The breeze was biting cold by Haven's frozen lake, evening sun giving the landscape a dreamy orange hue. Just at the edges of it all the sickly green light of The Breach began to snake in. At this time in the day only the clouds and the snow covered peaks reflected the colours of the hole in the sky. In a couple of short hours, however, when it should be full dark, the whole landscape would be bathed in the reminder of what had occurred at the Conclave three short months previous.
Sylvie walked along the short pier, old wood groaning beneath her weight, and sat heavily down on the end. Her feet hung a few inches above the frozen surface as she swung them back and forth slowly. She had been coming to the same spot almost every night she was in Haven and even if her solitude was short lived it was at least something to cling to in the madness thrust upon her.
The first few weeks of the Inquisitions infancy had quickly become a routine of back-and-forth into the Hinterlands. The trips were (thankfully) eventually made quicker a few weeks ago when they finally procured horses from Master Dennett.
"The Inquisition needs support, this person is willing to listen." Ambassador Montilyet would say at the war table. Then off Sylvie went, a Circle mage convincing scared refugees and sceptical Chantry clerics to listen and to join their cause.
"Our forces need horses, weapons and armour." Their Commander- the Ex-Templar- would tell them. Sylvie could feel herself scowling just slightly. People didn't just stop being Templars as far as she was aware. Their prejudices were so engrained that they were as much a part of a Templar as her magic was a part of her. Everything about him reminded her of being back in the Circle, both before it fell and during. The way he held himself when at rest behind the war table, the way he moved and held his shield when he sparred with recruits- it all made it impossible for Sylvie to forget that his people had killed, butchered, raped her people simply because they had the perceived 'misfortune' of being born with the gift of magic.
"We have reports of more rifts opening..." Sylvie had already stopped listening to Leliana when a sentence started like that. She simply sighed quietly, took the offered map and went.
Two weeks ago the routine had changed. There was less and less time to waste- would it be the mages or the Templars who would assist in closing the Breach?
Maker only knew why they let her decide. She could see in their eyes that they had already guessed that she would want to go back to Redcliffe to the rebel mages. The Commander protested vehemently. Even Cassandra was dismayed and neither of them even stopped to ask why.
"You asked for a decision and here it is." Sylvie had declared, cutting off the Commander. She had then promptly turned on her heel and stormed out of the War Room.
They didn't have the mark. None of them could know the feeling of having every fibre of your being hauled towards the Fade as a rift tried with all it's might to stay open. Every rift left her feeling empty, a dried husk of mana that could disappear with a light breeze. Each rift had gotten a little easier but when the choice had been between "Hopefully the Templars can dampen the Breach" and "Pour more magic into the mark" it didn't take Sylvie long to make a choice.
As much as Sylvie had tried to rationalise the decision from a tactical standpoint (Tevinter magister and all that) she knew her heart had made the choice as much as her brain. If things had been different she may have been one of those mages seeking safe harbour in Redcliffe, facing a future serving the Magisterium of Tevinter. She had seen the faces of the terrified apprentices, some so young they may have only been in their Circles a few months before everything went to shit, and she would not leave them to that fate. With everything that she had seen in that horrific future she felt even more vindicated in her choice. Sylvie scrunched her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, resolutely blocking out the memories of her time in that future. One day she would have to stop and process but not tonight. Or hopefully ever.
Footsteps crunching on the path towards the pier snapped Sylvie back into the moment. When the sound changed from cracking stone to creaking wood she knew her peace was over.
"By all means don't get up on my account." A voice called as she began to swing her legs round onto the pier. Sylvie looked over her shoulder to see the Tevinter mage Dorian walking towards her. He stopped, taking a deep breath as he carefully lowered himself onto the pier beside her. "Bracing really, this fresh mountain air," Dorian said amiably, "shame about the big hole in the sky."
Sylvie allowed herself a small smile, "I always preferred sea air myself," she replied, "reminds of home." Sylvie frowned as she turned to look at Dorian. They had all returned to Haven five days ago after a quiet, tense ride back and Sylvie had had little time for conversation while helping prepare for the imminent arrival of their new mage allies.
"I apologise for not coming to tell you sooner but..." She paused, Dorian's face turning to meet her gaze, "I owe you a great deal of thanks for what you did in Redcliffe," Sylvie swallowed heavily, "when we..."
"Went spinning through time into a demon filled, apocalyptic future?" He finished for her, one eyebrow raised.
Sylvie snorted, "Yes, I think that sums it up nicely. You essentially saved the world- at least as we know it."
"Do spread that around," Dorian replied, "the blacksmith actually spat at the sight of me the other day."
"I will, the sooner people realise that we need all the help we can get the better for the Inquisition," Sylvie smiled slyly at him, "even if that help comes in the form of a 'Vint."
Dorian laughed, a single short 'hah' from the back of his throat while waving a dismissive hand.
"I think you will find I was joking, my dear. The Herald of Andraste has more pressing issues to attend to than one mans wounded pride." Dorian said, his mouth smirking. "Like preparing her heretical movement for the arrival of potentially hundreds of apostates."
Dorian's expression turned thoughtful as he regarded her with narrowed, grey eyes. "You frown, you know? The tiniest line right here," he said as he pressed his finger tip between her eyes, "every time someone calls you Herald." Sylvie turned away and looked down at her knees. "See!" Dorian exclaimed with satisfaction, "you did it again. Now, don't get me wrong it isn't obvious. However, being adept at reading people is almost a necessary survival skill in Tevinter."
"It feels like a hugely distasteful joke," Sylvie replied with a shake of her head, "a non-believer The Herald of Andraste."
"Don't forget- a mage as well." Dorian quipped back and Sylvie gave him a rueful half smile.
"So you see my point?" I fell from the sky and was branded a mass murderer. A few days later..." she drifted off but Dorian quickly picked up her line of thinking.
"You were raised by the people as a religious icon, their unwitting saviour. It's a delectable tale." Dorian said with mocking whimsy before his expression became serious again. "They don't know then? That you don't believe a word of your own hype?"
Sylvie shook her head, "A few people do but not the masses. Cassandra asked out right, of course. She wasn't pleased. I only wish I had even a thimbles worth of her faith." The cold breeze stirred Sylvie's hair and she tucked the fly away strands that had come loose from her bun behind her ears. "My advisors," she continued with a roll of her eyes, "know as well but everyone agreed it best to continue letting the title of Herald spread."
"Well I quite agree," Dorian responded, "the hole in the sky is a terrifying site. The more scared people are the more people turn to faith and the more people turn to faith the more people will flocked to Andraste's chosen."
Sylvie knew Dorian was right, every one was. It didn't stop the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, however. The feeling that she was using the fears and faiths of the people to manipulate them. Dorian stood up and smoothed down his robes, dusting off the wood chips and dried dirt.
"I will leave you to your solitude, my lady." He said with a short bow. Sylvie inclined her head and Dorian turned to walk away.
"Wait!" Sylvie called as she pulled herself to her feet. The conversation with Dorian had unfortunately brought her back to the here and now. "I'll walk back with you. No doubt some other crisis has arisen since I wandered off."
The pair walked slowly back to Haven, Sylvie politely enquiring about Dorians past as they went. Quickly, Dorians responses turned to the Circle.
"I find it all endlessly fascinating, you see." He told her as they came upon the drilling troops by Havens gate. As much as Sylvie had felt like she had quickly taken to the other mage (travelling through time did tend to speed up a friendship, she imagined) The Circle of Magi was a painful, delicate topic to discuss with anyone. Especially a, technically, relative stranger. Dorian eyed her carefully, folding his arms as he stopped to watch the soldiers.
"Where did a Circle mage learn to fight?" He asked, changing the topic to Sylvie's relief. " I'm not saying you're astounding," he added and Sylvie rolled her eyes, "but passable and- most importantly- not dead."
Sylvie laughed, the sound startling her almost as much as the drilling recruits who looked their way.
"I suppose that's what matters really, isn't it?" Sylvie replied. "Believe me, if you had seen me a few months ago you would find my still breathing all the more miraculous."
She proceeded to tell him that yes, Circle mages did indeed have little to no practical experience when it came to fighting using their powers. On top of that a life spent inside a Circle Tower where the only exercise was traversing up and down stairs did not exactly make a person athletic.
"That first trip into the Hinterlands," she told him, "nearly killed me before we'd even come across any rebel mages or rogue Templars." Sylvie paused as they watched a recruit nearly beheaded with a practice sword. They heard the Commander shouting something unintelligible, making gestures with what appeared to be an invisible shield.
"I hadn't been on a horse in almost fifteen years and that first night we broke for camp..." she smiled ruefully, "I think it was four hours before I felt like my legs would close properly." Dorian raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak but Sylvie held up her hand to stop him.
"No jokes, please." She told him and he closed his mouth with a scowl. "Running around was even worse, and then there was the fights themselves." Sylvie gestured to where Cassandra was swinging a sword viciously at a helpless practice dummy. "The Seeker would remove her helm, barely out of breath with only an elegant bead of sweat on her brow where as I would collapse to the ground, lungs exploding, with a bright red face dripping in sweat."
Dorian turned to regard her thoughtfully, "You seemed perfectly respectable during our lovely visit to the future."
"Three months of running around does tend to improve a persons fitness ...and physique might I add," Sylvie replied with a shrug. "Cassandra helped too- breathing exercises ...actual exercises. She's really been quite wonderful with me, although I can't be sure if that's purely because she feels she has to for the sake of the Inquisition or because she may actually like me."
Dorian tapped his lips thoughtfully, "If I had to make an educated guess," he replied, "I would say both."
Sylvie laughed softly, "You're probably right." She looked across at the training grounds just in time to see the Commander averting his eyes, brows furrowed in a slight frown.
"The Commander on the other hand," she began, "is definitely only interested in my well being for the Inquisitions sake. Can't close a Breach without a magic hand." She turned slightly to face Dorian, voice sarcastic, "or he's concerned this mysterious 'Vint is trying to steal The Herald of Andraste's soul."
Dorian snorted, "I think Commander Cullen has more sense than a superstitious fish wife, no?"
"When it comes to mages, I doubt it." Sylvie replied with a shrug, "Templars see blood magic and abominations every where they look."
Sylvie stretched her back, rolling her shoulder muscles as she pulled herself onto a nearby crate. Once sitting she felt the tension in her legs lessen. Her body had taken quite the beating in Redcliffe and it was still causing her great discomfort to stand for too long. While still in Haven she intended to sit down as much as physically possible. Dorian followed her and leaned on the crate beside her.
"You are aware, my dear," Dorian said, "that our handsome Commander is not a member of the Templar Order any longer?" Sylvie threw up her hands.
"So people keep saying but a Templar is a Templar whether they are part of the order or not." She paused, folding her arms across her chest defensively. "They still distrust all mages, they still take their lyrium and they can still squash your powers with a flick of the wrist." Sylvie could feel herself scowling across the yard at the Commander. Her gaze quickly turned back to Dorian as she saw the Commander looking up from a report he had been handed.
"Have you actually tried to have a conversation with him?" Dorian asked exasperatedly. When Sylvie opened her mouth to reply Dorian cut her off, "I mean outside of your cosy little war room?"
Sylvie scowled, "Well ...no but..."
"You should." Dorian replied firmly. "He is horrified by what the Order has become and utterly passionate about this little Inquisition you have here. Not to mention," he continued with a small smirk, "utterly delectable as he rants on. I think I truly only heard about half off what he said to me."
Sylvie made a face, "Why? Thinking of what else he could do with a flick of his wrist?" she asked sarcastically.
"Yes, as a matter of fact." Dorian responded bluntly, "My, you know me so well already." Sylvie hopped down from the crate, dusting herself off as she turned to face the other mage.
"So you..." she began. Dorian stood up straight and folded his arms across his chest.
"Prefer a friendly joust to a dutiful plough?" He replied. Sylvie could hear the defensiveness bristling slightly in his tone.
"Not ..exactly how I would have phrased it but, yes, I suppose that description will do." Sylvie said. "I didn't realise." she added and Dorian gave out a dry laugh.
"How could you? I am not in the habit of introducing myself with 'Dorian of House Pavus- I enjoy peach brandy and cock.'" His face turned serious in spite of Sylvies laughter. "I would hope that this isn't going to cause an issue?"
Sylvie shrugged, "No, it's just..." she glanced away. Dorian would have soundly described her as crestfallen if he couldn't see the corners of her mouth straining not to smile. He put his hand on her shoulder.
"My poor, sweet Sylvie," Dorian said with an over dramatic sigh, "have I broken your sheltered little Circle heart?" Sylvie looked wistfully into the distance and sighed.
"You truly have," she replied, putting her hand over her heart. "However will I push on to close the Breach knowing that Dorian Pavus will never love me?" Her serious expression lasted all of five seconds before she dissolved into a fit of laughter. After a minute or so she composed herself and slapped him on the arm.
"That was for the sheltered comment." She explained, looking at Dorian reproachfully.
"If I have given any offence, my lady, then I humbly beg forgiveness." Dorian bowed mockingly and Sylvie laughed again.
While he had never doubted his decision to stay in Haven, Dorian felt immense satisfaction that the woman he had chosen to fight beside seemed to be such a like minded soul. He told Sylvie as much, reiterating the point he had made about not wanting to get stranded in time again, even if it was with such a delightful companion.
"Agreed," Sylvie replied with a nod. "As alternatives I can offer the following activities- stabbed by a rogue Templar, blown up by a Fade rift or mauled by a bear." She ticked them off on her fingers as she listed them. Dorian hmm-ed and tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"How shall I ever decide which to try first. Come, my dear," he said, offering his arm to Sylvie. She slipped her arm through his as they walked to Havens gate.
"Firstly, I'm of a mind to steal your soul after all. Over a nice bottle of wine."