s story is about to unfold, with all the pieces in place for the final confrontation with Corypheus. She’s smiling through most of the conversation, resolute in being flippant about the situation, until the Inquisitor asks if she’s worried about what could happen. It’s then that her smile falls, and there’s a moment of silence where Eden turns away from the Inquisitor to look out over the throne room. She doesn’t deny it, although neither does she admit to it.

“You will be fine. You have most of Thedas behind you. You have me.”

Note that Apple of Her Eye is exclusive to an Inquisitor that’s both in a romance with her and has high approval.  

Approval

How to get their approval: It’s not that difficult of a task to earn high approval with Eden, although it may seem that way while the Inquisition’s base is Haven. Most side quests do not offer a chance to increase her approval, with the exception of The Great Blackmail Hunt during Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. Each scandalous secret collected grants a Slightly Approves—meaning that there’s a chance to earn anywhere from one to 30 approval with her in one fell swoop. Otherwise, approaches for earning her approval is as follows for the Main Quests:

She Slightly Approves if the mages are conscripted into the Inquisition at the end of In Hushed Whispers, but Greatly Approves if they’re offered a full alliance.

Following the confrontation with Envy at the end of Champions of the Just, she Approves if the player tells the Templars to yield and serve the Inquisition.

She Greatly Approves of allowing Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons to assassinate Empress Celene in front of the court in Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, but exposing her to the court will grant the same increase in approval. She also Greatly Approves if Briala rules through Duke Gaspard.

Upon reaching the Well of Sorrows in What Pride Had Wrought, she Greatly Approves of the Inquisitor drinking from it.

Eden, in general, Approves of recruiting agents during Sit In Judgement. However, in the case of the Grand Duchess, she Greatly Approves of her being made the Inquisition’s court jester, should she be brought back to Skyhold alive, and will remark on her fate; should the Grand Duchess’ remains be brought to Skyhold, she Greatly Approves of them being put to use and a further Approves will be given should the player complete the war table operation, Judgment: Duchess in a Box Tour 9:41, with either Josephine or Leliana. She Greatly Approves of Thom Rainier being told to continue his lie while serving the Inquisition.

Curiously, she also Greatly Approves of completing the war table operation, Support Vivienne and comments that it’d be most amusing to see what the public’s reaction would be, should a mage be named the Divine. 

How to get their disapproval: Conversations of magic with Eden is a sure way to earn disapproval, although she will discuss it and in great detail, should the player pursue speaking of it and doesn’t mind that each branch selected—individually, in the case of investigating—will grant a Slightly Disapproves after the initial Disapproves of the chosen topic. During the conversation, a special option will become available to the player, should they speak to her of magic after completing In Hushed Whispers, allowing them to comment on the fact that her views are contradictory given that she attempts to sway the Inquisitor into allying with the mages of the Rebellion; she Greatly Disapproves of that particular option, of the Inquisitor expressing that much insight into her as a person, although she laughs about it.

The following options during the Main Quests will also earn disapproval:

She Greatly Disapproves of telling Connor Guerrin that he should have been killed, should he be present during In Hushed Whispers.

During the ceremony at Skyhold at the end of In Your Heart Shall Burn, she Greatly Disapproves of selecting “I’ll set an example as a mage” and Disapproves of “I’ll be a servant of faith.” Note: these are options available only to mage and faithful Inquisitors, respectively. 

She Greatly Disapproves should Empress Celene and Briala reconcile and rule together in the conclusion of Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts.

She Disapproves should Morrigan drink from the Well of Sorrows in What Pride Had Wrought.

As far as passing judgement during Sit In Judgement goes, there is but one chance to earn her disapproval—she Greatly Disapproves of Ser Ruth being granted divine forgiveness by a faithful Inquisitor, later commenting that such a judgement is dreadfully boring. 

Romance

Are they romanceable? Yes. Can you have sex with them? Yes. Are they open to polyamoury? No.

Eden’s romance is somewhat reminiscent of Morrigan’s from Origins, meaning that she’s exclusive to a male Inquisitor, but that he may be of any race. Should the player flirt with her often enough, an option will become available following the completion of From The Ashes, provided that the play has left and returned to Skyhold at least once to unlock their bedroom, that allows the chance to invite her to bed. Sleeping with her will not lock the Inquisitor into a romance with her unless the romance dialogue is chosen during the scene, A Snake in the Garden. Doing so will instead soft-lock the Inquisitor into a romance with her and make viewing the scene In Time for Tea impossible, replacing it with By Cruel Magic Taken, where selecting the romance option while defending Eden against Cassandra will lock them into the romance. 

All of the above may happen regardless of her approval. However, should she have low approval by the time The Final Piece comes to a close, she will end the relationship saying that, with the Inquisitor’s story coming to an end, he’s become “too boring.”

Who are they friendly with? Similar to Hope, she’s friendly with everyone and yet she appears to truly have no friends within the Inquisition, save for the Inquisitor, should they earn high approval with her. 

Who do they dislike? Solas. Dorian will remark on their dynamic in party banter, should the three be together and in a way quite similar to how he does with Varric and Cassandra. Solas himself is appalled, and that fact alone offers Eden no small amount of joy. She throws similar comments around herself, stating “people will begin to talk” if they could hear the way he speaks to her.

Opinions on mages / Templars / how the world is going to shit?

She finds amusement in the entire Mage-Templar Rebellion and almost mourns that she let the opportunity to stir things up further slip from her fingers, but the fact of the matter is that her amusement comes from a place of hopelessness—and that she’d rather be amused by the situation than despair about it, because then it’d be boring. She doesn’t feel strongly about mages nor Templars, has little concern about the other races inhabiting Thedas and their circumstances; all she cares about is that a person is interesting, and she’s met a lot of people that fit that description since the world’s decided to try and come to an end, be it with the Inquisition or before.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party: There isn’t a moment that is guaranteed to make her leave once she’s accepted into the Inquisition. She may, however, be asked to leave during By Cruel Magic Taken.  

Special Events

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: How is your Inquisitor holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year?

She’s gone mad, but not the laughing sort. Approaching her cell, she begins to speak of the red lyrium and says that, at first, she made attempts to freeze it with her magic, but that it was barely effective and, if anything, made it worse—alluding to what the Inquisitor learns in time, through dialogue with Cole. She stumbles when she steps out of her cell and Dorian catches her, making her breath catch. Here he’ll look down and swear, righting her; what isn’t shown is that she, much like August in Hope’s story, tried to rid herself of the red lyrium by cutting it out.

Connor’s suicide also creates no small amount of distress in her, and the Inquisitor’s given a chance to calm her down kindly or tell her to pull herself together; the latter will result in what appears to be an ice mine forming underneath the Inquisitor, but they are able to safely walk through it, and she will calm down, regardless.

At the Winter Palace: Does your Inquisitor enjoy the party, any special events with them at the Palace?

Eden’s absolutely delighted to be at the Winter Palace, enjoying everything that’s to be had from the food to the scandalous secrets that everyone’s all too happy to divulge. Should the player be in a romance with her, they may ask her to dance once the Orlesian Empire has been saved from Corypheus’ plot.

In the Fade: Your Inquisitor’s reaction upon entering the Fade? Nightmare’s taunt, and Inquisitor’s response? Epitaph on their grave?

The Fade is nothing that she hasn’t seen before, but physically being in the Fade? A part of her wants to play up that fact, that they’ve done what Corypheus claims to have done and what does that make them?, but she’s curiously quiet throughout that part of the story, doing little more than raising an eyebrow at the sight of the spirit parading around in Divine Justinia V’s skin. She does, however, remark on the way The Warden and Hawke bicker, apparently amused by the fact that neither want to take blame.

As for the Fearlings, they take on the shape of spells being woven in the air and they’re always, always, the spells that she uses most, but upon hearing what the Inquisitor sees, she changes her perception and forces their shape to change with her will—and it’s a much simpler task to fight spiders than counter a spell.

As for the Nightmare’s taunt… 

“One spell, Eden. With the snap of your fingers, you could put an end to it all... Ah, but that’d be boring, wouldn’t it?”

Eden: It really would.

Her tombstone reads her full name, followed by “the end.” 

Trespasser: What is your Inquisitor up to two years after Corypheus’ defeat? 

She’s been studying the arcane with Gereon Alexius, had In Hushed Whispers been pursued and he was forced to work for the Inquisition, and Dagna, should the Inquisitor acquire her, much to the surprise of those that know her. Rumors say that she studied under Morrigan as well, during her time as a liaison to the Inquisition, but neither woman will confirm nor deny them, although the stories that she’s caught the eye of whomever rules Orlais appear to many as proof that Eden’s set her sights on something higher than a simple sorceress. Her desire is clear, regardless of whether or not she’s in a romance with the Inquisitor, and if they have remained together, it’s possible to speak to her about it.

However, should the Inquisitor not be in a romance with her, there’s another rumor that she’s found herself quite taken with a boy from Redcliffe, of whom she will not name.

Eden’s Remarks

(Approaching an Ocularum for the first time) I’ll look through it if you don’t. (Finding a shard) They’re rather pretty, aren’t they? A bit macabre, but pretty. (On finding more than 50 shards) My, what a collection you’ve got. (On finding more than 100 shards) I certainly hope the reward that awaits you in that temple is worth this amount of effort. (Attempting to activate an object that requires a mage) (laughs)

Location Comments

(Exalted Plains, before Smoke & Mirrors) My mother used to tell me tales of the Plains. It always felt like more than a history lesson. I never understood why. (Fallow Mire) Ah, I imagine this is what Solas’ soul must look like.

Solas: Excuse me?

Eden: (delighted laugh) 

(Hinterlands) I’d suggest worrying less about the mages and Templars and more about the bears while you’re here. (Hinterlands, village of Redcliffe) I wonder if anyone’s missed me. (Hinterlands, upon discovering that each ocularum is made from the skull of a Tranquil) Ah – hmm... (Storm Coast)

Cole: “One by one they follow me, laughing, drowning, into the sea.” The rest of the poem is sad.

Eden: “One by one they die and it fills me with glee.”

Cole: That isn’t how it goes.

Eden: No? How disappointing. 

Eden’s Disposition

Like Hope, “normal” conversation with Eden doesn’t offer any indication as to how she feels about the Inquisitor. She has a set list of greetings and farewells that she will say, regardless of her approval, and will answer questions regarding herself at any point. 

Eden’s Greetings

(with a hint of sarcasm) Your Worship.

Can’t stay away, can you?

What is it?

Eden’s Farewells

Hmm.

Go on, then. 

Do try not to miss me too much.

[vir-tanadahl]

As the Moon Rises

Chapter 4

Summary: Isera Lavellan was sent to her brother, the Inquisitor, at the urging of their mother. The world is changing and Isera needs to be there to help.

Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1] [Ch2] [Ch3] [Ch4]

The horses had made their back to Caer Bronach. Banreas orders scouts in search of the Red Templars to prevent an attack on the village before they rushed back to Skyhold to plan an attack on the oldest Grey Warden fortress, Adamant. When Banreas had traveled to the future, they saw a demon army overtaking Orlais and killing the Empress. It is imperative that the Inquisition gets to Empress Celene before Corypheus sends his agents to end her life.

Almost everyone is upset that she and Banreas intentionally hid her abilities. Broken trust they called it.

As the troops are packing to complete a forced march on the Adamant Fortress, Cassandra pulls her aside. “Why did you lie?” she demands. Cassandra unrelentingly stares her down. The seeker is demanding the truth.

“I didn’t. Not really.” Isera shrugs as she assesses her new staff that Banreas had crafted for her.

“You lied by omission. How are we supposed to trust you?” Cassandra asks. According to her brother, Cassandra is a Seeker of Truth. But the truth of what? The welded eyeball on her armor invokes the sense of always being watched.

Isera rolls her eyes and scoffs. “How was I supposed to trust you? You have an elven man, a Dalish nonetheless, who has adamantly shared that he believes in Dalish gods, as the head of an organization from the Chantry. You call him the Herald of Andraste, despite his own declarations. And I am an apostate mage from the “heathen land” of Rivain. The Chantry I know would have me dead as a maleficarum or turn me into a Tranquil.” The words are hot and harsh out of her mouth. Isera refuses to break her stare with the Seeker.

“You all assumed I was incompetent. The Herald’s poor blind sister. I just played the part the Inquisition wanted.” Isera is louder than she intends to be. The inner circle of the Inquisition halts their packing to stare at the two.

“Then you were a sheep in wolf’s clothing? What were you expecting to find?” Cassandra presses. Knowingly or unknowingly, Cassandra had her sword hand on her weapon.

Isera begins laughing. “Anything to that would seek harm to my brother, of course.” As the tension rises, Banreas walks in on their argument and quickly steps in between them. “That is enough.” He orders his voice is hard and demanding.

“Cassandra, I was aware of what she was doing. She was not and is not here to bring harm to the Inquisition. If I were concerned that she would attempt to impede our goals, I would have informed the advisors.” His voice is commanding. He does not want to be questioned on this matter.

“Da’fen” Banreas snaps at Isera.

Isera lets out a loud, guttural noise of displeasure. “Do not call me that, brother!” She starts walking away before he can express his disapproval of her. Her body feels hot with anger. Banreas does not chase after her and begins talking to Cassandra. Varric starts laughing at her actions elbowing Solas to look as well.

“Da’fen?” Varric continues to laugh the word is awkward on his tongue. “What does that mean?” he calls her over.

“Little Wolf” Isera and Solas answer together. They stare at each other for a moment unsure of how to proceed.

Isera takes a deep breath before continuing. “I may have, accidentally blew up a statue of Fen’Harel when my magic first manifested. The some of the clan thought it was hilarious and other thought it an omen.” Isera explains with exaggerated tones.

Varric chuckles again. “You blew up who’s statue?” he asks.

Solas opens his mouth to answer, but Isera cuts him off. “Fen’Harel. Our god of tricksters in Elven lore. He supposedly locked away our Gods because he thought it was funny. Apparently, Dalish also thinks he likes to curse little Dalish children.” Her voice is almost condescending as she giggles over the idea.

Varric lets out a bellowing laugh.

“A God who likes to curse children?” Solas sounds almost offended.

Isera shrugs. “I’m sure the Lord of Tricksters has many better things to do than making a small Dalish girl blind from using her magic by blowing up one of his statues. But, it makes a convenient story to ward off children away from the old statues.”

“And you do not think he did that?” Solas continues. His voice is guarded again.

Isera shakes her head. The idea of it is absurd. “No. When I was six, of course, I did. The big bad wolf is always the source of Dalish problems or have you not paid attention to Dalish lore?”

He ignores her comment. They are both aware that he does. “Do you believe in the Elven Gods?” Solas asks, his head tilted to the side. Apparently, today is the day of religious thinking.

“No.”

Varric nods. “Well, do you believe in the Chant of Light and the Maker?” he asks. They both stare at her awaiting her response.

Isera looks around. No one else is paying attention to them. “No.” Her voice cracks a little.

“Then what do you believe?” Varric continues. He does not appear to be aware that the line of questioning makes her uncomfortable.

Isera takes a deep breath. “Right, religious beliefs are important in the South.” She mutters.

“Well, I believe in nothing?” Isera begins to explain. “The Seers in Rivain believe in nature and the natural order of the world. I guess I believe in that. In people. History just repeats itself, no?” Her voice is stressed as she rushes to answer. She’s unconformable. “Besides, what the point of Gods, whichever religion, when they sit tucked away watching the world burn?”

Isera locks her staff into place on her back. It is almost time to begin the forced march.

“You don’t think the Maker or whatever, willed the Inquisition? Or saved your brother?” Varric asks as he places Bianca on his back.

“From my understanding, the Inquisition was established after the Cassandra yanked a book out of her arse that was signed by the freshly dead Divine and said, “We are starting this” and ta-da. If we are to stop a would-be God, why wouldn’t a real god come and do the fighting instead? There would be a lot of less dead people in the end.”

Varric and Solas stare silently at her. Varric’s mouth is opened slightly at the rush of information Isera had shared. “All right, then.” He mutters and rubs the back of his neck before turning and walking towards his mount.

“Tell me again, how do you convince someone the sky is not blue?” Solas’s question is sarcastic. He is smug with that she fell into the same trap he did.

The soldiers begin moving. The forced march is starting.

Isera is unaffected by his comment. “Rain check on the philosophical discussion, Solas.” She grins and winks at him before jogging towards her horse.

She can feel him watching her has she mounts her horse. As she trots past him, they stare at each other. She is unable to read his facial expression. She finds him peculiar nonetheless.

---

They are rushing after the Magister and the Grey Warden Commander. The dragon in the sky, apparently a servant to Corypheus is impeding their efforts. Isera barely had time to invoke a wall of ice that laid over Solas’s magical barrier to protect them from the blast of dark magic.

Her lungs hurt. Her legs are already aching. They are running and skidding to stops with only a sliver of time to react to an attack.

Finally, they come across the bridge. The Warden Commander is deflecting the attacks of the magister as she rushes to approach. The Inquisition team follows suit, but the chaos endures. The dragon attacks and sends the bridge into a collapse.

They are falling and then suddenly they aren’t.

Isera is on her knees. She can hear the sounds of the Inquisition team, but she can’t breathe. Her legs refused to move. Her mind is screaming to get up but she can’t. Someone grabs her, forcing her to turn to face them. Banreas. She can see him. His darken skin, his yellow vallaslin. His dark, brown eyes. She jerks back. She can see.

She reaches to touch his face. He’s real. Isera sees a spinning mirror floating in the air a few feet behind him. Isera takes off running towards it. She is awkward in her gait, but she grabs ahold of it and stares at her murky reflection.

Her eyes reflected back. They are golden in the middle and light blue on the rims of her iris. No longer where they, as one had once described to her, a murky white.

“By the Gods!” she whispers in disbelief. She touches the mirror and rubs her eyes. It’s not an illusion. “Where are we?” she asks, louder for others to hear.

“The Fade…” Solas answers. He begins rambling on about how it should be impossible to be in the fade physically, but Isera pays no mind. Everything is moving so quickly. Cole is distressed and yelling about something.

Her brother is in front of her and then Solas. They both say something to her. Isera steps closer to Solas and then gently taps him on his chest. Real.

“Hi.” Is the only thing that she can articulate. Solas chuckles. “I understand this must be overwhelming for you. But you must focus. We are in a dangerous area in the Fade, and it is not safe to linger.” His voice sounds smoother than before. His hands are on her shoulders, his fingers pressing into them. She reaches up and grabs his forearms, mimicking the pressure and grounding herself. His eyes are gray with sparks of blue.

The world still feels like it is spinning. “Right. Fade. Dangerous. The fact that I can see is a unique side benefit.” She replies. She focuses on clearing her mind and acknowledging her surroundings. “Ban, next time you take me to a place where I can miraculously see, a nicer area would be preferred.” Isera jokes as she pulls away from Solas.

Banreas pauses from his conversation between Hawke and Stroud to look at her. “You know; I would prefer not to be here at all.” He shouts back as he motions everyone to follow him. Isera struggles to not stare at everyone. Everything is more intense in color. It is overwhelming.

Isera knows that this moment is not going to last even if she feels desperate to keep it. They had to leave the Fade. She follows behind everyone watching them intently. She is close enough for them not to be too concerned, but far away enough to take in color, the movements, the life that each one of them presented with.

She does not want to leave.

---

Isera had struggled with leaving Stroud behind. Her brother had to push her out first. It didn’t feel right leaving someone behind. Then there was the spirit of the Divine. That was weird, to say the least. Banreas remembered everything. Everyone saw it. It was like a telepathic memory that everyone experienced. The demon of fear consistently tried to weaken each party member with their fears in a desperate attempt to thwart their efforts. But it was over.

The moment she was thrust out of the fade, her vision blurred. What was a mixture of a joyous celebration of the defeat of an enemy, Isera felt disappointment. Even now, has her brother decides either to exile the Grey Wardens from Orlais or to conscript them to the Inquisition, Isera was bottling up her feelings of hopelessness. She did not care.

Soon they would return to Skyhold and address another concern. The Civil War between the Empress and her Cousin

[wootensmith]

The Dreamer Must Wake

He watched as her fingers trailed over the trunk of the great carved tree. The massive pillar held up the tower and housed the staircase that spiraled down into the veilfire room. She knelt on the floor, peering through the great crystals that closed the spaces between the vast branches. “So that is how you knew of it,” she said watching the elves below carve more leaves into the stone walls beneath them. She looked up at him. “They were yours. Your people. All those names.” He smiled, but only felt old sorrow flowing through him, wearing deeper grooves into his heart. “I was theirs. No one ever belonged to me.” “That isn’t what I meant,” she said quickly.

“I know,” he answered, helping her up. He led her up the steps. She looked around in awe as they reached the next unfolding of branches. It had been so familiar to him, the dozens of small apartments scattered along the crooks, nestled in the forks and hanging like pendants from the arms of the tree. He was seeing it through her, now, this thing he had helped to make, this home he had grown over centuries. One freed slave at a time. One dwelling built after another. Some with magic, some with his own hands. They twinkled in the sunlight that streamed through the leaves and caught on the fine wrought metals and smooth crystal. He had never considered it ostentatious— it was vastly understated compared to the cities, but he could see the effect it had on her was weighty and a little frightening. She was beginning to believe him. To accept that he was what he claimed. He was unsure whether that was comforting or achingly sad. The memories of his people wove to and fro, laughed with one another, worked and bartered and planned around them. She watched them, touching her own face. She was seeing them bare, clean of the blood-writing. Now was not the time. He tried to hurry her toward his own chamber above. It was quiet and small. She would be at ease there, he was certain. But she pulled back, lingered, drew near one of the houses. She looked over her shoulder at him. “So many. Where are they?” He shook his head. “I am uncertain. I hope they lived in some kind of freedom and comfort before Tevinter took them.” Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I had to send them away, Vhenan. To keep them safe. They were in danger from their former masters.” “Masters?” she asked. He touched the mark on his forehead. He forgot that it was not present in the Fade. “They were all former slaves. They came here to be free. The chamber below, the one I brought you to, it was where they threw off their shackles. They stayed with me while it was safe to do so.” “Who did you free them from? Who did they belong to?” He sighed. “The Evanuris. Those you have grown to believe were gods. In truth, they were like us. But they had great power, and sought still more.” “Like us— you mean they were elves?” He nodded. “But— elves enslaving other elves? How can that be?” She raked a hand through her hair in distress. “Is it any different from Tevinter enslaving elves? Or Orlais?” he asked gently. “Slavery is still slavery. The blood of the owner makes no difference.” It struck him then, what Cole had meant. They are all your people, Solas. You start the same. You end the same. He offered a silent thought of deep gratitude and hoped the spirit could feel it, no matter the distance between them. “It is different. We do not worship Tevinter. Or the Orlesians. We do not dedicate ourselves in their names—” “Alas, I could not free them all. For every one that came to me for protection and aid, there were a hundred others who didn’t or couldn’t. If I had done more, if I hadn’t waited to be pushed, perhaps the truth would have traveled to you instead of the myths that take the place of real history.” She drew closer to him. “The people that free Tevinter slaves, the ones I heard about— they claim to do so in the name of Fen’harel. Are they your people?” “I do not know. I had not heard of it until you told me that morning in the Mire. That would be— it would honor me if it were so.” “What happened?” she asked. “Why was this place lost?” “I could not hold it. I knew our masters were coming, they sought something we did not have. But they had discovered us and their armies would be all too happy to retake them. So I asked them to go, to protect them. I took the memory of this place from them. Something similar to Cole’s method. I never wanted them to return. I couldn’t be sure their masters would not leave some trap to harm them. It was not safe. And then—” he walked out to the end of a long limb and pointed down to the large courtyard below, ringed by the enormous roots of his tower. “I waited, there, to stop any from following them.” She crouched on the branch beside him, staring down at the spot. “Alone?” she asked, and he could feel the anguish pulsing from her. “You fought them all alone?” “I was stronger then. I was not so broken. But I could not fight them, my love. I had a different plan. Their own greed defeated them, not I.” “You trapped them,” she said. “Brought this place down, as in your story.” “Yes, I trapped them. But not here. Time ruined this place and— and it could not stand once the Veil cut it off from the Fade. I did not pull it down. Not purposely.” She stood up, looked around again at the dwellings around them. Solas heard an echo of the lyrium’s song. She was slipping away from him, away from the calm. “Why didn’t you follow your people when you were finished? Why did you leave us?” Regret clawed at him and her distress was clear as the tainted music swelled around them. “I spent everything to free us from the Evanuris. It hurt to do it. I could not bring myself to take their place. But if I had stayed, that is what would have happened. It was already happening. I fought against it every day. For them to be truly free, I had to be absent. I thought they would assume my death. It was my assumption, too. I did not mean to wake. Ever. These were strong, capable people. They did not need gods. They did not need keepers. You do not need us.” She shook her head sadly. “Look at us, Solas. We needed help.” “I had nothing left to give!” She passed a hand over his cheek. “I have relied upon you almost from the time I met you. What is it that you think you have provided, emma lath? Your spells? The remnants of this power you are chasing?” She glanced around with a soft smile. “The way you bend the Fade?” The lyrium’s melody almost drowned her out and he waved a frustrated hand. The tower dissolved and they were in the desert, the rumble of an approaching storm and the wind the only sounds. It would take her mind time to replace it with the music. He had bought her that much at least. “Thank you,” she said, “but that is not why I need you.” “I have never understood why you think you need me. Only why I need you,” he answered. She twisted his fingers between her own. “It is not for the power underneath your skin, but what is in your mind. And the compassion in your heart. You give me strength to keep doing what is right. What is kind. There is no depleting that well of power. I have needed— we have needed a friend. A colleague. Not a god or a teacher or a parent. You have been a friend, before all else.” He started to shake his head, to turn from her in denial, but she chased him, brought him back to stillness. “You do not need it, Solas. We must prevent someone like Corypheus from holding it, but you do not need the orb. You don’t have to take it back, if you don’t wish to. You don’t have to be a god.” “You think I would use it unwisely?” he asked. “No. No, that is not what I fear.” “You think it would change me then? Turn me into the monster of legend that you fear?” She tried to laugh but it sounded half-sobbed. “If a thousand years of watching us fail and your story muddled and twisted did not change you, what would your own strength do? Not that. I only fear your loneliness and the weight of all the world upon you. Stay. Be free. Let us stumble and learn and become something better. Be with us. Be with me. Forget the orb, as you did before, but stay among us.” “You would die.” “I will die. Most of us do.” The echo of the lyrium returned again, softer now. He did not wait but pulled the Fade again and they were in the Deep Roads, the thrum of dwarf song and the ring of armor as they marched around them. “You would not be alone,” he said, watching her. “The dam will break and all would be swept away.” “Then let me aid you. Tell me. I do not have your power, but I am not useless.” “That is not what I think of you. And you are aiding me. Aiding us all.” “That is not an answer,” she said and drew back from him. “If Alexius’s spell worked, if you could go back and prevent it all, the Conclave, Corypheus, the anchor, every death and hardship would you do it?” “Of course,” she said, confused at the sudden turn. “And if it meant we would never meet? That you would never know Varric or Cassandra or Sera or Vivienne? If it meant I never woke?” Her expression was blank and calm. It did not alter. Not even in the Fade. But he knew she had felt it like a blow because the dwarves around them flickered, wavered. The spirits were changing, pulling into something else. Something wrong. “Forgive me,” he said and pushed her carefully from the dream. She was already sitting up when he woke. “I’m sorry,” he said to her back. “We were in danger.” She nodded, but didn’t turn to him. He let his fingers glide over the bare plane of her back and waited. “I feel like your questions are tests that I’m always failing,” she said at last. “That I push you farther and farther from me every time I answer.” He sat up and pulled her hand into his. “They are not tests. And it is not you that is pushing us apart.” She met his gaze at last. “This is the price then?” her voice dragged and cracked. “The world in exchange for you?” “Part of the price,” he admitted. Her vallaslin crumpled. “Part?” she whispered. He traced the bones of her hand with his thumb instead of answering. She wiped her face and gave him a shaky smile. “We’ll just— we’ll find each other again. My clan’s camps don’t change often, I’ll be able to—” she stopped as he shook his head. “It will be more than a few years. More than a few centuries. More than the Conclave. It is bigger than Corypheus.” He buried a hand in her hair. “I don’t know if you will ever be born, Vhenan. And I will not survive what I must do.” She twisted to face him. “But— if it has not destroyed us in centuries, why is it so urgent now?” “Some poisons are fast and some are slow, but the result is the same.” He stroked the green veins of the mark over her wrist. “We are coming to the end now, running out of time. For the world. For— for us. I believe I might undo it. My people might be salvaged. But I cannot find a way for us. I cannot find a way to save you.” “Then let me find it,” she said, creeping close enough to slide her arms around him. “It doesn’t exist,” he sobbed into her shoulder. “There is always another way.” “Come with me,” he pleaded. “What will happen here? What happens in this world?” She pulled his face up to meet hers, stared at him, iron and sorrow all at once. “They’re already dead. No matter what I do, they are running out of time. I cannot fight this. You cannot fight it. Let me save you, at least. Even if it’s only for a short while.” “I cannot abandon my friends, my clan— I belong in this world. You belong in it too. I should have stayed in Redcliffe. I should have died beside you—” “Then the price would have been the same. Worse. I would have lost you and gained nothing. If I stay, I will still lose you. And the world.” “Send another,” she begged, “let another take your place. Stay and help me. We will stand together. We’ll find a way.” “Then I would condemn another to death in my place—” “You said we were all condemned already,” she cried. “Send another. Haven’t I earned that? I know it is selfish. Let me ask this. Let me keep you. Haven’t you asked the same?” “Every day.” He choked on the words and fell silent again. “Today is not the last day. This is not the last breath.” She pressed a warm hand around the back of his skull, solid and gentle. “We have time. I have hope. Enough for us both. Trust in me, emma lath.” He hesitated. “It was never you that I doubted. But what you ask is im—” “Don’t,” she warned, placing her hand over his mouth. He bit off the word. “What would you have of me then? Do you wish me to lie to you?” She rubbed her forehead. She was still exhausted. And probably still hearing the lyrium. He’d failed. “I wish to stop arguing. You have some hope still. You’d never have told me these things if you didn’t. You would have continued to push me away. Some part of you knows that all is not lost.” “That does not mean it is a rational hope,” he said with a sad smile. “It is impractical. Foolish. Fantasy.” She leaned in to brush her nose past his. “When have I ever let reality get in the way? You thought no one could walk flesh and bone through the Fade and emerge again. And yet, I did. Twice. You told me no one could skip through time, and Dorian and I did. You expected me to die in Haven. That I could not accept the truth. About you, about the gods, about the orb. And I am still here beside you. What is one more impossible feat? I will find a way to release you from— whatever this is.” He shook his head. “It isn’t your duty to rescue me from my own folly. It is an unfair thing to ask.” “Solas, I want to help you. Not because I feel obligated, but because I love you.” She stared at him. “Love isn’t fair, no one should know that better than you and I.” He brushed his lips over hers, as light and aching as their first kiss. “Oh, my love, this is a good dream. But the Dreamer must always wake, in the end,” he said. “Not yet. Dawn is not upon us. Help me hold the sun back. Don’t wake.” “Not yet,” he agreed. But a vision of a scarlet morning filled with tainted song and a crown of bloody crystals erupting from her soft hair, filling her eyes with dark ruby madness, that was not so easily brushed aside.

[ahrorha]

Flame of Winter

Chapter 25

The forests of the Arbor Wilds were vast, wild and humid. It had been days since they had entered the Wilds in pursuit of Corypheus and his red templars. They were following the trail of burned down camps and traces of ambushes left by Leliana's people in an effort to slow Corypheus down. Finally, after seeing nothing but trees, strange birds and vast fields of mushrooms, there were signs that they were nearing their goal, the Temple of Mythal.

Riding her hart Eirlana was in awe, these forests were old, very old. To her left and right were busted statues, fallen pillars and crumbled walls hidden between the trees and plants. They marked the overgrown and broken road they currently followed. As they saw more and more remnants of elven architecture, she began to realise how vast this complex must have been. She glanced at Solas, who rode next to her. It was strange to think that he probably had once walked these very same roads. It must be hard for him to return here and see everything fallen into ruins.

It had been three weeks since they had left Skyhold, and although it had been hard on her to travel, it had also been good for her. The travelling gave her time to breath, to shake away the nightmares that had occupied her mind. Though the grief and the loss she felt was still raw, it wasn't longer crushing her.

The journey gave her time to think about the things that had happened. She also tried to put the events of the past in the right context. She knew only fragments of the life the Elvhen people had lived in the time of Elvhenan. They were whispers and snippets of memory in the Fade and the things she had learned of Ghi'lan, her teacher. Since her encounter with Falon'Din, her perspective had changed. What once were faint echoes of the past were becoming a reality. The rulers of a world, where magic had been endless, were still alive. They had dominated Thedas as immortal beings and had ruled with absolute power until they vanished.

She knew that the legends and whispers blamed Fen'Harel for the disappearance of the Elvhen Gods and the fall of the Elvhen empire. The stories said that Fen'Harel had locked the Gods away, and retreated to the Fade after his deed was done.

She had always wondered what really had happened back then, but the memories in the Fade were faint and hard to find. Often they were chaotic and fragmented, twisted by fear, anger and desperation. It didn't help either that she had been a slave most of her life. Back then, when she travelled with her Mater, there had always been the pressure of finding something useful to him. She hadn't been able to explore the Fade freely; with her being forcefully thrown in and pulled out of the Fade. It was like she had only seen slivers of a complex story. Echoes of destruction, and memories of desperate elves. Elves that were angry and distraught because their magic was failing or fearful as they suddenly were ageing. She heard their calls of help to their Gods and cursing Fen'Harel for what he had done.

Although she had spent days on end in the Fade as a child, she hadn't grasped her abilities back then. The Fade was her playground, a place where she was safe, a place free of hunger and pain. Only after she had met Ghi'lan this changed, he taught her about magic and how to survive and manipulate the Fade. He also told her stories of Elvhenan, she learned about the Elvhen people and the Evanuris that ruled over them. She learned that life had been far from ideal for the Elvhen people. Although there were magical marvels, wealth and prosperity, there were also wars, slavery and oppression. She would spend hours listening to him as a child, he was patient with her and would answer her questions. But whenever she would ask him what had happened to the elves, his answers were vague and cryptic. Now, she was older, she wondered if he couldn't or just wouldn't give her the answer.

Since Solas had freed her, she hadn't thought about discovering the ancient past. Being free for the first time she had spent her time in the Fade more casual. Not longer taking lyrium, she had explored more of the local memories that were easier to find. Although she had never forgotten her questions about Elvhenan, there had never been a rush to find the answer. She had always thought she had the time and that she would find the truth someday in the future, when she wouldn't constantly be travelling or fighting against a corrupted magister.

And now she had the feeling she was running out of time. Legends were turning into reality, and the past that had become twisted and tangled was slowly unravelling before her eyes.

The existence of Solas, Falon'Din and a third Evanuris had her wondering; who and what else had survived. What were their plans? And why were they resurfacing now?

The longer she thought about them, the more uneasy she felt about what the future would bring.

One thing she knew for sure, Solas was here for a reason. It hadn't been a coincidence he wanted to reach the conclave. Back then, he had been in a hurry.

Had he known Corypheus would be there?

Was he somehow involved?

Had he known about the foci?

What she did know was that the explosion at the conclave hadn't been part of his plan. At least that was what she hoped.

Looking at Solas, she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling. What if she was wrong?

 Solas noticed her staring at him. “Are you alright?”

“...Yes.”

“We should reach the base camp soon, and hopefully, you can rest there.”

Eirlana knew he was worried about her, and she felt guilty that she had those doubts about him. How could she think he would willingly kill all those people at the conclave? Shaking those dark thoughts away, she smiled at him. “I feel fine, don't worry.”

Solas reached out and caressed her arm. To his relief, she was recovering well even with them being on the road. Slowly she was returning to her former self, and although she wasn't as open towards him as before, she was beginning to talk more to him and the others. Still, he could feel a distance between them that hadn't been there before.

He could sense the sadness and guilt she was feeling in her grief; the fear left by her trauma. But, to his relief, they weren't overpowering her any longer. What he couldn't place was the periods of confusion and doubt she experienced, and he wondered what was causing them.

His hart snorted and reared its head as he rode to close to Varric riding in front of him. Backing off, he turned his eyes back on the road. He spotted Ryan riding a short distance in front of him, and he automatically narrowed his eyes.

It was ironic that Ryan had chosen him and Eirlana to accompany him with his growing distrust about their stability as mages. But on the other hand, he also distrusted Dorian, and Vivienne had probably some important political task to fulfil. Of course, Ryan's suspicions about them were utterly absurd, and a glaring proof how incompetent and wrong the humans views about magic was with their Chantry's and templar's.

He glared at the templar armor Ryan so proudly wore. The longer he worked with the man, the more he began to despise him and his decisions. His detest grew even deeper when he thought back at how Ryan had ordered Eirlana to come with them, totally ignoring the fact that she was still recovering. Solas knew the only reason Ryan wanted her here was because of her abilities. It was sickening to think that he may demand from her to use her skills for his own gain. Skills for which she was abused for in the past. Not to mention that Ryan would most likely trample all over the Temple of Mythal, that harboured secrets that shouldn't fall into human hands. Solas sighed in frustration as they drew closer to their goal. He felt reluctant to return here, too many of his memories were connected to these holy grounds. He had often visited Mythal here, but it was also the place where she was betrayed and murdered. A sense of bitterness, anger and sorrow filled him when he thought back at how he and some of Mythal's confidants had found her destroyed body and her Temple plundered. Now he was returning here again, to the place where he had failed to protect his dearest and closest friend.

 “You should stay behind.” Solas said while checking his equipment.

They had reached the Inquisitions main camp and were readying themselves for combat. In the distance, the sounds of battle could already be heard, where Cullen's troops had engaged the Venatori and red templars.

Eirlana fidgeted with her gloves. “I want to go. I am alright.”

He could see she was anxious. “No, you are not.” he brushed her cheek. “You are not yourself since Imshael captured you, and I don't expect you to be. You suffered a great loss and need rest and time to recover, not another battle.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears away that threatened to escape. Stepping forward, she leaned against him, and he took her softly into his arms. She knew she was worrying him and hurting him by being so distant. But the more she was accepting the fact that he was Fen'Harel, the more she feared to tell him that she knew.

“I am sorry.” she mumbled against his chest.

“Vhenan, don't be.” he pressed a kiss on her head. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I know.” she exhaled and looked up at him. “But you know where we are.”

His expression grew more serious. “I do.”

“Do you really want them to trample over of what is left from...” She hesitated for a fraction. “from what Mythal was to the People.”

Solas moved slightly backwards but kept his arms around her, he found her choice of words strange.

“You know how Ryan is, Solas.” she continued looking at him. “And I don't want him to foolishly stumble upon something he doesn't understand. If Corypheus is of any example, we need to keep powerful artefacts from falling into the wrong hands.”

He averted his eyes, knowing it was his fault that Corypheus had his orb. Taking a long breath, he sighed. “Alright, but stay close to me. You are not yet well enough to fight.”

“I promise.” she smiled slightly.

She didn't know what they would find at the Temple, but she knew it had a connection with Solas' past. She had noticed that he was unusually quiet about the upcoming mission. It was so unlike him, to refrain from giving his opinion. She had also noticed he was avoiding Ryan and Morrigan, and their speculations about Mythal, her Temple and the eluvian.

Determined to find out more, she grabbed her staff and walked towards Iron Bull, Cassandra and Morrigan. They all were waiting for Ryan to finish talking with, now Emperor, Gaspard. She heard Gaspard boasting that the battle was a worthy hunt, as if it was a joke that the soldiers risked their lives to carve them a path to Corypheus. It sickened her to hear them laughing. Didn't they care for the loss of life and the destruction they brought to this place? She wondered what they would do if elves still had lived here. Would they also hunt them like a horrid sport? Would they trample and crush on that what remained?

One thing was certain something powerful had survived until this age. There was magic tingling in the air, and it had steadily grown stronger as they came nearer the Temple. It was reacting to their presence, and judging by Morrigan's demeanour, she wasn't the only one who was aware of it.

“Let's go!” Ryan commanded and marched towards the sounds of battle.

 The forest was old and dense. The floor was covered with thick patches of fallen leaves, mouldy wood and mushrooms. Their feet sunk into the soft ground as they hurried along the twisted path, passing through huge hollowed out trees. Flocks of colourful birds flew up as they passed through the thick green underbrush. Along the way, they ran into small skirmishes between the Inquisitions forces and red templars. Soon they reached a river with remnants of elven architecture, but Eirlana had no time to study them, because a group of red templars was awaiting them.

Eirlana tried to keep herself out of the combat as she promised, but as a behemoth came lumbering from behind the ruins, she felt herself automatically casting an ice spell to freeze the creature. She was startled when the spell manifested itself almost instantly, freezing the creature solid.

What was happening to her?

Ever since she had awoken, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had somehow changed. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, but she felt somehow different. At first, she had thought it was because of her wounds, but she was now almost completely healed. What remained was that her body felt foreign to her.

She didn't know exactly what Falon'Din had done to her or why he had helped her at all. She doubted it was out of kindness or the goodness of his heart. Whatever the reason, he had cured her and changed her in the process.

Even if she ignored the feeling of her body, she knew her magic had most definitely changed. She always had a strong affinity with the Fade, but not like this. Her dreams had become more vivid, with the Fade responding quicker and more fluently than ever before. Even when awake, it felt like she was closely connected with the realm beyond the Veil. This connection fuelled her magic like nothing she had experienced before. It was like she had tapped into a new well of energy, and she didn't know its origin nor its limitations.

Now with her casting for the first time in combat again, the difference was even more apparent. Her magic manifested easier and with more power than before. It was almost like when she had cast her first spells outside of the Fade, when she didn't know how to control her power. She needed to be careful.

 The battle was swift and merciless, and soon the lifeless bodies of their enemies lay on the ground. To their surprise they found Grey Wardens among them, probably the last that remained from the mages Corypheus had enslaved at Adamant.

Why had Corypheus brought them out here, Eirlana wondered as they moved on.

“Over there, another red templar encampment.” Ryan proclaimed. “Mages take care of the archers on the wall. Iron Bull and Cassandra you are with me.”

He rushed forward, bashing his shield against a red templar knight, almost running him over. Iron Bull and Cassandra sprinted past him, engaging the red templar shadows before they would disappear into the shadows.

Staying behind Solas and Morrigan, Eirlana cringed when Ryan labelled them as mages. Why wasn't he using their names? Quickly she threw her barriers around everyone so Solas and Morrigan could focus on their offensive spells.

The battle was progressing straight forward when suddenly Solas turned around and pulled Eirlana roughly behind him. Stumbling, she looked over her shoulder where out of nowhere an elf materialised with his daggers drawn. Solas moved his staff quick and efficient, blocking the attack. The strange elf swiftly spun around trying to land a hit with his blades, but Solas moved fluently along, easily keeping himself and her out of harm's way. She had never seen him move like that before, he moved like he knew how the elf would attack.

More elves appeared, attacking the others. “Katara Bas! They fight like a hurricane!” Iron Bull grunted, and Ryan exclaimed “Maker, take you!” as everyone changed targets.

Summoning magical energy Solas blasted the elf backwards.

”Leave us. We are not your enemy.” he called out, but the elf didn't even flinch and jumped to the left to strike again.

Not having any other choice Solas summoned a stone fist to punch the elf backwards. This was the first time he had to fight against one of the People with only a simple staff as his weapon. He wished he could pick up a blade himself and deal with the attacker more swiftly, but that would betray too much of his past. Where in Thedas would a simple apostate have learned to wield a blade like a warlord?

As sudden as the elves had appeared, they disappeared again into the shadows.

“Everyone alright?” Ryan asked wiping sweat from his brow.

“It seems the Temple of Mythal is not abandoned after all.” Morrigan remarked. “It is likely that these creatures are the reason few return from the Arbor Wilds.”

Ryan shouldered his shield. “Who were they? They seem... odd.”

“Indeed. Two things are possible.” Morrigan explained. “One, this is a group of Dalish separated from their brethren. Cultists. Fanatic in their desire to keep humans away. Two, these are elves descended from the ancients, having resided here since before the fall of Arlathan. The second appears unlikely, but if true, the implications are astounding.”

“Whatever is the case we can't let them stop us from getting to Corypheus.” Ryan grunted and walked further down the path.

Looking at one of the fallen elves Eirlana hesitated for a moment. The elf's features were sharp, and his skin tone wasn't like any she had ever seen, pale almost greenish in colour. Like the elf hadn't seen sunlight in ages. His vallaslin was greenish golden and more intricate then the markings the Dalish wore. They were clad in elegant armor, forged from an unknown metal that shimmered golden in the sunlight.

No, Eirlana thought, these are no descendants. There was only one place she had seen such vallaslin and such armor before, and that was in the Fade. These were ancient elves, awakened from uthenera by their presence.

 They rushed forward, past remnants of bridges and outer buildings that were decorated with broken murals and overgrown statues. It was strange Eirlana thought, for being a place of worship of Mythal there were a lot of statues representing the other Evanuris. Whatever this place once was, it was connected to all of them.

After more encounters with red templars, they finally reached the Temple. Eirlana faltered when she saw the four giant Fen'Harel statues, that stood at the Temple's entrance. They had a place of honour, guarding the gates of Mythal's sanctuary. Although she had seen statues of Fen'Harel at other temples before, it had been nothing like this. She wondered what his connection with Mythal was. Frustrated that she didn't know more, she hoped, once they had dealt with Corypheus, she would get the opportunity to dream here and explore the Fade.

Hurrying along a long archway, they heard fighting up ahead. Ryan signalled for them to slow down, and they carefully sneaked onto a platform that was littered by red templar and Venatori corpses. To their left and right, the outer walls of the Temple fanned out encircling a big lake. A good distance from its shore, the water suddenly plummeted into the depths, creating a giant circular waterfall. In its centre, the Temple of Mythal arose.

Below them, the ground was covered with more corpses of Venatori and elves.

A group of elves, guarding the bridge leading to the Temple, was facing Corypheus. A woman stood at Corypheus' side with his remaining troops, a couple of Grey Wardens were among them.

“Na melana sur, Banallen!” the leader of the elves called out.

“The wretch mocks you, Master.” the woman sneered.

Corypheus paced forward. “These are but remnants. They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows.”

As he stepped forward, two statues of Mythal standing next to the bridge began to glow with magical energy. Corypheus hesitated for a moment but resumed his path. “Be honoured! Witness death at the hands of a new god!”

Powerful magic shot out from the statues, engulfing Corypheus. To the horror of the elves, he kept moving and grabbed the leader by his throat. It appeared the magic wasn't affecting Corypheus at all. Then his flesh began to melt and drip to the ground. It was consuming him and disintegrating his body. The magical energy kept building power until it suddenly exploded, throwing back a part of Corypheus' troops as well as the elven guardians, killing them. The light of the explosion blinded Ryan and the others. As the smoke cleared, they saw the woman and the remaining troops crossing the bridge and disappearing into the Temple.

 On their guard, they all moved towards the bridge, carefully stepping through the carnage the explosion had left behind.

“Did Corypheus just die?” Ryan asked in disbelief, looking around, searching for any trace left of him.

Eirlana felt uneasy, something wasn't right. Corypheus followers weren't acting like their leader had just died. Suddenly she felt a foul energy gathering behind her. Whirling around, she gasped as one of the corpses of the Grey Wardens started to move. It grunted and spasmed, blackened blood spew from its mouth like a geyser. They all stepped back when the body began to twist and turn black. All of a sudden new arms shot out from the blackened mass, and Corypheus' body slowly rose.

“It cannot be!” Morrigan exclaimed in disbelief.

“Across the bridge. Now!” Ryan yelled, and they all ran.

Glancing behind her Eirlana saw the blackened figure of Corypheus rose and watching them. A familiar roar sounded above them. Corypheus' dragon plunged out of the sky, firing its corrupting fire breath. They all ran as fast as they could through the open doors of the Temple and quickly pushed them shut, hoping it would give them some protection against the beast. They made it just in time, and the doors magically sealed themselves, locking out Corypheus and his dragon. For the time being, they were safe.

 After the constant battle, the courtyard of the Temple lay strangely peaceful before them. The area was totally overgrown and adorned with several statues of Mythal. Looking around Eirlana also spotted a couple of wolven statues, Fen'Harel was even represented here. What had been their relationship, she wondered again.

There were no signs of the Venatori, apart from a few corpses, nor of the guardians of the Temple. Ryan ran across the square, up the stairs, towards the next doors leading deeper into the Temple, but they were magically sealed shut. Frustrated, he kicked against them.

Abruptly he turned towards Morrigan. “You said Corypheus wanted an eluvian, but he talked about the 'Well of Sorrows.' What is it?”

Morrigan scratched her head. “I am uncertain of what he was speaking.”

“Of course you are.” Ryan snapped. “Are they the same? Is eluvian another name for it?”

“No, it seems an eluvian is not the prize Corypheus seeks.” Morrigan snapped back. “But whatever this Well is, Corypheus is after it, and thus you must keep it from his grasp.”

“What I want to know is how Corypheus came back to life.” Ryan yelled. “We saw him die.”

“It looks like his life force was passed on to the Grey Warden.” Morrigan calmed herself. “Perhaps he possesses the same ability as an Archdemon. Maybe the Grey Wardens knew this, and that's why they locked him away.”

“Then, Corypheus cannot die.” Solas murmured in thought. “Destroy his body, and he will assume another.”

During their discussion, Eirlana sat down on the stairs, her legs were shaking and hurting from the running they had done. Noticing her discomfort, Solas squatted down and tried to soothe her with pulses of healing magic.

“We need to find a way to stop Corypheus once we're done here.” Ryan huffed, looking around for a way forward. “This Mythal, what do you know about her Morrigan?”

“The accounts of Mythal are very old and varied, I don't know if she truly existed. It could be she was once a powerful elf or another being of immense power, if she was ever a single entity. The accounts of her are more stories than facts. I question her supposed divinity, however. One need not to be a god to have value.”

“What are those stories of her?”

“In most stories, Mythal rights wrongs while exercising motherly kindness. 'Let fly your voice to Mythal, deliverer of justice, protector of sun and earth alike.' Other paint her as dark, vengeful. 'Pray to Mythal, and she would smite your enemies, leaving them in agony.'”

“More Dalish tales, I assume.” Solas turned towards Morrigan, Eirlana could tell he was annoyed. “For all your 'knowledge,' Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history. The wise do not mistake one for the other.”

“Pray tell, what does our elven 'expert' know about this?” Morrigan snarled.

“The oldest accounts say Mythal was both of these, and neither. She was the Mother, protective and fierce. That is all I will say. This is not a place to stir up old stories.”

“Whatever the truth,” Morrigan turned her attention back to Ryan. “all accounts of Mythal end the same: exiled to the Beyond with her brethren.”

“What do you mean, exiled?”

“Tricked by the Dread Wolf, as all the elven gods were said to be, trapped in a land beyond the Fade. Many Dalish believe this is why the elves fell from grace, and their gods did not save them. Or perhaps they were simply rulers slain by Tevinter. Who can say?”

Eirlana carefully observed Solas and how his eyes reflected a deep sorrow. Whatever had happened to Mythal, it had touched him deeply.

“Let's find a way through these doors,” Ryan said.

“That altar may hold more information.” Morrigan suggested, pointing towards a couple of stones, standing upright in the centre of an elevated part of the courtyard.

 They all approached the altar. Ryan, who stepped on the elevation first jumped immediately back as the tile he stepped on, began to glow.

“It appears the temple's magics are still strong.” Morrigan moved next to him.

Getting more irritated, Ryan pointed towards the engraved stones. “That script is that elven? Does it say anything about this Well of Sorrows?”

“Atish'all Vir Abelasan.” Solas read out loud. “It means 'enter the path of the Well of Sorrows.'”

Morrigan huffed, clearly annoyed that Solas was taking the credit for translating the elven script. “There is something about knowledge. Respectful or pure. Shiven, shivennen. It is all I can translate. That it mentions, the Well is a good omen.”

“Vague translations of knowledge and sorrow. This doesn't help us at all.” Ryan grumbled.

“It is likely supplicants to Mythal would have paid some form of respect and obeisance first before they were granted permission to enter the temple.”

During their discussion, Eirlana looked around. She could feel the Veil was thin here, and the air was humming with the same magic she felt earlier. Looking next to the altar, she saw a shimmer. Something was moving along the tiles, but it was very faint like a wisp of smoke. Puzzled at to what it was, she concentrated on it.

Suddenly she connected with a spirit living here in this part of the Fade. In shock, she staggered slightly, never before she had been able to connect with a spirit in this manner without being asleep or in a trance. The spirit seemed excited by her presence and began to share the past. As she watched the image became clearer. She could see shadows of thousand and thousands of elves that had walked this path before them. They were honouring Mythal, appeasing her, praying for her favour, her wrath and forgiveness.

It was both fascinating and terrifying. How was this possible without her entering the Fade? The images were flickering as she tried to keep connected with the spirit, but it was difficult. As before, her control over her magic, her flow of mana fluctuated and as sudden as the images had appeared, they vanished again.

Blinking her eyes, she spoke up. “It's a dance.”

 Everyone's attention turned towards her.

“A dance?” Morrigan huffed mockingly, raising her eyebrows sceptically.

“Will that open the door?” Ryan asked.

“Maybe. It was a ritual performed here by the Elvhen. I will try it.” Carefully she stepped on the first tile that began to glow again.

“A ritual to appease elven gods? Long-dead or no, I don't like it.” Cassandra protested.

“We have no other choice.” Ryan grumbled. “The Maker will forgive us.”

Solas watched Eirlana as she moved over the tiles, her body swaying to the rhythm of an unheard tune.

How often had he attended the ritual? How often had he stood at Mythal's side, watching the faithful, judging them as to who was worthy of being heard? It chilled him to the bone, to see her perform the same steps. With each step she took, he felt like she was taking a step back in time, a step closer to the truth.

He wanted to intervene and stop her, stop her from entangling herself deeper into the web he had created, a web he himself was captured in. It was his own fault, his own weakness that allowed her to come this close, he had allowed her to become part of him.

Standing here where Mythal had fallen, he felt closer than ever to the path he had chosen, the Din'Anshiral. He knew only death would await him at the end. It felt like with each step she took, she was following him on that path, and she didn't deserve that fate. She deserved to be free. Free from the secrets he carried, free from his bloody duty.

The optimism and hope he felt not so long ago had vanished. It had been a dream, a fleeting moment of happiness he would be forever grateful for. But the dream had shattered before it began. He lowered his eyes and clenched his jaw, he needed to harden himself and face his inescapable faith. A faith he had to face alone.

Determined Solas watched Eirlana stepping on the last tile, finishing the ritual. With a whooshing sound, the ancient magical seals activated, unlocking the doors behind them.

With a heavy heart, he followed the others, knowing that this day wouldn't end well. For he knew one thing, if the Sentinels were still guarding this place, the Well of Sorrows was still intact, and with it the Will of Mythal.

 They entered the inner hall, it was also overgrown with trees and plants. Arches to the left and right let to other chambers of the Temple. Up a set of stairs stood the woman with a group of Venatori. They were just in time to witness the group of mages blast a hole into the floor, creating an opening to the lower parts of the Temple.

“Don't let them pass!” The woman yelled before jumping down the hole. Out of all directions, Venatori emerged from behind the columns and trees. They were surrounded.

“There is no end to these bastards.” Iron Bull growled and smashed his warhammer into the first warrior that came rushing towards them. Ryan and Cassandra bashed their shields, drawing attention to themselves. Solas automatically stepped in front of Eirlana, so he could shield her better from the combat.

Although they had faced the Venatori often, the overgrown vegetation in the hall made the battle treacherous. The trees provided excellent cover for the archers and mages, and the gnarled roots and broken up tiles made the ground uneven. Ryan cursed loudly several times when he almost lost his footing.

Cutting down the last mage, Ryan yelled. “Let's go! If we hurry, we might catch them.” and ran up the stairs towards the hole that still smoked from the explosion.

“Hold! A moment.” Morrigan hurried and blocked his path. “While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination.” she pointed towards a closed door, flanked by four Mythal statues, at the other end of the hall. “We should walk the petitioner's path, as before.”

“You forget that army fighting for us out there?” Iron Bull growled disapproving. “The longer we play around, the more Inquisition soldiers die. There's a hole – Jump in.”

“I agree. Performing even more heathen rituals. I'm against it.” Cassandra proclaimed.

“We are on ancient grounds.” Solas countered. “It deserves our respect.”

“Yes, we should respect this Temple. I should be able to figure out the rituals quickly.” Eirlana agreed with him.

“Also we may not be able to find the Well of Sorrows unprepared.” Morrigan continued.

“Why not?” Ryan crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“I read more in the first chamber than I revealed. It said a great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows... but at a terrible price.”

“What did it say exactly?” Ryan looked displeased at her.

“Like most elven writing, it was insufferably vague. The term I deciphered was 'Halam'shivanas' – 'the sweet sacrifice of duty.' It implies the loss of something personal for duty's sake. Yet for those who served at this temple, a worthwhile trade. I am willing to pay the cost to preserve the Well.”

“Why didn't you say something earlier?”

“I hoped to find more information first.”

“And gain what?” he interrupted her.

“More relevant information about the Well, there may be a way to preserve it. The rituals may point to the way.”

“We already have lost too much time with this nonsense.” Ryan stepped passed her and jumped down.

 They swiftly moved through the cellars of the Temple, the few Venatori that tried to stop them hardly slowed them down. That was until their path was blocked by a collapsed passage. It had just been brought down, the rubble was still on fire, and the dust hadn't even settled yet. Ryan cursed loudly. There was no way for them to clear the path quickly and continue their pursuit.

“Guess we go back up again.” Iron Bull remarked, pointing to some stairs leading back to the upper levels.

The stairs led them into a grand vestibule, illuminated by lanterns and fire bowls. The light shimmered off the flaky golden paint covering the walls. Golden decorative fencing glittered at the tops of the arches that surrounded the chamber, that was decorated with several mosaics and murals.

“What was this room used for...?” Morrigan wondered aloud.

Cautiously they entered. As they reached the centre, elves emerged from the shadows surrounding them with their bows drawn.

“Venavis.” a hooded elf stepped onto a raised balcony in front of them. He wore the same sculpted armour as the other ancient elves and Eirlana only noticed now how silently it moved. He had the same pale complexion, as well as an intricate golden-green vallaslin of Mythal.

The hooded elf crossed his arms and looked down upon them. “You... are unlike the other invaders. You stumble down our paths at the side of one of our own. You bear the mark of magic which is … familiar. How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

Eirlana's heart skipped a beat when he mentioned Solas, but no one else of her companions reacted to his remark. Did the elf know Solas? She frowned when he described the mark as familiar. How could he recognize it? Corypheus had claimed he had forged the mark using the foci he possessed. It had transferred to Ryan after he touched the orb at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. But if this ancient elf recognized it, it meant the mark had always been part of the orb. She glanced at Solas. If Solas' goal to reach the conclave had been the foci, had he also been after the mark? She knew he had control over it and that it interacted with the Veil like it was a key. So what had Solas planned to do with it?

 Ryan stepped forward, glaring at the elf. “I won't be interrogated at sword point. Declare yourself!”

The elf narrowed his eyes. “I am called Abelas. We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the vir'abelasan.”

“ 'The Place of the Way of Sorrows', he speaks of the Well!” Morrigan whispered to Ryan.

“It is not for you. It is not for any of you.” Abelas announced.

Eirlana sighed, for all the knowledge and expertise Morrigan claimed to have about elves and their history, she had forgotten that elven hearing was far better than that of humans. Abelas clearly had heard her and confirmed his suspicion why they were intruding. She watched the ancient elf that stared sternly at them. Abelas... Sorrow. She wondered what did he mourn to have been given that name. Did he mourn the demise of the Elvhen people? Or did his name have another origin?

“I am Inquisitor Trevelyan, Chosen of Andraste!” Ryan said. “I command you to let us through! I don't know what weird elven cult this is, but I need to reach this Well. Stand aside!”

Abelas studied him for a moment. “Your title means nothing to us. Our duty is clear. The vir'abelasan shall not be usurped... even if I must destroy it. Masal Din'an!” He turned and ran deeper into the Temple.

“No!” Morrigan exclaimed. With the blink of an eye, she turned into a crow and flew after Abelas.

“Morrigan!” Ryan yelled, but it is too late, she was already gone.

A hail of arrows was released as the remaining Sentinels attacked them. Immediately, Ryan, Cassandra and Iron Bull went into the offence, protected by Solas' barriers.

Shocked by how quick the situation escalated Eirlana wasn't as fast. Every part of her being rebelled against this course of action. Soon though she had no other choice but to defend herself. Where she could, she quelled her magic, hoping that some of the Sentinels would fall unconscious and survive this day.

Tears welled up in her eyes when the battle was over. Why hadn't Ryan talked to them normally? These elves had done nothing, they were only protecting their home.

Solas turned to Ryan, he too was upset. “This was unnecessary. A pointless waste of life.”

Ryan crossed his arms. “I didn't make them attack, Solas. They're the ones clinging to their pointless duty.”

“Pointless, is it?” Solas sneered. “This is their land, not yours.”

“We need to stop Corypheus.” Ryan snapped.

“Does that justify murder?” Eirlana asked, her voice raised and heavy with emotion. “They are only protecting their home. We could have explained it to them.”

“Enough! You both followed me here!”

Solas sighed quietly. “Yes, so we did.” but Eirlana didn't think Ryan heard him, as he continued to yell at them.

“I am the leader! And we have a mission to fulfil. You both know what's at stake. We need to stop Corypheus. I have no time for your or their feelings. Now shut up and follow me!”

Iron Bull grunted. “Apparently humans aren't the only stubborn fools on this continent.”

 Searching the vestibule, they discovered an open door. Along twisted passages and stairs, they went deeper into the Temple. In their hurry, they didn't take the time to look around. Eirlana could only glance at the faded splendour they encountered everywhere. There were more statues of Mythal, grand mosaics and faded murals. Arches were decorated with golden filigree and decorative fences. Wherever she looked, there was a golden surface. Se had never seen so much gold in her life, and she could only imagine how in the past this Temple must have basked in a permanent glow.

She gasped when they passed the first massive golden statues of Fen'Harel, but as they found even more of them deeper in the Temple, she wondered just how important his connection was to Mythal. He must have had a crucial task to be represented this often. How could it be that such a connection had been forgotten through the ages? Nothing in elven history or legends she knew off ever mentioned their bond. She promised herself that when this was over, she would look for more information in the Fade. Now she knew what to look for it would be easier to find it.

They came into another chamber and encountered a group of Venatori and Sentinels engaged in battle. Both Ryan and Cassandra rushed immediately into the fight, followed closely by Iron Bull. Reluctantly Eirlana joined them, knowing this was now their only way to stop Corypheus. But it felt wrong to fight the Sentinels, and she tried just to knock them out whenever she got an opportunity.

“This place is like a maze.” Ryan complained when the next door revealed another corridor leading into a different direction. “Keep your guard up. We face two opponents now, and these Sentinels will know every turn of this place.”

“I wonder whose fault that is.” Solas murmured.

Ryan glared at him but didn't say anything further.

Continuing their path, Eirlana pondered how things would have gone differently if they had completed the ritual and paid their respect to this place. If only Ryan had been civil with Abelas. She glanced at Solas, who had a frown on his face; it was comforting to know she wasn't the only one who was angry at the situation.

 Another group of Venatori and Sentinels attacked them. Solas twisted around when an assassin struck from the shadows. Though he kept himself and Eirlana safe, he had a hard time concentrating on the battle. His mind kept wandering to a different time. He knew these halls by heart, and with each turn they took, he was confronted by memories of his past.

He remembered how he often talked with Mythal. How they could spend hours in heated discussions. How they smirked together at his mischief, or he would simply vent his frustrations. With melancholy, he glanced at a pile of offerings that lay at the foot of one of his statues, remembering the fierce argument they had about them. Back then, he had demanded the practice to be stopped. He had argued that he wasn't a god and that it wasn't right that he and the others were worshipped as such.

He wondered if things would have gone differently if he hadn't started to rise up against the other Evanuris. Would Mythal still be alive? Or had his uprising only accelerated the inevitable? He knew that the Evanuris lust for absolute power and domination had been insatiable, and were destabilizing the world. But had his actions forced them to move against Mythal. Or would they have killed her regardlessly?

And now he himself had returned as an invader.

Coming here, Solas had expected to be confronted by the memories of his past. He even had considered the possibility that they would encounter some of the People. Elvhen like himself that had survived the ages in uthenera. What he hadn't expected was to meet Abelas. He had held his breath when he recognised him, and for a moment, he had been afraid that Abelas would call him out. Although in hindsight, it wasn't surprising that Abelas all but ignored him. He had always been one of the most loyal and the most stubborn of Mythal's servants. He didn't live for anything else but his duty, even when there were other paths to follow, other places to go. Places where he and his followers would be welcomed, places where others were gathering and preparing. But Ryan's hostility had forced Abelas' hand, and he would do anything to protect the vir'abelasan.

 “There the Well of Sorrows!” Ryan pointed as they stepped out onto a balcony overseeing a garden.

Relieved they finally found it, Cassandra exhaled. “Andraste guide us.”

“So Mythal endures.” Solas murmured.

The inner sanctum of the Temple must once have been a beautiful, well-kept garden. It was still beautiful, but now it was wild and overgrown, nature clearly had taken over. Trees and other plants grew everywhere and had destroyed parts of the walls and paths. Piles of rubble lay here and there, and everything was covered in layers of algae and moss. A waterway flowed through the garden, plunging down into a deep fissure at the garden's centre, beyond it a mass of rocks arose. On its top, they could see a body of water reflecting the sunlight.

In the garden below them, a group of Venatori was brutally cutting down the last of the Sentinels.

Quickly they ran down the stairs. Anger and sorrow filled Eirlana as she witnessed one of the Venatori warriors standing on one of the Elvhen, drowning him cruelly in the water. She was too late to stop it.

How could they do this? How could any of this happen? The Inquisition was supposed to fight Corypheus, to save and protect the world and its people from him. So why weren't they saving these Elvhen? Why were they fighting against them?

She hadn't always agreed with Ryan's decisions, but the Inquisition's direction had always been to stop Corypheus and the damage he had caused. Now she was revolted that Ryan's actions were forcing her to fight against these Elvhen. And what was maybe even more horrifying was that most of the people she considered her friends were agreeing with him.

 “Stand aside, Inquisitor!” the woman leading the Venatori addressed Ryan.

“And you are?”

“I'm called Calpernia. But when I partake of the Well, names will be meaningless. Leave. This is not your time.”

The Venatori around her slowly spread out, ready to attack them at any moment.

“Take one step toward that Well, and I'll finish you.” Ryan threatened her.

“You serve your people – you have one last chance to save them.” she stared at the Well longingly. “The Well of Sorrows overflows with knowledge, power abandoned by those elves worshipped as gods. To walk the Fade without the Anchor – that is what the Well of Sorrows will give Corypheus.”

Ryan smirked. “So I will take that power before him, as I did with the templars and the Grey Wardens.”

“Simple fool.” she shook her head. “I knew you would take the Well for yourself. To ransack its wisdom and try to defeat Corypheus. This will be the end, Inquisitor. You should never have come here.” Two rage demons appeared beside her. “Venatori kill them!”

 Bleeding severely from a sword wound, Calpernia staggered, holding her stomach. The dead bodies of her men lay around her, and her demons had turned into ash. Angry, she glared at Ryan, who strode menacingly towards her, his sword ready for the killing blow. Gritting her teeth, she teleported away.

“If I fall, it will not be by your hand.” she spat and jumped down the fissure to her death.

With the battle over Eirlana checked everybody for any injuries. There were some cuts and bruises, but Cassandra seemed to be the worst. She was slightly bent over, struggling to take a proper breath. Earlier she had taken a blow from a maul to her chest, and Eirlana suspected she had several broken ribs.

“Hold still.” she stepped towards her and let her magic flow, repairing the damage.

In the meanwhile, Ryan and Iron Bull tried to figure out how to cross the chasm and reach the Well.

Suddenly Abelas appeared, magic erupted from him, and a stony path arose out of thin air, leading over the chasm and up to the Well of Sorrows. Leaping from rock to rock he ran up the path, with great agility and speed. Morrigan, still a crow, chased him in close pursuit.

“Quickly after him!” Ryan ran after them. He was closely followed by Iron Bull and Cassandra, who had pushed Eirlana out of the way.

Before Abelas could reach the Well Morrigan overtook him and re-materialised. His path blocked Abelas turned, only to see Ryan behind him.

“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor.” Morrigan started “The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows.”

Seeing that he was outnumbered, Abelas stepped back, so he could face both Ryan and Morrigan. “So the sanctum is despoiled at last.”

“You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance.” Morrigan spoke sharply.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers!” Abelas glared at them. “Better it to be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving!”

“Fool!” Morrigan snapped. “You'd let your people's legacy rot in the shadows!”

“This Well is clearly powerful.” Ryan joined in. “If it will help to stop Corypheus, we will take it!”

“I care nothing for your petty conflicts, shemlen.” Abelas sneered.

“You will care, once Corypheus arrives.” Ryan threatened. “We can't afford to waste this power.”

Abelas shook his head. “Do you even know what you demand?” He gazed at the Well. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on... through this. All that we were. All that we knew. It would be lost forever.”

Eirlana's heart sank listening to him, he sounded so sad, so filled with sorrow. It was the embodiment of the name he carried.

“There are other places, friend.” Solas spoke up. “Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

Abelas looked at Solas. “Elvhen such as you?” there was a severity in his voice Eirlana couldn't place.

“Yes. Such as I.” Solas answered calmly.

Abelas shook his head and turned back towards the Well. “Our duty is all that remains. Those who drank from the vir'abelasan paid a great price, bound to the service of Mythal for eternity.”

“The era of the elves is long gone.” Ryan stepped forward. “Whatever this cult is, it needs to end. Only the Maker is the one true god. Whatever this Mythal was, you shouldn't serve her.”

“Who she is... to you... it shall make no difference.” With a hand gesture, Abelas blasted them back with a powerful surge of magic.

Struggling to her feet, Eirlana watched as he gathered more magical energy. The waters of the Well of Sorrows began to churn and glow. He was going to destroy it.

All of a sudden Morrigan stood behind him, a knife in her hand.

“No!” Eirlana exclaimed, but it was too late. Morrigan stabbed Abelas in the back.

Crumbling to the ground, he sighed, “Mythal sulevin.” and then everything was quiet.

 “Good work, Morrigan.” Ryan said, stepping over Abelas' body. Together they approached the Well. They were joined by Cassandra and Iron Bull, who looked more suspiciously at the still waters. Behind their backs, Eirlana quickly knelled beside Abelas. She glanced briefly at the others before she pressed her hands on Abelas' body.

When Solas saw the soft glow of her healing magic, he knew she was attempting to save his life. Although he had often disagreed and argued with the man in the past, he didn't deserve this fate. Determined to buy her some time, he set his eyes on Ryan. He was itching to pick a fight with him. An easy task after today's events.

“He was a stubborn fool.” Morrigan complained aloud.

Quickly Solas stepped in front of her and Ryan. “He was defending all that was left of what once was. He had every right to stop us.”

“And let him happily bury us in the process?” she snapped back at him.

'Good.' Solas thought. All eyes were on him. “We came here to stop Corypheus from gaining the Well. Destroying it would have achieved that goal.”

“This could help us destroy Corypheus!” Ryan joined in.

Solas suppressed a smirk, it was too easy to bait this man. “We don't know that! Knowledge has many different forms, and we know too little of this Well. Do you even know how to use it? Because we just killed the last one who could have told us.”

“He was going to destroy it! I had to save the Well.” Morrigan's eyes burned with anger.

“You more likely want the Well for your own ends.”

“What would you know of my 'ends', elf?”

“You are a glutton, drooling at the sight of a feast. You cannot be trusted.”

Eirlana worked fast, she could still feel a faint and uneven pulse. Concentrating on the stab wound, she let her magic do the work, repairing what she could. It wasn't perfect, she couldn't see nor clean the injury, but at least he would live.

Abelas took a sharp breath, his eyes opened briefly and stared at her. Before he could say something, Eirlana put a sleep spell on him. “Ir abelas.” she whispered.

With luck, those who had survived this day would find him. She hoped that he would find one of the places Solas had suggested, and live a life that wasn't filled by sorrow.

The others were still arguing when she carefully stepped away from Abelas. Listening to the discussion, she moved silently farther to the right, closer to the Well. She noticed it was emitting a strange magical aura.

 “Enough!” Ryan cut Solas off. “I, for one, am glad Morrigan stopped him from destroying it.”

Morrigan smirked, clearly pleased he was on her side. With the argument silenced, she pointed across the Well to the big mirror that stood there. “You'll also notice the intact eluvian.” she sighed. “I was correct on that count, at least.”

There were more eluvians around the Well, but they were all shattered.

“Can Corypheus still use it to reach the Fade?”

“You recall I said each eluvian required a key? The Well is the key. When we take its power, we will take possession of Mythal's last eluvian. It will be no more use to Corypheus than glass.”

For a moment she gazed at the Well. “I did not expect the Well to feel so... hungry.”

Morrigan was right Eirlana thought, it felt hungry. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the magic resting within the water. The magic was old and powerful, and it had a hunger, a hunger for knowledge, but there was more. Other emotions were bound to this magic, there was a strong sense of devotion, servitude, submission and obedience. The longer she fixated her mind on the magic, the stronger the sense of servitude became.

“A powerful compulsion lies upon the Well.” she said.

“What?” Ryan asked. He and the others looked at her.

“It doesn't just contain the knowledge from the priests of Mythal. It is their combined will.”

“And how would you know such a thing?” Morrigan crossed her arms, looking once again sceptical at her.

“Abelas told us. Listen to it... Can't you feel it? It's a geas.”

“That... would match the legends,” Morrigan thought out loud. “but it does not tell us what the geas entails. If it means to be bound to the will of a dead god? It seems an empty warning.” she shook her head. “I do not fear it.” She turned to Ryan. “Inquisitor I am willing to pay the price the Well demands and take the risk. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service. Let me drink, Inquisitor.”

Ryan grabbed his chin as he thought. “Any thoughts?” he asked Cassandra.

“If it is truly between you and her... then let her take the risk. Maker, help us all.”

He nodded, and Morrigan stepped into the water. At first, she was a little apprehensive, but soon she waded to the centre of the Well with confidence.

The water reacted to her presence, glowing softly; wisps of smoke and sparks of magic escaped from the surface and swirled around her. Reaching the centre, Morrigan knelt down with a smile on her lips, emerging herself in the water. In a flash, the water exploded with a powerful magical discharge and disappeared. Morrigan lay unconscious on her back in the, now, dry Well.

“Morrigan. Are you all right?” Ryan hastened to her side.

She opened her eyes and stumbled to her feet, looking confused. “Ellasin selah! Vissan... vissanalla...” She shook her head to clear it. “I... I am intact. There is much to sift through... but now we can.”

She fell silent when suddenly dark blue-grey smoke arose around them from the bottom of the Well charged with blue sparks of magic. Whispering voices filled the air. They all looked around what was happening.

“Boss, over there!” Bull pointed in the distance.

Where they had entered the garden, a figure was coming through the doors, it was Corypheus. He spotted them and cried out in rage. They watched as he took to the air, flying towards them.

“The eluvian!” Morrigan yelled and activated it.

“Through the mirror!” Ryan told them, and they all ran.

Behind their backs, a column of water arose, but they had no time to watch what was happening as they jumped through the eluvian.

Emerging from the other side Morrigan, Cassandra and Iron Bull stumbled and fell to the ground. Solas managed to stay on his feet and quickly turned, catching Eirlana in his arms.

Stunned Eirlana looked around, they were back at Skyhold. Half expecting Corypheus following them, she twisted around, but Ryan was the last one to emerge from the eluvian.

With them all safe, Morrigan deactivated the mirror, and for a moment, they all looked at each other speechless.

Ryan was the first to break the silence. “Well, I need to send some birds to let them know we are back at Skyhold. We need to get our soldiers back here. Morrigan, try to find anything useful that can help us against Corypheus.” he walked into the garden, surprising several Sisters with his return.

“Of course Inquisitor.” Morrigan inclined her head.