#he's fine though; if Someone's making solas have a crisis of faith that's a good thing in his book

[edda-grenade]

wounded by the same knife

[common-blackbird]

Started!

This is my Inquisitor (so overjoyed you can be a qunari), her name is the default Herah and I decided I’m going to approach this game by staying true to a character and not looking to do everything and be on everyone’s good side u_u

I want to make a good background for her so i’m not telling anything. Yet. I’ll just say she’s a qunari mercenary and prefers using two-handed weapons.

Highlights from today:

Studying history does pay off! This was a reference to the famous book in environmental history - Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond. So proud i recognised it x)

Also i don’t have a good shot of solas but he cracks me up so much.. The guy has a posture of the typical retired grandpa (the only thing missing is to have him walk with his hands on his back). And there’s a scene where the party sees the rift and there’s the inquisitor facing it, cassandra bracing herself and solas... just standing like an old man

On a side note, Cassandra is so gorgeous and good and i already love her, i just keep taking shots of her TAT

As for varric, it’s so different than from da2, this is so much more “official” and you can see he’s the same as ever, but you’re not hawke, hawke’s not here, the gang’s not here and there’s nothing casual about the whole situation T-T

And lastly, my inquisitor has a horse now, i didn’t know that was possible in the game ;__;

played some more...

Let  me start with.... The advisors! (+ cassandra... or is she also an advisor too?)

What a bunch. I love Cassandra’s and Leliana’s faith having a crisis bc they believe that Inquisitor is the Herald of Andraste and the way they deal with it. It’s really interesting. Leliana is completely opposite than what she was in origins and i’m surprised it doesn’t bother me at all! I love seeing this whole darker side that was only hinted at in origins, though it’s also sad when i think how she used to be. I wonder how she’s gonna overcome her doubting of faith. 

Josephine is a delight. I keep using her for almost every war table mission for now. She radiates capability. She reminds me of those bureaucrats that are super nice and helpful and chill and even if you’re doing everything wrong she’ll just smile and say “it’s ok, we can fix it” and then goes and fixes everything herself (and you feel this insane amount of gratitude you send a whole separate email to thank her for her patience and help )

As for Cullen... It’s interesting... I got impression from what i saw in the fandom that he’s supposed to have had his allegiance changed and him rejecting the templars should have been him ultimately siding with the mages (or at least being anti-templar(?)), and that turning point that could have been a great way to show his character development during the game. Which i agree, only... i did not get that impression from the game so far at all. I mean, so far everything that i can remember him saying is totally smth he’d say in da2... He didn’t leave kirkwall bc of his disappointment with the templar order, he doesn’t seem to have any issues with the templars except those who go full war mode instead of trying to balance the situation. And it’s a really chaotic situtation, i love how they did it.

This line was amazing, i wish there was a special cutscene for that.

I’m loving the way they made this huge religious organisation in crisis have a complete collapse with the death of a key figure. I love the concept of inquisition and problems that it poses. I love you can see everyone’s reasoning and doubts reflect their background, but also see why inquisition can be understood as another power-grasping organisation trying to topple the templars, the mages and the chantry. Everything is divided. We got templars leaving the chantry, seekers leaving the chantry(?), rebel mages, loyal mages, rebel mages gone rouge, templars gone rouge, and suddenly there’s another organisation forming that you can totally believe is just another powerhungry force trying to get the piece of the cake by taking advantage of the power vacuum left by the sudden lack of the religious authority. (and only we know we’re The Good Guys). I love that we have characters who need to believe in the greater plan, characters who question the greater plan, and characters who want to utilise the power of belief and characters who don’t care for divine plans. The chaos is real and it feels real. I love that the centre figure of the whole holy business is a heretic of another culture. For the chantry this is the lose-lose situation (unless the inquisitor becomes religious by the end of the game). Which is why this line works so well. 

Ok, now shorter updates:

Red Jenny! I know it’s not her actual name but it is in my head. Where’s that box i delivered ages ago >_> Anyways, she makes my brain work on 150% capacity. I can understand what she means only after i go over it for 5 times.

Forgive me but oh my god, i can’t believe that i can recognise one voice actor and now i have another mental image whenever he speaks. Like, he’s really good at bringing out a new character, but when he gets more casual he sounds like kanan jarrus from star wars rebels and i’m just “what are you doing here, space dad” ;__; Hopefully it’ll get old and i’ll be enjoying more iron bull. he seems nice...

Vivienne on the other hand is like a reverse Josephine(?) She seems insanely capable but hates customer service, however somehow she likes you very much and will do everything you need for reasons you can’t fathom. Have a screenshot. So classy. I already feel humbled.

and lastly, BREAKING NEWS: aveline finally hired carver ;__;

Tbh Kirkwall is still a mystery and i have so many questions but i don’t think i’ll get any answers... If a powervacuum of the divine cause this much chaos, how’s kirkwall faring without a new viscount? Like, yeah, aveline can keep in check, but umm it’s in a very vulnerable state which makes it a good target for any invasion... didn’t sebastian promise bloodshed?

That’s all for now, bc otherwise i’ll start writing an essay on cassandra.

We befriended a bear in the hinterlands!

lets start with this cool shot

so, i have been to the mages and to the templars and... i sided with the templars.... First i was all for mages since they offered negotiations while the seeker just walked away, but then it turned out that was a trap, there’s also tevinter mages there (which is a red flag for my inquisitor) and then there’s some time magic involved (which is a big no for me), and i just walked out. Felt bad for the mages but my inquisitor comes from a culture where mages have their tongues cut so...

Also this guy deserves a medal for putting up with corrupted superiors and annoying nobles.

And i met cole ;__; Where are Rhys and Evangeline ;___;

the templar mission was ok i guess... I was surprised that red lyrium was apparently circulating around for some time, not sure if that means since meredith or even before. I love the stories of corruption tho and to imagine what it’s like to be trapped in this organisation that just keeps breaking everything it stands for

As for the important mages, i’ve Dorian twice since i bailed out on him in Redcliffe :I I love the guy, he seems arrogant yet so kind (like, no one would have carried that annoying priest and yet he did, after he ran from his own people to warn us after i ditched him in Redcliffe? man ;A;) Every time i go with “ok the inquisitor fears tevinter and distrusts this rando who just popped in” i am marinating in guilt.

and then we fight some mages and die several times but we succeed and we meet the bad guy...

Is it an unpopular opinion to say that i like him as a villain so far? i saw so many jokes on his incompetency. Idk, i like that part where he said that he reached the fade in someone’s name, it makes me think he’s not just power-hungry person(?) who’s just evil,but was originally serving someone, and he said that the gods were either gone or corrupted and he spent hundreds of years thinking what to do with whatever happened so he seems like he knows what he’s doing and maybe(!just maybe) he is trying to fix things that are wrong but we can’t see that? And of course he hates the inquisitor, he has to redo his stuff all over again, i’d hate the inquisitor too. im probably looking too much into it. My wish is that, if he’s evil, he became so gradually, but originally had good intentions? Or there’s more to things going on that we just don’t know and he does... Maybe this was his tragic attempt to fix things but he would ultimately fail and be branded as a villain etc etc. I’m getting carried away

If it turns out he’s just evil for the sake of being evil then feel free to tell me so now so i don’t embarrass myself further with plotting myself lol.

A side note, is he the Architect? Or the same? In DA2 he says he’s a tevinter magister, right? and he ceased to be a human. Also in DA2 it seemed like he was the boss, and here he said he reached in the name of someone (probably more important than him). But what is the Architect then?

And with that we reach the skyhold.

in skyhold

I didn’t know you meet hawke so soon ;__; i thought that was like, somewere more to the end of the game, since the big decision and all. But the mission is already opened and i am going to procrastinate on it until i finish every side mission :<

Also he is so sad ;__; i understand, but at the same time... all that humour now bitter sarcasm :’(

(also, very shallow remark, but i really really prefer his looks in da2 than here... it’s like they softened him. He’s more...oh god idk bearish(???) than hawkish(????) you know what i mean? the nose isn’t as sharp anymore, the beard is... what is it with the beard... anyways i get the game has its limits so it’s fine. it’s fine! fine.)

then there was the fight that i remember since twitter >:D

It’s what made me want to play dragon age and i finally reached it T-T so good! I love how you can see the both sides and everything they say is true but they’re so angry at themselves they’re taking it out on each other TAT

Cassandra later says Hawke probably wouldn’t have joined the inquisition even if she found him, and i wonder now if that’s true... At first i thought, nah, Hawke has too much of a hero complex, he would feel too responsible to just say no. Besides, he’s with the inquisition now (tho i can’t find him anywhere anymore!). But at the same time, the way da2 ends was such an iconic walking away from everything, and not taking into account the hocus-pocus rift stuff, i can imagine him refusing, especially seeing how bitter he is now. It’s also a question of how much would have cassandra told him i guess. idk, what do you think? Would he lead or nah?

another person i want to find but can’t in skyhold are the templars with ser barris. i can use them on war table missions but otherwise they’re non-existant? i forgot to talk to him back in haven but now i wonder if it was even possible and if he was even available there, since he isn’t here. I spent hours just running around skyhold looking for the guy :(

and then everything becomes unimportant bc aaaaa!! she! is the arcanist! Dagna! im so happy and proud(?) she went and reached her goals x)

anyways that’s all for now, laters

some random updates:

so i did the halamshiral and gave up to my “stick to the character” mode, and nothing went my way, but that’s life. Met morrigan! i almost forgot she appears lol. And, despite also jumping on the wagon of give-morrigan-better-clothes train, i have to admit seeing her in her old clothes was a relief after that dress at the ball. It’s not the way the dressed looked, but the way she moved in it... god im shallow

i also initially didn’t like morrigan being at orlais court of all places, but after the conversation that’s supposed to explain why she’s there i’m kinda ok with it. I mean, i still need some more info. Wouldn’t Tevinter be better? she’d practically become a magister overnight if she got this good in the game so fast. It’s also unconvincing how everyone knows everything in orlais but somehow nobody connected that the random kid that has no bakcground whatsoever with morrigan who keeps checking on him? But at skyhold she’s just “hey i have a kid, he’s no trouble, right?”  but hey, it’s morrigan. She can do anything. I’ll just have another story idea in my head.

Then there was news of the new divine that could be either cassandra or leliana and i don’t honestly know whom to choose. I’d prefer leliana over cassandra simply bc cassandra is more of a military mind, while the position of the divine would be more political. But lately every mission with leliana was spy spy, kill kill... Do we really want that for a religious leader? On the other hand, it would nicely round up her story from origins to inquisition... But cassandra is more of a public figure than leliana is...

when cassandra said:

“I want to respect the tradition, but not fear change. I want to right the past wrongs, but not avenge them. And I have no idea if wanting any of them makes them right.”

great moment. She’s usually so convinced and rash, i forget she’s more doubtful and open minded than what she looks like. Everything about cassandra is different from the impression she gives ;__; I love her so so so so much. (when she says she considers the inquisitor her friend i melted, next time varric pulls up the “seeker has no friends” joke, my heart will no longer be breaking).

I did a bunch of personal missions. Some were cool, some were ????. Also there were war table missions with zevran, that was cool. Also i love the codex entries in skyhold. The archery competition with varric banned? Dancing lessons failing bc lace harding is on the move all the time? Perfect.

And i met chargers, i like them, and aaah that staff-bow from the trailer is such a cool idea ;A;

What i don’t get with bull’s chargers is - they’re a mercenary group right? But isn’t swordselling seen as the complete misunderstanding of the qun? I get only bull is qunari, but he’s the leader of them? How is that not frowned upon?

And lastly, i don’t think i’ve said this, but i love that they added codex entries in the loading screens. love it.

update

After months of procrastination, i have faced my fears and have met alistair. it was very anticlimatic beating 11 level monsters when i was level 21...

but.. ALISTAIR TAT He’s changed... but not changed... but changed! Like, his personality is the same, but he’s more serious, doesn’t run from responsibilities, isn’t as bitter as hawke (also, why do i get impression that i am supposed to get the impression that they’re friends? they’ve met like, once, and talked for less than a minute.. whatevs. let’s pretend they’ve met again when on the run), i really love the inquisition alistair ;;__;;

Also, i managed to get that awkward demon baby family reunion :D

 know that morrigan says the vaguest generic thing “i told him his father was a good man” bc of various world states, but i also think she’s come a long way not to mock alistair, and then when he notices that she didn’t use the opportunity he mentions that the kid changed her and she’s like “pfft, yea right, you wish”....

... when she was the one who said that in the first place ;;__;;

Awwww :> I love that they bicker but softly. Kids have grown up :’) Anyways, when will alistair start paying alimony

The only weird one is Leliana bc when morrigan was introduced she was like “danger danger” (smth i’d sooner think alistair would do), and when alistair is (supposedly) in skyhold, Leli doesn’t even mention him, only hawke.  bruh, what were they to you, you almost died together ;;__;;

oh i also slayed a dragon.  I didn’t even want to fight that dragon. It was a hillarious feat of inquisitor, solas, cole and blackwall, all on level 21, having to chug all the health potions right at the beginning while fighting a dragon that was... level 13, after which i just let go of controls and suddenly everyone was hella good at fighting and slayed it (only cole needed revival several times).  

And, befitting the wild-dream feel that it had, when i got back to skyhold and visited companions, suddenly i was drinking pelin with iron bull, and he’s reminiscing on that fight with the dragon and i’m like

it was awful and you weren’t even there.

i forgot to update

but last time i was playing i finished the hawke/alistair sacrifice and all the torture i went through with deciding whom to sacrifice vanished bc frankly, at one moment, i wanted to sacrifice both of them, but in the end it was much more easier to sacrifice hawke bc inquisition hawke just didn’t feel like hawke to me, while alistair improved since the origins!

and now i remembered why i didn’t update, in the same day cassandra rejected me so i was sad and didn’t continue playing since then (i think last time i played it was around easter?)

new update

BLACKWALL!! or should i say Thom Rainier? Wow, what an arc! It was also so fun bc i was all strict mode, picking the third option, telling him his life is in inquisitor’s hands and all that, but in the end i set him free. He’s so good, a true knight T-T

Also i romanced sera. we’ll see how that goes.

Also, fave point in the game so far, i wanted, for so long, to sit at that val roeayoux (can’t spell) cafe and finally did it with cole’s personal mission. THANK YOU COLE YOU TRULY CAN READ PEOPLE’S MINDS.

another interesting thing was that after specialising as a reaver, cassandra said that drinking dragon blood makes you grow scales and become mad. Iron Bull said that inquisitor smells better bc dragon blood and that qunari generally smell better than humans. So i’m guessing qunari have fractions of dragon in them? ok...

and now i started that mission with morrigan and the puzzles are killing me lol, i am this 👌 close to just go chase calpernia and give up on a well of sorrows.

[jentrevellan]

Believe Again: Chapter 3

Rating: Mature Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Relationships: Cullen Rutherford x Female Trevelyan Tags: slow burn, slow build, slow romance, mage/templar dynamics, family drama, templars, mages, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, lyrium withdrawal, crisis of faith, loss of faith, The Chantry, sexual tension, innuendo MASTERPOST: A/N: Tags to be updated. Chapters posted on the 1st Thursday of the month.

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CHAPTER THREE- Elsie

My dear sister Elsie,

Firstly I want to apologise. I’ve spent such an awfully long time practising my penmanship skills (as my tutor insisted upon) and as such I was forbidden to reply to your last note until I had mastered the perfect flicks on my lettering. Well, what do you think?

I am thrilled to hear you’re going to be an Enchanter! I confess that I know very little of Circle hierarchy, but I assume that it’s a promotion of sorts? If so, then hurrah! You deserve it. You’ve always worked hard.

I actually have news of my own. As you know, my studies at home are coming to an end (finally!) and I’ve been deciding what I want to do with my life. Lucetta and mother have always said I could stay at the estate and become a sensible gentlewoman and find a nice husband. Oh, but how dull! I’ve been humouring them for sure. Honestly Elsie - can you imagine me hosting tea parties and soirees?

No… so I’ve had somewhat of an epiphany, I think. I would like to say that I’ve always been a faithful follower of the Maker. So… I’m joining the Chantry. For mother, I think it’s the next best thing so she should be satisfied. But I’m not doing this for her, or even for myself. I truly want to help spread the Chant of Light and help those who aren’t as privileged as us. It doesn’t feel like the noble or honourable thing to do; just the right thing. That’s how I know it’s what I must do.

- A letter from Cecelia Trevelyan to her eldest sister Elsie Trevelyan at the Ostwick Circle. 9:36 Dragon.

3. Elsie

When Elsie awoke the morning after the official forming of the Inquisition, she sat up in bed, felt her head hammer with an awful hangover and flopped back down on the feather mattress, pulling the covers over her head. I never should’ve let Varric Tethras buy me drinks all night , she thought miserably. What made it worse was that whilst she had felt giddy and tipsy, Varric had been jolly and yet Solas - who had consumed just as much ale as the pair of them - had sat all composed with a sly smile on his face, as if he couldn’t feel the effects of alcohol. As such, Varric had continued to buy more rounds of drinks, just to see if the elf would waiver but Solas had only chuckled and drank away whilst maintaining his sober composure. Some of Elsie’s closest friends in the Circle had been elves and none of them had held their liquor particularly well at all.

With a groan, Elsie rolled over, wrapping herself as tight as she could in her cocoon of blankets. Thank the Maker we aren’t travelling today , she thought. Even thinking about the motion of riding on horseback was enough to make her feel -

She gagged and shuddered, pushing all thoughts of motion out of her mind and instead tried to get comfortable again. After another wave of nausea crashed over her and she not-so-elegantly stumbled out of bed and retched in her chamber pot, did she collapse into an almost comatose state on the bed. Oh, if only my noble family could see me now…    

Suddenly she sobered and sat up, her breath catching. Family. Her family. Three out of the four Trevelyan daughters had attended the Conclave. All who had attended were dead, except for her. So her sisters -

It was finally hitting her. Her sisters Cecelia and Evelyn were gone. Snuffed out in an instant and yet she remained, her alone. Thousands had died, yes, but to lose not one but two of her sisters…

Elsie pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. It didn’t feel real and yet she had always been pragmatic and faced the facts. That's what her father had always loved about her - her pragmatism and ability to look at the wider picture, to think forward and not back. But how could she do that when two of her sisters were instantly killed and she was unable to remember a thing? Not one damn thing! She cursed. Guilt clawed into her belly, pulling uneasily at her gut. Perhaps Cassandra had been right to have her in chains. Maybe she had done something but couldn’t remember?

Idly, as she turned those thoughts over in her mind, she weaved a trickle of fire through her fingers, her movements as delicate as if she were playing keys on a piano forte. Elsie had always been the best at that instrument when they were children, despite the tough and sometimes bored exterior she exuded. The piano forte had been Elsie’s preferred instrument and before her magic had quickened, she and Evelyn would regularly hold small concerts to the servants in their home. Evelyn had been particularly talented with the lyre. But then Elsie remembered that Evelyn was dead and it didn’t matter how good a musician she had been. She was gone, and they had never truly got the chance to reconcile.  

A harsh rap at her cabin door intruded her dark thoughts and she absentmindedly said “enter”, even though she was still sat curled up on her bed in little more than a loose fitting shirt and breeches.  

The door to her cabin opened and a blast of cold air swept inside, but not enough to extinguish her flames tickling her fingers. Her visitor shut the door behind them and stomped their feet on the mat to brush the snow off. That’s when Elsie snapped her head up as the visitor was not someone she would’ve expected.

The templar - well Commander now, apparently - was dusting his boots off and was not looking at her as he began to speak.

“Herald; my apologies for the intrusion, but I’ve brought with me the latest reports from Corporal Vale-” he stopped abruptly when he finally came into the cabin fully. He stared at her and was transfixed at her control of the fire magic she was still weaving between her fingers.

A lick of anger flared in her stomach and her flames sparkled in response. So she snuffed them out with a wave of her hand. That little action earned her an ill-concealed flinch from the commander, and Elsie wasn’t sure if that was a small victory over him or not.

A thick silence fell between them until Elsie sighed and stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m not an arsonist, don’t worry,” she muttered, taking the papers from the commander's hand.

He seemed to snap out of thoughts when she spoke. “I never said you were.”

Elsie snorted. “And yet you’re looking at me with your other hand on the hilt of your sword as if I’ve grown two heads... or about to turn into an abomination.”

He let go of his grip, as if scolded by fire and frowned at her. “Old habits die hard,” he eventually said but Elsie had turned away to read the reports. She continued to pretend to read until he took the hint. She heard him sigh and leave her cabin, closing the door behind him with a firm thud.

Elsie slouched her shoulders and stared back at the closed door. She had been short with him, but what was she supposed to do? Pretend to be fine with him pretending not to be keeping an eye on her and her magic when he clearly was? Still, as she set the reports aside and looked around for her clothes, it had been rather unfair of her. She thought back to when he had escorted Cecelia to her, before the Conclave. If they had never found Elsie, then perhaps Cecelia would’ve stayed in Haven and avoided -

No. Elsie shook herself. She couldn’t think of maybes, ifs, and what could've been. The Templar had been helping her sister. Surely she would’ve done the same in his place? And it’s not like he knew that there was going to be an explosion, killing thousands…

After getting washed and dressed, Elsie braided her hair down her back and slung her old staff over her shoulder. As she stepped outside of her cabin into the crisp midday sun, she turned her eyes upwards towards the Breach and exhaled slowly. The mark on her hand had flared a little, but had also been stable since their attempt to close the hole in the sky. But it hadn’t been enough and she needed more. The Inquisition needed more.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Elsie made her way through the village, pushing aside all thoughts of the daunting challenge ahead and how it felt like she was tiptoeing on a precipice of change, of something bigger than themselves.

“Dimples!”

Elsie looked up to see Varric waving her over near the Chantry. Cassandra stood with him as well as - oh perfect, she thought. The Commander.      

“Finally joined the world of the living?” Varric said lightly. She could feel the Commander’s judgemental gaze on her, but decided to not even acknowledge his presence and focused her attention on Varric.

“I see you’re chirpier than usual, even though you drank just as much,” she replied with a frown.

The dwarf chuckled. “Now, now, you only think I drank as much as you and Chuckles. It’s one of my many talents.”

“And is one of your so-called ‘talents’ to also be a smug know-it-all?” Elsie retorted, using her hands to exaggerate her point. She heard something like a snort come out of Cassandra. Was that a suppressed giggle? Surely not…  

“Why Dimples; I pride myself on it,” Varric grinned and Elsie couldn’t help but smile back and shake her head.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Must you give ridiculous nicknames to everybody, Varric?”

Cullen finally spoke. “Yes, I was wondering the same thing. And why ‘Dimples’ for the Herald?”

Varric pointed at her, making Elsie’s face flush involuntary as they all looked at her. “Because surely you’ve noticed Curly, that when our beloved Herald smiles, she has dimples on her cheeks.”

Elsie finally looked at the Commander and took her opportunity to have a little fun. Without missing a beat she deadpanned: “And those aren’t my only dimples either, Commander; but not many people have been lucky enough to see those .”

To her great satisfaction the burly and stoic Commander’s cheeks reddened and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, whilst Varric burst into booming laughter and Cassandra smirked.

“Ha! She got you there, Curly!”

Elsie didn’t take her eyes off Cullen. Oh, what she would do to be in his head right now to know what he was thinking. “So, Curly is it?”

He refused to meet her gaze. “No.”

Varric pointed to Cullen’s hair, which was a warm golden blonde with a slight wave. “His hair used to be curly, back in Kirkwall.”

Elsie froze. Kirkwall? She thought, her gut twisting.

“The Commander spends more time on his hair than any of us ladies,” a new voice said from behind them. The serious Spymaster Leliana had stealthily approached and even she had a small smile on her face. “Isn’t that right, Cullen?”

The commander stuttered before dismissing himself and headed into the Chantry. Varric laughed again and Elsie plastered on a good-natured smile. Kirkwall eh? She thought. That’s something I need to pick up later.

Later that day, after the final arrangements were made to ready their departure to the Hinterlands, Elsie entered Ambassador Montilyet’s office, following a request for a meeting. With a sinking heart, Elsie knew this was going to be about her family and had already put off meeting Josephine twice already.

She pushed open the office door to find the Ambassador talking with -

Oh perfect. Again?

Commander Cullen looked up at the same time as Ambassador Montilyet. He frowned at her, making her insides lick irritably. It seemed that her little flirtatious joke hadn’t been as warmly received as she had hoped. And yet he was always so cold and impassive; maybe seeing a disapproving or even mildly angry side of him would be more interesting, even if just to convince her he was actually human, capable of some sort of emotion.

“Ah, Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine said, clearly missing the glare they were sharing or choosing to ignore it. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was just reiterating to Cullen the importance of securing more noble allies.”

“So they can clog up the village and come crying when their satin shoes get spoilt?” Cullen scoffed. “We need more troops, not some spoilt arsehole who’s had everything given to them on a golden platter.”

Oh, he really is just asking to be vexed, isn’t he? Elsie forced a smile.

“Normally I would be inclined to agree with you, Commander,” she said, and he blinked in surprise but it soon turned to a frown as Elsie continued. “We aren’t all silk slippers and dainty cakes. What a wide assumption you make of nobility; especially when you - a templar - are so quick to stop rash assumptions of yourself.”

They stared at one another, the air thick with unsaid arguments and tension like earlier that morning.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” he said slowly. “You’re a mage from a Circle, I thought.”

Elsie bristled. “Yes, and I lost all rank and respect when I was forced into the Circle.”

Josephine cut in, sensing a heated argument on the verge of disrupting her calm office. “Lady Elsie is the eldest of the Trevelyan daughters, and was-”

“Was heir, until it was all taken from me: because I’m a mage.”

Another silence, thick and heavy filled the room. Commander Cullen regarded her coolly, his eyes dark with anger and something else, she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Finally he inclined his head. “I’ll leave you to your meeting, Lady Ambassador. Lady Trevelyan,” he said stiffly.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Elsie let out a breath and exchanged a look with Josephine.

“What an infuriating man,” Elsie muttered. “He does it on purpose,” she continued, taking a seat opposite Josephine.

Josephine’s eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

Elsie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I barely know the man, but he baits me at almost every chance he gets. And I can’t help but get riled up.”

“Try not to worry, Herald. Just let him do his job and he will let you do yours.”

Elsie shook her head. “I don’t think it’s possible. As a templar, he can’t help but watch mages. Oh yes, he may say he isn’t one anymore, but just because I’m no longer in a Circle, doesn’t mean I’m no longer a mage.”

Josephine shifted. “What you said to Cullen, about you being the Trevelyan heir… well I think we can use that fact to our advantage.”  

Elsie didn’t comment on Josephine’s excellent diversion in conversation to get on to the matter at hand. She looked at the Antivian with renewed respect.

“I was disinherited, my lady. There may no longer be Circles, but there is no chance of my position in my family being restored. Nor would I want it to: I couldn’t do that to my sister Lucetta, when she is on the cusp of taking over from my father.”

Josephine smiled. “That is a noble gesture indeed, but you are right, there is little chance of you being restored to your former position.” She spread her hands. “That being said, now that you are the Herald of Andraste, your situation is somewhat unique, and the Trevelyan name does carry some weight, even in Orlais. If you are happy, I would like to freely distribute your family name when spreading the word of the Herald of Andraste.”

She nodded. “Of course. Whatever I can do to help.”

The ambassador made a mark on her ledger. “And your family: would they be satisfied if we were to contact them? Would they help our cause?”

Elsie smiled humorlessly. “My father loves politics and my mother loves to gossip and both are as devoted to the Chantry as the other. I can’t see it being a problem at all.” Indeed, Mother may even forget the shame I brought to the family as a mage, Elsie added silently. Well, probably not, but maybe she won’t pretend I’m dead anymore.

Josephine sensed something left unsaid and looked at her kindly. “Would you like me to write a letter to your parents? It can come from me, or I can ghostwrite one for you…?”

She smiled with relief. “That would be appreciated, Lady Ambassador. I’m sure you can say things more… eloquently than I could ever hope to.”

“You’re too kind, my lady,” Josephine smiled warmly. “I will have a draft letter drawn up today for you to review and sign before you leave for the Hinterlands in the morning”.

-

The rest of the day was spent preparing for her departure from Haven. She had been used to travelling light from her time as an apostate following the fall of the Circles, so had little to pack in the first place. However, as she looked around the cabin, she felt suffocated by the small space and the lack of freedom she had in the tiny village. Things had changed so considerably, that she just wanted to be herself again, if just for a moment.

Elsie picked up her staff by the door of her cabin and pulled on her boots and a new thick coat which had been given to her for her journey. Outside, the light was beginning to fade and the evening was drawing ever closer. It was the perfect time to slip out of the village and head for a walk without being disturbed, as the soldiers and almost everyone else in the village halted in their activities and listened to the urgent growl of their hungry bellies.

Since she had been in Haven, her appetite had dwindled. She had always been known as the girl with the hearty appetite back in the Circle, and her robes had clung to her quite tightly in places, but she had been happy and eating had been something to pass the time when there was little else to do sometimes. Now after a year of being on the run and having to work or hunt for her meals, her robes had begun to hang loosely and her new outfits courtesy of the Inquisition, were very different and also much smaller… and yet comfortable. She knew that she should eat more, especially in Haven, where food was thankfully plentiful for everyone, despite their remote location. The next few weeks would be different but even so, she couldn’t find it in herself to be hungry. Not when it was a feeling her sisters would feel again.

And they won’t feel anything. Because they're dead.

Elsie kept her head down and pulled up her hood and walked down to the edge of the lake, arms wrapped around herself. Already at the shore, the noisy bustle from the village grew distant, and as she continued to walk further away, it all but faded, so all she could hear was the crunch of her boots in the fresh snow, and the water lapping quietly. She slowed her pace once she was on the far side of the lake and for the first time in a very, very long time, she was totally alone. No one could see her and no one was watching her.

She smiled bitterly. Oh, how she had longed for this solitude when she had been in the Circle. There had been a modest courtyard garden at the Ostwick Circle, but there was always someone else there. A templar, or a mage or a tranquil. You were never truly on your own in a Circle. And on the run she had always stuck with fellow apostates, as it really was strength in numbers. But now…

Finally Elsie came to a stop and looked across the lake. She may have been alone, but she still felt far from it. She didn't need to look up to know about the gaping hole in the sky. Especially when its eerie green hue was reflected in the otherwise calm waters of the lake. No matter where she went, Elsie knew that the Breach would follow her, like a giant eye boring down on her every move.

But she paused at that thought and slowly lifted her head up to look straight into the Breach. Was the Maker there? Was that the reason why she felt this heavy presence ooze from the sky??

Perhaps she truly was the Herald of Andraste. What a ridiculous notion, she thought. If anyone had any right to be the Herald of the Maker’s Bride, surely it would’ve been her innocent and pious sister, Cecelia?

Cecelia. Her lovely round face, dotted with freckles and her bucktooth smile filled Elsie’s mind and she let out an involuntary sob that startled her. Cecelia, whose life was just beginning, was dead. And was it her fault? Why had Cecelia - sweet and innocent Cecelia - died, and she survived?

And Evelyn. Evie, her templar sister. She had also been a faithful woman, bounding herself to the Maker by joining the Templars. And yet her life had been snuffed out too. Evie, with her strong jaw, her cropped hair and her rare smile. She had possessed an intelligence and wit that many underappreciated or took for granted. Their relationship had been strained due to the war, but blood was still blood, and sisterhood was a bond stronger than one could describe.

Tears were streaming down her face now and Elsie clenched her fists, glaring at the Breach. How dare the Maker take their lives from the world. In a world already dark and foreboding, why had He designed to snatch their lives away? The pair of them were worth more to the faith than Elsie by far. And yet here she stood. The lone survivor. The Herald of Andraste.

Her anger flared, her clenched fists shook and without warning her fingers began to tingle and fire licked her hands and forearms. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t just.

Elsie screamed in rage and fell to her knees in the snow. The fire at her fingertips hissed as they were extinguished. Her body wracked in sobs and her chest heaved, struggling for breath as the reality of her loss, of her survival, of her burden, became a harsh and brutal reality for her.

She may not have believed she was the Herald of Andraste, but as she looked over towards the village of Haven, where the Inquisition banners flapped in the wind, she realised that all of those people did believe she was sent to save them all. That she had survived for a reason. And yet she did not have a clue what to do.

When the tears on her cheeks and dried and the cold air was sharp in her lungs, her breathing steadied and she slowly rose to her feet. Elsie dusted the snow off her breeches and inspected her gloves which were a little singed. She brushed the hair out of her eyes that had come loose from her braid and slowly made her way back to the village.

A shiver down her spine made her look up in the evening light and she stopped in her tracks when she saw that she was no longer as alone as she had initially thought.

Commander Cullen stood on his own, looking right at her, with his sword half drawn. The steel caught the green light of the Breach and Elsie’s gut twisted at the sight of him and his stance. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he had been a templar of some authority, and all at once she felt like a shy apprentice, closing in on herself.

But she was so exhausted that she couldn’t even begin to want to fight with him again, or tease him. A wave of cold washed over her as he simply looked at her; his face, as always, an unreadable mask. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to pretend they hadn’t seen each other.

Instead, she walked towards him, never once breaking eye contact, before stopping when they were level with one another and did something that surprised even her. Elsie placed a hand on his arm.  

She meant to say something - anything - but no words came to mind. Perhaps she was offering some prospect of peace between them. But as her hand rested just a little longer on his arm, she felt the heat of him. She needed a human touch to not feel so alone and for one ridiculous moment she had wanted to fall into his arms. A funny thought crossed her tired mind that he would probably be a good hugger. He smelt... comforting. Elderflower. Oakmoss. And it startled Elsie that she felt his presence could be to not just foreboding but also a little comforting. She wanted to say more, she wanted to lean in, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure which thought scared her the most.

Elsie dropped her hand and left Cullen staring after her. But he did not say a word, nor did he follow. Something in Elsie’s gut twisted again, and it terrified her.

<- PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ->

[sinsbymanka]

Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 34!

Chapter 34: The Rebirth

Full Story at AO3

(Remarkably little angst. Mostly fluff and existential crisis. You’ve all earned it after the last few chapters.) 

Finding her had been a miracle. Maria’s small, crumpled form had barely been visible underneath the snow clinging to her hair, her clothes. When Varric spotted crimson in the beam of his phone’s weak flashlight, he raced toward it without thought, wishing, hoping, wanting… praying they weren’t too late. Her form felt stiff as ice beneath his fingers, worse, she didn’t respond to her name in his mouth, didn’t move until he tightened his hold on her. 

The instant his fingers curled into her shoulder, she made a small, broken sound. Not quite a whimper, but not a scream either. She shuddered under his hands and bucked against his grip weakly. Her eyes gazed ahead, unseeing, into the darkness while she struggled helplessly against him like a bird beating her wings against a cage. His stomach dropped, his fingers gently circling her delicate wrists while she tried to push him away. A quiet sob escaped Maria’s lips and… 

It broke him. Just a little. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. 

“Maria, stop.” He pleaded into her freezing ear. She shivered, but some of the fight seemed to bleed out of her. “It’s just me. It’s just me, we’re gonna take care of you, baby.” 

Her faint struggles began to cease so he released her wrists and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, cradled her to his chest. “I won’t hurt you.” He promised to the shivering, half-conscious miracle in his arms. “I won’t ever hurt you, Maria.” 

Somewhere above them, Nyx cawed loudly, repetitively, sounding the alarm for the entire rescue party. Maria collapsed against his chest with a broken, weary sigh that could have been his name, but he couldn’t tell. There were other voices calling to each other in the darkness, growing awareness that someone had found something, although who or what was still unknown. They could only hope.

But hope had gotten them this far.

“Varric!” Dorian’s voice cried out from the slope somewhere above him. “Varric, where in the blighted hell are you?” 

“Here!” He pulled his face away from Maria’s chilled skin to yell up over his shoulder. “I’ve got her!” 

He pressed his lips against her temple, one hand gently pushing back the stiff, frozen hair framing her face. He could taste the iron of blood on his lips, her skin frigid underneath his mouth. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He whispered softly. 

Cassandra sent up a prayer of weary gratitude. Dorian appeared beside him like he’d emerged from the shadows themselves, his gleaming dark eyes exhausted and panic stricken while he examined the shuddering woman in Varric’s arms. 

“Venhedis.” Dorian cursed. “Where is Blackwall?” 

“I can carry her.” Bull rumbled. 

“Perhaps. However, we did remove five bullets from your body. I am uncertain if you should even have joined us.” Solas reached past Varric and laid a gentle hand over Maria’s shoulder. The elf’s frown said everything Varric didn’t want to know. “We need to get her back. I cannot treat these injuries, I lack the skill…” 

“Don’t die, you.” Sera blurted, half command, half plea. “Fix her up, right? Elfy shite magic can…” 

“Here.” Blackwall leaned down low, arms extended. 

“Wait.” Solas ordered. His eyes were glowing, a soft green light flickering. “I can dull the pain, put her to sleep, and remove the blood from her lungs so she doesn’t drown in it. It will make travel easier, the rest…” 

Varric could feel the magic working, Maria’s form melting against his, boneless, finally giving into exhaustion and unconsciousness. Solas pulled his hand back and nodded briskly to Blackwall. “Now.” 

Varric didn’t want to let her go. The last time he let her go she… he bit back the recrimination, reminded himself that the snow was only up to Blackwall’s knees instead of his ass, and the most important thing was to get Maria back to camp before she finished dying on them. He shifted and she slipped out of his arms like water until the human lifted her, gentle as a sleeping child, into the air. Bull peered down into her face, rumbled something Varric couldn’t quite make out. 

“She will be fine.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Andraste is with her.” 

Nobody could ignore the triumphant certainty in the Seeker’s voice. Varric almost bemoaned that Cassandra could come through this with renewed faith in her Maker, in some sort of crazy plan. But Maria Cadash survived the vortex, time travel, a demon, a dragon, and an avalanche. Varric… wasn’t quite sure what to even chalk that up to beyond divine intervention. 

“What would be more helpful than Andraste at this moment would be modern medicine, a healer, and removing these clothes before she succumbs to frostbite.” Solas remarked dryly. 

“Cold. Bitter. Biting.” Cole murmured. “Endless. Alone at the edge of the abyss. Falling. Frightened.” 

“We’ve got her now, kid.” Varric reassured him as their search party began the perilous trek back. “We’ve got her.” 

“Yes.” Cole agreed fervently. “They tried to burn her. Bury her. But the ashes were warm and the stone belongs to her family’s hearth. He didn’t know she’d rise.” 

--

“Get her down.” The doctor ordered tersely. “This damn woman. If she’s not falling out of the bleeding sky, she’s stumbling back with hypothermia and Maker knows how many broken ribs.” 

Blackwall lowered Maria onto the cot with great, tender care. For a perfect moment of stillness, it was just Maria alone on the thin bed like a sacrifice left unattended on an altar. Then both the doctor and healer swarmed over her, checking her pulse, listening to her labored breathing. 

“You’re not going to believe this.” Bea trembled beside Varric, his hand on her arm the only thing restraining her from elbowing both healer and doctor out of the way. She had one fist at her lips, white knuckles pressed to paler lips. “This isn’t her idea of a good time either.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” The doctor huffed, pulling the zipper on the sodden, blood spattered jacket. “I’m gonna need a knife to get these clothes off her. They’re soaking wet.” 

Maria’s head lolled to the side and Cole produced his switchblade nearly immediately. The Elven healer snatched it with a reproachful, wary gaze in the kid’s direction before she began sawing through the thin cotton t-shirt. 

“I do not believe we need an audience for this.” The Seeker said sternly. Varric deigned to ignore her even though he knew the statement was meant for him. “A few of us should stay, but surely…” 

“Ria isn’t modest. Or shy.” Bea muttered, eyes fixed on the pale skin slowly exposed under the tattered shirt, more blue and purple than cream. Varric’s stomach rolled at the mess of bruises and scrapes. 

“Varric.” Cassandra snapped impatiently. “I will not risk your…” 

If she accused him of leering one more time he’d…

“But he’s seen her bare.” Cole interrupted, confused. “Warm. Wanting. Willing and wicked and…” 

Well, he could always count on Cole. Bea rolled her eyes and shot Varric a rather reproachful glare, but honestly it was almost worth it to hear the sharp click of Cassandra’s jaw slamming shut. 

“Do hold that thought. I’ll be rather interested in it if she doesn’t choke to death on her own blood.” Dorian shoved past, holding a sturdy pile of fleece blankets. 

“She’s not… she can’t...” Bea’s voice cracked on the words, swinging helplessly around the triage scene unspooling in front of them.

“Not on my watch at any rate. Not after getting us out of that Tevinter shitstorm.” The elf muttered, peeling away the stiff fabric. Her hand glowed as she pressed it to Maria’s skin and paused, seeming to listen to her injuries. “Five fractured ribs of varying severity. At least one punctured her lung.” 

“Sparkler is being unnecessarily dramatic.” Varric soothed with a stern, warning glance leveled at the Tevinter witch’s back. “She’s going to wake up spitting fire, you watch.” 

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Bea or himself. Maria looked just as small as she had the first time he saw her, unconscious again, although at least she didn’t appear to be flickering in and out of reality itself this time. Back then, he’d felt bad for the poor woman who had been pulled off the mountain and he certainly hadn’t wanted anything to happen to her, but now…

Varric couldn’t bear watching her lay so still as the doctor shouted about lacerations on her head, the healer’s hands glowing blue to stitch up bone and lung. His stomach twisted into anxious knots, thoughts spiraling, conjuring scenarios where she never woke. Where he never held her again, never… 

“Lacerations are minor. Burn on her palm.” The doctor rattled off to the healer. “If you can fix her ribs, it’ll be the hypothermia to worry about next.” 

“Can’t help there.” The Healer muttered as she worked. “Not trained to do anything about that. I could try raising her blood temperature but I’m as likely to cook her…” 

Bea shuddered and the doctor took the switchblade, hacking at the waistband of Maria’s jeans. “I need a warm compress. One of you bleedin’ witches need to heat up some water and shove it in a damn bottle.” 

“No need to be rude.” Dorian huffed. “Vivienne…” 

“I will search for a container, since you are full of hot air darling. See if you can heat those blankets up a bit, hm?” 

“All these clothes need to come off. They’re soaked through.” The doctor pulled the ruined denim away from Maria’s hips, a cruel parody of the way Varric once peeled them off. He shut his eyes for a steadying moment and swallowed against the rising tide of complex, terrifying emotions. 

“There.” The healer said gently. “She’ll be sore for a few days, at least, but she’ll live. Come here, feel.” 

Bea tugged against his iron grip and Varric relaxed his hold enough to let her slip through his fingers. He opened bleary eyes and watched Bea press her palm over her sister’s gently rising and falling abdomen. The terrible rattle had ceased, vanished into the ether. Bea’s shook her head, voice small. “She’s so cold.” 

“Not for long.” The doctor muttered, pulling one of the gently steaming blankets from Dorian’s arms and pinning Varric with his piercing, slightly insane gaze. “You’ll do. Come here.” 

Varric hesitated. Just long enough for a rather large, he’d bet solid money Qunari, arm to shove him forward. Varric scowled back at Bull, but the doctor kept talking, “Body heat to insulate. You’re rather sturdy and you’re not too tall for the cot. Up you get.” 

Oh. Oh shit. “What?” He asked, the question semi-strangled, the thought of curling up next to Maria’s solid, albeit frozen, form enough to render him temporarily, and possibly for the first time, speechless. 

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra scowled, flushing pink to the very roots of her hair. “It is inappropriate and scandalous. The Herald…” 

“Right then. She’ll just freeze solid while we argue about propriety.” The doctor declared waspishly. “We can hope holy Andraste thaws her out.” 

“I certainly don’t want to end up on the wrong side of Cassandra’s ire…” Dorian looked entirely too smug for Varric’s comfort level. “But this seems like an excellent idea. Finish unbuttoning that shirt, Varric. Better shuck the pants too, you’ve got snow all over them.” 

“Ugh.” Sera sniffed, turning her face pointedly away. “Not watchin’ this show.”  

“I cannot…” Cassandra’s voice raised, the start of a rather fine shouting match nobody had time for. 

“I’m sorry.” Bea’s voice didn’t rise at all. It stayed perfectly, completely level. The hair on Varric’s neck stood up regardless and he spared a glance for the woman staring Cassandra down with abject fury. “I thought my mother was dead. Please. Continue arguing about the fucking scandal while my sister loses her toes.”  

Cassandra’s mouth moved, but nothing intelligible came out. Satisfied, Bea turned her sharp as knives gaze to him. “Pants off.” 

She’d given a steely command, one that left no room for negotiation. When Varric didn’t quite move fast enough, Bea’s voice dropped even further, to what he suspected was an even more dangerous octave. “I’m not asking again.” 

Varric wasn’t certain she’d actually asked the first time. “Andraste’s ass.” He grumbled, reaching up to begin unbuttoning his shirt, hastily discarding it on a stack of crates. “Can I keep my damn boxers on or are we…” 

Bea promptly made up her mind to ignore him. “Roll her onto her side.” The doctor advised the healer. “Gently. No use jarring that head.” 

“Varric.” Vivienne’s voice trilled from behind him and Varric swore under his breath. “I take it since you’re undressing that means you’ve finally come to your senses about this outfit.” 

“Everyone’s a damn comedian as soon as the dwarf gets naked.” Varric huffed, unbuttoning his pants. “Let me know if any ladies see something they like.” 

In front of him, they shifted Maria’s nearly nude form onto her side, covering her with the first steaming blanket, lifting the barest corner for him to slither in beside her. Somehow, this seemed far more intimate than the fact that his mouth had been slanted over hers, their tongues twisted together, his face between her legs and his hands cupping her gorgeous breasts. Perhaps it was simply the aching vulnerability, the mottled fresh bruises covering all the skin he’d traced and kissed. 

Maybe it was the blissfully empty expression on her face making her look so much younger, the fresh faced girl in her old photos. The one whose life still may have worked out the way she wanted in a better world, a kinder one. 

If she was brave enough to face down a fucking dragon, he could lay beside her, keep her warm. That had to be the easier job. He definitely shouldn’t be envying her the heroic showdown with the demon that nearly snatched her away.

As calmly and smoothly as he could, with false confidence born of years hiding inner turmoil, he slipped onto the stiff cot and curled against her while they draped a blanket over them. She was icy, freezing to the touch against his skin. His hissed at the initial contact, but he ignored the discomfort and gently, careful of the newly mended ribs and all the terrifying bruises lining her skin, draped his arm over the dip of her waist. He shifted his hips until they fit snug against hers and slipped one arm slowly under her neck. 

The sharp bite of something ever colder than her skin sent him swearing. He shifted, gingerly withdrawing a tarnished silver chain from the space between them, the glimmering pendants nothing more than bits of ice against his fingers. 

His eyes focused on them with a start, at first in stunned disbelief, then in bewilderment. They weren’t pendants or charms, they were rings, a full damn set of wedding rings. There was a diamond large enough to make any debutante swoon and two plain, serviceable bands, a man’s and a woman’s. 

Bea made a choked gasp, hands freezing in the motion of smoothing the blanket over Maria’s shoulder. “Sodding Ancestors. I thought they’d be gone for sure, I thought…” 

Varric gently slid his fingers along the chain, trying to ignore the sharp burst of curiosity. There was zero chance that Fynn Dunhark legally married Maria Cadash, that information would have been in the court records and media coverage for sure. But… he could see how legalities didn’t matter. Not when you were young, not when the woman you loved agreed to take off from everything she knew and make a new life somewhere else. 

Fynn Dunhark may only have had Maria Cadash for a short period of time before his untimely demise. But, he’d fully had his woman, no half-baked life full of lies and secrets. Varric would have sacrificed a lot for that same certainty. 

He’d have taken a bullet too. 

Varric unclasped the necklace with a deft twist of his fingers and deposited the cold chain in Bea’s extended palm. She closed her fingers over them and brought her tight fist to her lips. “I didn’t realize she was wearing them. She’d have been… she’d have been fucking devastated to lose them.” 

The tremor in Bea’s usually nonchalant voice told him that Maria wouldn’t have been the only one distraught. 

“It’s alright Mittens.” Varric angled his form around Maria’s, tipped his forehead against her hair, and closed his eyes. The scent of smoke and iron clung to her, a heady perfume of desperation and sheer, impossible survival. He fought the urge to press his palm more tightly over her abdomen, to drop his lips to her freckled shoulder and kiss each spot with silent, worshipful gratitude. 

To drop even lower and gently press his lips to the interlocking triangles of the carta branded on her shoulder. To make a silent, desperate promise that this time, that part of her life was over. There’d be no going back, no matter the cost. Not after… 

But this wasn’t the time, this wasn’t the place. Dorian balanced his warm bottle of water on the opposite side of Maria’s neck and very gently brushed his tanned fingers over her cheek. Varric smoothed away the scowl that twisted his features and the matching possessive lurch in his thoughts. Hopefully before anyone noticed. 

Instead, he splayed his fingers gently over the soft curve of her stomach. He focused on the gentle rise and fall, the ease of her breathing, so unlike the way she’d labored and gasped in his arms. Without much thought, and certainly without attempting to examine his motives, Varric brushed his thumb lightly, repetitively, in a small arc over her cold skin. 

Solas layered another blanket over top of them and looked to the doctor. “You said there was a burn in her palm?” 

“Odd one. Don’t see how she could've done it, but I guess I’ve got to get used to her doing weird shit, don’t I?” 

Bea snorted in abbreviated, but clear, agreement. 

“May I?” Solas asked cautiously. 

“Be my guest.” The doctor muttered. “Not much I can do for it with our general lack of supplies and I’d rather the damn healer deal with her brain than burns.” 

“Just swelling.” The Elven healer’s fingers lingered over Maria’s head, eyes continuing to monitor Bea’s barely concealed anxiety. “Nasty bump, that’s all. She’ll be right as rain, you’ll see.” 

With a mumbled apology, Solas’s hand lifted the blanket. Varric stilled his thumb, watching as Solas gently turned Maria’s palm in his. Varric could see the burn even through the halo of Maria’s hair, perfect and pristine, a spiraling pattern like a rising sun. 

Varric fought back his own shudder. “Chuckles, that’s not an accident.” 

Nothing so beautiful ever was. Solas ran his own fingers over it and frowned tightly. “Unfortunately,” He confessed, “I suspect you are correct.” 

“What is it?” Cassandra asked, peering suspiciously over Solas’s shoulder.

“The mark of the magic she survived in the vortex.” Solas ran his own thumb over her palm. The second he did, the burn illuminated with a dull, gentle flicker. Varric swore he saw flakes of golden light dancing under Maria’s skin through her veins. “That demon pulled it to the surface, perhaps in an attempt to wrench it from her.”

“It looks almost like the symbol of the Chantry.” Cassandra supplied with a rather firm amount of conviction lacing her voice.

She was right, to a point. It was certainly a sun, Varric would give her that, but beyond that Maria's brand bore little resemblance to the great glowing suns of the Chantry. Her’s had delicate, intricate knots laced within it. A pattern within a pattern, looking more like something Daisy would doodle than anything else. 

“A coincidence, nothing more.” Solas curled Maria’s small fingers over the mark like she clasped something precious within it. “It must have caused her great pain to have it brought to the surface like this.” 

He knew. He’d heard her screaming. Unable to help himself, he brushed his thumb over her skin again, an unsaid apology for leaving her at a monster’s mercy. 

“She’s tough.” Bea tightened her grip on the rings on her hand and lifted burning eyes to Solas. “Ria is tougher than anyone I know.” 

Solas smiled, both kind and sad. “Of that, I have little doubt. We would not be here otherwise.” 

xx

She awoke in pieces, not all at once. The first thing she noticed was the searing heat surrounding her, warmth bleeding through every inch of skin except the tip of her nose, which felt frozen solid. The blankets covering her were heavy weights keeping the sweltering heat in. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so warm, so cozy. She considered opening her eyes, but that seemed… too hard. Her head throbbed in warning so she kept them shut, shifting slightly off an aching hip to…

It was that tiny movement that revealed the second, more important thing. Maria Cadash was not alone in this horribly uncomfortable bed. Someone’s heavy arm rested over her bare skin, her wiggling pressed her firmly against a broad, immovable chest, rough hair prickling her skin. She froze, keeping her eyes shut resolutely, trying to make sense of what had happened. 

Her first thought, one that nearly had her leaping from the bed, was that she’d fallen asleep in Dwyka’s bed, fallen into this pantomime of intimacy while she’d been asleep. It happened before, and somehow that was always worse than laying perfectly still until dawn, waiting for the sun to rise to make her escape. 

But the hand on her stomach was different than Dwyka’s. Undoubtedly Dwarven given the size, but less weather roughened, the callouses in the wrong place, and draped gently over her waist. There was nothing possessive about it, only warm reassurance. 

Fynn, her gut clenched as his name rattled in her head, but that wasn’t right either. Fynn’s hands had been strong, ages practicing the piano at his mother’s insistence after all, but they’d never grown rough with any kind of manual labor or…

Writing. 

Those were callouses from pen and pencil, she’d developed some of her own during her school days, before she’d decided that fighting and crime left better paying marks instead. 

With that thought, bits and pieces began to drift back. Their desperate kiss in the kitchen. His broad arms effortlessly lifting her off her feet, his mouth…

His amazingly talented mouth. The very thought sent a spike of heat right through her in spite of her aching head and stiff limbs. Somebody must have spiked her drink, because clearly she’d been drunk, she couldn’t even remember the main event. Out of all the terrible things that happened to her, that seemed most unfair. If she’d made the critical error of falling into this horribly uncomfortable bed with Varric Tethras, she wanted to at least have the good bits to cling to. 

Why was her bed so uncomfortable? Sodding hell, she felt like she was sleeping on a prison cot. She shifted again, as gingerly as she could, brain trying to fire off what exactly to do next. She needed to open her eyes, needed to break this spell, send him packing, and yet…

And yet. 

She was so tired. Her eyelids felt heavy, her limbs leaden. His breath was warm on her shoulder, his forehead tucked against her hair. She was pressed tightly against him and he felt solid against her, a bulwark against the darkness nibbling at the edges of her mind. She’d been so afraid, so alone, and he…

Emotions she didn’t quite understand bubbled to the surface, fear squeezing her throat. It had been so dark and it hurt. She was so confused, her addled mind trying to keep up, and she didn’t… 

“I’ve got you.” Varric whispered against her temple. “I’ve got you.” 

Everything else returned like a punch in the gut. Haven. The templars, the dragon, Corypheus. Her march through the snow to her doom. Her eyes flew open, startled, taking in the cold dark night surrounding them. In her line of sight, Bea curled up in a tiny ball, her head resting against Bull’s solid chest. He slept too, leaning on the pole holding this makeshift shelter up, eye closed. One arm wrapped around Bea’s shoulders, the other around Sera’s while she snored lightly. 

Alive. Alive, they were alive and so was she. She closed her eyes again, dizzy with relief. If they were alive, then it would be okay. It had to be. 

She could go back to sleep. It would be so damn easy to. 

Behind her, Varric shifted near imperceptibly and Maria’s breath hitched. Sweet Ancestors, his bare legs were tangled up against hers too and…

Maker. He couldn’t be completely naked, could he? Her mind struggled to process the feel of him, but she was still wearing her damn underwear, the underwire of the bra poking against her uncomfortably to remind her of that fact. He had to be wearing his. 

How in the void had this even happened? How had Bea allowed this to happen? Her little sister could hardly be called part of the Varric Tethras fan club. 

Boxers or briefs? Maria’s inner voice questioned, off on it’s own little tangent while she struggled to make sense of the crazy series of events that ended up with her snuggled up quite cozily to Varric fucking Tethras. 

She shifted again, pressing back gently. Boxer briefs, she thought. Had to be. She twisted her hips again, just to be sure…

“Princess.” Varric huffed gently in her ear, voice sleep roughened and deliciously husky. He pressed gently on her stomach and stifled a low laugh in her shoulder. “You keep moving like that, I can’t be held liable for what happens next.”

She fought back a delighted shiver without much success. She felt Varric’s response in the loose sweep of his fingers up her abdomen and the slight pull of his hips away from hers. She felt more loss at that than she wanted to admit. And a brief, electric jolt that was only barely smothered by fatigue. 

“Are we safe?” Her own voice came out hoarse. 

“Seems that way. Been a whole twenty four hours since we ran out of Haven, beautiful. No sign of anything chasing our ass. They probably figured we’d starve or freeze to death without them having to lift a finger.” 

Maybe everyone should have to sleep next to Varric, then, because the man was a furnace. She twisted to sit up and winced immediately, every muscle protesting the sudden movement. Her chest ached, her stomach ached, her arms and legs and…

The world tilted, spun, fuzzed a bit at the edges. 

Varric sat up far more successfully than she had, but she still managed to curl to face him. His amber eyes were dark in the weak light flickering around them in the darkness, lanterns and firelight, his glorious chest completely bare. 

Touch. A part of her commanded greedily. Her hand responded without her permission, lifting into the fraught, tense space between them. This all felt so surreal, part of a dream, and perhaps she hadn’t quite woken… 

“Careful with that one.” Varric’s eyes flicked to the palm of her hand and back to her eyes. “You’ve got some magic stuck in it.” 

Her fingers curled closed, protectively, and she pulled back. Yes. She remembered the sun caught in her palm, her flashlight in the darkness. With her fingers against it, she could feel it there, one more ache among all the others.

He’d burned it into her skin. Seared it to her flesh. Her heartbeat spiked, fear prickled through the exhaustion. “He put it there, he did something to me, he was...” 

There weren't any words. Varric could probably find them, but they escaped her. He’d been like a solid black hole in the universe, like a wound oozing pus and infection, like every nightmare she’d ever had all rolled into one. 

“I know.” Varric whispered, gently placing one of his hands on her shoulder and lightly guiding her back down. “We know. We know who it was. What he is.” 

“What?” She rasped. Varric sighed and made to tuck her smoothly back under the blankets. He was going to get up, going to leave her in the darkness and the cold with nothing but her thoughts and fears, oblivion circling the edges of her vision. The next word fell from her lips before she considered it fully. “Stay.” 

For a split second her words landed into the silence with all the elegance of a ticking time bomb. He stared at her, taken aback by the request she assumed. Certainly unsure how to handle a sick, broken creature clinging to him so selfishly. But she swallowed the tension, quirked her lips into the best smle she could manage. “Keep me warm and tell me a story.” 

Please. The unsaid word echoed in her chest. 

“It’s a shitty story, Princess.” Varric sighed, but he slipped back beneath the blanket, careful to leave a scant inch of sizzling air between their skin. “But I’ll try. It started with Hawke…” 

Varric spun Reyna Hawke into being as smoothly as if he’d done it a thousand times, conjuring the witch out of the freezing night air so vividly, Maria could see her the way he did. This wasn’t a woman lighting her own pyre in the ashes of Redcliffe, crazed and wounded with a manic gleam in her eye. This was a heroine. A champion. Varric’s champion. 

He told the story from where he’d entered it. Pulled out of bed by a panicked three in the morning phone call, shambling up to the ritziest areas of Kirkwall. The shattered glass from the broken window, the light from the silent alarm still blinking steadily. The first Hawke sister, bruised and shaken but otherwise unharmed, the second smelling of smoke and charred dwarf while an elf calmly stitched up his own wound. 

Following the Carta to, of all places, an ancient temple hidden in the Vinmarks. A temple that locked them inside and forced them into the Deep Roads before they could escape. Their desperate fight through the things of nightmares, and Hawke’s blood being the only thing that could open the door. 

It unlocked more than that. Much more.

And in spite of herself, as he spun the tale, she ended up closing that distance between their bodies. She wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, it seemed to be a magic of it’s own, magnetism or perhaps gravity. She didn’t press against him, not like she desperately wanted to, but she couldn’t ignore the soft heat leaching from him to her. 

Couldn’t ignore the way his voice lulled her back to sleep. 

“I swear.” Varric murmured softly into her hair. “We killed him, Princess.” 

No they didn’t. But she was too tired to argue. 

“I’m sorry.” She thought he whispered. But it could have been a dream, one she slipped back into effortlessly. 

The next time she woke up, it was to bitter shouts. There was a weight at the end of the cot, but nobody under the blankets beside her. She was completely, utterly, alone. Clearly, she’d hallucinated Varric Tethras’s gentle arms curling around her, his searing warmth, his muscles and…

She raised her hand to her head, rubbing her face briskly. 

“Ria?” Bea’s voice asked cautiously, breathless with hope. 

“Bea.” She answered groggily, opening her eyes. It wasn’t Bea’s face she met with, but the lined and weary one of Mother Gisele. She swallowed, swinging her eyes down to the bottom of the cot where Bea sat, still as a statue, looking more a mess than she’d ever seen her. Eyeliner smudged, hair askew, lips pale. 

“Are you awake this time?” Bea asked, frozen in place. “Really awake? Varric said you were before but you were out of it still and…” 

“Varric?” Her tongue nearly tripped on the word, a surge of heat rising up her face. “He was here?” 

“They all were.” Gisele soothed. “You are dear to many people, Herald. You’ve had a steady stream of them wishing you well.” 

“What would you have me tell them?!” Cullen’s voice roared. Maria fought back the flinch and pushed herself up, trying to stare into the darkness past Bea. 

“We must find a way!” Cassandra snapped back, a pale figure in the dim firelight. 

“Please!” Jospehine cried out. “We must use reason!”

“Don’t mind them.” Bea dismissed the humans with a wave over her shoulder. “They’ve been at it for hours. How are you feeling? How’s your head? Still remarkably thick?” 

“Shut up.” Maria replied automatically, the banter familiar even as her throat scratched out the words like she hadn’t spoken in ages. “Where are my clothes?” 

“Ruined.” Bea supplied unhelpfully. “But Harding said she had a spare outfit of her own in her camera bag. It’s probably the closest we’ll get to anything fitting you. Hold on, I’ll go find them.” 

As if she’d simply been waiting for something, anything, to do, Bea jumped into motion. She fled into the darkness before Maria had time to ask where exactly her little sister had gotten the coat she was wearing. The thick, buttery leather was far more familiar than Maria wanted to admit. 

“You need to rest.” Giselle said gently. “There is no need to get up quite yet. After all…”

Giselle tipped her head almost playfully to the heated argument happening just outside between Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. “It does not appear we’re going anywhere quickly.” 

“We have time to waste?” Maria asked, pushing herself impatiently into a fully seated position despite Gisele’s tutting disapproval. She clutched the blankets tightly around her shoulders and breathed through the ache in her muscles. Bad, yes, but not the worst she’d ever pushed through.  

“Thanks to you, they have the luxury of arguing. You prevented our enemies from following, but with time to doubt… well, it is easy to blame.” 

Bea reappeared, tossing a bundle of clothes on the cot. “Right. So, I’m gonna warn you that you look like a bannana someone’s kicked around, that’s how fucking bruised up you are.” 

“I’m sure I’ve looked worse.” Maria muttered, dropping the blanket and reaching for the sweater. Even in the flickering lantern light, she could see the marks covering her pale flesh. Deep bits of purple and blue, shadows deepening them into black in places. 

“I’m not.” Bea admitted, folding her arms around herself and watching Maria as she struggled to manage the fabric with her stiff limbs. Finally, impatiently, Bea stepped forward and grabbed it, thrusting it over Maria’s head. “Here, before you strangle yourself.” 

“We don’t have that!” Cullen yelled. 

“She is not saying we do!” Leliana snarled back. 

“In-fighting may be as great a danger to us as Corypheus.” Giselle sighed. 

“I don’t know.” Bea sniped under her breath while she gently tugged the sweater over Maria’s battered torso, taking extra care to straighten it and meeting her eyes with a weak grin. “To my knowledge, our humans have zero dragons and the demon has one.” 

“Where is it?” Panic clawed at Maria’s throat again. “The dragon and Corypheus, the red templars, where…” 

“Nobody has figured out where the fuck we are.” Bea answered. “Varric can’t get his network up and running for more than ten minutes at a time, although to be fair he’s been snuggling you and trying to work for most of the night. For as good as he claims to be at multitasking…” 

There was his name again. And her chance to ask. She plucked the material over Bea’s shoulders pointedly. “What’s this?” 

“It’s mine now.” Bea declared, wicked eyes dancing with relief and mirth. “Jealous, Ria?” 

Gisele cut in with practiced diplomacy. “There has been no sign of Corypheus, his dragon, or the templars. Perhaps he believes you are dead, and thus is satisfied. Or he believes we are helpless and lost.” 

Gisele sighed. “It could even be that he plans another attack as we speak. We do not know the demon’s mind, only our own fears.” 

Maria swung her feet off the cot and pulled the leggings on over her aching limbs as quickly as she could. Jumping from the cot to finish the job was a mistake, the rush of blood to her head making her stumble into Bea. Her sister’s arm wrapped around her waist. “Easy.” Bea whispered. “This was… this was bad, Ria. You really should lay back down.” 

“I’m not gonna sodding sit here and listen to them arguing.” Maria spat between her gritted teeth, fighting the dizziness back where it came from and finishing the job of putting her damn pants on. “This isn’t helping anything.” 

“Another heated voice won’t help.” Gisele advised, a gentle voice laced with steel. “Even yours. Perhaps especially yours.” 

“I agree. The last thing we need is one of your infamous tantrums, Ria.”

She was going to kill Bea. She glared into her sister’s face, holding onto her and pulling on one of her soggy boots, the only clothing left from her misadventure, it seemed. Gisele picked up where Bea left off. “They are struggling to lead because of what we survivors witnessed.” 

“Well, it can’t be worse than what I saw.” Maria snapped, pulling on the last boot. 

“Don’t you dare.” Bea shoved Maria, hard, back onto the cot. Caught off guard, Maria stumbled back onto the thing. It creaked precariously, but before she could turn her temper on Bea, Maria realized her sister’s face was flushed and splotchy, tears threatening in her eyes. “Don’t you dare.” Bea hissed, diving into Varric’s coat pocket and pulling out something glimmering, shining in the dull light. Instead of handing it to her, Bea threw it. The necklace and her rings landed in Maria’s lap. 

Maria blocked out the human’s arguing and focused on Bea, preparing to argue with her instead. She opened her mouth, but Bea stopped her cold. “I saw you die, Ria. I thought I buried you just like I buried Nanna, Dad, and Fynn.”

The well of grief under those two sentences stretched endlessly. Bea ripped her eyes away from Maria’s and stared up at the tarp above them, blinking rapidly. Guilt thudded hollowly in Maria’s chest and she curled her fist around the necklace. 

“Bea…” 

“Shut up.” Bea seethed. “Shut up. I thought I lost you, I thought… fuck.”

Bea whirled away and Maria stood, intent on following her. “I need a fucking minute.” Bea shouted back, voice thick with unshed tears. “Stay fucking put for once in your damn life and give me a second to breathe.” 

Wretched, Maria watched Bea stumble back out into the night. Gisele sighed, watching the slender form vanish. “It is difficult. For all of us, although for her I fear it was far worse. We left our defender behind to save us all… and we lost her.” 

Maria hadn’t been defending anyone. She’d just been trying to survive, blindly acting on gut and instinct. It had been a desperate last stand, nothing more, nothing heroic or courageous. “I wasn’t…” 

Gisele overrode her voice patiently. “And after all hope had fled… she returns. This is miraculous by any standard, and your actions appear more divine intervention than standard heroics. The longer we examine the darkness behind us, the more our trials seem ordained.” 

“That’s crazy.” Maria folded her arms around her aching torso, trying not to shiver. “Nothing about this has anything to do with faith or…” 

“It does seem insane, yes?” Gisele asked sweetly, piercing Maria with her dark eyes. “What ‘we’ have been called to ensure? What ‘we’, perhaps, must come to believe?” 

That ‘we’ of Gisele’s was very pointed and Maria wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t believe in their Maker, their Andraste, their Herald. Maria never heard the Stone sing or heard whispered guidance from her Ancestors' tombs. The Elven creators apparently abandoned the world long ago, and Maria wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else hadn’t followed suit. They were alone, carving out their destinies with nothing but switchblades and shaking fingers. 

“What ‘we’ believe doesn’t matter.” Maria glared, standing from the cot and steadying herself for just a moment. “What we’re about to do is freeze to death if someone can’t get their head out of their ass. I’m not waiting for the Maker to intervene.” 

She turned her back on the infuriating woman and took careful, measured steps to the edge of the tent. Outside her meager shelter, she saw the Inquisition’s leaders surrounding a campfire, all wearing various expressions of distress, their silence simmering with resentment. 

Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck were they supposed to… 

“Shadows fall…” Gisele’s throaty voice carried from somewhere behind her, loud and clear as a chantry bell on Sunday as she moved to stand beside Maria. “And hope has fled. Steel your heart, the dawn will come…” 

“What are you doing?” Maria hissed under her breath, piercing Gisele with a reproving glare, flinching as the four humans turned to stare. Gisele smiled, mysterious and sly, sailing past Maria without a word of explanation. She continued to sing an old song, a song Maria swore she’d heard in bits and pieces, a Chantry hymn floating out of pretty wooden chapels in Ostwick. “The night is long, and the path is dark… Look to the sky, for one day soon… the dawn will come.” 

Maria gambled semi-professionally and knew she was rather good at it. Still, she’d have never placed money on what happened next in a million years.

It started with Leliana’s clear, bright soprano joining the chorus. Then, Maker’s balls, Cullen. Soldiers. Refugees. Chantry sisters. Children and witches and templars, all of them. The sound roared louder than the ocean, enough to drown the dragon’s screech still echoing in her head, and they were staring at her like she had an answer, like she could do something, anything.

Some of them dropped to their knees like she really was an idol carved of stone, an altar to worship at. Her panicked thoughts insisted she should have fled after Bea, but when she looked behind her to see if that escape route was still open, she saw her sister had returned in silence. The slouched form in the darkness, arms crossed, looked torn between amusement and grave concern. 

She could almost hear Bea scoffing about humans being outrageous. Maria tightened her grip helplessly on the rings in her fist, wishing for all the world she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. 

The song ended, the night sky hanging onto the last piercing note. Gisele turned her dark eyes back down towards Maria, triumph sparking in them as people cheered. “An army needs more than an enemy.” She declared softly. “It needs a cause.” 

Gisele lifted her hands, prepared to preach a sermon to the masses. “My fellow children of the Maker…” She began fervently. “We have survived the trials put in front of us, endured the terror of…” 

She stared, agog, until she felt the light press of a hand against the small of her back. She looked up to pin Solas with her bewildered gaze.

“A word?” He asked politely.

“Only if it has four letters.” She protested weakly, staring back out in stunned disbelief at the crowd.

“Come.” Solas said gently, guiding her into the shadows. “We have much to discuss.”

--

“She’s a wise woman. Worth heeding, at the very least. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause… or fracture it.” Solas muttered, almost to himself, although Maria understood he was attempting to instruct her.

Maria shivered, although if it was from the cold or existential dread, she couldn’t tell. Solas noticed and extended his palm. A smooth, elegant flick of his wrist summoned a ball of flames, blue and beautiful, in the space between them. Maria stepped closer to the warmth, grateful for it. 

“Can you help me escape her?” Maria asked, only semi-joking. Solas’s fond smile was the only answer before he shook his head.

“The magic Corypheus used against you. The spell that embedded that mark in your hand… It is Elven.” 

Maria lifted her right palm up, still clutching the rings within it. She unfolded her fingers and stared down at the intricate, beautiful sun burned into it. “It looks Elven, I guess.” She muttered, shifting the sparkling rings to reveal the elegant loops. “Not that I’m an expert.” 

“It is the magic that has been inside you since the start, pulled to the surface.” Solas explained clinically. “I assume it is also the magic that created the vortex, the same spell that caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave.” 

And now… now it was inside her. “Fantastic.” She muttered. 

“Do not begrudge it so much.” Solas advised. “I suspect without that magic in your veins, you would have perished then as well. As to how Corypheus survived… that is a mystery.”

Solas sighed and hunched his shoulders, staring down at the snow consideringly. “The only thing that is not a mystery is how people will react when they discover the origin of this magic. Perhaps people will not look past the fact that it is the symbol of the chantry, but there must have been a tool, one he used to harness it, and if it is found…”

“Riots.” Maria sighed. “The elves have it shit enough in all the cities of Thedas.” 

Nanna used to say it could always be worse when they complained about not having enough money to buy nice clothes or go to the movies. They, at least, could afford food and their bills even if they had to work to the bone to do it. The elves… well, there was a reason they were shoved into the alienage projects. Nobody wanted to look at starving children. 

“This is a fucking mess and elves are an easy target.” Maria murmured.

“I agree.” Solas’s voice was laced with approval. He placed a gentle hand on her aching shoulder. “But we can control this narrative. We can tell the story we wish to tell.” 

“Solas.” Maria jerked her chin over her shoulder. “There’s a woman back there preaching a sermon about a dwarven criminal with elven magic in her hand at the head of a human religious movement. I can’t control any of my own story.” 

She hadn’t been able to in years. 

“Corypheus attacking the Inquisition changed it. Changed you.” Solas insisted. Maria shivered again, but this time it certainly wasn’t from the cold. “You are their guide. You are their savior.” 

“I’m not.” Maria protested, wrenching away. “I’m not, don’t you dare go human on me, Solas, or I swear…” 

“There is a place in the North. I have seen it in the fade, a place hidden by magic that waits for a force to hold it…” 

“Is there anything useful in the fade?” Maria asked skeptically. “Maybe a way to get the network up and running so we can call for help?” 

“Varric Tethras will never get our communications up and running without additional technology.” Solas insisted smoothly. “The witches alone, our power, interfered too much. Perhaps, if we had not found you he could have rigged something together, but the stronger you become, the more you recover…” 

Solas reached for her palm, covered it with his own. “The technology we have with us cannot override your magic. Not any longer. I suspect he is beginning to identify the problem as well. If anyone could fix it, I suspect it is Varric, but he cannot do so here.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Maria blurted out. It would have been better, apparently, if she froze to death or simply died in the avalanche. 

“But your magic is, perhaps, the only key to finding our path. Go north, lead them forward. Your magic can unlock our safety, I know it.” Solas pressed. “Only you can do this.” 

“I can’t.” Maria’s voice broke and she shook her head. “Solas, I can’t.” 

“You must.” Solas’s lips pressed into a thin line. “But you will not do it alone. We are by your side.” 

“They won’t listen to me.” 

“On the contrary.” Solas smiled, soft and proud. “I believe you are the only one they will listen to.” 

xx

Three days. They followed Maria through the mountains for three fucking days. Varric thought he’d never forgive her for their forced march through miles of snow, directly into the bitter, biting wind of the north. There was, after all, only so much a man would do for a pair of beguiling eyes no matter how sensuous her curves. Varric Tethras had nearly reached his damn limit. 

In fact, he’d had it with Maker damned everything. The network that wouldn’t connect them to the satellite, no matter what he tried. He couldn’t feel his toes. And he was simply sick of the endless, bleak, whiteness of it all. 

One more day, he thought darkly, trudging after Maria’s crimson hair. One more blighted day, then he was refusing to go one more step. 

Which, of course, was exactly what he’d said to himself yesterday. 

“Can you all honestly not feel that?” Maria asked over her shoulder, perplexed.

“There are lots of things I can’t feel, Princess.” Varric growled. “Would you like an enumerated list?” 

She sent him a withering look. Varric glared back, unimpressed. 

“Darling, all I can feel is that energy coming out of your hand. It’s like standing in the middle of an orchestra.” Vivienne, somehow, still looked elegant in her snug fitted peacoat. The splashes of red templar blood almost formed a chic pattern. She’d be a perfect villain for one of his stories. If he didn’t freeze to death first. 

Maria cautiously approached a cliff. Varric watched, warily, as she danced rather too close to the edge for his taste. If she fell to her death one more time, he wasn’t rescuing her, right hand to Andraste. 

“Please do not fall off that precipice.” Dorian snapped, in tune with his thoughts. “I, for one, do not wish to be the person informing Cullen we allowed you to plummet to your doom.” 

Maria ignored him, reaching out to brush snow from a large stone pillar overlooking the abyss. A matching one, almost like they were man made instead of natural, sat some distance away. Her ineffective swiping revealed something carved into the surface.

“Runes.” Solas smiled down at her, proud as only an old teacher could be. “Well done.” 

But Maria seemed to be entranced by the shapes in the rock. She tipped her head to the side, examining them curiously. She brought her gloved right hand to her mouth and used her teeth to rip off the fleece fabric. Varric caught the slightest flicker of light in her palm before she pressed it to the stone. 

The runes lit up gold, glowing gently, flickering with power. A gust of wind surged past them all, so fierce he temporarily grew concerned it would topple Maria right into the yawning abyss. Instead, it lifted her hair around her face, whipped past them into the chasm, bright lights dancing within it. 

Varric’s breath caught in his throat. The lights seemed to sketch out a bridge, one that turned corporeal before their very eyes. It was made of stone and marble, hanging above the abyss implausibly. The magic picked up speed, circling in clouds in the air, puffs of glitter exploding to reveal walls, towers, trees, gates, all pulled from nothing but thin air. 

“Andraste’s blushing buttcheeks.” Dorian whispered. “Who hid this?”

Who wouldn’t? It was something from another age, from a fairy tale, a fortress fit for a queen, pristine and intact, waiting for someone to unveil it, someone to call it back to life. 

Not a queen, a part of him supplied. A princess. His princess. 

“Skyhold.”  Solas supplied quietly. “Welcome home, Herald.”