A/N: Loki wakes in a dungeon with strange magic flaring in his palm. Thedas had changed a great deal since Asgard last had dealings with Arlathan, but not so much that Loki doesn't recognize Solas for what he really is. The Inquisition, as formed by two competing Tricksters, while the rest of Thedas scrambles to keep up.
"We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
The air stilled, the birds and wildlife grew silent, even the braying of Mabari hounds died away.
A grim smile stretched over Solas' face.
The Temple of Sacred Ashes loomed further up the mountain, where the Templars, Mages, and Divine Justinia thought to decide the future of Thedas. He wasn't here for any of that.
He had ventured this high into the Frostback Mountains following a faint trail of magic, his own magic in fact, albeit much older and more powerful than what he currently wielded. He had expected the magister responsible to attempt to open the Orb sooner than this, but the result would be the same nonetheless. The foolish human would unlock the Orb, and the full brunt of Solas' old power would rush out and destroy the man, leaving the Orb open for him to reclaim. A simple solution for two inconvenient problems.
Magical tension hung in the air, the sensation of the Veil stretching to hold back large amounts of magic. Not enough that the short lived-humans or elves would notice, but he knew the signs very well. Somebody was attempting a truly massive spell.
He found a convenient rock that wasn't completely covered in snow and made himself comfortable. Nobody would see him while he waited.
It wouldn't be long now.
A sharp whine cut through the air. His eyes snapped up to the temple, and a question formed on his lips.
A second later, there was a violent spike of green light in the sky and a deafening roar. An explosion tore across the Veil and shook the very earth, sending a massive shock wave that threw him back over the boulder.
He landed in a snow drift, several metres behind the rock. He lifted his head and spat out a mouthful of snow, his head ringing and his eyesight spotty from the blast.
Blinking away the dark spots in his vision, he looked up and froze. Suspended high above the now smouldering wreckage of the temple was a pulsing green hole in the Veil, the sky itself torn asunder. Demons screamed and cackled as they poured into the physical world.
This… was not the plan.
Pain stabbed at Loki's hand and his eyes shot open. A green flash of power sparked again in his hand, and he gasped in pain. Foreign magic thrummed through his veins, starting in his palm and spiking up his arm.
What was this? Where was he? How did he get here?
He had fallen from the Bifrost. Jumped, let go, given up – his mind accused. He ignored it. He was ignoring a good many truths right now – Midgard had once called him the god of lies, a fitting mantle – the truth was far too painful for his taste.
After his fall – jump – he had drifted through the void for what he had assumed would be eternity. Yet now he was on his knees, with a strange magic anchored to his hand and his own magic barely responding.
He looked up, but stilled when the points of several swords pushed against his throat.
Human guards held the blades, each trying to stay as far away from him as possible. Beyond them torchlight flickered across the walls of a stone dungeon. He crouched on rough-hewn floor with his wrists trapped in large and cumbersome manacles. Water dripped from melting icicles, while howling wind and muffled cries drifted in through the grate overhead.
Next to him knelt a tattooed elf. There were dark rings around her eyes and her hands were tied with simple rope but she was gagged with a filthy rag. They had attempted no such indignity with him. She was glaring at him like a cornered bilgesnipe.
Was this Alfheim then, or Midgard? He hoped for Midgard, mortals were a nuisance, but they were easily dealt with, when necessary. The immortal light elves, on the other hand, were as hardy as Asgardians and had very long memories. The scars had finally faded from his last adventure there, and he didn't want them replaced.
The green magic in his hand flashed again. He clenched his teeth and refused to cry out in pain. Whoever had done this to him would pay dearly.
Before he could inquire as to his whereabouts – or simply stand and fight his way out – the door before him swung open.
Two humans entered, one marching in heavy plate armour, the other gliding gracefully in a hood and fine chainmail. Strange, he had thought humanity had finally developed beyond such a simple class of warfare. Clearly, he had overestimated them.
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now," the one in heavy armour demanded with a harsh accent. She was scowling and readily stood far closer than the guards had dared to. Anger and confusion warred in her eyes. Her hand stayed on the hilt of her sword though – afraid, despite her posturing.
"That is a very good question," he murmured, rolling his shoulders and finding most of his knives missing from their sheaths. His eyes narrowed and followed her as she stalked a path around him, absorbing as many details as he could from her appearance. She bore clear heraldry, but he didn't recognise any of it. Perhaps he could break out with sheer force… but his escape would be easier if he could convince them to help.
"Who are you?" the second woman asked, her voice hard despite her lilting accent. She didn't step forward into the clearer light as the first had; she lurked further back and pinned him with intelligent eyes.
He didn't reply. He would need more information before he was prepared to commit himself to an identity.
"I will tell you then, if you will not say," the first woman began, standing up straight as she declared her judgement. "You are a Tevinter assassin, and this your accomplice." She gestured to the elf, who looked highly indignant at being brought into the conversation. "You have murdered the Divine, and everyone else!"
"I haven't murdered anyone." Yet. There was still plenty of time. "I am no one's assassin."
"Then how do you explain this?" She grabbed his hand and the green magic flared. He winced before he could stop himself and glared down at the evidence of foreign magic. His own power was failing to shield him from it. In fact, his own magic was barely moving at all and his reserves felt nearly drained. He swallowed back his alarm. He didn't remember this magic being burned into him, but he should have. It wasn't a small thing; it was the ragged end of something far more powerful, snapped off inside him like a rusted blade left in the wound.
Why couldn't he remember?
The elf, who had been gnawing on her gag, finally managed to wrestle her way out of it and the rags fell around her neck.
"I am not his accomplice!" she spat, her accent strong and rolling, like the rush of a river flooded with a spring melt. "I told you that from the start!"
"Why should we believe you?" the armoured human asked.
"I'm Dalish! I would embrace the Dread Wolf before I worked for some Tevinter Shemlen," she spat, the last words directed at him, her glare never wavering.
He had no idea what he was being accused of or what on Asgard she was actually talking about.
"Hundreds are dead from the explosion, including the Divine. The two of you are the only survivors," the woman in chainmail and shadows said quietly. "Someone is responsible."
The unspoken accusation hung in the air. Loki needed to act before they arrived at their own conclusions.
"What happened?" he asked, looking up earnestly. He didn't have to fake his confusion. "What could unleash such... such devastation?"
"As though you do not know!" the one in heavy armour cried, towering over him and grabbing the edge of his armour. He tensed, a magical attack building in his mind. She was more insulting than threatening, but his temper was short.
"Cassandra," the other woman snapped, grabbing her arm. "We need him."
Cassandra scowled, made a disgusted noise and turned away from him. She stepped away before spinning back to face him.
"What were you doing at the Conclave?" she demanded.
"I… I don't remember." It was an embarrassment that it was actually true.
"What happened to your hand?"
"I don't remember," he ground out.
"What is your name?"
He paused. Cassandra raised an eyebrow at him.
"You don't remember?"
He made a decision and straightened his back, looking her in the eye. The effect wasn't as commanding as it should have been, since he was still on his knees, but he could make it work.
"That I do remember. I am Loki Odinson," he declared. No you aren't, the back of his mind whispered. He ignored it again. Nobody else knew that, so he was fully prepared to take advantage of his former position, however fabricated.
There wasn't the smallest hint of recognition in the eyes of his captors. He looked between them, searching for any reaction. They just nodded and looked at the elf. That said far more about his whereabouts than anything else. Who hadn't heard of him? Who hadn't heard of Odin?
"Lavellan," the elf said shortly, refusing to introduce herself further. She achieved the impressive task of looking down her nose at them despite being significantly closer to the ground.
"What has happened?" he repeated.
The two women exchanged a glance. Cassandra eventually let out a heavy breath.
"It will be easier to show you. Leliana, go to the forward camp," she said. "Take the elf, I will follow with the other."
Leliana hauled the elf – Lavellan – to her feet. She appeared unable to decide who she was more interested in glaring at and stumbled with exhaustion on her way out.
Cassandra led him out soon after, replacing the heavy manacles with rope – which he could easily snap, butshe didn't need to know that.
As soon as they were outside, he froze at the sight far above them.
The sky itself was torn open, like the fabric of reality had been split asunder and magic and spirits poured forth freely in a green torrent. It looked like a massive sparking wound, bleeding down upon the world.
"We call it the Breach. It's a rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only one, just the largest," Cassandra said, staring up at it with him.
The Breach pulsed with green energy, growing larger. The magic in his hand flared in response, making him cry out and sending him to his knees. The pain thrummed up his arm with greater strength than before, and he closed his eyes to brace himself against it. She crouched down in front of him.
"Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads," she said, surprisingly gentle. "And it is killing you."
His eyes shot open. He glared up at the Breach and then down at his hand again.
No. He had may have already fallen – jumped – through the void and lost all those who called him family, but he wasn't going to be destroyed so easily. Magic was his area of strength, and he was not to be taken so lightly.
"You may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time," Cassandra said.
"I'll do it. I will stop this." He stared up at the Breach in challenge. "Whatever it takes."
Solas dodged a swipe from a rage demon and sent out a blast of ice small rift that had opened on the path up to the wreckage of the temple was nothing in comparison to the giant Breach, but he still could not seal it, and demons continually poured through.
Varric and his crossbow kept them from swamping him, and he in turn cast a barrier over the strange dwarf. It was hardly enough, not before an endless torrent of enemies, but they could not simply give in and be slain.
He swung at a demon of envy with his staff, the thing shrieking wildly, its long limbs grasping. He threw a simple spirit bolt, hoping to drive it back. A bolt of lightning struck the demon from behind and it collapsed, twitching helplessly.
Into its place stepped the man with the green magical anchor flaring within his hand. Cassandra scowled fiercely behind him. She probably thought he was a human.
Solas didn't hesitate; he grabbed the Asgardian's hand and held it up towards the little rift, pouring just enough of his own magic into the anchor to stabilise it. The rift crackled with the rush of power. The Asgardian struggled at first, but he must have felt the change in his hand because he stilled and stared at Solas.
The rift snapped shut.
"Thedas," the Asgardian murmured under his breath, realisation in his eyes. Then he fixed a piercing look on Solas. The others must have assumed it was a curse at the sight of the rift.
"What did you do, elf?" the he demanded, his voice calm but filled with suspicion.
There was recognition in the Asgardian's eyes and his head was tilted in sharp interest. The look in his eye reminded Solas uncomfortably of his own reflection millennia ago.
Silence fell over the stretch of path, the roar of the rift finally gone.
"I did nothing," Solas replied with a disarming smile. "The credit is yours."
"How exceedingly generous of you," he said, giving a flat and unconvinced smile in return. Of course the Asgardian knew that Solas was responsible, he would have felt his power calming the anchor. If he knew anything at all about such magic, and his smile said that he did, then he could have no doubt as to the nature of the anchor and the Breach itself – and who was ultimately responsible.
Cassandra was returning her shield to her back and failed to notice the Asgardian's sarcasm. She must have decided he wasn't an immediate threat because not only was he not bound, but he was also carrying two long Ferelden daggers.
"Your prisoner is a mage, Cassandra, but the mark is not his own power," Solas said, facing her but keeping the Asgardian in his peripheral vision. "Indeed, I find it hard to imagine any mage such as he wielding this power. It is certainly far beyond his capabilities."
The man narrowed his eyes at him, and his smile turned sharp and predatory."I have never before seen its like," he said, affecting a puzzled tone, "but you seem very familiar with it."
"This is Solas," Cassandra began, "an apostate who was in the area. He watched over you while you were unconscious, studying the mark and trying to calm it down. He probably saved your life."
"How fortunate he was near at hand," he said pleasantly, his eyes still narrowed.
"I am glad to see you alive and well" Solas let his voice carry a sharp tone. "Let us hope it lasts."
"Me being alive, or you being glad for it?" he replied with a raised eyebrow.
"The two of you know each other?" Varric asked, looking between the two of them curiously. The dwarf had returned his crossbow to his back and was studying them both.
"Not at all," the Asgardian said, "I am Loki Odinson." He bowed his head formally at them both, and Solas gave a brittle smile in return.
Odinson. Had there not been enough disasters already today?
"I'm Varric Tethras. Rogue, story teller, and unwelcome tagalong," Varric said with an easy smile. "So, we've finally put a name to our mysterious prisoner. Tell us, are you actually from Tevinter? An assassin for the Black Divine?"
Loki snorted. "I am none of those things."
"See?" Varric said, looking at Cassandra. She scowled back.
"Do you have family in the area, Odinson?" Solas asked.
"Perhaps. I don't remember," Loki replied innocently.
"Enough. We must press on," Cassandra said, leading the way up to the temple and the Breach.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Any and all reviews are welcomed.
Next time: The Culprit