A/N: These are side stories to the main story of Andraste's Witch, which I've had for a while, but forgot to post. Thank you for reading!
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"And lovely. The keep is locked tight." Dorian crossed his arms as he looked up at the massive crisscrossing metal portcullis, the last of the many hurtles to—quite literally—bar the Inquisition passage to their new home.
The sun was just barely beginning to streak the sky overhead with pinks and oranges, racing to catch up to their merry little lot who had been on the move for hours already, and at a swift pace. Dorian's legs were screaming at him, though it seemed he was the only one who'd suffered from their exertions.
The inquisition had settled down to camp, barely inside the valley, but who in their right mind could just sit there so close to something that beckoned them so? Or so he'd been asked as Sera and—to his surprise—Finley had tried to drag him out of bed when he hadn't been immediately forthcoming.
The valley itself was miraculously warmer than the rest of the mountains. Every now and again Dorian's skin tingled, making him think some incredibly ancient, likely elven spell was at work. People had been cheering about that, as though a mere few degree increase in the temperature had slain the archdemon itself.
He supposed people needed that morale boost, in the end. After all, one can't walk about in dismal solemnity for their whole life, and the smiles were not unwelcome.
Every single mage found reason to rejoice, as well, as it meant no more casting for a while. The frost ward had been a brilliant idea, but implementing it for so long had been…unwise. Many of the mages had been so utterly exhausted from having to keep casting it on so many targets—even if it was, in itself self-sustainable—that he was half sure they'd all be sleeping for weeks to come.
Well, not with the templars around.
The metal clad warriors might have been grateful to be saved, but according to many of the mages, Reinald and Finley included, they'd forget soon enough, and the whole lot of them—the mages—would go back to being dangers to be watched.
They would change that, though. They would show their worth again and again, as many times as needed, until those harsh glares were dulled, if not outright banished.
Dorian could understand the distaste in being so mistrusted, in needing to prove oneself so many times over, though he was already quite used to it.
After all, even when people could remember he wasn't an evil Tevinter magister, he was still an evil Tevinter something to them. Why so few seemed capable of remembering the word altus was beyond him.
Or just mage.
"I think I can climb up and over," Finley offered, head tilted back as she inspected the ancient castle as though it were a mere child's playground that could be conquered in a breath.
Dorian frowned. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to be here when you fall to your death. I might be able to raise you, my dear, but I doubt I could get that mark to work. No, it's definitely for the best we keep you breathing. Let's brainstorm a little longer, shall we?" He paused and then grinned, holding a hand up, index finger slightly straighter than the rest. "When the soldiers get here, we can gather their polearms and use those to levy the gate up high enough for a few people to slip und—"
He was interrupted by an earsplitting crack.
Even as he jumped, quite sure that the whole damned valley had to have heard that awful sound, the mercenary—his name was Tevene, and so Dorian was distinctly embarrassed to have forgotten it already, not that he'd say so—leaned back on his massive maul and motioned toward the new hole in the rusted portcullis.
"I'd say that's big enough for us to crawl through, though if you'd like I can give it another swing."
Herald Finley's brow arched as she nodded, seemingly pleased with the vandalism of their new home. "Thank you, Krem. I think this will be enough."
With a grin, he nodded and leaned down to make sure there really was enough room for everyone by tugging out what was left of the grating in the ground and then crawling through first. When he was on his feet on the other side, he put his hands on his hips, nodding once. "Chief is gonna be right pissed he missed this. Though it'd definitely take another swing or two to get him under. Probably four."
"Tiny could probably lift the whole damn thing for the rest of us." Varric grinned, leaning down to inspect the hole with more care.
Dorian frowned as Herald Finley crawled through the gap next, followed by Sera and then Varric. The dirt stains on their clothes were painfully evident, even in the early light. Somehow they seemed oblivious, too caught up in the adventure perhaps.
Crossing his arms, he appraised their lot as best he could through the grating from where he stood. "Pardon me for wanting to wait to see you can't just raise the gate."
Varric cackled while Finley and Sera exchanged a glance and shrugged. "Scared of a little dirt, Sparkler?"
"You'll have to forgive us for being sensible," Dorian nettled, standing a little more confidently as he looked to his side for an agreement.
The last in their expedition sighed where he stood beside Dorian. Solas hadn't taken his eyes off the hole in the portcullis since it had been made, and what looked like worry lined his brow before he finally closed his eyes and lifted his head.
However, rather than rally to Dorian's call for sanity, he simply dropped down, tossed his pack through the hole and then shimmied underneath the broken, rusted metal with lithe grace. When he was on the other side, he looked over the others, speaking in that usual quiet, soothing voice. "We will need to open the gate for the rest of the Inquisition, of course."
"Frig biscuits," Sera muttered, barely loud enough for Dorian to hear.
An unfamiliar, seemingly unclaimed voice drew Dorian's attention away from Sera's continued swearing. "The mechanism's broken. Left to rot without a care. The ages made it forget what it should be, but it tried to hold on. It was proud to guard this home."
"It is alright, Cole. We can find a replacement," Solas replied, reaching out and patting a blonde boy's shoulder reassuringly.
Dorian frowned. Who was that? And why didn't he remember them coming with them?
All but forgetting his earlier attempts to not have to worm his way across the ground like a toad or some equally appalling creature, Dorian strode forward, following the others' path and slipping under the gate. Despite having an inch or two leeway, he still fretted when he thought he felt his shirt catch on the metal above him. After a bit of flailing to make certain his shirt wouldn't be ripping down the back if he moved forward, he finally gave up, figuring that they were all due for new garments, regardless.
When he reached the other side, he frowned as he batted at his dirtied clothes, attempting in vain to bring them back to their pristine colors. Colors that had long since faded in the ridiculous travel they'd had to undergo in the last few weeks.
Silently, he counted in his head.
Herald Finley, one. Sera, two. Varric, three. Solas, four. 'Krem', five. And then he was six. That was indeed the number that had left their camp hours earlier to get a head start on reaching the castle.
So why had he thought someone else was with them?
He'd been sure of it, though he already couldn't quite remember why.
"Let us be careful, yes?" He offered instead, thinking perhaps he should pull his fellow mages to the side and discuss this with them. Perhaps, being more magically inclined, they might have noticed something as well. "The owners have clearly left, but that's not to say that something else hasn't taken roost."
Krem laughed at that. "If we find a dragon, Chief'll kill us for leaving him out."
Dorian continued to bat at the dirt sullying his clothes as he walked up to the rest of them—it was truly a gift that no one back home could see him now.
They slowly made their way into an old, overgrown courtyard. Crumbly stone walls rose up on all sides, with trees curling up toward the heavens in wild reverie, having been left to claim the keep for untold ages. Vines with leaves of red and green scaled the walls as well, in some ways reinforcing them and in others simply covering the damage done by time and people long gone.
Nearly tripping over a loose cobblestone, Dorian turned a critical eye toward the ground. Tree roots had knocked loose many of the stones beneath them, making for a bumpy floor, and—as he reexamined the walls around them—he realized that there were far more places than he'd originally thought that had caved in.
Still, that this place had held up as well as it had was impressive. The architecture seemed to be elven, which gave the whole place an eerie, forgotten feel to it.
"If we split up, we can cover more ground," Herald Finley offered, already a few steps up the stairs at the back of the courtyard that led up and further into the keep.
"Or we could just stick together," Varric countered. He motioned over his shoulder. "That looks like it might have been a barn or something. I bet we can find something to fix the gate with in there." He paused before adding, "And I'd rather not get split up and have someone fall through some rotted floor or have a wall topple on them and no one be there to help."
For the first time, Finley looked slightly annoyed with their dear dwarf. However, she pivoted on her toes and trotted back down the stairs with a swiftness to her step that Dorian hadn't seen in her before.
Dorian couldn't help but wonder if it was because there were no templars present. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her without any nearby and supposed it made sense that she would act a little different when not trapped under their watchful gazes.
As they picked their way across the courtyard and down toward the barn, Dorian glanced over at Krem, who'd fallen into step beside him. "So then, who's this chief you keep mentioning?"
"My boss? Oh, the Iron Bull? Leader of The Bull's Chargers. Best mercenary company you'll ever cross paths with." Krem blinked, glancing over at Dorian and appraising him carefully when he didn't hear some 'aha' of recognition. "Only Qunari in the Inquisition. Thought everybody knew of him by now."
"Ah, that fellow. I do remember seeing him once or twice, now that I think of it." Dorian nodded. "More a tower than a man, isn't he?"
"Most Qunari are."
"If you're with him, how are you here? I was under the impression his lot was taking up the rear of our little procession."
"Had to report all quiet to the commander," Krem shrugged, a grin slowly overtaking his features as he peered ahead at the rest of their group. Sera and Finley were half scaling walls to inspect different things that caught their attention, and Varric was busy pleading with them to not break their necks. Krem laughed. "It was late, and the commander suggested I get some rest near the command tent rather than make the trek all the way back when it wasn't likely I'd be needed anyway." He motioned toward the trio ahead of them. "Then they got ahold of me."
"Ah," Dorian nodded, sympathetic. "They've a way of dragging people into adventures, haven't they?"
"And here I heard you were a willing recruit." When Dorian looked back at Krem, head cocked, the man shrugged a little. "Everyone's talking about how the evil Vint is cozying up to the Herald."
While Dorian couldn't say he was rightly surprised by that, he was oddly enough, surprised that it stung quite so much. Of course he was to be a villain down here, and of course he expected this—had he not just been musing over it earlier—yet it still hurt. Not that he would ever admit such a thing, of course. That would be foolish at best.
Even knowing as he had—to an extent—he still found this revelation oddly irksome. He had come to their rescue, had he not? Granted, it had not been nearly far enough ahead of the Venatori's attack for anyone's liking, but still. He'd given a name to those who sought to undo them.
It seemed like that should have counted for something.
Perhaps the mages were right in being so paranoid. Memories in the south didn't last long at all.
A dull murmur came from behind him, and he glanced back to see Solas walking alone a few yards behind him and Krem. Had the elf been talking to himself?
"Sorry," Krem offered, a frown in place as he steadied Dorian when the mage nearly tripped again. Blasted stones. "Figured you knew what they thought of you—us—already." He paused, motioning to himself for emphasis. "Nobody likes a vint, magic or not."
With a laugh, Dorian shook it off. "Truer words never spoken." He resumed a brisker pace as he followed the more energetic half of their group—how they were able to bound around like that after all the weeks of walking and cold was beyond him. Krem matched his pace. "Well, I must say, I have rather enjoyed our little adventures over the last few weeks. However, tonight, I was rather content to actually sleep when they bounded into my tent and said they were 'scouting ahead', and my presence was required." He shook his head. "Have you ever had someone try to drag you out of your tent by your feet?"
"Once or twice," Krem grinned. "Normally for something that was…not worth it."
Dorian cackled. "I'm still debating if this was."
"Getting to wander around the Inquisition's new home before anyone else, finding all the secret places so that we can make them our own first?" With an incredulous laugh, Krem's grin widened. "I'd have gladly gotten dragged out of my tent feet first for this." He paused before adding, "Chief, too." He shook his head. "He's gonna be so mad he wasn't here for this."
"So you keep saying."
Krem seemed to check himself at that, coughing into a hand. They'd finally reached the barn, finding that—despite its wooden nature—it had held up to the march of time about as well as the rest of the castle. Sera and Finley were already on the second floor, while Varric mumbled about actually looking for what they'd come for, inspecting the cluttered room on the ground floor. Krem and Dorian joined him, starting at the opposite corner.
"He's not really so angry," Krem offered, rather abruptly, as he rummaged through a rather nondescript pile of debris. "He just likes an adventure as much as the rest of us."
"Well, there's bound to be plenty more of those in the future," Dorian offered, abruptly stopping to wonder how he knew that he was looking for some sort of pole or something that could be used as a gate lever. Had they talked about this? When? And how did they even know that the mechanism was broken?
Even as he considered that this was odd—very odd—Solas spoke up.
"I believe this could be what we're looking for?"
"It is the right size," a young blonde boy offered softly, standing beside him.
Dorian blinked, and the boy was gone. His jaw clenched slightly as he watched Herald Finley and Sera jump back down—despite Varric's suggestion that maybe they use the stairs—and join the rest of them, inspecting the pole with satisfaction.
There was definitely something odd going on. Who was that boy?
A dull sensation tugged at the back of his mind, beckoning he forget that anyone else had been there, and instantly he found himself focusing on it more. He knew that sort of tug, that pressure at the edge of one's mind. Something from the Fade was trying to make him forget.
Maker's balls, this place wasn't haunted, was it?
The Veil was thin, but…
"I say, but do we actually know anything about this castle's former inhabitants?"
"This place was abandoned ages ago," Solas replied, already heading out of the barn with the others.
Dorian stood where he was another moment before it occurred to him that the last thing he wanted was to be left behind somewhere where spirits wandered freely. He might be able to make a body answer his beck and call, but a spirit—ghost or Fade-born—was another matter. Without a body to bind them to, they were too unpredictable. He started inspecting the area for any signs of corpses. Even a mangled skeleton could serve him well enough, if the need to defend themselves arose.
However, there was nothing. Either the bodies hadn't stood the test of time, or there simply hadn't been any to begin with.
So what was it he kept seeing?
Back at the gate, it fell to Krem to get the pole into place, as he was the strongest of their lot, with Sera and Varric hovering over his shoulders—metaphorically, of course, as they were both shorter than him—and making suggestions about how he could go about getting what was left of the rusted old piece out so that he could insert the new one.
Sera was quick to punctuate her suggestions with dirty jokes.
"Finley, might I have a word?" Dorian asked, finally unable to shake the feeling that there was definitely something else in these ruins with them. She blinked up at him and nodded, following him back into the courtyard, away from the rest of their party. Solas trailed after them, though Dorian didn't mind. They'd probably need to include him on this matter, anyway. If nothing else, the elf was quite knowledgeable when it came to spirits.
As soon as he was fairly certain they were out of earshot from the others, he stopped. With one final glance toward the gate, he turned back to face Finley and had to bite back a scream as he instead came face to face with a young man with wild, shaggy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.
"You're scared, but you don't have to be. I won't hurt you." The boy fidgeted a little where he stood, a bit too close to Dorian. As soon as Dorian thought that, the boy took a few quick, quiet steps back. "Sorry… I… I wanted to fix things before they could get twisted around in you. I'm not a demon."
"Not a man, either," Dorian snapped, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat.
"No." The boy shrugged a little, picking at one of his ragged gloves. Dorian was surprised by how much the boy—spirit, maybe—reminded him of Herald Finley. Was it imitating her? "I'm…help. Finley said I could stay so long as I do good, which is all I'll do, so I can stay a long time." He seemed awkward under Dorian's gaze, like he wasn't used to being looked at. "I keep out of the way for the most part, but as soon as I saw the keep, I knew how to help a lot of people. Their voices were all singing the same tune, a wish for a home, so close to reality it hurts." He paused before adding, "Too many dreams can't be made real. I want to help this one."
Dorian appraised the boy another moment before daring to let his gaze shift toward Finley. "You knew about this…creature?"
"Cole is…" Finley trailed off, looking a little torn herself. "He helps with the infirmary mostly, telling the healers what the injured can't." She shrugged. "He hasn't tried to possess anyone or do any damage. …And he doesn't feel like a demon."
"Cole is a good spirit," Solas asserted with considerably more confidence than their Herald. "He has given us no reason to doubt his intentions, and we would have lost far more than we have if he hadn't been around."
"Andraste's tits, does everyone know of him, but me?" Dorian spat, tossing his hands in the air as he looked back at the young boy. He hadn't disappeared this time.
"Actually, we're the only ones who do," Finley spoke carefully, gaze on the cobblestones at their feet. "I doubt the templars would be particularly pleased with a woodlands apostate recruiting creatures from the Fade."
"Sharp tongue, sharp look, sharper sword. A reason to lash out never far from mind. Just have to twist it to be used." The creature, Cole, shivered and then looked sympathetically at Finley. "Many of them don't want to hurt you."
She crossed her arms, seemingly more worried than comforted by the comment. "Which means enough of them do."
"You don't have to be afraid. There are many who will keep you safe. They outnumber any who would try to hurt you. And with your shield at your side, none would dare."
Dorian's gaze slid from Finley to the creature to Solas to the creature. Cole. It felt odd giving something that was so clearly not mortal a name that so clearly was. "It—he," Dorian corrected himself when all three of them frowned, "can read minds?"
"Only when it can help," Cole offered. "Only if it will let me stop the hurt." Worriedly, he looked back at Finley. "Please don't send me away. I…like to help people. And you help so many."
"No one's sending you away, Cole," Finley replied, reaching out and awkwardly patting the creature's shoulder. So she wasn't completely insane, after all. Good to know.
Cole, however, beamed at the contact, perking up as though he'd been hugged. "Thank you."
Genuine as his gratitude seemed, Dorian promised himself that he would keep an eye on the creature, lest their Herald simply be too gentle a spirit herself to realize some trap she was falling into. As Dorian finally let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, he looked back at Cole and found the creature was watching him already.
"She knows a demon's trap too well. She'll won't fall in one."
Finley was the one who seemed to perk up this time, though rather than give them time to ask more questions, she motioned toward the main building. "The camp will be on the move by now, but we thought that…Cole thought that we could give them something to focus on."
"Something more than the giant castle?"
"They want to see it's theirs," Cole whispered.
For the first time, Dorian noticed a bundle of tarp at the boy's feet. He could make out large swatches of cloth stitched to it, and he arched his eyebrows. Based on the colors, he could guess what it was. "You want to hang a banner for them?"
When Cole nodded, looking most pleased that Dorian had caught on so quickly, Finley motioned toward the main building. "If we're going to get it up before everyone gets here, we need to move."
There was a loud clang, and then a creaking racket as the portcullis finally opened. Dorian looked over his shoulder as Sera, Krem, and Varric practically tumbled off the ledge with the device on it, chests swelled with pride.
"Got the gates open for everyone!" Sera cackled gleefully, pausing to reach up and tousle Krem's hair.
He let out a cry as he ducked out of her reach and tried to smooth it back into place. "That's the thanks I get for doing all the work?"
"Ah, don't be a tit," Sera cackled. "So then, what now, yeah? Wander around? Get lost in the castle?" She paused, a gleam in her eyes. "In our castle."
Dorian couldn't help a small huff of a laugh. It really did help to have a home, didn't it? It had been so long since he'd really had a place to call such that he'd somewhat forgotten. "I don't know that we should be claiming this place as ours just yet. Might want to fix it up a bit first."
"Piss, best looking castle I've ever had," Sera laughed, nudging Finley playfully and heading up the stairs toward the unexplored higher reaches. Despite giving a wary look once to the open gate, Finley spun around after Sera, calling for her to wait as they started their trek up.
"We might want to hold off on the exploration there," Varric objected. "We don't want to get too lost."
"Are you kidding?" Krem was already on the steps leading up to the rest of the castle. "I want to be able to tell Chief about every nook and cranny here."
With a faint chuckle, Solas started up the stairs after the other three when they made it clear that they were not interested in listening to any voices of reason. "I believe we do have a banner to hang, do we not?"
Even as Varric arched an eyebrow, looking from Solas to Dorian for an explanation, Dorian realized that Cole had once again disappeared.
This time, however, while there was a slight feeling of unease in him, it wasn't nearly as alarming as it had been. At least he knew what the boy was, and that he wasn't going mad seeing things. With a dramatic sigh, Dorian began up the stairs after the others, shrugging apologetically to Varric as the dwarf fell into place next to him.
While their banter was light, Dorian made an internal note to pull Herald Finley aside later. After all, he had a feeling that Cole would be another of one those secrets that she would need to tell Sister Nightingale.