Back and forward a young blonde lass paced the length of the tavern, much to the dismay of her fellow patrons. As she kept her pace, a single set of piercing blue eyes followed her. "It is a meeting to be held by the Divine, it can't go too wrong!" The words came as she passed the eyes once more. She paused for a moment, as if to let the words sink in. "Please, sister, take your ale and come sit with me." He gave a final attempt to soothe his worrying sibling. She gave a sigh, finally relenting, and took the seat across from her younger brother. As she sat, an air of her relief filled the tavern. The lass took her flagon to her lips and proceeded to unceremoniously down half a pint in one long swig. The lad gave his sister a look, trying to coax words from her by will alone. Evelyn loved her brother's eyes. He had their mother's eyes, and they calmed her, made her feel at home.
"Maxwell… do you think he will know my face?" Evelyn asked.
It stunned him for a moment. He hadn't really thought about how estranged his brother and sister actually were, or how worried Evelyn might be about meeting Nathaniel. "It's been more than a decade and a half since he left for the Circle, since you last seen him, has it not?" Maxwell took the slight bounce in her blonde tresses as a nod. "Do not fret, Evie. You forget he chose to stop seeing me in our sixteenth year; he never had that choice with you."
It was not long after the boys fourth birthday that ~Nathaniel began to show the signs. At first, it was dreams and accidental magic, things he could keep between himself and Maxwell. It was in the middle of a deep summer heat when a young Nathaniel froze the bedchamber he and Maxwell shared that his magic became apparent. From then on, the boys were kept under a watchful eye. The older the boys got, the more powerful Nathaniel became; and the more excitable Maxwell became over the youngers fantastical feasts. It was this, however, that led to the twins being absent from most public functions: the fear of embarrassment should Nathaniel do anything involving magic in polite and important company. Before long, most of Nathaniel's time was spent alone; hidden in his room. He didn't often see his siblings, restricted to Maxwell and his mother's company. By the time he was nine, his father had finally convinced his mother it was time for Nathaniel to go to the Circle.
It had been tough, for both boys; being torn from the one you thought would be a constant in your life. Nathaniel took it worse: he had been, taken from his home, to a prison: from his family, to become just another confined mage. It had been bearable; on each new moon, Maxwell and their parents would visit, hoping to help Nathaniel's transition. It was a light in an otherwise grey life. However, years of loneliness and abandonment turned to resentment. Maxwell was everything Nathaniel wanted to be, but never could be; he was himself, born without magic; himself without the disappointment of his parents.
It was on visit for their sixteenth birthday that Nathaniel realised he could no longer bear the visits, and in a fit of anger bid his brother and his brother and parents a final goodbye. In the years after, Evelyn replaced Nathaniel in Maxwell's life and finally his heart. Meanwhile Nathaniel lost himself in the Circle.
A loud, deafening boom interrupted Maxwell and Evelyn's conversation that day. It drew the tavern dwellers from the impermeable dusk of the pub to the light of day. To bear witness to the destruction of the horizon; to the gaping tear in the sky and the destruction of the mountain and the Temple of Sacred Ashes. To see the birth of the Breach.
Maxwell gave one last thrust to try and open the door of the cell he found himself in. It did not budge. He gave up, picked up a book and began to flick through the pages: not actually reading the book, merely pretending in the hopes it would pass some time. The young Lord had found himself in his current predicament when he tried to force his way into Haven's Chantry, despite protests from the sisters and guards. In the early hours of the morning, Maxwell had seen soldiers drag his brother's unconscious body to the cells below, and so, he was determined to free Nathaniel, or get some answers. Evelyn had tried to convince her brother to wait, that she might contact their father to put pressure on the Lady Seeker in charge to release Nathaniel, but Maxwell was too hot-headed and impatient. Thusly, he promptly found himself threatening the Chantry Guard and finding his way to the cells in a rather unexpected fashion.
It was as though all there was was pain. An intense, unnatural throbbing from his left hand. He wanted to wake, to find a distraction from the terrible sensation radiating from his palm, but he could not. Something would not let him rouse from his dreams.
His eyes cracked open, enough to see he was in some prison, if only just. The foreign tingling in his hand was still there. Around him, four heavily outfitted guards, their swords at the ready, were just waiting for him to do something. He looked around; trying to make out any detail he could that hinted at where he was. Then the door was thrown open and two women entered: one bore a menacing look and was outwardly threatening; the other hooded and mysterious.
"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now?" The dark haired one spoke. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead, except for you." Nathaniel could not bring himself to speak. Dead. All those lives. He couldn't find the words, but the woman in front of him would not accept his silence. "Explain this!" She demanded, pulling at his arm. It burst with excess magic once more.
"I… can't…." Nathaniel was frozen.
"What do you mean, 'you can't'?" She pressed again.
"I don't know what that is, or how it got there!" Nathaniel tried to sound sure and assertive, but it came out as terrified as he truly felt.
"You're lying!" The Nevarran moved to strike the manacled mage, but the hooded woman who had kept to the shadows stopped her before the hit landed.
"We need him, Cassandra." Her Orlesian accent was pleasant.
Without anyone in his face, Nathaniel was given a moment to think. What had happened? Was he responsible? He could feel his chest tighten. "I can't… believe it… All those people…"
"Do you remember what happened? How this all began?" The redhead softly probed for answers.
"I remember running…" He tried to recall, but couldn't. Abominations and Templars chasing him. Climbing. Struggling. Nothing... "Things were chasing me. And then… a woman?"
"A woman?" Her interest was piqued.
"She reached out to me, but then…" Nathaniel's mark flared, pain shot from his hand all the way to his head. He simply could not recall.
"Go to the forward camp, Leliana." Cassandra stepped in once more. "I will take him to the rift."
Leliana nodded and took her leave.
"What did happen?" The mage tried.
Cassandra pulled him to his feet, roughly dragging Nathaniel from the cell. "It will be easier to show you."
Evelyn was currently annoyed with her little brother. It had not taken much effort, but she did have to forfeit her battle with the piss-water that the Fereldans let pass for ale, to come to his aid. Maxwell had found himself incarcerated after foolishly attempting to force his was into the Chantry. She was on her way to have him released: two days in a cell was punishment enough for not listening to her. The guard opened the door; inside Maxwell had fallen asleep with a book in his lap. A slight nudge of the chair from Evelyn sent the book and her brother to the floor.
"Good afternoon, little brother." She greeted him with an undeserved grin.
"Finally! You took your time!" Maxwell shot to his feet and dusted off his leathers; giving his sister a look of disdain that only one sibling could lovingly give another.
"Whilst you slept, brother dearest, the Lady Seeker escorted our Nathaniel up the mountain. I spoke with the sisters. They tell me to offer our assistance to Commander Cullen. That shall get us up the mountain. Now, let us get a move on!"
Maxwell could not move quick enough, running to their tent to gather his arms. He would not be without his trusted Templar sword and shield; gifted from his older brother Tobias on his eighteenth birthday for entering the final stage of his Templar training.
It was only once they had reached the Temple of Sacred Ashes that what had happened became clear. Bodies were scattered everywhere. Demons were falling from the sky. Mage healers and surgeons were scrambling around trying to repair what damage they could. The Trevelyans neared what would have once been the outer walls of the Temple; all that was left was a free-standing door. On one side, rows of dead, corpse wrapped up in cloth; on the other, soldiers preparing to re-join the fight. In the courtyard of the Temple a battle had just finished. The prisoner had made his way through and sealed a rift, and the Commander was carrying an injured soldier to aid. Maxwell hurried to the Commander to help carry the soldier.
"Thank you, Ser." Cullen nodded at the young man. Together they laid the soldier on one of the makeshift beds, leaving him to the healers. "Might I be of any assistance?" The Commander asked the pair of Free Marchers.
"We were hoping to be of assistance to you, Commander." Maxwell offered. "We are of able body; it is our Duty to the Maker to help as we can." Cullen tried to smile, but he had seen too many deaths that day to feign one, even for appearances.
"That would be grand, indeed. We, and whoever else is willing, shall offer our aid to Seeker Pentaghast in her effort on the Breach."
Nathaniel gawked at the Breach. It was so vast, and so high up. How was he meant to deal with that? Behind him, Leliana and Cassandra discussed strategy and soldiers. Beside him, Varric and Solas gazed upon the Breach with as much fear and wonder as himself.
"This is your chance to end this." Cassandra put her hand gently on the Mages shoulder, as if trying to reassure him. "Are you ready?"
"I'll try, but I don't know if I can reach that, much less close it." Nathaniel said as he massaged his arm, trying to soothe the ache.
"No. This rift was the first, and it is the key." Solas interjected. "Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach." Nathaniel looked at Solas, suddenly aware of the hope upon him and the magnitude of the task before him.
Together the company tried to find a safe way down to what would have been the Inner Sanctum of the Temple. The further they ventured, voices could be heard seeping from the fade.
"Now is the hour of our victory. Bring fourth the sacrifice."
"Keep the sacrifice still."
"Someone help me."
"That is Divine Justinia's voice." Cassandra could not contain herself.
"Someone help me."
"What's going on here?"
"That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…" Not sure of what to make of the situation, Cassandra could not finish her thought.
They eventually made their way down. Nathaniel's presence caused the rift to spark and crackle, and ghostly images of the Divine appeared before them all. Eyes watched as the rift tried to show what had happened. Then in a white flash, it all disappeared.
"You were there! Who attacked?! And the Divine, is she…" Cassandra bombarded Nathaniel; unsure is she was accusing him, unsure of what she was seeing. "Was this vision true? What are we seeing?"
"I-I don't remember." Trevelyan stepped back from the Seeker, her very aura intimidating him. He had to focus on his breathing, on controlling his magic. She may have seemed like a good woman on his first impression, but so had too many others. He didn't know how much he could trust someone who believed in the Circle, and he could feel a rising panic grip his body.
"Echoes of what happened here. The fade bleeds into this place." Solas words brought Nathaniel back from the darkness seizing his heart. "This rift is not sealed, but it is closed…. albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.
"That means demons. Stand ready!" Cassandra called to the soldiers. She turned to the small ensemble in the Inner Sanctum. "Cullen will be here with reinforcements momentarily, now, ready?" A unanimous roar told Nathaniel it was now up to him to take action. Stifling the rising panic, he raised his hand to the rift and willed it open, willed something to happen. The rift erupted, knocking Nathaniel to the ground and like a bolt of electricity, something shot from the rift, and a pride demon appeared.
The demon waved its lumbering fists at the swarms of soldiers at his feet, knocking them away with ease. Archer and a small number of mages fired on the beast from above. The demon growled, but continued as though nothing was happening. Nathaniel and Solas began casting to break the barriers around Pride, and use ice magic to freeze its appendages in an attempt to slow it.
"We must strip its defences!"
"Wear it down!"
"Disrupt the rift."
Calls and order flew across the battlefield. Nathaniel raised his hand to the rift once more, Solas believing it might weaken the beast. It fell to its knees, proving the Elven Apostate to be correct. The warriors attacked, dealing a lot of damage as the rift summoned more demons. Two shades appeared, instantly targeting Nathaniel. When he was far enough from one to target, the other had snuck up behind him. With the shades closing in and the Pride demon unleashing arcane magic all around; frustration, fear and anger bubbled over within and the young mage let loose his magic in a fierce and powerful blizzard, surrounding and engulfing the Temple.
Maxwell reached the Inner Sanctum to find a blizzard. Cullen led the group of soldiers down to join the fight, where Cassandra rallied everyone against the pride demon. Leliana and Varric led the archers and Solas took charge of the magical offence. Maxwell called out to his brother, who was obscured by the storm, but all Nathaniel gave was a quick glance before he turned to the rift to try and close it.