#and of course they are going to throw even more inquisitors at us and baddies

[thedasreacting-blog]

So how about DA:I companions and advisors react to a blood mage Inquisitor? (maybe romanced reactions too?) thank you

Thank you for the request, dear anon! I’m sorry this took a bit longer; I wanted to consider each reaction carefully before answering. I hope I did them all justice. Enjoy! ^-^

~Hakkon

Cassandra: When the only survivor of the explosion at the Conclave turns out to be a mage– and a blood mage, at that– it takes a great effort for Cassandra not to antagonize them. She is cautious, to say the least; until the Inquisitor manages to gain her trust, they are on thin ice. A Seeker’s job is to protect, and should they become a danger to innocent people, she will do what must be done– Herald or no Herald.

Cassandra, if romanced: Her lover turns Cassandra’s world upside down in more ways than one. The Inquisitor is everything the Chantry warns about, and yet here they are: helping people, saving lives, mending a broken world by making use of– yes, blood magic. So what if they’re a blood mage? Cassandra is not unreasonable. She can change her opinion based on new information. What she cannot do is stop worrying for her lover’s safety as her heart skips a beat whenever blood is spilled in battle.

Solas: Blood magic is magic like any other, and a most effective tool when properly used. He has said it before, and he will say it time and again when everyone else seems to condemn the Inquisitor for their choices. Solas is curious to find out how they have learned the skill, and always happy to lend his expertise. It is good to have someone who is not indoctrinated by the Chantry around.

Solas, if romanced: He is proud of his vhenan for standing up to a world that would see them slip up and fail. He knows they are more than capable of taking care of themselves, and he does not insult them by offering perfunctory warnings about the dangers of demonic possession. The only grievance Solas nurses is about the difficulties a blood mage faces when attempting to enter the Fade. But even so, he helps the Inquisitor tune their magic to make it easier for the two of them to meet in the realm of dreams.

Vivienne: “A fool,” she calls them. “Irresponsible, weak, and ignorant.” She has no reason to hide her disapproval. Why would she? The situation is crystal clear for Vivienne, and she is not interested in hearing the Inquisitor’s excuses. She has heard it all before. More than anything, Vivienne finds it pitiful. The Inquisitor has the chance to set a positive example as a mage, but they are throwing it all away by resorting to blood magic. Alas. She can only hope that they will find it in themselves to keep it hidden, and not flaunt it in everyone’s face as if it is something to be proud of.

Sera: Wait, this is a joke, right? A bad joke. Inky can’t be a blood mage. That’s just frigging daft! They’re the Herald of Andraste and Andraste hates blood mages. It doesn’t make sense, but they’re here anyway and they help the little people and they stop the baddies, so Sera will make sense of it: Inky is not blood magic; Inky uses blood magic. It’s different, yeah? Just need to keep that demon shite at bay. Can’t stop Cory-friggy if you’re possessed.

Sera, if romanced: Sera isn’t picky with her lovers. She’ll take whoever is right and feels right, and few things are actual deal breakers. Demons and blood magic and Fade rubbish are among them. So here’s the dilemma: Inky feels right, but Inky is a blood mage. And they’re so frigging– normal. Shouldn’t they be scary, with an army of demons following them around, all “Muahahaha!” and “Obey me or perish!”? If some blood mages can be good people– better than all the noble shits she’s met, even– then Andraste may as ruddy well suck it up. Sera loves Inky. They’ve never given her reason not to.

Blackwall: Maker’s balls, now how’s that for a turn of events? “You are who you choose to follow,” says Blackwall as he follows a blood mage. Can’t sink much lower now, can he? He’s well aware he’s in no position to throw stones at the Inquisitor, not after all he’s done. Too many people die in wars that aren’t theirs to fight, and Blackwall knows this better than anyone else. He’ll be there to make sure the Inquisitor won’t hurt the innocent and the helpless; he can promise them as much.

Blackwall, if romanced: Blackwall’s lover is an honorable person, a capable fighter, and a leader worthy of following. It so happens that they’re also a blood mage. Any weapon, when wielded responsibly, can help and protect, and Blackwall is relived that the Inquisitor uses it as such. When they’re fighting demons, he throws himself in battle harder than anyone else, and the demons meet his sword before they get a chance to take notice of the Inquisitor, always a few feet behind his protective shield.

Cole: “Blood that burns and boils and bites. It’s an old song they know, but they can’t sing it. It’s real, more real than they’ll ever be, and they want in. They don’t want to hurt you. They want to be like you. If you bind me, they’ll stop. The other mages will stop too. We’ll both be safe. Please, please– don’t let them use me.”

The Iron Bull: Demons crap and Fade crap and blood magic crap were to be expected when he joined the Inquisition, but Bull always assumed they would fight all that shit. Turns out, the blood mage is not only on their side, but also leading them. As uncomfortable as he is with this arrangement, he can tell the Inquisitor’s intentions are sincere. “You should’ve been a ‘Vint, boss,” he says and he laughs, but his good eye scans their face for signs betraying hidden motives all the same.

The Iron Bull, if romanced: His kadan is the toughest, wisest, most beautiful person Bull’s ever met. The fact that they choose to practice blood magic doesn’t change this reality one bit. Through them he learns how to allow himself to love and trust the things he was trained to be apprehensive of his whole life. The Inquisitor is what the Qun hates and fears the most, but at the end of the day Bull loves them enough to make up for it.

Dorian: He’s seen enough blood magic for a lifetime, and recognizes the Inquisitor as a blood mage before they even have the chance to practice their skill in front of him. Blood magic is not inherently dangerous or evil, no. Few things are. But the temptation to push for more is always there, and Dorian worries, but jokes about it nonetheless, as he always does.

Dorian, if romanced: “Please be careful. Please don’t do anything stupid,” he thinks. “Ah, isn’t it wonderful? Just like home,” he says. Dorian’s amatus is a blood mage, and the notion alone makes his own blood run cold. He loves them, he trusts them, and he knows that they wouldn’t turn against him. Not all blood mages will try to break his mind– Dorian knows this. There’s a long way from knowing to truly, genuinely believing, and each day spent with the Inquisitor is one step closer.

Leliana: Sister Nightingale is one of the first to hear the rumor that the Inquisitor might be a blood mage, but doesn’t jump to conclusions before checking the information with the Inquisitor themselves. “Nowadays a mage sneezes and someone will cry blood magic.” It’s a risk they’re taking, yes, but she’s unfazed because she trusts they’re capable enough to hold their own. If the Hero of Ferelden is a blood mage too, she’s even more adamant in supporting the Inquisitor.

Cullen: Out of all people who could have found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, it had to be a blood mage that would survive the explosion at the Conclave. It had to be a blood mage that would end up leading their efforts to stop Corypheus. For a long time, Cullen is suspicious and uncomfortable around the Inquisitor. Years upon years of templar training aren’t so easily forgotten. Torture at the hands of blood mages even less so. Despite all this, he’s willing to give them a chance. Just the one. 

Cullen, if romanced: Relationships between mages and templars are strictly forbidden by the Circle. “You must act quickly, without hesitation. Your judgment cannot be clouded.” But he’s no longer a templar, the Circle is no more, and the Inquisitor might be a blood mage, but they’re not a monster, not like the Chantry teaches. They’re putting themselves at risk, more so than being a mage already entails, and he shudders to think about everything that could go wrong. Andraste preserve him, he can’t lose them this way. He will not lose them. 

Josephine: Josephine is not particularly well-versed in matters pertaining to the arcane, but two things she knows for sure: 1. blood magic is dangerous, and 2. blood magic is scandalous. While the Inquisitor may be able to deal with the former on their own, the latter falls on her. There is no way the nobles houses of southern Thedas would ever publicly support a Chantry-shunned organization led by a blood mage. Josephine does admire and respect the Inquisitor, but at the same time she wishes they would be a little bit more discreet with the blood magic. “It is such a terrible mess to clean up.”

Josephine, if romanced: The Inquisitor and the ambassador being involved romantically is already seen as outrageous by many. The Inquisitor being a blood mage and involved romantically with the ambassador is truly the stuff of legend– and not the good kind, Josephine fears. In spite of all this, she’s willing to go to great lengths to protect them from the public’s unforgiving eye as well as she possibly can. She doesn’t doubt her lover’s ability to defend themselves, yet each time the Inquisitor is away, she watches Skyhold’s main gate from behind small windows, with restless steps and her heart in her throat. They have to come back. They always do.

Varric: Well, shit. Blood mages really are like lost socks– they turn up where you least expect them. He’s not surprised, of course, not after meeting Merrill and possibly a mage Hawke. It’s almost funny; ‘Home is where blood mages are’ should be the title of his next book. He doesn’t try to change their mind or convince them to stop. There would be no point in doing that. Still, he does keep a close eye on the Inquisitor lest it all ends in tragedy.

[teiranlavellan]

Leliana’s Scouts vs Cullen’s Soldiers

@dadrunkwriting

@thevikingwoman Thank you for the prompt!

I actually got to write the rest of them and it was so much fun!  (My own writing is chronological, we don’t have anyone except for Cass, Solas, Varric and the Advisors).

Their camp was nearly packed, but Blackwall and Teiran were still staring at the poorly concealed bundles of gathered herbs, mined obsidian with the superfluous weapons and armor.  Teiran held three books in her crossed arms as she rose from her squat next to the burly warrior and began pacing.  Again.

“Can we really afford to spend more time on this than we already have?  Everything has made it back to Skyhold safely so far after all.”  Blackwall reasoned, hoping his soothing tone would encourage a resolution.

Teiran stopped pacing, hugged the books in her arms tighter, and shook her head resolutely.  “These have to make it back, Blackwall.  They have to.  What if someone else finds it before they can get to it?  We hide them the same way every time.  What if bandits have been watching us hide it the same way every time?”

“I think you are overthinking this.”  Blackwall grumbled.

The Dalish elf’s pacing had taken her out onto a ledge, away from the camp. She frowned into the dark, overcast sky resolutely.  The rest of the Inquisition’s inner circle only had to glance at her posture and expression before putting down their packs and settling in for the inevitable discussion.  Except for Cole, who had disappeared, which surprised no one.

Sera nosily padded through the mud over to Teiran, throwing her arms around her neck.  Teiran jumped, being brought out of her thoughts with a sudden grip around her neck startling her.  “Sera! Please stop doing that!”  Teiran huffed.

“You’re waaay too easy, you know tha’?”  Sera commented and then broke into a fit of giggles at the possible innuendo of her phrase. “But then you’re not tho right?  Cause you aren’t rubbing bits so you’re actually hard.  Too hard lady bits.  We need to work on that . . . ”

“Oh, honestly, does every conversation with you have to be about my personal life?”  Teiran tried to break Sera’s grip, but also keep a solid hold of the books in one arm.

The rest of the Inquisition watched the scene with varied expressions.  They had been traveling together long enough to be moderately acquainted with each other, however Vivienne’s beautiful face still shot daggers over at Sera.  Dorian sighed dramatically; shaking his head and watching the scene play out with moderate amusement.  And Solas became very interested in the ground under his feet.

“No wait!  I’ve got an answer for ya.  You should let me do it.”  Sera proposed, still holding the Inquisitor under her arm.

“Do what?  Let go of me!”  Teiran insisted.

Sera let her pull away, “Pfft.  Hide the stuff of course!  Come on, Your Worship.  No baddie will ever be able to find it once I’m done.”

Teiran rolled her eyes, “That’s it though, Sera.  The Inquisition soldiers need to be able to find it tomorrow.”

“I could write where Sera hides it when I send my report to Scout Harding.” Cassandra offered tersely.  She and Blackwall sat next to each other, their shared impatience growing with each stroke of oiled rag on armor.  Varric and the Iron Bull exchanged an intrigued glance.

Varric’s smooth voice wound its way to where Sera and Teiran stood, “But then what if your messages become waylaid Seeker—”

Cassandra interrupted him, “Then we have a lot more to worry about than resources.”

“Still, it would be a shame . . . How about I write a message to go along with your report?  Clues as to where the treasure is hidden.”  Varric smiled wickedly.

 Sera was literally bouncing in place, shouting in Teiran’s ears with excitement.  While Varric smiled at the effect of his words.

Teiran covered her ears and ducked away from Sera’s exclamations.  The camp stirred with the prospect, all eyes watching their leader for her decision. 

Teiran looked at her books, then at Sera’s buzzed expression, then over to Varric’s mischievous smile.

“They have to be able to find them, Varric.”  Teiran ruled.

Sera punched her fist in the air, grabbed Teiran’s books, then ran headlong back to Blackwall’s pile of resources.

“Bull, keep Sera from hurting herself or my books. And Blackwall, make sure this doesn’t get out of hand please.”  Teiran delegated, trying to ensure success.

The massive Qunari cracked a smile, “Whatever you say boss.”  Teiran smiled back, she knew he would have helped regardless.

She met Blackwall’s gaze, smiling apologetically.  Teiran knew she needed someone to balance out the enthusiasm, but asking Cassandra, Solas, Dorian, Vivienne or Cole would have made them miserable.  Blackwall sighed resignedly, “Alright then.”

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Josephine Montilyet rolled the message from Scout Harding, an easy task since the scroll had been damp and then dried on its journey from Crestwood to Skyhold.  Josephine placed her initials on the back of the scroll, placing it atop her pyramid of similarly marked ones.  However, instead of reaching for another unread one, she continued to gaze speculatively at Harding’s message.

Along with the list of resources and weapons the Inquisition had gained so far with Teiran’s foray into Crestwood, the intrepid Scout Harding had also included the tally of caches found by both sides.

Josephine’s eyebrows furrowed and she placed her chin in her palm.  Her other hand picked up her quill unconsciously and twirled it as she contemplated the scroll.  She noticed her ink-smeared fingers too late, apparently she had dipped the quill in ink without consciously meaning too either.  “I wish the Inquisitor would call an end to this.  It may boost morale in the short term, but we need everyone to work together as the Inquisition.”  Josephine thought at the offending scroll.

The door to her study creaked open only halfway before Leliana had slipped quietly inside.  She was settling herself in the plush armchair next to the fire by the time the door closed of its own accord.

The Diplomat eyed the innocent looking, redhead as she gazed into her teacup. As a matter of pride and necessity, Josephine always had a steaming kettle and tea at the ready.  She felt it part of her duty to the Inquisition to be ready to entertain guests whenever they dropped by; and in truth she enjoyed maintaining that perception of her.  However, Leliana’s nonchalant demeanor did not fool her.

“Good evening, Leliana.  I was just about to call for Aronhalaan, but since you’re here . . .” Josephine reached for the satchel behind her desk full of scrolls lacking Leliana’s characteristic swirl of lines she used to mark the scrolls she had read.  By the time she had retrieved the satchel, Leliana was in front of her desk, casually inspecting the pyramid of scrolls on her desk.

“It is good that Teiran is in Crestwood.  We are running low on Embrium.  Perhaps we should send word to Scout Harding to mark it as a priority?”  Leliana asked.

Josephine opened her mouth to retort when a knock interrupted her.  Her expression smoothed as she looked from Leliana to the door, “Come in.”  

Commander Cullen appeared in her office, closing the door gently behind him.  “Ah, we’re all here.  Good.”  Cullen observed awkwardly, still standing in the entryway.

Josephine sighed and beckoned him, “Please, have a seat Commander.  Leliana?”  She arched an eyebrow at her friend, warning her away from thoughts bent towards pilfering her messages.  

Leliana and Cullen sat in the two armchairs before the fire, watching as Josephine took the scroll off her desk.   She unfurled it as she stood with her back to the fireplace, rereading it hastily.

“Cullen’s soldiers, after searching every abandoned house in the area, found the last one in the rafters. Apparently, they crafted a rather large bird’s nest and I am told that the items were shaped like eggs.” Josephine explained, still staring at the message.

Leliana scowled, “We took the nest to be metaphoric. Poetic!”

Cullen relaxed, “Good thing my soldiers don’t overthink things.”  He lightly poked fun at the assumption that the scouts would outsmart his men.

“However, Leliana’s scouts found another two days ago disguised as stepping stones across a river.”  Josephine finished, revealing that the two competing parties were tied once again.

Leliana sat up and wore a small smile, “My scouts can spot deception wherever it may hide.”

Now it was Cullen’s turn to frown, “I take it one of the mages helped with that one.  Are they apart of this too?”

Josephine eyed the two of them, “This is ridiculous.  We should be working together, rather than competing with each other.”  Cullen and Leliana shared a glance before staring up at the ambassador.

“It’s good for morale.  Before this, I had to force the assignment on my men.  Following the Inquisitor to retrieve resources is not the most exciting or comfortable task on our list.  Now, they have formed squads and share the past puzzles to see if those who were not assigned can guess where the supplies were found.”  Cullen explained, bursting with pride for his soldiers.

“I have seen similar results among my scouts.  I see no harm in allowing it to continue.”  Leliana added.

Josephine eyed the two of them, “For now.  However, I would suggest that when we go to the Hissing Wastes that this become an exercise in compromise.  The squads should be mixed, both scouts and soldiers completing a mission together.”

Cullen thought a moment before gruffly replying, “Agreed.”

Leliana shrugged in compliance.

[wootensmith]

Echoes

He banged on Dorian’s door and a moment later something thudded against the other side. “It’s too bloody early,” groaned Dorian. Solas opened the door anyway and found the Tevinter sprawled face down on the bed. “I need your aid, quickly.” Dorian hurled another book at him but he wasn’t looking and his aim went wide. “Too early. Come back tomorrow.” “It’s an urgent matter,” said Solas carefully picking up the tomes. Dorian raised his head and blinked blearily at him. “How urgent can it be? The Inquisitor’s not back, nothing happens when she’s gone.” Solas took in his ragged hair and crumpled clothing. “You went to the Herald’s Rest last night. You said you were going to bed—” “Yes, well, the Chargers had a welcome home party. And since you weren’t there, I partook of your portion of the welcome as well. Now kindly, go away. I have a headache.” Solas flicked his hand and stripped the covers from Dorian’s back. “I will not, and if you’ve a headache it’s your own doing. Time to rise, we have work and I have little time to waste arguing.” Dorian grabbed another book and raised it overhead. “Not that one! It’s one of the very few worth reading.” He squinted at it. “Oh right. Sorry.” He placed the book back down and grabbed another. “Have Mareno then, since you’re so fond of him.” Solas easily side-stepped the tumbling book. He picked up the pitcher of water on the washstand. “Up, Dorian.”

“You don’t scare me. It’s only water. What’s gotten into you, anyway?” “The lyrium is affecting the Inquisitor’s mind. She hasn’t been able to sleep in days. Iron Bull has had to take drastic measures and block her connection to the Fade.” Dorian sat straight up. “What? He can do that? You don’t mean— she’s not tranquil is she? He wouldn’t do that.” “No, he wouldn’t. But even if the tranquility is temporary, she can’t be left there to endure it.” Dorian shuddered. He took the pitcher from Solas and stood up to pour it in the basin. “I don’t see how we’re going to help. It took us a week to get back—” “That’s why I need you. Morrigan’s got an eluvian in the courtyard.” He spluttered and Solas handed him a towel. “What? How do you know?” “Does it matter?” Dorian turned around, folding his arms across his chest. “We just spent the past several weeks looking for one and all of a sudden you know of one in Skyhold. Yes, Solas, it matters.” “To be fair, we were looking for Corypheus, not the eluvian.” “Give me the Mareno back.” “Certainly,” said Solas shuffling the books he had picked up, “Why?” “Because I don’t think I hit you hard enough with it, I want another go.” “I don’t have time for this—” “Fine, fine. But why did you wake me up? Why didn’t you corner Morrigan?” Solas shifted uncomfortably. “Cole asked me not to,” he said at last. “She can’t know I’ve gone through. If we force it open and you close it behind me, she need never find out.” “Wait— but what happens on the other end? Won’t you be stuck in the— wherever it is they take you? You’d have to open another eluvian.” “If you will aid me in opening this side, I will have enough power to manage the other.” Dorian smoothed his mustache. “Even if I believed that, which— you are taking too many variables for granted— but even if I did, what are you going to do once you get there?” “I don’t know,” he admitted. “My only thought was to remove her.” “Did Varric tell you how his brother fared after being exposed?” “Bartrand’s exposure was much longer—” “To a single piece an eighth the size of the crystals we saw outside Sahrnia. And he was no mage.” Solas sank down onto Dorian’s bedside chair. “I should not have left her.” “Then there would be two of you going mad instead of one. That isn’t why I asked. I thought there might be a method to eliminate the effects of the lyrium and it would be better to go prepared.” “I know of none. Or— no method that would lessen the effects of this type of exposure. Surely there were others who recovered— the people of Sahrnia seemed sane enough and they had been near it for weeks, had they not?” Dorian fidgeted. Solas knew what he would say. There had been no mage among them, either. “Have you got those shards still?” he asked instead. “Yes, they are in the Undercroft.” “I’ll work on them while you are gone. Hopefully, I’ll find a solution if one is necessary. And if not— it will keep me out of trouble. And the Herald’s Rest.” “I apologize,” said Solas, “it is not my business what you do in your spare—” Dorian waved a hand to dismiss it. “I know Iron Bull asked you to look after me, as a favor.” “I didn’t do it as a favor. It distresses me to see you unwell. You could have told me about the dreams. Months ago.” He shrugged. “It seemed unimportant in the face of everything. What’s a few nights of bad sleep when you wake up every morning to the end of the world?” “You are important, Dorian. To more people than you know. What troubles you, troubles us all.” “Maybe I did hit you too hard. Come on, I’m not good at sentimental scenes. Besides, you have an inquisition to save.” The courtyard was still empty this early in the morning and it was easy to slip into the small room with the closed eluvian. “Have you got everything? I have a feeling this is going to be a one way trip,” said Dorian. He twisted the end of his mustache nervously. “I’m ready,” said Solas. He clasped Dorian’s hand. “My reluctance to interfere— it isn’t because I don’t care.” “I know,” said Dorian. “You have one of the most brilliant minds I have encountered in many, many years. It can be a burden as well as an asset. Don’t— don’t feel you need to drown it, Dorian. There are other ways. If you need aid— or a friend, I’ll be back shortly.” Dorian gave him a crooked smile. “I’ll behave myself. I promise.” He reached into a pocket and pulled something from it. “Would you give this to Iron Bull? I won’t be able to rest easy until I see he’s all right.” Solas held out his hand and Dorian dropped a crystal into it. The same one he’d made for the Inquisitor to speak with her clan. “Of course,” he said. Dorian nodded and stepped back, raising his hands to begin casting. “Come back sane, Solas. Even if she can’t. We’ll need you. She’ll need you, either way.” The eluvian rippled under his spell. Solas stepped through even as his throat closed with dread. Emprise du Lion’s eluvian was long forgotten, buried under rubble and ice. It was a lucky stroke that the waterfall had frozen so suddenly. He doubted it would be accessible otherwise. The wall of massive icicles shattered easily with a spell and he emerged in sight of Sahrnia. The ground near the town was still scarlet with red lyrium dust, but the air was blessedly silent. Inquisition tents had sprouted in the wreckage of the village and the heavy scent of food cooking reached him. The lot of the villagers, at least, had improved since he had left. He crossed the hardened river and sought out an Inquisition agent. He had passed the Tower camp by midmorning and was almost in sight of the Keep when Varric’s voice broke the brittle cold. “Do you realize who you sound like? Brother or not, I like you much better than Bartrand. I can’t watch you go through this too. Hawke would have list—” “I’m not Hawke, no matter how much you may all wish it were so.” The Inquisitor’s voice rang with hurt. “We don’t wish that, Boss. We just want you safe. No one expected to find a flaming castle made of the stuff, but there it is. We can’t smash all of it. Not in time. It’ll take a crew weeks to do it. You throw a bolt of lightning in there, you might fry us all along with the templars.” “I can control it—” “You can’t. You opened a rift yesterday, Inquisitor. It can’t happen again.” Cassandra turned in time to see Solas rising over the low hill nearby. “Thank the Maker,” she sighed. “Maybe she’ll listen to you.” Sera squinted at him. “How’d you get here so fast? Just sent the raven yesterday.” “Never mind how, I’m just glad he’s here,” snapped Cassandra. The Inquisitor turned around to see who they were speaking to. Solas held out Dorian's crystal to Iron Bull but stopped in shock as he caught sight of her face. She was ragged and blazing with power. As if someone had hollowed her out and used her as a vessel for pure, ravaging flame. As if she were burning her flesh to fuel her magic. Deep circles made driftwood carvings of her eye sockets. Her hands were hard angles and crooks, they had lost the gentle flow he had come to know. She seemed withered, shrunken, though he could not honestly say how. But there was the sweet smile she saved for him, the aching happiness that seemed to wash over him each time she greeted him. She was still there, but hurting. Iron Bull pushed her gently toward him and took the crystal. “Go home Boss.” “The Keep—” “I will relieve you of duty if I must,” warned Cassandra. “Let us take the Keep.” “But if you should fall— I cannot do this without you—” “We’re not going to fall, Buckles. Besides, think you might be more dangerous than the baddies. Don’t fancy dying to your glowey bit. Or any of your bits. That’s Droopy’s fate.” Sera snickered and smoothed the Inquisitor’s hair. The Inquisitor gave her a tired grin. She hesitated looking back at the Keep. It bled a long ruby shadow over the snow. “We’ll smash it all,” said Varric. “Every last piece. It won’t sing anymore.” “I’m sorry Varric. I didn’t mean to yell—” He pulled her into a tight hug. “There’s only one Hawke, Inquisitor. And for that, we should all thank our lucky stars. But if the world were filled with others like you— it’d never be enough. Go home. Let us finish this. Rest.” She turned back toward Solas and he held out a hand to her. Her palm was chilled on his and he pulled her away, suppressing a shudder of fear. They were quiet most of the way back to Tower camp. “Say something,” she pleaded, “I cannot stand the voices calling me.” “You are hearing voices?” “Voices, songs, it does not end.” She clapped her hands to her ears. He pried them gently away. “We’re nowhere near the lyrium, Vhenan. I can hear nothing.” “It’s permanent then. Inscribed in my skull. I’ll go mad—” “No. We’ll drown it out. Wipe it away. Varric said it’s been three days since you started taking Iron Bull’s potion to stop the dreams. And you had not slept easily for days before. You need the Fade—” She shook her head frantically. “I cannot keep it out there. It seeps— into everything. Red and shining and eternal. Always singing.” “I will be with you. I wish that I had been with you sooner.” “Do you know a way to keep it out?” “No. It is as unnerving for me as you. I had thought dwarves the only people immune, but Varric’s brother has shown me otherwise. Destroying it seems to be the only method. And distance.” She rubbed her temples. “Then I am glad you stayed away. There is no purpose in extra suffering.” Soldiers stared as they entered the camp. He tried to ignore it, but he knew how worn the Inquisitor looked beside him. They wound through the tents to avoid the crowded training area and mess. She followed him to the stables. It worried him more than her appearance or even her words. She rallied only a little as he called for her horse. “I cannot leave them. Not knowing they are going into battle,” she protested. “You cannot help them. They are strong and experienced, each of them. And they are together. They will not fall, but if it were to happen— what would you do? Throw away your life or your sanity in a useless attempt at vengeance? The Inquisition has a bigger purpose than defeating the templars in Suledin Keep. You have a bigger purpose. How do you intend to battle Corypheus if you have succumbed to madness?” “But they are my friends.” “As they are mine. And if we are to honor their efforts, then you must return to health. And that means leaving this place.” She glanced back toward the Keep, though it was too distant to be seen. Then she let him help her up. She looked around expectantly for his horse. “How did you get here? I’ve fallen asleep at last, haven’t I? Or is it a trick of the lyrium? A hallucination? Did I slip through a rift?” “You are not hallucinating. But you will start if you do not sleep soon.” He pulled himself up behind her. “Alas, I cannot return the way I arrived or we would be home by evening. But the lyrium, at least, will be long behind us.” She pressed her heel to the horse’s flank and it started off, picking its way down through the stony iced paths. Her breath made sparkling silver plumes against the air. Everywhere the red detritus of the crushed lyrium caught his eye, disturbed the quiet dark of the pines and the rocky cliffs. “Talk to me,” she pleaded at last. “The method you used to keep you from the Fade—” “What choice did I have?” she cried. He tightened his arm around her waist slightly. “You did not. I was not going to criticize. I only wished to know if it had lingering effects. Is your magic affected? Your emotions?” “I’m not certain,” she said after a moment. “It may, but the lyrium is so powerful— I cannot tell what is my own self control and what is Iron Bull’s method.” That was not reassuring. “The constant singing aside— it was as if I were just discovering my magic again. I couldn’t control it. It just— happened. Do you remember that feeling?” “I’m sorry, my love, there was never such a moment for me. Without the Veil, all people had magic, from the moment of their birth. It was not something to control or to hide. It was just another— sense. Another form of thought.” “It isn’t that way for us,” she sighed. “We were trading with a farm when it happened. If it had not been there, it might have been celebrated. We might have had a feast, as I heard they’d had for the Keeper many years before my birth. But the humans saw it.” “What happened?” “Nothing terrible. Not like stories I’ve heard since. I didn’t light anything on fire or hurt anything.” He curled a hand around hers on the reins. “I did not mean what you did. I meant what happened to you?” “I was climbing an apple tree. It was late summer and the apples were just ripening. They smelled so sweet. We didn’t get apples often.” She shifted a little twisting her face to glance at him with a tired smile. “Berries, certainly, but apple trees are permanent. Owned things. Wild trees were rare on our route and we never seemed to pass when the fruit was ripe. But the farmer was generous. He said the children could have all they wanted. But we’d been there a few weeks, negotiating a cattle trade. So most of the apples were eaten. There were a few at the very top, but none of the others were brave enough to climb up to reach them. The farmer’s children were with us. We all agreed that one of us would climb up and throw down the remaining fruit to the others. It fell to me, in the end—” “I am unsurprised,” he laughed. “Everything went easily. I climbed to the top and dropped the apples down. I remember laughing at the kids scrambling to snatch them up. But when it was time to come down, most of the others had already run off to play. One of the farmer’s boys remained. I think he might have liked me, a little. He stayed to see me safely down. But one of the branches broke under my feet and fell away. I clung there for a moment by the arms, too scared to cry out for help. The boy didn’t know what to do either. My arms began to tire and I knew I was going to fall. So I shut my eyes tightly and felt this— tingle. As if I’d fallen into an icy lake. I heard a creaking and opened my eyes. The branches beneath me were growing and flowering, passing under my feet as if to save me. But I hadn’t consciously done it. I was— elated and dropped down to watch the blossoms float away and tiny green apples swell on the branch. Then I looked down at the boy. And his face— I’ll never forget his face before he ran off, shouting. It was— it was as if I’d soiled myself in front of him. Or stabbed some harmless creature. Fear and disgust and— and hate. I felt like everything I was, everything I tried to be, that my clan encouraged me to be was ruined in that one moment. Because I’d saved myself. There was a big argument after that. The boy came back with all the human adults and my father and Deshanna. My father helped me get down while the humans yelled. I think they completely forgot that a little girl had been hanging several feet from the ground. It didn’t matter that a fall would surely have injured me. Perhaps crippled me. Or worse. It didn’t matter that I was small. Too small even to do anything more important than gather reeds for our beds. That was my task then. And it didn’t matter that I’d harmed no one or that the tree now had a new fruiting branch. All that mattered was that they had a mage in their midst. An unproven, uninstructed mage. That I was this menace that my clan had brought among them. We left the next morning. The trades were undone and the winter supplies were scarcer for it. The other children blamed me for robbing them of more apples and the adults were silent, probably resenting that their hard negotiations had been for nothing. We never returned to that farm. Not the next year or any after. My parents and Deshanna were the only ones with a kind word for me for many weeks. To place those I cared about in danger, to be so loathed for something I could not control, something I didn’t know how to hide— this week and the magic, felt like that again.” “I am sorry that this world is so broken. It should never have felt that way for anyone. You are not loathed, Vhenan, not now. Your people love you. Cassandra and the others did not push you out because they feared you, they wanted to send you home because you are hurting. Varric didn’t want to see you forced into taking that potion— Iron Bull either, I’d imagine. He sent me a raven to ask for help. They don’t like seeing you dull and dwindling and reluctant to use your skills because you fear they are beyond your control. Do not doubt them. They love you.” She rubbed her head. “I know you are probably right. The noise and the exhaustion— it is hard to think clearly just now.” They were passing through Sahrnia. The long, worried looks of the inquisition agents as the horse trotted by made him uneasy. “We will be back in the mountains soon. The lyrium will be long behind us. I know a place to rest.” “I don’t have any food for the spiders, emma lath.” He smiled. “No spiders. Just a hunting lodge. The owners will be glad for guests so deep in the winter. And there will be a warm fire that crackles and chickens squawking in the barn and the thud of a full tankard onto the wooden tables. And then a soft bed and the rustle of deep furs and dreams.” He slid closer, taking the reins from her as she relaxed back into him. “Where shall I take you, Vhenan? What sound would you like best to hear? The ancient choirs of the Imperium echoing against the stone of their temples? The call of a thousand horns in Andruil’s great hunts?” He kissed the edge of her ear. But she shook her head. “The sea then?” he tried, “The ceaseless rush of wind and water and the creak of old fishing docks? Or the rippling whisper of the long grasses of the plains and the call of the Halla keeper as the aravels rattle over the uneven dirt? Do you wish to go home?” “Yes,” she sighed resting her head against his shoulder. “I want to go home. I want to hear the frogs calling one another in the pond where we planted the dawn lotus. And the crickets that creep through the reeds. And Vivienne’s voice floating gently from the mage tower and Cole’s from the garden. And you, with the soft scrape of your painting knife over the wall and your laugh— that is a dear sound. I know it is simple. Maybe dull after all of your adventures. But that is what I would hear instead of this void-spawned music.” “There is nothing dull about home. We will be there soon, Vhenan.” He willed her to rest, to slip into sleep as they rode, but she was stiff with worry until they reached the lodge. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said even as she sank onto the side of the bed. “Not without the potion.” He knelt beside her, tugging off her boots. “Hmm. A difficult task, to be sure. How did you manage it all the thousands of nights before this week?” He smiled gently and she laughed. But she became solemn quickly. “What if I do something in my sleep? What if I hurt you? Or burn the lodge down? Or—” “You will not. I will be with you. If you are distressed, I will wake you. Just as I promised to do after Redcliffe.” She seemed to yield a little at that and he started on her robes. “You said you could not push it away though, not this time,” she said, shrugging the fabric off. His fingers flew over the lacing of the leather panels beneath. “I said I knew of no way to keep the effects of the actual crystals out. We are nowhere near them now, my love. It is just a bad memory.” He stopped to kiss her temple. “Those I can help with.” I hope. She slid reluctantly beneath the furs and he stood to undress. She watched him, the firelight settling over her tired face. “Thank you for coming to rescue me. Even if it was from myself,” she said suddenly. He shook his head with a smile. “You’ve never needed rescuing. Well— maybe the horse. But you’d never have been under it or exposed to red lyrium without me. I just craved you.” “Such sweet lies,” she laughed. He slipped in beside her. “Where is the lie? You faced an army of altered templars and acres of lyrium while I retreated. You did not need rescue. Or is it that I missed you?” He pressed a long kiss into her lips. “There is not a truer word in the world than that.” She covered a laughing yawn with one hand. “Well, however you came to be beside me, I am grateful for it,” she said sleepily. He stroked her hair and watched her slide slowly away, the claw of her hand softening, her shoulders uncurling, the angles of her face smoothing out. Like a starved plant suddenly watered. He followed her and heard the haunting echo of the red lyrium that repeated and repeated in her mind. The Fade was a bleeding, glittering slash, a wound that never healed. He shoved it away. It did not go easily. She was fighting him, though she did not realize it. “Let go,” he said as he reached her, “Or I will be forced to resort to other methods.” “I’m trying,” she insisted and then gave him a sharp look. “What other methods?” He let a wicked smile pass over him. “I know some particularly awful Orlesian poetry I could whisper to you—” She laughed and the press of the lyrium echo lightened. “I don’t think that’s really a threat. I like your whispers, whatever the message.” He leaned in. “Then stay, just for a little,” he pressed his lips to her ear, “I will find better things to whisper. You need this, you need the Fade.” They were standing on the bank of the river beside Skyhold. There was no fortress, but the frogs chirped loudly into the warm night. He turned her gently toward his tower. It was not an elaborate place, more function than form, but still she gasped in wonder at it. “Where are we?” she asked. “Home,” he said, leading her to the door.