Chapter 1
Cassandra Pentaghast couldn't bear another moment trapped inside the Haven chantry, listening to the prayers and lamentations echoing off of the walls. She shoved the front door aside and staggered a few steps out into the biting cold night before collapsing against the stone wall of the chantry.
The Breach hung in the sky, casting the landscape for miles around in an otherworldly green glow brighter than moonlight. It snaked up from the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, slowly twisting and coiling like a living thing. Enormous chunks of the temple and mountain were suspended in its grasp, hanging in the air with nothing to support them as if to confirm that the rules governing the world had been irrevocably broken. Even as she watched, the tear in the world flashed with green lightning and spat out intermittent meteors, most of which flew outward beyond the horizon to crash Maker-knows-where.
The Breach expanded with each passing hour, utterly intractable. No mage had proven able to affect even the smallest rift it was spewing forth, and at the horrifying rate it was propagating rifts, it would soon destroy everything. Despite Cullen's best efforts, the ranks were disintegrating from desertion as wave after wave of soldiers were slaughtered by the rising tide of demons. Cassandra could understand their terror, even if she held contempt for their cowardice. After all, how could one fight a gaping wound in the world? But the hopelessness of the situation was beyond the point. If the soldiers were going to face their deaths regardless, they should choose to die in battle, not fleeing like panicked livestock. No, Cassandra Pentaghast would not hide behind the children and the elders, waiting to be butchered by the sadistic demons. Not the Right Hand of the Divine.
Cassandra stared at the end of the world, and felt no fear, only a sick feeling of grief and regret rising in her throat. Protecting Justinia had been her purpose, and she had failed. Not only had she failed Justinia, but also everyone depending on her. Justinia had been the last hope for peace, a Divine that Cassandra and so many others had prayed for, one who had embodied the ideals and potential of the Chantry, and had indefatigably worked to enact the Maker's will all the days of her life. Such grace, extinguished—and with it, countless innocents, templars, and mages.
Mages like Galyan.
The reminder sent another pang of grief stabbing into her heart, along with guilt for not being as pained by the loss of her former companion and lover as much as she was for Justinia. She sunk lower against the wall of the Chantry, tears stinging her eyes and tracing cold lines down her cheeks. Cassandra had lost nearly everything in that explosion, which just that morning shook the very ground beneath her feet, even miles away. Even though she'd been in shock, she knew as soon as she had seen the devastation that there was no use praying, that there would be no recovering from this. But they still had to try, if for no other reason than to honor the dead and fulfill their duty to the living.
And then there were the reports of the one who had survived…
It had sounded preposterous, at first. A person being flung out of the Fade? A golden woman, some said Andraste herself, standing at the rift? And all evidence of this mysterious hooded knight, his hand blazing with strange power, had conveniently vanished.
Then again, there were six witnesses, and nothing about this situation was normal. It may just be possible that such a thing had occurred. Was this man the monster that had torn open the sky? Or was he really a knight sent by Andraste?
One of the soldiers that had witnessed the event, a young hysteric named Tournay, had told her with utmost conviction that he had seen Andraste deliver him out of the Fade. But if that were true, why had he disappeared? And more importantly, if Andraste herself had spared this man, why hadn't she saved Most Holy?
No, it was all but certain that the this was not the work of Andraste. She had heard other soldiers claim that the golden woman was in fact casting the man out of the Fade. That made a great deal more sense, even if she wasn't quite prepared to believe Andraste's direct involvement yet.
According to the six soldiers that had been there, the man had fallen unconscious, but had revived shortly after they had moved him to a litter to take him out of the ruins. He had asked what was happening, and an argument had broken out between Tournay and the other soldiers who thought the man ought to be a prisoner. The Breach then expanded, and the mark on the man's hand had apparently reacted in turn, making him lose consciousness again. The soldiers continued as before, but were soon attacked by demons, and had to put down the litter to take up arms. When they had defeated the demons, they found that the man was gone from the litter. Ominously, there had been no trail of footprints in the snow aside from the soldiers' own, as if the man had vanished without a trace.
Whether he was an innocent survivor or guilty fiend, the path was clear: they needed to find the fugitive and determine what this magic was that linked him to the Breach.
But how? For all she knew, he had slipped back into the Fade. The ability to appear and disappear into thin air was something no tracker in the world could contend with. She needed a different strategy.
It didn't seem that she had any choice but to follow any sightings of a tall, fully armored man in a hooded fur mantle. Vague though the description may be, with any luck he wouldn't easily be able to conceal the mark on his hand. If she could figure out his goal, his destination, then perhaps she could lay a trap there and capture him.
Cassandra was distracted from her thoughts by a strange, buzzing, almost hissing sound that carried faintly over the wind, seemingly to her left. She also sensed something strange with her arcane perceptions, and she bolted upright, grabbing the hilt of her sword.
The strange noise stopped, and for an instant it seemed like a faint golden flash illuminated the falling snow and slush on the ground, coming from around the corner of the chantry. Cassandra nearly jumped when a figure rounded the corner and approached the front of the chantry.
The figure was slouched, yet towering in height, and wore a dark gray hooded mantle that covered his entire body and hid his features. A fringe of somewhat lighter-colored fur was draped across the shoulders, the pelt of a bear judging by the long claws gleaming in the faint green light.
"Stop! Come no closer!" Cassandra shouted at him. She drew her blade and pointed it squarely at his chest.
The man stopped.
Then, Cassandra's jumbled thoughts finally fell into place. Tall man. Strange feeling. Hooded mantle.
This was the fugitive.
Cassandra's first thought was to reject the idea. What possible motive could the fugitive have to escape custody only to show up right on the chantry's doorstep? But no, the man fit the description perfectly, it had to be him. Was this some sort of attack? A message? A surrender?
Before Cassandra could decide how to react, the fugitive spoke in a voice so cracked and brutal it barely sounded human:
"Is this the chantry? The authority that governs magic?"
The odd question came as such a surprise that Cassandra almost forgot the answer.
"It is." Cassandra said through gritted teeth. "Who are you? Why have you come here?"
"I seek aid," the fugitive said insistently. "My name is Aaron. I was at the Conclave."
Cassandra shuddered at the fugitive's words, both at the confirmation of her fears, and the way they were said. They were pronounced very slowly and deliberately, as if he were reading aloud a foreign tongue, and he spoke in a low, sibilant, resonanting voice that was hoarse with disuse.
As unsettling as the fugitive was, Cassandra's sword didn't waver. She gathered her strength, preparing to smite him with her Seeker powers if he so much as twitched. "Show me your hands. Slowly."
The thick, heavy mantle parted to reveal the fugitive was encased in gleaming silverite armor. The smooth, blueish-silver overlapping plates were unadorned, with no extravagances or designs, but obviously of high quality. An exception were the gauntlets, which were also silverite, but seemed to be from a different set of armor altogether—they were spiky, ornate, with fingers that ended in long, sharpened points of the Tevinter style, which gave the impression of claws or a large spider.
Cassandra stiffened in shock as he held his arms out and turned his left hand so that the palm was facing her. There, a line of magical energy marked his hand, shining with the same malevolent green light as the Breach.
"You are a guardian of the chantry, yes? Please… I need help." the fugitive said, and something in his posture seemed to crumble, betraying deep pain and exhaustion. "I fear this wild magic is killing me."
Cassandra tried to examine the fugitive's face, looking for signs of duplicity, but the hood and the dim light obscured it.
"What happened to you, Aaron?" she spat in sudden fury, thrusting her sword closer to his throat. "Did your spell rebound? Has your destruction caught you in its wake?"
The fugitive—Aaron, if he was to be believed—seemed to be stunned by her harsh questioning. His hands retreated back beneath his mantle, and he waited several long moments before replying, "I don't remember how this magic came to be on my hand."
"So you don't deny you were responsible for this?!" Cassandra demanded, her voice cracking with emotion. "How could you not be?! Do you expect me to believe it's some kind of coincidence that you're the only survivor?!"
Aaron swayed slightly. "I don't… know how this happened. But I didn't—I doubt that I caused it. Or would have, even if I could."
He doubts that he caused it? Cassandra thought disbelievingly. Just who was this Aaron, and why did he think he could just show up and ask for their help?
Cassandra forced back her urge to attack him. He would pay for his crimes… after she had learned everything she could about how to put a stop to all of this. That took the highest priority.
And she couldn't interrogate him if he was dead.
Reluctantly, Cassandra lowered her sword slightly. Aaron was practically dead on his feet anyway, and she had her powers ready to counter any magical assault he tried.
"Cooperate with us fully and we will find a mage to help you." Cassandra said, her voice level. "Resist and you will die."
Aaron's hood dipped in an apparent nod. "I will do as you bid. Within reason. May I ask for your name?"
Cassandra glared into the black shadow that covered Aaron's face. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine."
Aaron didn't seem cowed or surprised by this. Instead, he seemed to relax somewhat. Some small part of Cassandra was offended by the reaction.
With a tilt of her head, Cassandra gestured Aaron to go inside the Chantry. She followed as he shuffled inside, struggling to keep his feet under him.
They hadn't even shut the door before there was a flash of green outside. Cassandra turned to see the Breach contort, expanding in size and sending a rain of new meteors streaking across the sky.
Aaron! He's causing this!
With a wordless shout, Cassandra spun, slashing with her blade, but Aaron fell beneath the swing as he collapsed to the floor with a loud crash. He spasmed, gasping, then went rigid, the mark on his hand crackling and flaring with energy. Cassandra was so confused that she halted her attack. Was it the Breach that was causing this, and not him?
Aaron let out a piercing scream that descended into a wail of agony unlike anything she'd ever heard, clutching his left arm like he wanted to tear it off and fling it across the room.
Belatedly, the sound of thunder rolled over the landscape. Almost as soon as the sound had reached them, the light from the Breach dimmed somewhat and Aaron's mark settled down. He stopped screaming abruptly.
If that pain had been an act, it had been extremely convincing. Aaron was no longer moving. Cassandra hesitated to help him, in case it was a trick.
As she was deciding what to do, Leliana rushed towards them, pushing aside pale-faced lay sisters who stood frozen, staring at the two of them.
Leliana came to a halt before Aaron's sprawled body. "Maker's breath, what happened?! Is this—?!"
"The fugitive, yes," Cassandra said bitterly. "He says his name is Aaron, and that this mark is killing him. He claims to be ignorant of how he got it."
Leliana went to her knees and pulled back the hood, revealing a silverite helm with a pair of wide eye-slits, an angular faceplate with holes on either side for air, and some kind of black fabric that seemed to line the inside for no other purpose than to hide the eyes and mouth of the wearer. Leliana leaned her head in close to his, listening.
"He's still breathing. I think he's just unconscious." she said, getting to her feet. We need to have someone examine this mark. Did he say if he was a mage?"
"Not… not as such, no. But what else could he be, with such magic?" Cassandra said, shifting nervously.
"I have a feeling that this magic isn't actually coming from him, and it's not often you see a mage wearing so much armor…" Leliana said skeptically.
At that moment, Aaron twitched and everyone in the chantry flinched. He gave a low groan and pressed his hands to the ground, then pushed himself upright.
"You shouldn't move," Leliana said, reaching out to stabilize him by the shoulder. "Just hold still. We'll bring a litter."
She looked up and met Cassandra's eyes. "Go find that elven mage from earlier. Solas. He went with the contingent studying the closest rift to the village. Hurry, before the Breach expands again!"
Cassandra bolted out the door. She would waste no time, and do whatever it took to find answers.
Even if that meant helping the one who had done this.
A/N: Cassandra has had a really bad day, and now strange things are afoot. Fair warning, the events of canon have already diverged at this point, and it's only going to get massively different from here on out, so anyone hoping for a story consisting of stenographic repetition of game events and dialogue is going to be disappointed, I'm afraid.
This story is a rational fic, and for those unfamiliar with the genre, that means (among other things) that the plot hews to realism, and unfolds as a result of logical consequences and interactions, which a clever and lucky reader can attempt to predict. Rest assured, there is a unifying explanation behind all of the plot's mysteries, and they are fully within the bounds of canon. In other words, they are guessable mysteries.
I challenge you, the reader, to come up with the right answer and leave reviews with your guesses on matters both major and minor, and the evidence to support them. As a general rule, if you try to lay out all the evidence for and against your hypothesis and put forward an honest effort to disprove it, yet fail, then odds are pretty good that you've hit on the truth, or at least something truth-adjacent. The first one who manages to guess Aaron's identity correctly before the big reveal, if someone manages to, is entitled to a special in-story prize, request, or favor from me, but you'll only find out if you were right after all is revealed!
Good luck, thanks for reading, and thanks to Bioware for creating this great universe!