#dragon age tranquility

[monabee-draws]

Sometimes I think about the Tranquil and how their skulls were used to make Ocularum.

Much of the horror in Inquisition is overlooked because of the sheer volume of it we encounter. But I always think of that shack on the water in Redcliffe, with shelves and shelves of Tranquil skulls. A second death after a brief moment of struggling life during their possession.

[dragonageconfessions]

CONFESSION:

I played Inquisition first, and being young and inexperienced rushed through paying little heed to lore. I got sided with the mages, got to skyhold, and started judging. When it came time to judge Alexius, I picked Tranquility, figuring it was just removing the magic and making him safe, because I felt bad for him with his son. I did not expect a magical lobotomy.

[bluerose5]

Anders:

This line hits kind of different when you know that the Chantry eventually gains knowledge about the cure to Tranquility and then deliberately tries to cover it up. Makes you think about what else they might be hiding.

[plisuu]

A little something for @tranquilweek—I wrote this as the start of a lil fic that follows Avexis through her life from mage to Tranquil and back again, but sort of stopped writing it at some point. I'd like to poke at it as the week goes on!

Prologue

wc: 415

Her days were always the same, here at Haven. Wake up, eat, clean, complete errands for Minaeve, eat, aid the Revered Mother, tend to the ill and injured, eat, sleep, repeat. It didn’t matter where she was. Her life was one of scheduled and tasks and little else. The only difference was the scenery, but that is all that it was: scenery. A Circle, a snow laden camp, a small village, it didn’t matter—it was just another backdrop to the mundane, to the monotonous, meticulous life of a Tranquil.

No one paid her mind unless it was to give her another task, which was convenient, or to gawk at the sunburst brand upon her forehead, which she ignored.

There was talk though, of course. There was always talk. Whispers that no one cares to hide from the Tranquil—she had heard them at the White Spire, too, before the rebellion began and she had been whisked away by a few generous mages. It was the supposed cause of the Mage Rebellion, the reason she was no longer living in the tower she grew up in… for better or for worse, she could not say.

“I have…. heard rumors of a way to reverse the rite of Tranquility,” the Revered Mother said to her one day, as she was passing by with an arm full of linens to be delivered to the apothecary.

“I have heard them as well.”

There were always rumors. Rumors had done nothing for her, as long as she could remember. She paid them no mind—why should she? What effect did rumors have on the Tranquil? She felt no hope, no fear, no relief or curiosity at what kind of life she might live otherwise.

She considered it might be an uncomfortable topic, noting the look of pity the woman gave her. It was a look she received often, often followed by some sort of remark on her current state. Sometimes it was one of sorrow, other times it was anger—feelings she had not experienced in years, directed at her. She turned to leave. There was no purpose in staying for this conversation, to stand on the receiving end of condolences that would never matter.

“Tell me,” the Revered Mother started, candlelight reflecting off the gold trim of her robes in the dim building.

Avexis paused, waiting in silent acknowledgement.

“Are you… happy this way?”

“I no longer speak to dragons,” she replied simply, and stepped out into the snowy morning.

[next]

[inquisimer]

the answer will be an echo

Day 4 of @tranquilweek! As Cadash & Avexis investigate Redcliffe Village, they learn what became of the other Tranquil.

read it on ao3 here!

Avexis & Female Cadash | Rated T | 1139 words | CW: implied/referenced abuse, chantry critical

-

Cadash liked picking locks. It made Avexis wonder, as they waited outside the dilapidated shack in Redcliffe, if that was why the dwarf was always carting her places. She was a puzzle, an oddity—she wondered if Cadash simply saw her as a lock that could only be picked over time.

Well, she mused, thumbing the hilt of her dagger, hopefully she figures something out.

Being in Redcliffe made her itch. There were mages everywhere and odd magic on top of the rifts. It set her teeth on edge. The whole place was a disaster waiting to happen. Or maybe it had already happened. It was hard to say.

Their fear was as palpable to Avexis as her own. It hung in the air like a dense fog, coating her throat when she breathed and sitting on her skin like a cold, sticky sweat. Fear of the Templars, fear of the Breach, fear of the Tevinters and what their presence spelled for the mage rebellion.

Cadash grunted and the door clicked open, creaking ominously. Within, the cabin’s dirt floor was dappled with sunlight through the rotting roof.

“Why was it even locked?” Varric huffed.

They found out soon enough. Over a dozen skulls watched them from makeshift shelves, their empty eye sockets gleaming with Fade-touched crystals. Pointed stumps with odd runes etched into their ends were stacked against the wall and tipped over on the floor. When Avexis brushed her fingers across the runes, they flared a bright green.

For the briefest moment, she saw a face—square jaw, blank, gray eyes, freckles that sprayed up to the sunburst brand that marred his brow. Before she could dig up a name, or even where she knew him from, the vision was gone; the part of her mind that she knew was Cole slipped between her and the magic and whatever it meant.

And that meant only one thing. “Something's not right,” she murmured, skittering back a few steps. Cole was matching her rising panic with soothing comfort, but it was a cycle—the more he soothed her, the more she feared what, exactly, she needed soothing for.

She flinched at the too-loud crunch of parchment in Cadash’s fist. “That is fucked,” the dwarf hissed.

“I had noticed their disappearance, but imagined nothing like this.” Avexis could hear Cassandra’s scowl and that defensive mix of guilt and shame that the Seeker usually directed at her. A horrible realization was coming to her, sinking in her mind like boots in cold swamp mud. As if in a trance, she paced back to the shelf of skulls.

Varric coughed pointedly; she could feel his gaze boring into her. “Maybe we shouldn’t—“ he began loudly.

“It’s them, isn’t it?” she whispered. One hand cupped the smooth arch of a skull, thumb tracing the sharp edge of the dormant crystal. “We found the Tranquil.”

No one answered, not that it mattered. Their silence was all the confirmation she needed.

“Avexis—“

“Don’t,” she choked. Before she’d even taken a breath, her eyes glossed over with tears. She made no move to stem their tide. Her grief fell in heavy drops, each one sending poofs of dust up where it landed on the earthen floor.

Her other hand clasped the same skull and she stared into its empty sockets as though she could divine their identity that way. Who were you? she thought desperately. Did I know you? Is anyone missing you?

Of course not. No one missed the Tranquil. That was how this had happened; how the evidence of it existed right under the noses of the mage rebellion, and yet no one cared enough to know, or even ask.

Avexis trembled, an inappropriate laugh bubbling from her lips as anger ripped through her like an earthquake.

That should be me. Then, out loud: “I shouldn’t have— that should be me, too.”

“No.” Cassandra’s voice was closer than she’d expected and Avexis flinched. Her gloved hands caught the skull where Avexis’ grip left it bare and she slid it gently out of the mage’s grasp. Setting it back on the shelf, the Seeker put herself directly in front of Avexis instead.

“It should not have been you, and it should not have been them either.”

“Why don’t we mean anything to anyone?”Avexis whispered. She clenched her fists. “Why doesn’t anyone care?”

“Hey, we care.” That was Varric, and Cadash, coming closer as well but—thankfully—leaving the path to the door wide open. “We’re here, we see you. We care.”

“You see me,” she repeated, shaking her head. “As I am now. Would you still see me if I remained Tranquil? Would you have noticed that I was gone? Because apparently no one—” she gestured angrily to the shelves “—noticed them.”

Cadash caught Avexis’ fist in her roughened palm. “Hey. You’re right.”

“I—what?”

“You’re right,” Cadash said again. “The Circles used the Tranquil because they were conveniently controlled. Because the comfort of those in power was more important than those lives. Because they could.”

Her voice was steady and grounding. Though Avexis' sorrow remained heavy, the tension wound in her relaxed. She pressed her palm flat against Cadash’s and curled her fingers down over the dwarf’s blunted nails. As she searched her eyes for answers and assurances, the filtered sunlight shifted and caught the casteless brand burned into her cheek.

“But the Circles are gone,” Cadash said firmly. At her back, Cassandra scowled, but wisely bit her tongue. “We’re not putting them back unless we’re sure they can do better. For the mages, the Templars, and the Tranquil.”

Avexis exhaled slowly. She knew that was what Cadash thought, but it was good to hear her say it anyway. And yet—

“They’re still gone, though,” she whispered, nudging her chin toward the shelf of skulls. “They still died like that. Were murdered like that. It’s not something we can fix.”

“They were. And it’s not.”

“That hurts,” Avexis whimpered. She ground her teeth together. “It hurts, and I want it to stop hurting. How do I make it stop if I can’t fix it?”

“Sometimes, you can’t.” It was Varric who answered, but Cadash nodded. “Sometimes you just have to sit with it. It might never go away, but you’ll go on. And eventually, you’ll grow around it, instead.”

“That bloody sucks.”

Cadash snorted. “Yeah. It does.”

“Can we…” Swiping at her eyes, Avexis took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to leave them here. Not like this.”

“There is a Sister up the hill—“

“No.” Cadash cut Cassandra off. “We have time, and they deserve better than the Chantry’s biases. We’ll take care of them ourselves.”

Relief flooded Avexis where she hadn’t realized she’d grown tense. “Thank you,” she murmured, ducking her head. Cadash laced their fingers together and squeezed.

“Let’s go.”

[flowersonpebbles]

Rite of Tranquility- Day 1

Jowan thought Dallas might have taken him with them after he helped keep an eye on Connor whilst they left for aid from the Circle, from their home that they both only knew for most of their lives... Dallas did not take him, merely said that Jowan did in fact aid in keeping the people in the castle safe after they left for more help... Eamon did not care, he was still sent off, back to the Circle for them to punish him for being a bloodmage... poor Lilly... she must have been just as frightened as he is now.

He stares sadly down at the lyrium brand, burning with white fire. The rod shaped like the sunburst symbol so fondly looked upon by Andrastians... Jowan blinks back tears before just squeezing his eyes shut, pursing his lips to try and stop them from trembling as he's held down on his knees by Templars surrounding him.

"Dallas, do you ever think the Tranquil hates us for being more like people than they ever will be..?" little Jowan asks, struggling to fall asleep. Dallas frowns deeply at the thought, hanging upside down to glare at Jowan.

"They're people like us, just different, Jowan. They're really nice and Owain even taught me how to read!" Dallas whispers earnestly, cheeks puffed up. "They don't hate us and we shouldn't be scared of them just because they're different than us, they still feel! They just express it differently!"

Jowan takes a deep, shaking breath at this little memory... he can only hope Dallas might come visit him then. After learning of Jowan's bloodmagic and feared him, then hopefully Dallas would no longer fear now.

Now he only needs to calm himself, there is no escaping this... he brought this upon himself, after all. He should have never dabbled with the forbidden arts...

He opens his eyes, steadying himself as he stares the rod down, gritting his teeth as it is pressed against his forehead, sudden magic coursing through his veins and then just bursting into... nothingness...

Jowan blinks slowly, jaw slowly going lax as the Templars let go of him. He stands up slowly, feeling a light headache at the front of his head. A headache that will never go away again, though...

Jowan stares at Dallas calmly, smiling ever so softly, "Dallas, it is good to see you again." his friend looks so much older than he should though, and sickly, even...

[quillfulwriter]

Words: 2250 | Chapters: 2 | Rating: T

Alexius lost so much. To lose his magic and his entire selfhood, it felt like a blow that neither he nor Dorian would ever recover from.

Written for the Cure for Tranquility prompt for @tranquilweek ✨

Kofi commissions are also open, check my profile ☕

[underthevenadahl]

Portrait of my girl!!

Valen de la Courvielle.. I think, still workshopping her last name, I'm not the best with French lol.

Fun fact, this is my first time working with such harsh lighting, as well as attempting velvet! I posted a w.i.p of this a while ago and I think it's really gone far since there, Im a bit proud of how it's turned out!

[fancytrinkets]

Bits & Pieces

Little ficlets, set before Dreadwolf, in which former Inquisitor Trevelyan is now living in Minrathous with Dorian. (The ficlet below continues a subplot where Trevelyan's ex-boyfriend Marcus from the Ostwick Circle, formerly Tranquil and now unexpectedly cured, has been staying with them as he recovers.) Link to the full collection of Dorian/Inquisitor ficlets.

The guest room where Marcus slept had been transformed. Plants spilled their greenery over every surface. The floor was covered by pots and planters. As if that weren't enough, so were the dressers, the corner shelves, and the chair by the window.

"A bit excessive, in my opinion."

That had been Dorian's only comment thus far. The plants were too much, but he hadn't made an issue of it. Of late, he had neither the time nor the stamina to spare for domestic squabbles. For weeks he'd been overly preoccupied by his work in the senate. Of course, it didn't help that nearly two months had gone by and he still wasn't sure how to properly relate to Marcus, the uninvited interloper in his household. So he left the burgeoning matter of indoor flora entirely to his husband.

Galen seemed to think it was a good idea — an aid to recovery, he called it, and promised it would hasten the eventual departure of their convalescent guest. Dorian remained unconvinced, and this evening he could take no more of it.

"That man is broken. He needs some other sort of arrangement than whatever this is."

"Probably," Galen agreed, "but I'm not turning him out and neither are you."

He summoned his best Inquisitorial voice to make that point clear. And while that was incredibly infuriating, it was also ridiculously arousing — and so the argument was set aside, abandoned in favor of more pleasurable activities between the two of them. Lying in bed afterwards — with all the worst of his annoyance and tension having been siphoned off and swallowed down by his husband — Dorian felt relaxed enough to offer a piece of unsolicited advice.

"His appetite is better than it was. He almost looks properly fed. We ought to consider that his libido will return — if it hasn't already. He'll need companionship."

"Companionship?" Galen sounded shocked to hear it.

"Don't you think so?"

"I'm not going to drop him off at a brothel, Dorian. If that's what you're suggesting."

A brothel wasn't at all what Dorian had in mind. "Why not host a small dinner party?" he asked. "We'll introduce him to a few of our finest friends and associates." Mostly, he was curious to see if Marcus and Rilienus might find each other interesting. It would make such a good story if they did hit it off.

But Galen wasn't ready to hear it.

"Broken," he said, sounding both annoyed and accusatory. "That's what you just called him. And now you think he's ready for entertaining at dinner and welcoming gentlemen back to his room?"

"Well, sex always helped me sort things out when I was a broken mess."

Galen sighed. "I think the plants are helping. That's always been his area of expertise."

"Perhaps you don't want him to find other men." It was simply an observation. Dorian was trying to be helpful here. Nothing more.

"Perhaps you want to hurry him along in this regard," Galen said. "For some unexamined emotional reason of your own."

Dorian rolled his eyes. He was well aware of his own jealousy. It wasn't entirely unexamined. "He's fixated on you." Dorian pointed it out in a reasonable and helpful fashion.

"From twenty years ago!" Galen objected. "I'm not that person now and we all know it. The only thing he feels when he looks at me now is rage."

"Galen." Dorian chuckled, genuinely amused by that assertion. "I don't think so."

"Really?"

"You don't see it?" How could he not see it? How could he possibly miss the way Marcus looked at him sometimes — with trembling lips and eyes full of uncontained longing.

"No, I mean–" Galen sighed in frustration. "Yes, all right then. We can introduce him to some friends of ours. Gently though. Not all at once. He'll find it overwhelming."

That was not the response that Dorian had expected. More defensiveness, perhaps? More strident objections? Yes, in fact, he'd been bracing himself for a flurry of those.

"You honestly don't want him anymore, do you?" Dorian asked.

And that was a strange question to consider. To accompany it, he felt a twinge of some unpleasant emotion. He'd first thought it to be jealousy, but maybe it wasn't. Perhaps it was something more akin to disappointment. But why would that be? Dorian tried to puzzle it out, but the answer wouldn't come. All he could do was repeat himself, his voice sounding flat and dull even to his own ears.

"You don't want him."

"Honestly?" Galen propped himself up on his scarred left elbow, lifting his head from the pillow to gain the higher ground. "You want to have this conversation now? We can wait, if you like. Maybe when things are less stressful with the Magisterium–"

"A glorious day that will never happen," Dorian said. "Best get it over with now."

"Right then." Galen paused, brow furrowing, as if it took him a visible effort gather his thoughts.

Their discarded clothing was scattered across the bedroom floor. Dorian wanted to sort it all neatly, to fold it, and put it away. Wait, he wanted to say, don't tell me. You're right that I'd rather not know. But his own curiosity kept him rooted in place.

"Here's how it is," Galen said. "I can feel it here." He touched his chest. "Little sparks of attraction sometimes. And I've thought about sex — a mental image here and there during lessons. But that's it. There's no version of him that's matured for twenty years along with me — emotionally speaking, of course. There's nothing we could bring to each other now that wouldn't be fraught and painful."

Dorian frowned to hear it. A mix of jealousy and disappointment churned within him.

"If it were me," Dorian said, "I'd want you to risk everything to win me back."

Galen nodded.

"If it were you, I would."

Stunned speechless, Dorian couldn't tell if his confession was something to welcome, or else condemn as hypocritical. Lacking a clear sense of what to do with it, he opted for a clarifying question.

"Oh?" he asked. "And where's the difference?"

"The difference," Galen said, "is that you wouldn't have left me the same way he did."

Dorian sighed. The jealousy slipped from his grasp like a bottle he'd grabbed with spilled oil on his fingers. "You're right about that. I would have fought against Tranquility with all the strength I had."

"I know it," Galen said. "And I know it's not Marcus's fault that he didn't. But it changed me."

"I understand it."

Dorian could feel himself relaxing. He'd had a long day, after all. Another exhausting day of politics would rear its ugly head tomorrow, but for now, he could rest, reassured by the comforting presence of his husband beside him.

But then, he remembered the guest room, overwhelmed by a chaotic mess of plantlife — a trivial remedy that wasn't doing nearly enough to soothe the room's sullen occupant.

"Maybe not a dinner party yet," he said. "But at least he ought to meet Rilienus."

[tranquilweek]

Tranquil week starts TODAY!🎉

Post your works featuring Tranquil characters and tag @tranquilweek so that we can reblog them here! Looking forward to seeing everyone's creations💙

Welcome to Tranquil Week!

Join us for a week dedicated to exploring the Tranquil characters from Dragon Age!

To participate, create a fanwork (art, writing, podfic, moodboard, etc.) that features a canon Tranquil character (list here!) or a Tranquil OC. Then post your work here on Tumblr from August 25th - August 31st and tag @tranquilweek so that we can reblog your post. If you have a question that isn't answered in this post, send us an ask!

Optional Prompts

image description in alt ID || text version of prompts under the cut ⬇️

You are welcome to follow our daily prompts, but it's not required! As long as your creation features a Tranquil character and follows our guidelines, we'll reblog it here.

Submitted creations must adhere to the tagging requirements detailed below and in the post here. Creations that are improperly or inadequately tagged will NOT be promoted on this blog.

This event is not a moral statement about the Rite of Tranquility. Exploring darker or potentially triggering content in fiction is not an endorsement of that content in real life. Tranquility is an element in Dragon Age canon and this event will not pass judgment on how participants choose to explore Tranquility in their works.

That being said, this event will not tolerate or promote:

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Use of prompts is optional! Mix and match, switch the days, don't follow our prompts, or don't use prompts at all, as you prefer.

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Sun 25: Enchanting || Rite of Tranquility || Skyhold Mo 26: Focus || Mage Rebellion || Kinloch Hold Tu 27: Logic || The Breach || Wonders of Thedas We 28: Free Will || Oculara || The Gallows Th 29: Research || Cure for Tranquility || Haven Fr 30: Dreams || The Harrowing || Ostagar Sat 31: Lyrium || The Conclave || Redcliffe Village

Alternate Prompts: A once fond memory || The Fade || Spirits & Demons || The Gull & Lantern || A friend they knew before

✨We hope you'll join us in August and we're excited to see what everyone creates!✨

[abyssal-ilk]

where is the dialogue option to drop to your knees and get so nauseous from dread and disgust that you vomit when you find out that the venatori are using the tranquil's skulls to find the shards in dai. where is the option to have the inquisitor try to find out who each of the skulls once belonged to. where is the option to put them all to rest, either by burying or burning. ig the devs must have forgotten it during final development, smh.

[monabee-draws]

Sometimes I think about the Tranquil in DAI, and how their skulls were used to make Ocularum.

My un-Tranquil Rook has some very personal hatred for the Venatori...

[snurtle]

I've been thinking about the templars lately. they were promised honor, virtue, told that they would be charged with protection of the innocent... And then those same people are systemically exploited and abused, abuse others because they're taught to regard everyone else as either sheep who need to be lead or potential threats. Never equals, except in their brothers/sisters-in-arms. They act as the guard-dogs and military arm of an entirely different organization that they're only a functionary member of but have no governing say in. Even the chantry aren't their equals- they function as the templar order's supervisors! And all this isolation and closing of ranks ends in disability, addiction, death, and abandonment by the system they spent their bodies in service of.

To top that off, retaliations against them just confirm the paranoia they were taught to embrace. It's probably a long hard road to get out of that hole.

Like, listen. the dichotomy of mage vs templars is a satisfying and easy one, but the system is tearing them apart too. have you ever heard of a retired templar?

at the end of it, mages and templars need to unite against the real threat. the chantry.

[sapphodera]

Surprise surprise the Circle is bad but isn’t it so incredibly fucked up that the Tranquil don’t go back to their families. Like the whole point mages get locked up in the tower is so they can’t hurt anyone with their magic, right? But if you’re Tranquil you can’t even like…punch someone. They can only make enchantments, so the Circle uses them as slave labor bc they’re no way they’re paying them. All the Tranquil we see in the games (afaik) are literally slaves of the Circle or someone else, none of them are just chilling in with their parents in Redcliffe or anything. Does the circle even tell their families what happened to them? Imagine your kid gets taken away from you and twenty years later you find out they were lobotomized and and used as a slave and no one let you have them back, despite the fact they were taken away for “your own protection.”

Gaider said they’re “free to leave” but if you’re stripped of all emotion, how can you ever desire to stay or leave anywhere? Why would the Chantry be comfortable using them for labor? Why wouldn’t the Chantry just automatically give them back? Especially since Karl literally proves that the Tranquil can’t control themselves and their actions are not their own!

[plisuu]

[previous]

A continuation of my lil @tranquilweek fic about Avexis! A flashback to when her magic manifests, and off to the Circle she goes.

wc: 425 cw: mentions of alienage/elf injustice

Avexis didn’t remember much of her life before the Circle, taken from the alienage as young as she was. If she tried, she might recall a mother’s lullaby, but the only thing that came back to her easily was the memory of too many bodies—too many elves, not enough food, not enough space. She remembered the day her magic manifested, when she realized she could understand the local strays, pleading with them over scraps.

She also remembered the day it changed her life, when she was being chased by some of the older children in the alienage. Bullies. She asked the stray dogs to teach them a lesson, and they did.

The templars came with little announcement—no one was sure who had reported the child, but the alienage knew they couldn’t risk more attention than they were already paid. She left with little fuss. Truth be told, she couldn’t remember if she even cried… not that it mattered. After spending her early years in filth and squalor she thought one thing as she was escorted trough the streets of Val Royeaux: that this could only be a blessing.

The White Spire was clean, the mages around her kind enough. She remembered the prick of her finger when the Senior Enchanter, an elderly man with sunken eyes, took her blood. It left a scar, but she hardly noticed as the phylactery glowed before her eyes. She was clothed and fed and placed in lessons where she was taught to read, taught the Chant and the dangers of magic, and how the Circle was meant to protect them from the outside world that spurned them. She was taught to avoid the templars’ scrutiny, which she gladly avoided, still frightened by the gleam of their armor and the swords at their sides.

Her closest friends were the cats that roamed the halls, watching them catch the mice that scurried across the kitchen floors. She was quiet and self kept, and she knew the instructors talked about her in hushed tones, about her magic, about her progress. They didn’t know that the cats told her what they said until she asked them why they worried.

Lessons became more intense, after that. She was watched more closely, given private lessons by one of the older enchanters. She didn’t understand why. She could not produce fire or ice like the other apprentices.

You have a rare gift, the Senior Enchanter told her. You must learn to use it carefully and wisely.

The cats remained her only friends.

[next]

[inquisimer]

A Promise Kept

For @tranquilweek day 3: As Cassandra fights through the carnage wrought by the Breach, she searches for a sign that Regalyan survived.

read it on ao3 here!

Avexis & Cassandra, Minor Cassandra/Regalyan, Minor Cassandra & Cullen | Rated T | 1637 words | CW: minor character death

-

Cassandra’s attention, which should have been solely on the demons pouring from the sky, was inescapably divided. Slash, parry, block—and search. She could not stop herself from hoping for a glimpse of unburned flesh amidst the wreckage.

Worse, she wasn’t even looking for the Divine. Or at least, not the Divine alone. The Maker and Andraste forgive her, but she wanted nothing more than to see Regalyan’s face, unconscious, perhaps, but alive, Maker please, if anyone is alive—

She slammed her shield against a shade’s hooded face and it dissipated back into the rift above. Not that it mattered. It would return, or another in its place. It was only a matter of time.

Still, they had to take the respites when they could. But as they broke to sit and rest their weary limbs, something brushed against the far edge of Cassandra’s awareness.

Something familiar.

“Galyan,” she breathed. The magic’s signature was unmistakable—she knew it well as the back of her own hand. Without a word, she leapt over a crumbling stone wall and sprinted toward it.

“Seeker?”

“Seeker!”

Her companions’ shouts were lost to the wind. Hooking her shield to her back as she ran, she focused her senses on the magic, Regalyan’s magic, letting it guide her up the hill, closer to the center of the temple. It grew and sharpened and clarified in her awareness, until finally it overwhelmed her and she skidded to a stop in what might have been the Temple’s foyer. She saw only corpses when she looked around, burned to a crisp as every one they’d found—

There.

Nearly invisible against the snow was an opaque semi-circle of magic. To Cassandra’s eyes alone, it pulsed and drew her in, the taste of bitter elfroot and a threatening storm on her tongue.

Regalyan had cast this spell, that much she knew for certain. She could only pray that he was the one beneath it, rather than one of the corpses littered around it.

“Seeker, what’s going on?” Varric, the apostate, and the Commander finally caught up to her, panting to various degrees. She heard the shink of Cullen’s sword as he, too, immediately saw why she had stopped.

“Wait,” she said, holding out a hand. “I know the mage who cast this. It is a shield. There is likely someone—or something—beneath it.”

“A survivor,” Cullen breathed. “Your mage?”

“Maker willing.” Taking a deep breath, Cassandra stepped within reach. “I will dispel the magic. If it is demons—“

“We stand ready, Seeker.”

Cassandra nodded. She reached for that place of peace and certainty within her, the font from which she drew her skills. Her gloved fingers brushed against the misty exterior of the shield and she pushed against its construction in the Fade.

It collapsed.

The entire party cringed as a scream of utter anguish cut through the momentarily quiet air. It reverberated within Cassandra as she realized that it was not Regalyan within the shield, but a woman. Biting back grief and anger, even as she understood what he had done, Cassandra fell to her knees and clasped the woman’s shoulders.

“Avexis,” she said, struggling to comfort the girl. What little instinct she had for this sort of thing was rusty from disuse. “Avexis, please. It is okay. You’re safe.”

“I’m not,” she cried. “He kept me that way, but he’s gone! He told me not to lose him, but I lost him, I messed up. Of course I did, of course I did—“

“You did not—“

That was the wrong thing to say. Avexis struggled against Cassandra’s grip. Around them, the Fade pulsed dangerously under the force of emotions she was failing to control. The air crackled and behind Cassandra a loud crack echoed as Avexis’ terror made itself know. If they did not act soon, her tenuous control would give way, and the Veil here was in no state to bear that kind of assault.

“Avexis, you must calm yourself,” Cassandra urged.

“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I don’t know how.”

“You do. Galyan was teaching you—”

Mentioning Regalyan was a mistake, as well. As soon as his name fell from her lips, a fresh wave of sobs overcame Avexis and Cassandra felt the Fade bow dangerously at her back. Then, that hiss and spark that was becoming all too familiar.

“Seeker, we must calm her!” Cullen snapped, the tension of days without sleep wearing through his patience. “If not by words, then by force—we cannot have more rifts opening!”

By force. Purge her, he meant. But as Cassandra stared down at the brand that no longer sequestered Avexis from the Fade, as she remembered Regalyan’s grief over the girl’s fate, years ago, she froze.

Demons spawned from the new rift; their talons clattered against the ice and screeching hisses split the air. Solas’ staff and Varric’s bolts whistled by with deadly accuracy, but there was only so much they could do. As Cullen said, they could not have more rifts opening while they had no way to close them.

A Silence was at the tips of her fingers. But Cassandra could not find the strength needed to call it forth.

She had so many doubts.

“Seeker!” Cullen’s boots crunched on the snow, closer now. If he recognized what ailed her, he did not berate her for it. His Purge took hold and reality reinforced its existence, tight and sharp around them.

Avexis’ sobs quieted, gentle hiccups through the tears still streaming down her face. It did not hurt her, Cassandra knew, not the way it did when called with intention. But somehow that did not soothe her conscience as it should have.

Cullen’s gauntlet fell briefly on her shoulder. “Take her back to Haven,” he said gruffly. “We will deal with the demons as best we can. Just get her out of here before it wears off.”

Cassandra scooped Avexis into her arms, and this time she gave no resistance. Just sobbed quietly, her tears streaking through the ichor and blood on Cassandra’s armor. She seemed unharmed, physically at least, but her psyche teetered precariously.

As they descended off the mountain, Cassandra’s exhaustion and grief coalesced into anger. Galyan had had enough time to throw up a shield, yet he used it to save Avexis, not himself. He was the healer—if he yet lived, they could save countless others. Many more than a single, unpredictable mage. His control was not so unstable that it would open yet more rifts, and allow yet more demons into the world.

If he had saved himself—oh, who was she fooling? All she could think was that if he had saved himself instead, her heart would be just a bit less broken. As it was, it beat a steady ache, weeping grief into her chest behind the stoicism that the people needed to see.

“I’m sorry,” Avexis mumbled. Her tears had slowed and though she spoke, she cast her eyes aside. “It should have been me.”

It was her own thought, reflected back at her, but shame immediately crashed over Cassandra. Of course Regalyan had saved her—hadn’t that been what he was after all along?

We failed her when we left her, Cassandra. I failed her. There has to be a way to make that right.

“He would not have wanted that,” she said. “He would never have been able to live with himself if he lost you again.”

“What good can I do?” Avexis sniffled. “I’m less than useful—I’m a danger.”

It might not even matter, Cassandra thought, looking up at the Breach. Justinia was dead, the sky torn open, the balance of the Fade and reality rent asunder. In all likelihood, they would be overrun with demons in a matter of weeks, and dead long before then.

“You do not have to be useful,” she said, belatedly, climbing the wide steps to the healer’s cabin. “You can simply be. What the future holds beyond that…well, the Maker knows, and you will find out.”

She stopped short of telling Avexis they would keep her safe. A promise she knew Regalyan had made—but that guarantee had died along with him. But it was not a function of who, or what, she was. They could no more keep Avexis safe than anyone else in Haven.

As she laid the woman down on one of Adan’s empty cots, a breathless messenger burst through the door.

“Lady Cassandra, Lady Cassandra, urgent word from the commander—“

She caught the messenger, by the shoulder, holding him upright as he swayed. He was a boy of few summers, swimming in a hood several sizes too big. “Slow down and breathe. What has happened?”

“A woman—there was a woman in the Temple! A dwarf! She fell out of a rift! And her hand—”

“Fell out of a rift…” Cassandra’s eyes widened. “A survivor? A dwarf? And what is this about her hand?”

“It’s magic like—“ the messenger gestured upward, where the cabin roof hid the Breach from sight. “All—green, and going crazy!”

Cassandra’s hand flew to her sword. “Back up the mountain,” she ordered. “Fetch the apostate, Solas. I want him in the Chantry at once.”

He pressed a fist to his chest and vanished, slipping and stumbling in his oversized boots. She started to follow him out, then remembered why she was here, and looked back at Avexis’ frightened, but curious face.

“Stay here,” she said, trying and mostly failing to soften her voice. “Rest.”

She took off for the Chantry, tamping down the hope that wanted to leap in her chest. If this survivor had any information, any explanation—

Maybe they would be able to save these people after all. Maybe, just maybe, if the Maker was merciful, Galyan hadn’t died in vain.