#one being that Celene gave Briala her daggers then

[linka-from-captain-planet]

sketching and thinkin about how Celene and Briala’s original reunion - when Briala returned to VR after traveling with Felassan - must have been. Because I frankly cannot imagine Celene was really very happy to see her, but between Briala’s eagerness to be with her and work with her, and the weight of the empire already crushing her back… I imagine it was too hard to push her away a second time

[brialavellan]

It has been 20 years since Inquisitor ‘Manehn Lavellan defeated Corypheus, and 18 years since the Exalted Council. Solas is furthering his plans and so far, all efforts to stop him seem to be in vain….until the Well of Sorrows begins to speak to ‘Manehn once more. Led by ancient magics and beset by enemies from Ferelden and Orlais to Antiva and Tevinter, ‘Manehn must gather allies old and new in a race against time to defeat Solas - at any cost.

(NOW ON AO3)

Chapter 1 ||  Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8  || Chapter 9  || Chapter 10 

CH 11: For the Love of the People

There were no screams.

No cries of warning.

The only sound they heard was the soft whoosh of arrows through open windows, connecting with the head of each victim, their jaws agape in shock as their limp bodies slumped over from their chairs and fell to the floor.

Four elves in black leather armor slung their bows on their backs and crept into the small red-brick house. Briala, in her russet-brown leather armor, weaved her way around the pools of blood and hunched under the table where their victims had been playing a game of cards. 

She got on her hands and knees and her eyes scanned the floors and baseboards for any breaks in the pattern, her fingers tapping the wood to feel for anomalies. She noticed a loose spot. She rapped on the wood and the wood echoed back. She pulled out her dagger, wedged it between the wooden boards, and pushed down hard. The wood snapped and revealed another cache filled with pieces of rolled parchment. She gently pulled the scraps of parchment from the small earthen hole and began to sift through each one while her agents meandered around her, checking all ingresses for suspicious intruders or curious visitors. The writing was nearly illegible on all of them but when you put them together, the meaning was clear. 

Charter’s codebreakers (with Briala’s assistance) had deciphered the old notes they found on the dead elves at the Divine’s Ascension celebration. The codes had changed since they found the notes on the dead elves, but not by enough. Using the cache of notes that Briala had found in Val Royeaux’s catacombs, Briala and Charter were able to deduce that Fen’harel’s agents used a form of alphabetic substitution, with multiple substitution alphabets. There was a pattern to the changes, a method to the madness. It had to be this way, so that lower level associates did not have to work as feverishly to memorize more alphabets. Keys had to be easily memorized. 

And Briala had the latest key.

She did not have to work very hard to translate what she had found. And what she read merely confirmed her suspicions.

They had planned to assassinate Duke Alfonse Blanchard, whose duchy encompassed Emprise de Leon and with whom Briala had a strong trade relationship.

And they had planned to assassinate him tonight. 

Had planned. 

Until plans changed.

“Duke Blanchard?” one of the elves, a young dark skinned woman with a small afro groaned. “The youngest brother, he is. Last one left. Worked for him as a bard. Paid well. Bit of a tit. But not murder-worthy. Why’d Fen’harel want ‘im dead?”

“Don’t know. Don’t believe in self-appointed gods anyway,” her sibling, a young man with cornrows, said. “Where was he at when Halamshiral burned down, eh? Seems like a god could’ve stopped that, after all.” He chuckled darkly.

“It’s a ploy to weaken the Dales,” Briala said. “Fen’harel’s agents claim to fight for the people but…” she paused, “I know it doesn’t feel like enough, but we didn’t earn what we have through open warfare.”

“It’s stupid to assasinate with stabbing. Too messy,” piped a pale, freckled agent with crimson hair, changing the subject. “And killing the kids too. Come on! That’s just over…well…overkill.” 

“So this it for today?” an older, ruddy-faced elven woman with salt-and-pepper curls asked. “Or we’ve got more? I know a Red Jenny in Val Royeaux who could take a peek’n’sneak. Maybe find a few to shoot if she’s not tripping up a nob or two.”

“No, that’s too dangerous,” Briala said. “The rest will go to ground but they weren’t as much of an immediate threat as the one here and the two in Halamshiral. We’ve saved the lives of three allies. We’ve saved the Dales for now. You all did good work here.” 

“‘Course we did,” the man in the cornrows said with a grin and earned a ribbing from his sister. 

She pointed to the siblings. “Adele, Alain, you’ll come back with me to Emprise du Lion.” she said. “We need to inform Duke Blanchard that we just saved his life.” 

She walked up to the other two and handed them each a small roll of parchment. “Crimson and Lily, you will both stay here until I give you more orders. Burn these after you read them. Make sure Fen’harel doesn’t send more agents.” 

She paused and took a hard look at the faces of her agents. 

“I know it just looks like he is merely trying to weaken my alliances. But he is destroying everything you all have built. We built a home in the Dales, where elves are treated as free men. Where we live on our terms, not as second class citizens, but as equal people, woven within the fabric of Orlais. They are our people, yes. I don’t wish to fight them, but they would destroy what we have crafted over twenty years for a foolish ill-conceived attempt at rebellion that will take as many elven lives as they claim to save. What we have is not perfect, but it’s ours. And I’ll defend what we have to the death.”

All four elves nodded at her words with solemn gratitude. Briala saw no hesitation, no twitch of an eye or biting of lips. They were loyal. So far. But being betrayed had burned her too much and she could not help but feel that she was missing something. Not a key or a code. Fabrication or not, the mystery of the freckled elven man still cast a shadow of doubt. 

“There’s no doubt here if you’re looking for it, Marquise,” Crimson said with a smile. “We’ll do what needs to be done. We know you will too.”

————————

The tavern was bustling, near bursting at the seams with the sound of drunken merriment. The type of desperate merriment when you have little to lose, and you lose, and you lose more. So you take what you can, and don’t dare hope for more. This was enough, for now. But Alienage streets still simmered with resentment across Orlais. The undercurrent still sullied the mood of the revelers just enough where they could be dangerous.

Katrina sat at the back of the tavern, tracing the rim of her mug of water. A young elven man with greasy blonde hair in pauper’s clothes approached and slipped her a coin, one that marked him as ally, and leader, of the Val Royeaux cell. All of Solas’s agents worked independently, but all knew Katrina. His lieutenant. His closest confidant (or as close of a confidant as Fen’harel kept). Her will was his. Her position, unassailable. Her dedication, unwavering. 

And all of his agents stood in awe before her.

The young man bowed deeply, almost touching his own feet. “Lieutenant, it is a great honor…”

“I don’t ask for honor,” Katrina chastised him. “And you shouldn’t grovel at my feet. You are elven. Have some pride.”

The young man straightened up and cracked his knuckles, “You’re right, of course, my apologies, Lady Katrina,” he said with a raspy Orlesian accent as he took a seat.

“Have you heard the news from Emprise du Leon and Halamshiral?”

“Just minutes ago,” he said, his croaky voice barely managing more than a whisper, “Claudette said there’s not a trace of them left. From any of them. Not even bodies. If that’s true then -”

Katrina stopped him, “They’re dead, Jacques. Briala found them out.”

“Briala…” his voice cracked with disgust. “She plays at revolution, but kills more elves than humans.”

“I remember,” Katrina said. She had told the Inquisition long ago. She warned them that the elf who fancied herself Ambassador was no more than Celene’s pet, barely above a bed warmer. In her eyes, Briala was just a high class courtesan. She would jump into the arms of anyone who could give her the power she grasped for.

“If she knows about them,” Jacques whispered, fidgeting in his seat, “then she knows about the rest of us. She can bring us all down. She -”

“Jacques, just change your codes and watch your backs,” she told him, exasperated, “this is just a minor setback. Nothing more, nothing less. They run around dousing small fires but don’t see the blazing inferno on the horizon. Our leader plays a longer game, beyond their understanding and even beyond ours. You must trust him as he trusts us.”

“Of course, of course, of course,” Jacques said, nodding as he spoke, more so as a prayer than a true affirmation. 

“Besides,” Katrina said with an icy smile. “Briala may have power and wealth. But we,” she gestured to the patrons in the crowded tavern. “We have the People.”

Katrina rose from the table and slipped her way through the throng of patrons towards the counter, hoisting herself on top of the counter-top despite the tavern keep’s feeble protest.

“Everyone listen up!” she yelled over the din of drunken patrons, “I want to make a toast to all of us!”

The patrons settled down for just a moment, just long enough to entertain whatever drunken rabble they expected. 

“For decades, centuries, millenia, we’ve been pushed around, right?” she started, “We’ve been beat down and told we’re less than nothing. We get treated like dirt, like dregs, by humans! All the damn time!”

The racket began to give way to confused murmuring. A heckler yelled at her to get to the fucking point already.

“But you know what? Humans don’t treat us like that because they hate us. They do it because they’re jealous of us. They do it because they are frightened by us!”

She continued, fire in her chest and her voice in a frenzy. 

“We conquered Thedas before they arrived! We rose with Shartan and Andraste and brought the Tevinter Imperium to its knees! Our people have defeated Blights! Our people healed the Breach!” 

The confused murmuring gave way to a chorus of righteous pride. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of taking shit! I’m tired of being treated like nothing! No, less than nothing! We are more than the humans could ever dream! And one day, we’re gonna show them!”

The righteous pride gave way to raucous cheering. Katrina raised a closed fist and the rest followed suit, a drunken crescendo singing a single verse.

The elvhen will rise again!

————————

“And here is the hero of our hour, Marquise Briala!” Duke Alfonse Blanchard called out as Briala walked through the stained glass doors of his summer chateau and rushed to greet her, taking her hand and leading her inside, her two agents following behind and giving each other an almost-amused look. “I could not have had a more stalwart ally in these troubled times. And your timing is most impeccable.“

He greeted her in a yellow plaidweave waistcoat with tails that almost touched the floor, burgundy heeled boots, and black breeches with a burgundy stripe down the sides, a style, Briala noted, two seasons out of fashion. She maintained her sweet smile despite her horror. With any other person, these crimes of fashion would be nigh unforgivable but he was so charming, so adept at the Grand Game, that one could almost forgive his gaudy tastes. Without his charm, he would have lost his lands and his head like both of his brothers, who were found to be conspiring with the Venatori twenty years prior. 

As the four made their way inside to the large marble-tiled and gilded-golden foyer, a group of lesser nobles crowded around them from a balcony that overlooked the foyer. He did make sure to address Briala, of course, but spoke mainly for the crowd.

“I have long supported the free reign of the Dales and through my connections, we have built a partnership built on equity and mutual trust. It is a triumph for us and for Orlais. May our partnership show a new path forward to all who would witness it. And may we celebrate with a toast!” 

He raised his crystal glass and drank deeply. The attendees clapped and drank as well as he finished his soliloquy. Briala noticed his northern partners did not clap as enthusiastically and took smaller sips of their toasts versus his smaller, southern supporters. 

Her coalition was holding fast, she noted, but it was still too small. The southern duchys noticed the sea change among the Council of Heralds. They knew as long as the Chantry stood behind their Herald of Andraste, the Herald stood behind Briala, and as long as Celene did not move against any of them that their ascension was assured. 

The northern neighbors were not pleased. As Briala was falling out of favor with Celene, her center of power around Val Royeaux and the North was growing increasingly hostile. They were her most ardent supporters in the Civil War. Besides outliers like Ghislain, she had almost no Northern support. 

If Celene was trying to undermine the Chantry, that could make some Northern allies rush to her side, since the Grand Enchanter had made sure the Council of Heralds was stacked with those most loyal to her. The Southern partners would then jump at the chance to undermine Celene further and expand their own influence. In that way, Celene was stuck, unable to act against Briala more forcefully. But as Natalie and her ilk sought to undermine the Chantry from within, then Celene’s power would grow. 

Enough to rid herself of the meddlesome marquise.

Briala milled around and mingled with the guests for a while, examining each gesture and every syllable spoken, building her list of allies and adversaries, those who she could count on and those she could not. Nobles might bend their knees as she greeted them, but every act was a performance on the world’s greatest stage. Her two agents followed, close enough to protect but far enough away to blend into the scenery, to note what she might miss. On this stage, elves were relegated to minor characters, but her agents, along with many other elves, used their invisibility to their advantage. 

Even allyship, now matter how publicly declared, was always conditional among the nobility. Like rats on a sinking ship, her allies would scatter at the first sign of trouble. Even Duke Blanchard’s words, no matter how grand, were empty platitudes even if he did feel personal gratitude.

The only true ally she had ever had, who gave her everything and expected nothing, was ‘Manehn.

“I hope you like hot weather,” the Duke said, beaming as he approached, “The Lady Montilyet has invited all her trading partners to a soiree. The Marquise de Serault, the Duke de Ghislain and several others will be there. I’ll make sure you have an invitation.” 

“I’m honored.” Briala said, just loud enough for her words to echo, “I did have an engagement with the Comtesse Cosette of Lydes, but I can postpone that for another date.”

She did not have an engagement with Comtesse Cosette of Lydes. This was a public, retaliatory snubbing, payback for her trying to entrap Briala into an inequitable trade deal six months before and for trying to poison her two fêtes ago. As Briala rose, her status would now fall. The two agents noted the Comtesse’s dismay and slightly smiled at her distress. Lydes might start to submit now, if only to save face. 

“And do bring the Herald, of course, would you?” the Duke added after a long pause to witness this spectacle. “She just insisted that the Herald come. And it would be quite splendid to have the Savior of Orlais in attendance, don’t you think?”

Briala nodded with a placid smile. “I do.”

————————

Under cover of a moonless night, ‘Manehn and Davhalla arrived back at the Cathedral, saddle-sore from four days of hard riding. They had traded 20 sovereigns for two riding horses in the nearest trade town outside the Brecilian Forest, and had nearly gotten themselves arrested because the local townspeople could not fathom two Dalish elves that could rub two coppers together, much less two Dalish elves with more money than most there saw in a month.

One of Briala’s people, a courier, met them at the gates with a missive and a somber glance.

“News from Kirkwall,” he said as he pressed the letter into ‘Manehn’s hand. She stared at him for several seconds, shaking the note at him, until he realized his error, took the missive back and broke the seal with both of his hands. 

“A riot,” he grimly read from the page, “in the Alienage. Troublemakers set fire. Lots dead, mostly elves. Definitely Fen’harel’s doing.”

‘Manehn’s veins turned to ice and her jaw tightened.

“Your daughter is safe,” he added, seeing ‘Manehn freeze, “She’s with our people. She’ll be back in three days. Four if the currents don’t agree.” 

‘Manehn breathed an audible sigh of relief as the courier departed. 

“I shouldn’t have kept her alone,” she said, shaking her head and rubbing her temple. “I shouldn’t have even taken her to Kirkwall. I don’t even know what I was thinking, getting her involved in this.”

“She’s nineteen now, ‘Manehn. You can’t keep her sheltered forever,” Davhalla said to her. “She’s learning under guidance, structure and without her risking her life unnecessarily.”

“I’ve done nothing but just put her in danger. Repeatedly. What would’ve happened if she couldn’t banish that demon or if Solas’s people had - ”

“She is a Dreamer. She is the daughter of one of the most influential and powerful elves in Orlais,” Davhalla said grimly. “She is always in danger. She needs to be given the tools to defend herself. She needs to learn how to fight, especially given her eagerness to do so.”

“She shouldn’t have to.”

“None of us should have to, but we do anyway, don’t we?” Davhalla said with a yawn and a stretch of her arms as she walked away towards the Apartments.

‘Manehn retired to her room, eager to sleep but equally eager to soothe her rattled nerves. She found two servants and had them draw a hot bath while she undid the straps down her arm and across her chest that latched her dagger to her stump and set it on her desk. As the servants heated the water, she lit a candle, grabbed a magnifying glass, and scanned every inch of her blade. The pins that kept it sheathed were wearing, she noted, and the blade was blunting. She would have Dagna take a look at it. 

Later. 

She would take care of everything later.

She was too tired for racing thoughts and insomnia tonight. Too tired to take the honey wine that she usually needed to put herself to sleep. If only she could pause time, she thought, then maybe she could know peace. Had it really been so long that a spectre did not shadow her? Whether it was the fate of her clan, her people, or all of Thedas, she did not remember a time where she did not carry a burden. Carrying that burden had weathered her as much, if not more, than the mere passage of time. 

She sent the servants away, slipped off her clothes and sunk the bath, savoring the slight sizzle on her skin from the hot water as the filth washed away. She slid further into the tub, propped up her feet and leaned her head slightly back  until her hair touched the water. If she slipped further down, she thought, if she submerged herself completely, could she stay there? Could she surrender what glimmer of life remained within her?

She pulled herself back up and shuddered as the cool air hit her skin. She would not succumb. 

She pulled herself out of her bath, grabbed a towel and headed to bed. She hoped that for this night, she would sleep well.

[jchb32273]

DAI (DAO) OC Tag

Tagged by @freethemages​! Thanks!! <3

I think I will tag @andrastini​, @captain-savvy​, @anjelica-grey​, @barbex​, and anyone else who might be interested!

Name: Kylara Auria Amell

Race and Class: Human Mage

Specialization: Primal Mage, Shapeshifter, and Arcane Warrior

Age: 19 (when she was recruited into the Grey Wardens), 30 at the time of the Conclave. Born 22 Drakonis 9:11 Dragon

Height: 5’9” (approx 180cm)

Family*: Unknown until she was able to do a bit of research after the Blight. Then she found out her family had once been Kirkwall nobility. She eventually met her two older brothers and two younger sisters – all of them mages (all of them sent to different Circles), although she only became close to her cousin, Garrett Hawke.

Great Aunt: Bethann Walker-Amell, Great Uncle: Astride Amell, Grandmother*: Lottie Smythe-Amell, Grandfather: Fausten Amell, Uncle: Damion Amell, Uncle: Gamlen Amell, Aunt: Leandra Amell-Hawke, Mother: Revka Amell, Father*: Roland Hawthorne, Brothers*: Leland & Augustin Hawthorne, Sisters*: Gisela & Allectia Amell, Cousins: Garrett, Carver, & Bethany Hawke

(* As there are some gaps in the Amell Family Tree – found on the Dragon Age Fandom wiki – I made up and filled in a few of my own names. Also, not really sure why Kylara and her siblings would have the last name of Amell… as that is their mother’s last name. Perhaps it was a nobility thing. So I just made up that the boys took their father’s last name and the girls took their mother’s.)

Love Interest: Alistair Theirin

Personality/Traits: Mostly calm and logical, but she can get hotheaded if someone argues against her core beliefs. She is a very smart, strong and powerful mage. Kylara is also highly passionate. Once she and Alistair had had their first time together, they were nearly inseparable. Heterosexual (possibly bi-curious, as she kissed Leliana one evening when she and Alistair were briefly apart. While Leli claimed that Kylara “wasn’t really into it”, it may have opened up new ideas in her head.) She had only ever been with Alistair until she met the sexy pirate captain, Isabela, at the Pearl… which led to a very steamy threesome between the three of them. After it, she swore to Alistair that it was just a one-time thing… until they met Isabela again a few years later. Now and then she and Ali will comment on finding other women attractive, and what it might be like… but they have not acted upon these thoughts. Both are fully content being with each other.

Background*: Until she found her family, Kylara only remembered coming to the Circle at Kinloch when she was eight years old. First Enchanter Irving had put a memory block on her at the request of her father. The reason for this she found out later, was because when her brother, Augustin, was sent away to a Circle in Nevarra at the age of ten (Kylara was unaware of her eldest brother, Leland – who was already in the Ostwick Circle – because she had only been three when he had been taken by the Templars), Kylara became very angry at her father for sending him away. As she screamed and cried, her own magic suddenly flared, wild and nearly unmanageable. Due to her immense power and her lack of control, her father was terrified of his daughter becoming an abomination. He immediately called for the Templars. They used Holy Smite to drain Kylara’s mana and then gave her some herbs that put her into a deep sleep. As they were in Crestwood at the time, the Templars quickly took her to Kinloch Hold.

Her father was worried that if Kylara remembered her past family life it could cause her to lose control before she was properly trained. He sent a letter with the Templars to the first enchanter of the Circle if there was something he could do to make Kylara forget her past, which Irving did.

As it turned out this was a good thing for Kylara because it allowed her to focus on her studies. She excelled and quickly became a favorite pupil of many of the mage instructors, Irving included. She also made many friends while she was there.

Anders was twelve years her senior, but he loved many of the younger mage students and mentored them as a “big brother”. Despite their age difference, Anders was easily one of her closest friends. She was crushed when he ran from the Circle when she was thirteen. Kylara also had many girlfriends. Her best friend was Sarita – a city elf from the Highever Alienage. When she was seventeen, she also became friends with a young Templar by the name of Cullen.

Sadly, not all friendships turned out to be true. Jowan was a young boy of ten when she first met him. Being close in age, they became friends… but as they grew older they drifted apart. Just after her Harrowing, Kylara not only found out that Jowan was in a forbidden relationship with a Chantry initiate, but that he was also practicing blood magic and had plans to destroy his phylactery so he could escape the Circle with Lily. She reported this to Irving, who then had her lead Jowan and Lily into a clever trap. Once Jowan found out that his friend had betrayed him, he swore that one day he would get revenge…

(* Again, lots of things in here that I made up to cover up any gaps and/or inconsistencies. I also call it a creative license as a FanFic writer… lol!)

Leadership Style and Preferences: Kylara would not want to call herself a leader, despite Alistair deferring to her once she had become a Grey Warden. While they were traveling together during the Blight, she spent the next several months helping Alistair to build up his own confidence and belief in himself. When she has had to step into a leadership role, she does try and listen carefully and have all of the facts before making a tough decision. Has she made mistakes? Sure even the best-informed individuals can still make the incorrect choices.

Favorite Companions (up to 3): DAO – Leliana, Alistair, and Zevran // DAI (Kylara will not be my quizzy… but someone you have heard of will be! Leaving it there to hopefully prevent any spoilers!) Dorian, Iron Bull, Cole

Least Favorite Companions (up to 3): DAO – Oghren, Sten // DAI – Sera, Vivienne, Solas (It isn’t that Kylara and my future quizzy hate these people, but rather that they just tend to disagree with them more often than agree…)

Mages or Templars?: Mages

Who Was Left In The Fade?: Warden Stroud

Who Rules Orlais?: Empress Celene and Briala

Favorite Advisor: Cullen and Leliana

Hobbies: (Back to Kylara now…) Reading, Cooking, Chess, Spending time with Alistair, and practicing her magic.

Familiar: Kylara doesn’t have a familiar, but she does have her beloved Mabari, Winston.

Scars/Tattoos?: Fighting during the Blight has given Kylara numerous scars. Arrow scars – one in her left shoulder and two in her lower abdomen. Desire Demon claw marks on her chest. A dagger scar across her stomach. Werewolf claw marks on her upper back… and many other scars from fighting numerous darkspawn and the Archdemon at the final battle of Denerim. Despite these scars, Alistair tells her every day how beautiful she is and how lucky he is that they are together.

Favorite Flower: Roses (for obvious reasons!)

Favorite Stone Or Gem: (Minor Spoiler if you haven’t read Kylara’s Story yet…) One evening, Alistair had told Kylara that the Joining had taken away her ability to have children. Devastated and heartbroken, she fled from the camp. Alistair found her by the shore of Lake Calenhad and began to comfort her. What then started off as sweet and tender soon turned wild and passionate. Kylara felt her magic flare up inside of her and not knowing what else to do with it, she directed it into a nearby boulder. Once things had calmed between her and Alistair, she touched the rock… and it split open! Inside were strange crystals that mirrored both their eye colors when they fought darkspawn – bluish/silver for Kylara and golden for Alistair.

The next morning, Alistair chipped off a few of the crystals and secretly had them made into necklaces for Kylara and himself. The next time they made love, they found that the crystals were able to hold excess magic (for Kylara) and excess energy (for Alistair). As their journey progressed and their bond deepened even further, the crystal’s magic began to grow and change… allowing Ali and Kylara to communicate telepathically and feel each other’s emotional states.

After the Blight, Kylara was able to finally talk with First Enchanter Irving about their crystals. He said they were called Aventurine (sorry, yes… borrowed from D&D… 😅) and that they were incredibly rare and special. When two people are meant to be with each other, despite numerous obstacles and odds against them, these crystals can form when that bond is born from their love.

Kylara and Alistair still wear these crystal necklaces to this day.

Weaknesses: As mentioned before, Kylara can be a bit hotheaded and sometimes her temper has gotten the better of her… more so when she was younger. The years have mellowed her quite a lot, but she can still get up in someone’s face if they say something that truly angers her.

[shiftyarchfey]

Rhian Lavellan as a companion

Inquisitor’s Name: Rhian Lavellan

Race / Class / Specialisation: Elven Rogue (Assassin)

Gender Identity: Male

Varric’s Nickname for them: Freckles

Short bio: No one actually knows where they came from, but he and his twin sister were found by clan Lavellan when they were about four or five years old. They both had scars indicating some sort of blood magic use on them, so the clan suspected they had come from Tevinter, but they had no knowledge of Tevene to back up the assumption. In fact, they did not speak at all, so the clan gave them new names. Slowly, they began to talk and the twins were assimilated into clan Lavellan.

Rhian and his sister Rhaeva were adopted by a couple who already had a daughter, Mi'Durgen. The three quickly became quite close, even more so when their adoptive mother died giving birth to their fourth sibling, Yuurei. The three of them swore to take care of their youngest brother and Mi'Durgen took on the role of their deceased mother. They soon discovered that Yuurei was born blind and had to adjust to help the baby grow up safely.

The family was hit by another tragedy when the biological father of Mi'Durgen and Yuurei died during a hunting accident two years later. The twelve-year-old Mi'Durgen boxed her seven-year-old adopted siblings and two-year-old baby brother through with the help of the clan and got her Vallaslin four and a half years later, allowing her to take better care of her siblings with the newly aquired status. Rhian and Rhaeva were inseperable during these times, taking care of Yuurei when their older sister was out hunting.

But life was still hard and Rhian trained to become a hunter as fast as possible to help his older sister. He sometimes snuck out into the woods to try to hunt small prey, even though the keeper and his sisters forbade him. More than once he was caught and had to work with the Halla, but he didn’t care and did it again as soon as he was free to go. In the process, he became quite well aquainted with the proud animals.

Rhian also begun to see a father figure in the clan’s Hahren, taking interest in the stories and tales of the past. The Hahren noticed and started subtly training Rhian to succeed him, making Rhian quite proud of having achieved such a position in the clan. During the Blight, clan Lavellan hid in the forests, hoping it would not reach the Free Marches.

When Yuurei begun showing signs of magic talent, his siblings worried that he had to leave the clan and prepared to follow their little brother to another clan if that was the case. Their keeper however assured them that Yuurei could stay. At the age of seventeen, Rhian got his Vallaslin, his sister following only months later.

Following a series of unfortunate events involving him and a rather angry village of humans, he slowly became somewhat of an outsider in his clan. Only his sister was so close to him that he would trust her with his sorrows. At the time of the conclave, the situation had worsened and Rhian himself had started to antagonize some of the clan members because they were overly rude to him and his sister. As a result, Rhaeva became involved as well and the keeper decided it was time to put an end to the whole mess by sending one of the twins, Rhian, to attend the conclave. He was meant to infiltrate it via a mercenary group as a spy.

He'd followed the mercenary group of his chosing for a while when he was finally discovered and allowed to join. He told them he had been cast out by his clan, which wasn't that untrue, since his mission could very well go awry and end badly for him. The keeper had told him that the clan would mourn if they heard of his passing, but they would not help him in any way, so Rhian took it as a fancy way of being told to go and never come back. Bitter and angry, he decided to succeed in his mission and then leave with his sister afterwards. The events at the conclave however threw his whole plan out of balance.

What would their companion card look like?

made by @fleshwerks

Recruitment mission: The Dalish Spy/A Letter Home:

Rhian would be found in Haven, in the forest. He had been wandering around since the explosion and can either be convinced to join the Inquisition or be turned away. If he joins the Inquisition, he will ask to deliver a letter to his sister to fulfill his recruitment. This is achieved by talking to Leliana after accepting the quest from him.

If he is turned away, he will leave Haven and won't appear until later in the game. In the meantime he joins the elven clan in the Exalted Plains. There, he will be available for either a second recruitment, joining the Inquisition as one of Leliana's agents or he can be turned away once more. The requirements for his recruitment are the same.

Where they would be in Skyhold / Haven: In Haven, he'd stay at old Tagen's hut (where the notes for Adan are found), sometimes wandering closer to the stables.

In Skyhold he would stay close to the stables, sometimes he'd be found atop the tower (where Trifles Minutiae sometimes is) or in a garden with the Herb garden upgrade.

Personal quests:

 Quest 1: A Letter Home: His recruitment quest, has to be fulfilled to get him as a companion. To start it, you have to ask him about his clan and he will tell the Inquisitor about his sister and ask to let her know that he is still alive. The Inquisitor then has to go to Leliana to ask her to use her connections and ensure that the knowledge of his survival reaches Rhaeva's ears. She will agree to help and upon completion of the conversation the Inquisitor would have to return to Rhian to finish the quest. He will then join and be available as a companion.

 Quest 2: Halla Troubles: Available after reaching Skyhold. He will ask to meet him at the stables, where he will tell the Inquisitor that he found a halla wandering close to Skyhold, alone and possibly hurt. The Inquisitor can agree to check it out (and gain approval) or dismiss him (resulting in an approval drop). If the Inquisitor agrees to seek it out, a new area will appear on the map, close to Skyhold, where the halla will be found. The Inquisitor has to fight a few wolves to reach the wounded animal. Upon reaching the halla, the Inquisitor can choose between deciding it to be too late (resulting in a swift mercy) or trying to help it back in Skyhold. Both result in a raise in approval, the second choice garnering a "greatly approves". After this quest, the halla will be available as a mount and Rhian will stay at the stables more often.

 Quest 3: Close Enough: After entering Solasan, if Rhian is in the active party, he will remark about the structure and old elven writing. If Solasan is completed, he will appear in a cutscene after reaching Skyhold, asking for a scolar to write down his translations of the writings in the temple (he is illiterate in common). The Inquisitor can grant his request (gaining a "greatly approves") or deny him enough funds to complete the translation, resulting in a significant approval drop.

If his request is granted, the Inquisitor will meet him again after returning to Skyhold once again. Rhian will have completed a portion of the translations which will result in a schematic for either a staff, shortsword/dagger hybrid, shield, maul or a bow, depending on the Inquisitor's class and specialization and a permanent reduction to all of Leliana's wartable mission times.

If he is refused, he will still meet after a return to Skyhold, but he will not have succeeded in his translation, thus nothing above will be available. He will brush off the Inquisitor afterwards, claiming he has to work on his translations. There, the Inquisitor has the choice to keep him in the Inquisition or boot him out. If he is removed, he will be found in the Exalted Plains with the Dalish clan, but the Inquisitor will be unable to approach him again.

 Romance Quest: After flirting with him and completing his second quest, he will approach a female Inquisitor with an awkward "Sorry, not interested" (just like Cassandra does). A male Inquisitor will find a pelt in his room and the quest will be to ask each companion if they put it there. Rhian will admit that he did it, but won't tell why. The Inquisitor will have to ask Solas for a clarification, which Solas will give; the pelt is a courting gift in Dalish culture (if the Inquisitor is Dalish himself, this step will not be needed and he is able to confront Rhian directly). The Inquisitor can then hunt for a wolf in the Hinterlands and recieve a wolf pelt, which he can gift to Rhian as a reciprocal of his feelings.

 Second Romance Quest: After allowing him to study the writings, Rhian will encounter a romanced Inquisitor in the Inquisitor's room and in the following conversation the parameters of the relationship will be established.

 How to get their approval: Rhian will approve of finishing the horsemaster quest and riding the course there. He will also approve if you help people in general. The main quests will be rated:

-Declaring that Corypheus must be destroyed or an elf stands for us all = greatly approves

-Recruiting the mages as allies: greatly approves, disbanding the templars = approves.

-Winter Palace: Approves of almost all results that include Briala having some sort of power and/or leaving the situation as it is (Celene in power, piece with both Gaspard and Briala). He will also approve if Florianne isn’t killed.

-Grey Wardens rebuild = approves

-Gain the Sentinels as allies = greatly approves, drink from the Well = greatly approves

-Sharing the truth about Ameridan = greatly approves

-During Judgements, he will approve if the choice for recruitment is taken (e.g. Alexius and Samson), will however approve of killing Erimond

-Will greatly approve upon reaching the inner sanctum of Solasan

 How to get their disapproval: He will disapprove of ignoring those in need. Main quests:

-Being selfish or overy Andrastian during the speech = greatly disapproves/disapproves respectively

-Recruiting the Templars as allies = disapproves, subjecting the mages = greatly disapproves

-Grey Wardens disbanded = disapproves

-Kill the Sentinels = greatly disapproves, letting Morrigan drink = greatly disapproves if Inquisitor is an elf, else disapproves

-Lying about Ameridan = greatly disapproves

-During Judgement: exploiting Tranquility (after 2 decisions to render someone tranquil) = disapproves, killing anyone (except Erimond) = disapproves

 Are they romanceable? Yes

Can you have sex with them? Yes

Are they open to polyamoury? Only if paired with either Bull or Dorian or both

 If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who?

He will begin a relationship with either Bull or Dorian if the Inquisitor romances the other. If the two of them (Bull and Dorian) get together, he will not enter a relationship with a party member but will be heard mentioning a scout.

Who are they friendly with? Varric, Sera, Bull, Dorian, Solas and Vivienne. He has great respect for Josephine and Leliana

Who do they dislike? He avoids Cullen and Cassandra, but does not dislike them

Companion card changes: 

 Loyalty: The card will change from The Moon to The Hierophant after allowing him to make his translations. If he isn't allowed to get help for them, the card will be The Five of Cups

 Romance: The Page of Pentacles

Side Missions: He will give another fetch quest like Mother Giselle's, but for the mounts who have fallen ill if he’s approached at Skyhold and asked after the mounts.

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

He cares little about the actual conflict, but sympathizes with the mages due to his brother being one. He hates how the peasants and city elves fare under the whole situation.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party: He will not leave of his own, but he will leave if the Inquisitor tells him to after his third quest.

Special Events:

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

Rhian is shown in his cell, sitting and slowly rocking back and forth. He will mumble about the demons attacking his clan and the Inquisition, seeing his sister die before being captured for being in the Inquisitor's company.

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

He will be treated as a servant by the nobles and he will retreat to the gardens or a balcony after the introduction. He asks to complete the task and go back to Skyhold, but has no special events.

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

He is in awe and very curious. If Solas and/or Cole are in the party with him, he will ask a lot of questions about the fade. The Archdemon will taunt him with how he would die apart from his sister and that she would never know what happened to him, that she might be in danger at this very moment and here he is, trapped in the fade. Rhian will answer that the Inquisition will make sure that Rhaeva knows and that she knows how to take care of herself. He'll sound very doubtful though. His epitah is loss of reality.

Trespasser: What is your Inquisitor up to two years after Corypheus’ defeat? Any special events with them over the events of Trespasser?

He will have returned to his clan and at the time of the conclave, he will have rejoined the Inquisition with his sister. He worked as a researcher in this time while Rhaeva helps Leliana or takes over the Spymastering for her if she is the divine. Meeting him in Trespasser includes a meeting with his sister.

original meme by oatscarwilde

[servesorlais]

tell me about michel being picked as celene's champion! how and why did she pick him, how did he react or feel about it, all of that! meta or drabble, whatever you're feeling!

I have to compile a bunch of different headcanon posts into a general reference sheet, but in the meantime ... have a little ficlet of a scene I’ve been imagining for them. It’s not as detailed as it could have been, and I cheated and wrote this one from her POV, so I’ll have to go back and do some more from Michel’s POV another time  ( I have another ficlet in mind for that that I’ve been meaning to write, so hopefully this will serve as inspiration ) ... but in the meantime, have this. 

Marquis Etienne de Chevin had been Celene’s ally since before she took the throne; he had been sympathetic when her parents had been murdered, and sympathetic when she had hinted at her ambitions to him. There was a saying about how having a common rival could bring people together, and maybe that was where their alliance found its inception: Etienne had no fondness for Grand Duke Gaspard, not wanting to see Val Chevin targeted and overrun by Nevarrans in the event of a war.

The Marquis was a small man, dark in hair and eye, and though his complexion ran pale, he was prone to tan lines around the edges of his mask when the warm summers hit the north of the empire. It bore consideration now for the stark contrast of the chevalier that shared his name – a young man by the name of Ser Michel.

He had arrived promptly at the appointed hour, neatly armored in the blue gambeson and silver plate that the chevaliers adopted as one of their uniforms. In place of the visored helm, however, he wore a simple mask, unadorned by gems or other fanciful ornamentations – save, of course, for the bright yellow feather they all wore, angled modestly but not sloppily. At Celene’s entrance, he had introduced himself and then bowed appropriately.

A boring greeting, in other words.

That was not necessarily a point of fault, but it did leave her the time to gauge his apparent difference from her friend the Marquis. The yellow feather at least made a nice complement to Ser Michel’s blond; beneath his mask, she could see wide blue eyes and long lashes, and an angular face. Pretty, then, as far as boys came. Idly, Celene wondered if her own mask with its delicate lines and feminine details would improve the chevalier’s countenance at all. They had needed to make some adjustments to the design for her previous champion, whose strong jaw and shadow of stubble had offset it too gravely.

It was drawing on the third month since that man had gurgled out his final breath with a harlequin’s dagger in his throat. Celene had needed to make do with her guards and a number of other chevaliers who had been in her personal service already. Oh, one of them might have made a suitable replacement; but they had built up their lives already, just as Briala had warned might be a problem, taking lovers and spouses and pretty villas around Val Royeaux.

“I am happy to welcome you back from Nevarra,” Celene said to Ser Michel as they strolled through one of the long galleries in the palace interior. It was not entirely a private meeting; a few paces behind, two of her regular guards followed, and the bustle of servants around them was choreographed more than the chevalier would know. He was being watched – this was a performance, as everything in the imperial court had to be. “Is Val Royeaux home for you, Ser?”

“No,” Michel answered after a pause that didn’t seem wholly like a hesitation, but was curious nonetheless. “I was raised in Montfort, Your Majesty.”

“You have family there?”

Celene anticipated the answer. She had not gone into this meeting without making an attempt at some research; there had not been time to write to Etienne and ask about this distant cousin of his, but she had been able to ask her chevaliers about the young man. She’d known he was a recent graduate of the Academie – only last spring, she had accepted his oath of service at their graduation ceremony, his name among those of the top graduates. But the group had stood at a distance from her, helms covering their heads, and she had not needed to speak to any of them on a personal basis despite their oaths.

“Not anymore.” To his credit, Ser Michel kept his composure well, but Celene watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Nervous, then. Where he walked at her side, pace controlled so his long stride wouldn’t outmatch her careful, slippered steps, he might have been like one of the purebred stallions spoiling in the stables, all pricked and alert and perhaps wishing they could bolt. 

“Had you planned to return?” Celene asked.

The matter of where Michel’s family had gone was not the main point. Maybe it had been a plague that killed them, or a duel, or a hunting accident; evidently they were long dead. That was hardly uncommon, however. For her purposes, she only hoped that now would be the time for Michel to bring to mention any inheritances he planned to take up, humble though they might have been.

The young man must have known why he’d been summoned here, for whatever effect that might have on his honesty. Celene had neither asked nor stated it directly, but she knew it was a topic of gossip around Val Royeaux that she hoped to replace her lost champion … and what was gossiped about in the capital was gossiped about all around the empire, in the end. Even a dull man wouldn’t have been wholly immune to gossip. 

The smile she gave him was almost expectant, in any case. 

“To Montfort, or Nevarra?”

A deflection, meeting her question with one of his own. So he could navigate the Game if he wished to, then. With a little training, that might be drawn out and enhanced to better effect.  

“Does the answer differ?” Celene returned as she motioned for them to turn the corner into the next room.

It was habit that made her stall as they reached the arched doorway. Her old champion had known his cues to check the other side for her and make sure that no assassins’ blades lay in wait in the shadows, ready to spring on her as she made her entrance. The palace might have been hers, but that did not always mean it was safe; she trusted her servants, but there were always machinations at work, and the rules of the Game could shift suddenly to endanger her.

Ser Michel, deferentially, had stalled to wait. That was when the assailant chose to jump.

From their small frame, they were clearly elven, and had the lithe quickness to show for it. Their face was obscured by a cowl, but it did not affect their vision or their aim as they lunged towards the empress, daggers unsheathed and directed at her throat.

They never made contact.

Celene reacted in time to step aside, but the tangle of silver plate and leather armor spilled onto the marble floors in front of her, forcing her back further. A clatter of metal accompanied one dagger as it skittered sideways and out of the assailant’s reach, landing just in front of Celene’s feet, but another one flashed in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the wide glass windows.

“-- Stop!”

At the sound of her voice, the scene in front of Celene stilled, and allowed her to see what had happened. Even the shocked gasps from their small retinue halted at the sound of her voice, one of the pleasant perks of her station.  

The elven assailant had yielded, one hand thrown up in a signal that any chevalier should have recognised. An elf should not have known that … but Ser Michel, perhaps more to the point, had. He had managed to pull a dagger of his own at some point, one that Celene had guessed he would be wearing and chosen not to disarm him of, despite the obvious risk it presented; it hovered just above the elf’s throat, while he kneeled above them, one knee pressing down on their chest.

“Your Majesty,” he breathed in acknowledgement.

Despite herself, Celene’s heartbeat pounded more forcefully than usual. Had she been fortunate that Michel had seen the threat coming and reacted accordingly? It would have been an ignoble end to be caught by an elven blade in her own gallery while making an interview for a new guardian. But the elf had yielded without a fight, and by the look of it had not even drawn a spot of the chevalier’s blood in the scuffle.

Celene glanced down at the dagger that had fallen next to her, and suddenly, it made sense.

That belonged to Briala.

To admit before the few present courtiers that her handmaiden had arranged this as a test for her would have been a wound in and of itself, however, and so Celene gave a curt nod, and straightened her shoulders to indicate this was nothing she had not expected. For all anyone would know, it was by her orders that this attack had played itself out. 

“Admirable, Ser Michel,” she said, avoiding the trap of sounding genuinely impressed. “Release your grip. Ainna, thank you for playing your part perfectly.”

It was not really the elf’s name; Celene had chosen one at random from the names of the servants she knew. But as the two of them disengaged, the chevalier and the elf, they bowed regardless, cowl pulled low once again to disguise their face. 

Even with his mask on, the look of surprise and confusion was clearly written on Ser Michel’s features.

They might need to work on that. But he’d proven himself capable, and that was something to work with. 

[brialavellan]

Summary: It has been 20 years since Inquisitor ‘Manehn Lavellan defeated Corypheus, and 18 years since the Exalted Council. Solas is furthering his plans and so far, all efforts to stop him seem to be in vain….until the Well of Sorrows begins to speak to ‘Manehn once more. Led by ancient magics and beset by enemies from Ferelden and Orlais to Antiva and Tevinter, ‘Manehn must gather allies old and new in a race against time to defeat Solas - at any cost.

(NOW ON AO3)

Chapter 1 ||  Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4

CH 5: Old Ghosts

She had not been expecting this.

Briala fiddled with the summons in her hand, expectantly and anxiously peeking outside the windows. The small carriage space still made her stomach turn even years after, since the burning of Halamshiral, when she was bound, heading for a cell.

The sight of the palace was familiar, and she took little interest in the gilded gold gates and the statues of lions, mouths open in a snarl. Orchestral music streamed through the carriage windows and the courtyards as the Palace Gates gave away, allowing Briala’s carriage to enter.

It had been years since Briala had seen Celene last, with sad eyes and a gaunt face, looking frail, almost wizened, a skeletal shadow of the Celene she remembered. Those memories of their time together, as confidantes, as lovers, were slipping like loose sand between her fingers. It was almost a small mercy, as the pain of their breakup was nothing in comparison to the pain of betrayal - as she stared out at Halamshiral in flames so long ago, acrid smoke choking her lungs as she was dragged to a jailer’s carriage in handcuffs. As she learned Celene had killed her parents all those years ago, their blood pooling at her feet as she hid behind a curtain in the reading room. The pain of her betrayal was sharper than the pain of their breakup, and though she should always expect it in a place like Orlais, it hurt even more that, at the end of the day, this was all just politics.

Nothing personal.

Perhaps this is why she loved ‘Manehn’s sentimentality. Everything was personal to her. Briala had no other word for this willingness to help her at their first meeting, her eagerness to give Briala the leverage she needed to wrangle a concession out of Celene, accomplishing in one night what over a decade of Briala’s soft whispers paired with sweet kisses could not - recognition and rights.

At first, they developed a working relationship, Celene being, if not supportive, at least hands-off as Briala administered the Dales with a deft hand. The humans groused and schemed and plotted against her because of course they would. They either threw down their tools, packed their wagons, and left or they begrudgingly accepted their new elven Marquise. Those that did not were swiftly dealt with. “Eyes in every corner and a dagger at every throat” was the whispered truth to every human who later dared to challenge her reign. Jests about big ears were told with a tinge of fear behind racist overtones.

And as long as Celene accepted it, so did they.

But Celene’s support was conditional on ‘Manehn having a political mandate, and in the intervening years after the scandal of the Exalted Council, her favor had fallen fast. Whatever political pull she did have came from reverence of deeds long past, or towards the Chantry and her role as Right Hand, the visible arm and instrument of the Divine’s Will.

And Celene wanted nothing more than meddlesome elves to finally fall out of favor.

The carriage pulled over and Briala quickly stepped out, not even waiting for the carriage driver to rush to her door. She ascended the marble stairs quickly, her stomach fluttering with every step. The chevaliers stood at attention, still incredulous at the sight of the Elven Marquise despite her years in power.

Elves with titles still shock.

She entered the vestibule and heard the hurried whispers of very familiar faces as she approached the throne room: the one who summoned her, and one she hoped to avoid encountering. The guards announced her arrival as they pushed aside more gilded golden doors and as she strode across the marble floors, the clicking of her heels silencing the conspiratorial whispers.

Her heart sank at what she saw. Any hopes that this uneasy peace would remain shattered at the sight of Grand Cleric Natalie at Celene’s side.

“My lady Briala,” Natalie said, her rs rolling with a hint of contempt and malice that seeped into the stone and gold gilding of the overly ornate throne room, “it’s a surprise to see - .”

“Leave us,” Celene interrupted with a small flick of her wrist and a harsh glare, “I wish to speak with the Marquise privately.”

“Of course, your Radiance,” Natalie said with a curt bow and a slightly sour look, the clicking of her heels echoing through the cavernous space as she skittered away.

“Bria…” Celene said softly, greeting her with the pet name she bestowed so long ago. Briala would have winced, but she maintained a perfect stony facade behind an emerald mask. She knew now why she was summoned, and her heart sank at the implications.

“I heard what happened during the celebrations - an attack on the Divine in my palace. It’s fortunate I was elsewhere, and that the culprits were thwarted.”

“Due to the quick action of the Divine’s Right Hand and Arcane Advisor,” Briala said quickly, “but their leader still lives. And we are doing -”

“Everything in your power, I am sure.” Celene interrupted her. Whether it was because of their history or her age, she didn’t know, but Celene saved no flowery words and meandering metaphors for Briala.

Her words, and intentions, were clear.

“But I have to ask if I can trust that this unrest would truly be resolved by a woman with a history of…poor judgment in affairs relating to this ‘Dread Wolf’. And whether this may lead to complications in Halamshiral.”

“You would not find another person in all of Thedas who has more reason and more dedication to ending this threat. Have you found another in twenty years?”

“I am not concerned about her dedication.” Celene said with a slight sigh, “I am concerned about infiltration.”

She rose from her throne, meeting Briala’s gaze with steely and stern grey eyes. “I cannot risk another uprising. I cannot risk my empire, and my people, falling to this threat because I failed to act. Not again. I will be forced to act if you and the Right Hand cannot.”

This was a threat. A hard lump rose in Briala’s throat and she forced it back, stomach violently churning as flashes of flickering orange flames and the snapping of wood and steel burned briefly in her mind’s eye, as the memory of ash and smoke choked her lungs. She could see Celene’s fingers twitching at her sides. She was ready to light the torch.

One misstep, and Halamshiral would burn again.

“We will not fail.” Briala said, followed with a deep curtsy. Her practiced perfect mask hid the fear, the anguish, that curled within, a tight knot that pooled deeper and deeper in her chest. Old and new fear mixed and muddled in the pit of her stomach, curling and churning tighter and tighter until she wanted to vomit. She held her head high as she left. Now, with Celene’s leave, she walked out, with new resolve and growing anger.

As she departed, she noted the Grand Cleric clamoring into a small carriage, her face still soured and her hands shaking as she climbed aboard. Briala paused for a moment, out of sight, but not out of earshot.

“Where to, your Reverence?”

“Back to the Cathedral,” Natalie declared with a heavy sigh. “And quickly.”

Briala waited until her carriage departed then rushed towards her own. She climbed inside and tapped her driver on the shoulder.

“I need to get to the Grand Cathedral now.”

‘Manehn hated alienages.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the rotted wooden gates, smeared with grit and grime, rusted locks barring entrance and exit, a cage not even fit for animals. Recovery had come for all except the elves, it seemed. As it always was. She noted Halamshiral still smoldered from the fires that had consumed it over twenty years ago, despite Briala’s adept administration.

Mirwen, however, was obviously disgusted, and scrunched her nose at the sight of the gates. She was not unaware of the privilege she enjoyed, but she could not stand the visceral sights and smells, the reminders of quite how well she lived in comparison to her brethren.

A full complement of city guards followed them, led by Varric and Guard Captain Aveline, who obviously hesitated at the sight of the gates, gripping the hilt of her sword. The templars that followed ‘Manehn and Mirwen took note and gripped their hilts, eyes scanning for any sign of a threat.

“Are you sure about this?,” asked Aveline, eager to avoid any sort of confrontation with any of the viscerally angered elves inside.

“Absolutely,” Mirwen said, “this is the only way we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

Aveline motioned to two guards and they rushed forward, undoing the locks and heaving the gates open. The sight of the entering entourage sent most of the elves scurrying, eyes all watching from windows and shadows, some curious, most angry, bloodlust in their narrowed eyes.

“The alienage has seen the most unrest,” Aveline commented as they entered, “I don’t dare send anything less than a full complement here if I want my guards to come back alive. We’ve been able to maintain order, for now. Checkpoints, curfews, and the like.”

“Gently, of course,” Varric said, at the sight of ‘Manehn’s suspicious glare, “the nobles have been begging for a purge. I’m not giving it to them.”

“Because elves had no reason to rebel beforehand, of course.” ‘Manehn said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “how else could Solas amass followers when all elves live such lives of privilege and contentment?”

“That doesn’t excuse murder.” Aveline snapped. “Order must remain.”

“And hopefully,” Varric interrupted, “we’ll find answers in Merrill’s home.”

As they arrived, Varric rapped on the door. Once, twice, but no response.

“Remind me to buy her a new door,” he said as Aveline and another guard bashed the lock. They went first, swords drawn, sweeping the small space for any sign of intrusion.

The house was as sparsely decorated as it was small, but it had obviously been ransacked. A fine coating of dust had settled over a small fireplace and overturned table. Scrolls littered the floor, and scorch marks lined the walls. Amidst the mess stood a broken eluvian, shards still poking out from the frame.

Varric frowned at the mess. “This isn’t good…” he said, almost to himself, “Daisy, what did you get yourself into?”

“Why does she keep a broken eluvian in her house?” Mirwen asked as she went to examine it.

“Beats me,” Varric said, eyeing the shattered remains, “Hawke finally convinced her to stop working on the cursed thing, but…”

“That was foolish,” Mirwen said, wrenching a shard of mirror from the base of the broken eluvian, “we could have used something like this.”

“It cost her her Keeper, Mirwen,” Varric said, turning away from the mirror. “When lives are at stake, some prices are too high. Especially when you’re playing with blood magic.”

Mirwen said nothing, turning over the piece of shattered eluvian in her hands, careful not to rub against the raw edges. The shard hummed with a dull magic, shimmering even in the dark space.

“The spirit said I can use this to scry for unbroken eluvians. It will tell us whether there is one nearby. ”

“And then we destroy it?” Aveline asked.

“Or we use it.” ‘Manehn said. “If it’s active or if we can unlock it, we can trace the paths to a base of operations. That’ll get you a quieter city than breaking one measly eluvian,” she added as Aveline shot her a slightly incredulous glance. “Turns out, smashing all the eluvians in Thedas isn’t much of a plan.”

A tense unease permeated the space as Mirwen worked the magic the spirit had taught her, using the eluvian as a focus. The shard began to audibly hum with magic, bands of light pulsing from the shard, filling the small space with the tingle of mana, setting hairs on end and giving everyone goosebumps.

Mirwen closed her eyes and focused, letting the thrumming of the magic touch her mind's eye.

She opened her eyes, a satisfied smile in her face.

"There is an active one near the base of a mountain. Past a small forest, near a clearing of some sort." she closed her eyes, focusing on the scene laid bare before her. "There's flattened grass there, as if many people camped there recently."

Varric’s eyes widened. "I know exactly where that is," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He turned towards 'Manehn. "Davhalla's clan was recently camped there. If there's an active eluvian nearby...."

"Then they're in big trouble," 'Manehn interrupted. "We have to go there. Now.” She paused for a moment and looked at Mirwen. “But if we encounter any trouble when we’re there, I want Varric to take you right back to the Keep.”

Briala frowned as her carriage approached the Grand Cathedral and saw Natalie enter, her mind working to piece together old details and new, to figure out Natalie’s machinations and motivations.

Natalie was ill suited for the Game, Briala noted, but both were all too familiar with the Chantry's ability to sway hearts and minds from the pulpit. Surely, she had planned a sermon of some sort for this day, an attempt to succeed at pinning the attempted assassination on the Right Hand - what she had failed to do the first night after ‘Manehn had deftly thwarted her in front of the nobles. If she should not agitate from the top, she would start from the bottom, and the whispers would trickle up.

Unless Briala could find some way to take her down.

The interior of the Grand Cathedral sweltered in the summer heat. Streams of sunlight pierced through the stained glass windows, the multicolored lights dancing on the smooth marbled floors. Parishioners sat dutifully on mahogany benches with velvet cushions, gazing up at the stern face of a golden, glittering Andraste, arms outstretched, holding two braziers that burned with incense. Vivid painted frescos lined the entire bottom half of vaulted archways, telling the story of the life of Andraste. Marble statues, their bases lined with gold, stood in between pillars, depicting Andraste’s disciples, Hessarian, Havard, and even Mafarath the Betrayer. And among the austere beauty stood four Revered Mothers, singing the Chant of Light in soprano, their soft angelic voices filling the vaulted ceilings and sifting between the pillars and pews, as worshipers bowed their heads and mouthed the words along, some rapturously, some by rote, but all still entranced by the beauty in their song. It was during this song that Briala was able to slip in the Cathedral without notice, carefully closing the door and shrinking behind one of the stone pillars that graced the entrance.

The Chant came to a close and the Cathedral fell silent, interrupted only by Grand Cleric Natalie’s footsteps against the marble floors as she walked towards a small pulpit. She cleared her throat and regarded the crowd before her.

“All shall know the peace of the Andraste’s love,” she began, raising her arms in reverence to the glittering gold Andraste that stood above her. “And all shall know the Truth of the Maker. For you are the fire at the heart of the world.”

The crowd chanted in response.

“And comfort is only Yours to give.”

Natalie smiled at the crowd, a wicked, hungry smile like predator baring her fangs. “All should know the Truth of the Maker. We know what this means. We will see His return, my children, when his name is spoken in all four corners of the World. Twenty years ago, the sky split apart with magic, our beloved Divine was lost…all seemed hopeless….and in our confusion, in our moment of grief, we strayed from the path of Righteousness.”

The crowd began to murmur, heads shaking, with some confusion. Briala read the crowd and took some comfort in their reactions. Surely they remembered the Herald’s deeds. Surely they wouldn’t turn so quickly? Had she squandered all good will so easily?

“We turned to desperation to the only one who could heal the sky, but ask yourselves: are we safer now with this Herald as the Instrument of the Divine’s Will? Are we better off when we turned Halamshiral over to the elves? One of their heathen gods almost murdered the Divine not a month ago, and we do not question why, at her side, sits a woman who worships them?”

Natalie stood at the pulpit, fists clenched and shaking with her righteous fury as she spoke her sermon to the eager masses that bowed before her.

“They have strayed from the true Chantry, the one that served Thedas for a thousand years! Have we forgotten that she led a movement designed to destroy us? Have we forgotten that this enemy of Orlais, of the Divine, was one of hers? ”

She slammed her hands down on the pulpit, the thud echoing across the Cathedral and forcing the congregation to rapt attention.

“We now bow to elven heathens in Halamshiral instead! We gave them land they did not deserve, land we took and made pure by Andraste’s light. Have we truly strayed so far from what we were? Are we better for it? What next, shall we ask a Qunari to be our next Divine now?”

She laughed at the thought, a rueful, rage-filled laugh. Her quaking voice echoed throughout the Cathedral as the congregants whispered murmurs of assent.

“We brought light to the Dales. We brought the truth of the Maker to the elves, who abandoned the god who gave them life and the Prophet who gave them freedom. By our hand, this corner of the world was touched by the Maker’s grace! And by giving it back to the elves, we let that light grow cold. Worse, we snuffed it out!”

She paused now, gathering her composure. Her last words hung hauntingly in the feverish air, a cold power behind every syllable, a different kind of echo that reverberated among the throngs of rapturous eyes turned towards her pulpit.

“The Maker turned a little further from us when we placed Halamshiral in elven hands.”

Briala watched with wide worried eyes as the crowd frothed with fury at her words. Not towards Natalie, but towards the so-called audacity of it all. She whispered silent curses under her breath, small beratings saved for herself. Of course she had overstretched herself. She had been careless - so overfocused on the Dales, she was, that she had let resentment fester in the capital. Resentment bubbling barely underneath, ready to resurface, all within the earshot of an Empress who had no qualms sacrificing elven lives to save her throne.

Even hers.

Even the Herald’s.

She had to warn them all, and soon.

“We’re close.”

Mirwen led the nervous group up the summit of Sundermount, her hands still holding the eluvian shard, which began to pulse and glow brighter as they approached their destination. ‘Manehn followed directly behind her, dagger drawn and uneasy with letting her daughter take the lead. She eyed the shard in her hands warily, the thrumming of magic agitating the Well’s voices and stealing her concentration. The five templars sent by the Divine to guard them grumbled as they followed, gripping their hilts. Aveline and Varric marched behind them, stony-faced and silent. All knew their duty, and they would not falter, but all were uneasy at following this mage’s instructions all concerned about where it might lead.

Tears began streaming down Mirwen’s face as they ascended. She quickly wiped them away. Sorrow and Despair pressed heavily against the Veil here, pushing and pulling, warping the Veil around them that threatened to tear at any second. She could feel the hidden pockets of pain deep within her chest, her heart wrenching tighter and tighter with every footstep towards the summit. 

“Are you sure this is where we need to go?” ‘Manehn asked

“The Fade is very thin here,” Mirwen said between small sobs, “can you feel it?”

‘Manehn heard her whimpers and rushed to her daughter’s side. “We can turn back now, you can stay at the Keep, just tell us where…”

“No,” Mirwen said, brushing away still-streaming tears, “I’m fine. I’m safer at your side.”

“I don’t think anywhere is safe anymore, Sugar Plum,” Varric said grimly, “not as long as Chuckles has the advantage.”

“There must have been a lot of death here,” Mirwen said, “for the Fade to respond so…forcefully.”

“It’s always had a reputation for being haunted,” Varric said. “Why Dalish elves seem almost insistent on camping here, I will never understand.”

“Should the Dalish camp in your city then?” ‘Manehn said, voice steeped in sarcasm, “I’m sure the nobles would be more than amenable to it.”

“Fine, you got me,” Varric said, wincing slightly at her pithy remark. “It’s not like the Dalish have a lot of options.”

“Wait….” ‘Manehn stopped and took the lead, eyes narrowed as she scanned the small clearing they approached. “This is a good spot for…”

A dark skinned Dalish elf burst forth from the trees, dressed in Keeper’s regalia, flinging spectral bolts behind her at unknown assailants. She spotted the party before her and rushed towards them.

“MOVE!” she screamed, as a volley of arrows followed at her heels. 

‘Manehn and the rest darted backwards, weapons drawn as the elf joined them, locs sticking to her sweating and fearful face. “You need to leave, now!”, she said through bursts of heavy breathing, “before -”

Another volley of arrows burst forth from the trees, blocked quickly by the elf summoning a barrier. The arrows bounced off the edges of her spectral shield, clattering like rain on a tin roof. 

‘Manehn turned towards Varric and pointed at the templars in her entourage. “Get Mirwen out of here!” she yelled at the templars as she and Aveline rushed towards the tree line, taking cover within the forest. Two templars followed. The other elf hesitated for a moment but rushed to their side.

Varric nodded and grabbed Mirwen’s wrist, falling back behind three remaining templars. Mirwen glared at her mother but did not resist, and all five disappeared from the line of sight. 

They made it to the tree line and Varric made it out of sight just before another volley landed in the clearing, arrows blotting out the sky before splintering and seeping into the ground.

‘Manehn turned towards the elf that warned them and shook her head in disbelief. “Davhalla? What are you doing here?”

She threw up her hands in frustration in response as they moved through the trees. Talk would be saved for later. Stealth would not be an option, seeing as Aveline’s and the templars’ plate armor jangled with every step. They would have to face them head-on. Unless...

An elf rushed them, sword drawn, eyes screaming. ‘Manehn sidestepped the man and parried the blade before sinking her dagger into his back. He fell with a loud thud, twitching and screaming in agony, blood pooling on his back and belly. She searched his pockets as he bled out, looking for any clue as to the identity of their assailants. She found a couple scraps of parchment and a shimmering red gem, warm to the touch, glowing like a red ember in the palm of her hand.

“It’s a keystone.” ‘Manehn said in a low whisper. “We’re close.”

Yelling and rustling from the trees signaled a change in strategy from their mysterious attackers. Several advanced from hidden cover into their position, blades drawn. One fired an arrow directly in the helm of one of her templars, sending him stumbling back and falling. ‘Manehn took him down with a flung dagger to the chest. Another lunged forth from stealth, taking down another with a blade to the belly. She turned to attack Aveline, but Aveline parried the blade and cut her down with a firm slash. Davhalla stood behind, hands glowing with mana, firing bolts at the shifting shadows with varying degrees of success. Shadows circled them from the trees, watching and waiting to pounce. 

“We can’t just stand here waiting!” Aveline finally said, eyes darting back and forth at the dead templars and gripping her sword and shield. “We have to move forward or we die here.”

“Then we head for the summit,” ‘Manehn said, bolting forward through the trees. Aveline and Davhalla shrugged and raced behind her, ignoring the sounds of twigs snapping and elven curses as they fled towards the summit. Arrows whizzed by as they raced forwards, hearts pounding and legs aching. 

They raced through the trees until they arrived into another small clearing, and, noticed too late, directly into a trap.

A group of several elves popped into a small clearing, surrounding them. Aveline, Davhalla and ‘Manehn fell back into a small huddle, eyeing them anxiously, weapons drawn.

A leader soon emerged from the small pack, eyes glinting with smug arrogance as she surveyed the three before her.

“We’ve been waiting for you to arrive, and I see you’ve brought friends,” she said, her tone as cool as it was cocky, pointing at Davhalla and Aveline.

“That’s me, going above and beyond,” ‘Manehn said with a wicked smirk and a glare.

“Of course you would court oppressors and sympathizers in your misguided attempts to stop my master,” the elf replied, her voice rising with a cold anger as she regarded the women before her. “You call yourselves Elvhen, but you are a traitor! You serve the shemlen! You serve the Chantry, the very people responsible for the destruction of our homeland!”

“And you serve a madman who would destroy you all to revive a past long dead.” ‘Manehn snapped. 

She scoffed at ‘Manehn’s retort.

“Capture the Herald. Kill the other two.”