(A/N): This is basically going to be a kind-of retelling of DA:I with several key differences and most likely will have a completely different ending (Really? Putting a guy whose goal was to get into the Fade into the Fade?) It will not be word for word, even though this first chapter follows the events of the beginning very closely. I have no idea yet if there even will be a pairing, but if there is I'm ignoring the canonical gender preferences most likely. There may be slash, I don't know yet, so fair warning. Also, spoilers, so if you haven't finished the game at least once then don't flame me for spoiling something for you.
I hope someone likes this :)
(End A/N).
"Help! Help! Someone help me-"
"What is going on here?!"
With a gasp, he was awake, his blue eyes wide. His mind was muddled, the memory of something eluding him. It felt like a gaping, jagged hole where something important should be, and he grasped the edges, trying to pull the memory out. It refused to budge, and instead retaliated with debilitating pain in both his head and his hand.
He cried out, cradling the hand. It felt as if his very nerves were being burned, every single one. He took a deep breath, compacted the pain into a tight ball, and built a mental wall around it. This was followed by blessed relief, and he took a moment enjoy the lack of excruciating pain. Now he needed to review his environment, as he was registering the feeling of a cold stone floor and shackles now that the pain was not distracting him.
He opened his eyes, and instantly noted the two guards with swords drawn, both swords pointed at him. He heard the sound of scraping from two points behind him, the unmistakable sound of swords being drawn out of sheaths, and noted that there were two more behind him. He watched the guards calmly, noting the Chantry insignia on their armor. He was being held by the Chantry, for some reason or other.
He had never liked the Chantry. They held distaste, perhaps even hatred in the case of some, for the nonhuman races, especially the ones who refused to adopt Andrastian religion.
He resolved to wait for someone to come. Someone would come eventually, to do whatever they wished with him, and he could not make an informed decision until he had uncovered their intentions. So he waited, quietly and calmly, gazing at the heavy wooden door directly in front of him.
He noticed a green light emanating from his hand after some time doing this, and felt faint surprise. How had he not noticed earlier? He examined it as thoroughly as he could without moving his hand at all. To do so would create sound, and he was currently playing the quiet game.
It was a, for lack of a better word, mark on his hand. A faint green light was constantly being emitted from the mark. Every once in a while, the light would brighten, and as he studied it he noticed a pattern. The fluctuations were not random. The mark was not a separate entity; it was reacting to something else, something connected to it.
The door slammed open, and in stalked an armored woman. Her expression was thunderous. She was obviously angry about something. Behind her, following at a more sedate pace, was another woman, with shocks of red hair coming out from under a hood. Her expression was calm, but it was reminiscent of the calm before the storm. Mentally he dubbed the first woman Thunder and the second woman Red.
He watched them both approach, his own face carefully expressionless. Thunder spoke first, her voice hard and full of barely controlled fury.
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now."
He did not answer, instead sitting quietly and considering that for a moment. It gave away more than it was probably intended to. It meant he was supposed to be aware of what he had done, which was apparently so terrible that they were close to simply killing him without a trial.
"The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended, including the Divine, is dead. Except for you."
His expression did not change, but inwardly he winced. They thought he had been the one to kill everyone. That was certainly enough of a crime for them to simply execute him without a trial. Why hadn't they? The mark on his hand was the only factor he could think of. It had to be connected to why he was still alive, and why these women of obviously high rank were deigning to speak to a lowly elf prisoner.
She was pacing slowly back and forth to his left, and when he did not speak, anger at his silence flashed through her face, and she grabbed his hand, which chose that very moment to flare green once again.
"What is this? Where did it come from?" she demanded.
"I do not know."
Her lip curled, and he could see disbelief plain in her eyes. "You're lying!" she seized his shoulders, her grip so tight it hurt.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the wall keeping the pain of his hand away from his conscious was broken down by a pulse of pure power, and all of the pain he had been keeping away rushed in. He cried out and bent double as the mark on his hand flared. He breathed heavily, hastily shoving the pain back behind the wall and patching the hole as quickly as possible.
"We need him, Cassandra," Red said, warning, and Cassandra backed away. Red stepped forward, her eyes much more observant than Cassandra's seemed to be. "Do you remember what happened? How this began?"
He shook his head, desperately searching his memory again. "I was running. From these…things. And there…there was a woman. I cannot recall anything else." That was not entirely true, but she did not need to know that.
"A woman," Red repeated, incredulous, and he could not blame her for her disbelief.
"Leliana," Cassandra stepped forward and spoke, "go ahead to the forward camp. I will stay here with the prisoner for now." Leliana nodded, and left.
He appraised Cassandra's expression, which seemed minutely less forbidding than before, and decided to speak. "What did happen?"
"It will be easier if I show you," she said, and she took a key from one of the guards and unlocked his shackles. It was then he noticed that his hands were tied even under the shackles, and he inwardly rolled his eyes. Of course they would be that paranoid.
She yanked him up and practically dragged him toward the door, Cassandra yanked him through the door, and he got a glimpse of a torn green sky.
He was distracted by yet another burst of pain from his hand, and he fell with a strangled yell. The pain was truly becoming tiring, he thought raggedly, as he again shoved the pain behind his rather battered mental walls.
He was on his knees, but he didn't bother to stand, instead staring up at the sky. A giant hole was ripped through the middle, with clouds circling it in a giant funnel. "A sky torn asunder," he murmured.
"There was an explosion at the Conclave. Shortly after this appeared in the sky," Cassandra said, gesturing to the Rift. "If it continues growing, eventually it will swallow the world. Demons fall from it constantly, and smaller rifts are popping up everywhere, spitting out even more demons. We are becoming overrun. And you," here she turned to look at him. The look was more considering and less threatening, now. "You fell out of one. The original one, at the Conclave. And you're telling me you know nothing of this?"
He shook his head, staring up at the Rift. He could feel the Fade energy radiating from it. Now that he registered the energy, and saw its origin, he could feel the connection between the Mark on his hand and the Rift. The energy was constantly humming, and there was a continuous loop of energy going to and from the Mark.
"The Mark on your hand is growing. If it keeps going as it is, you will die," she said.
"You believe this Mark may be able to close the Rift," he said, matter of fact.
"Yes, I do," she responded.
He could die either way, he realized. The Mark was connected to the Rift, yes, but to use it would require energy. He had very large reserves for a mage, and he certainly knew how to use them, as he prided himself on his skill and control. This, though, was beyond many, even him. Despite this, he had no choice. If the Mark were growing, then the Rift itself was growing also. It would swallow the world. If he were to not help, literally everyone would die, including him.
"I will help," he said, transferring his gaze once more to the Rift again. The energy required to create such a thing would have to be massive. Perhaps, he thought, it is not only this rift we should be concerned with, but the one who created it. The idea disturbed him, as there was no way to know. He could think of no one with the power to create such a thing.
His only option, therefore, was to simply focus on the Rift.
He was broken out of his reverie by Cassandra bringing a knife to the rope binding his hands, releasing them. He flexed his hands, relieved to be able to move them again.
Cassandra started walking forward, and he followed. The people lining the walkway glared, and he felt the heat of their accusing gazes burning on his skin. "They have decided your guilt," Cassandra said, "they need it. They need someone to blame right now, in their grief for Divine Justinia. For them that is you."
The scapegoat, he thought. He was the bloody scapegoat. It was not an alien concept. Humans blamed the elves for many of their disasters and wars, using the elvhen people as a whole as a scapegoat. What was he but one more elf to them?
They walked in silence. "There will be a trial," Cassandra finally said. "I can promise no more." Frost did not reply.
They left behind the camp, and as they passed through the gate, Cassandra asked, "What is your name? I just realized I have not even thought to ask."
"My name," he answered, "is Frost, of Clan Lavellan. To humans, I suppose, that means my whole name is simply Frost Lavellan."
"That seems an unusual name for anyone, even an elf," she said.
He shrugged, indifferent. "I was named for my appearance," he said. She could see what he meant. His hair was a pale platinum blonde, just the slightest shade away from pure white, and fell in a shaggy fringe around his head and eyes. His eyes themselves were a bright, vivid ice blue. His skin was the lightest shade she had seen, so white it resembled porcelain or alabaster.
As a result, the contrast with the tattoo on his face was startling. It was inky black, with thick lines around his eyes and the edges of his face. Horizontal slashes went through the lines at intervals, with a diamond apex on his forehead. He looked ethereal, otherworldly, wild. The light of the Mark on his hand only served to emphasize that sense.
They continued to walk and he observed the world around them. Buildings were aflame, meteors he assumed were truly demons struck the ground constantly, and men ran, cursing and beseeching the Maker. Ah, the Maker. The God they believed in but had never seen. A God who had supposedly condemned them, yet they followed still. Human idiocy at its finest.
He asked, "Where are we going?"
"To the forward camp, and to show you the rifts. Hopefully your mark will be use."
What would be of use, he thought, was to study the rifts and his Mark in conjunction. Perhaps to perform several experiments on both. Carefully, of course. The Mark was a part of him, at the moment. It would be prudent not to be too experimental.
There was another pulse from the Rift, and a huge amount of energy slammed into the Mark. He cried out and fell to his knees, cursing. Cassandra helped him up, saying, "The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Rift grows, the more rifts appear, and the more demons we face."
He nodded, troubled, and said, "How did I survive the blast?"
She seemed hesitant to answer, but reluctantly said, "They said you…stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I supposed you'll see soon enough."
He did not answer, already thinking of her response. A woman behind him in the rift. He had not expected that. Who was she? A simpleton might automatically assume the woman a god, but he like to believe he was no simpleton. There was a rational explanation for who she was, he was sure. He resolved to wait and find the answers himself. He would take everything these simpleminded shems said with a grain of salt.
They were crossing a bridge when a meteor of green light slammed into it, causing the entire thing to buckle. He fell with a shout, landing with an audible oof on his back. He struggled to breathe for a moment, having had the breath knocked out of him, and when he was finally able to stand he saw Cassandra locked in battle with what could only be a demon. Another was approaching him, its gaping maw opening to emit a hissing noise.
He glanced around for a weapon, not expecting one, and blinked in surprise when he saw a staff leaning against a rock not five feet away. He lunged for it, and as soon as he held it snapped a shot of ice at the demon. It recoiled, hissing, and turned to go after Cassandra. He spun the staff and slammed it into the ground. Arcs of electric energy traveled through the ground to the demons, shocking and damaging them. Cassandra finished both of them off with a slash of her sword.
He lowered his staff, relieved neither of them were injured, only for Cassandra to point her own sword at his throat. "Drop your weapon. Now," she threatened, her voice hard and unmistakably commanding.
He fixed his eyes on the point of the sword hovering just before his throat, slowly lowering his staff to the ground. It seemed she did not realize that he was just as dangerous without a staff as he was with one. If so, he wasn't going to point it out to her. "As you wish," he acquiesced.
She sighed, sheathing her sword, and shook her head. "No, I spoke too soon. You should have a weapon to defend yourself. I may not be able to protect you out here, and I should remember you came willingly."
He felt his opinion of her increase incrementally. Perhaps she was not as dense as he had thought, but perhaps he was also speaking too soon.
They continued on, fighting a few more demons as they went. He could see that Cassandra was reluctantly impressed by his skill as a mage, which said much about the average mage, as he was using barely a fifth of his true power.
Eventually the sound of fighting from ahead reached their ears, and Cassandra said, "We are getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting. We must help the others."
He did not speak, but thought, others? He had not been aware that more would join their party, but he supposed he should have expected it. After all, they were going to attempt to close the Rift in the sky. That would require power. He could probably do it; his skill combined with his reserves of energy would accomplish the feat, although not as easily as he would like. To reveal that he had that much power, though, was another thing entirely.
They came upon several soldiers fighting, including a dwarf and an elvhen apostate, which surprised him. They fought demons furiously, but it was obvious the fight was futile, as the demons kept coming. They came from what could only be one of the small rifts Cassandra had talked of, a green tinted twist consisting of the very fabric of the world ripped straight through the Fade. He joined the fray, helping from afar with spells of attack and shielding.
The moment there was a lull in demons, the elf mage dragged him forward, slamming his hand into the rift. "Quickly, before more come through!" he yelled, and he did, severing the strings of magic that held the fabric of the world open to the Fade. The rift imploded, leaving no sign that it had ever been there other than the faint increase in ambient magic around them.
The elf released his wrist, and Frost turned from the space where the rift had been to him. "What did you do?"
The elf simply gave him a blank look. "I did nothing. The credit is yours."
"You mean the mark," Frost said, waving the glowing hand for emphasis. He thought he saw a flash of amusement in the elf's eyes.
"Whatever placed the rift in the sky also place that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the connection between the two would be strong enough to close a rift, and it appears I was correct."
"Which means it may be able to close the Rift," Cassandra said, sounding pleased.
"Perhaps," the elf said. "It is a likely possibility."
Frost narrowed his eyes at the elf. He reminded him too much of himself, which instantly made him suspicious. He knew enough about himself and his own mind to know that anyone who thought like him had something, maybe even many things, to hide. To add to that, the elf seemed very knowledgeable on something that had only appeared not long ago.
He was interrupted from his thoughts by the dwarf, who said, "That's a relief. And here I thought we'd be balls deep in demons forever. Varric Tethras. Storyteller, writer, adventurer."
Frost looked at him and blandly replied, "Pleased to meet you."
"You may reconsider that stance," the elf said, and Frost had a feeling he was right. Varric seemed the type to become annoying quickly, and also the type to relieve you of your coin as quickly as he would spin a story.
"Woah there, Chuckles, and here I thought you were fond of me. I'll be here for a while," Varric said, and Cassandra snorted.
"Absolutely not," she said, and Varric raised an eyebrow.
"What, tired of me already?" he said, and she nodded.
"You will not be staying with us."
"Doesn't seem like you can afford to be choosy about help right now." She huffed, annoyed but conceding his point.
"If we are to be making introductions right now," the elf said, "I am Solas, and I am pleased to see you still live."
Varric, sounding amused, said, "He means he was the one who kept that pretty little Mark from killing you while you slept."
Frost fixed his gaze on Solas, inquiring, "You seem to know a great deal about it all."
"Like you, Solas is an apostate," Cassandra said.
"Technically we are all apostates now," Solas said. "My travels allowed me to learn much more about the Fade than most mages. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin."
"And what will you do once this is over?"
"One hopes that those who are in power will remember who helped and who did not," he said. He turned and spoke to Cassandra, "Your prisoner may be a mage, but I have trouble believing any mage would have the power to close such a thing as the Breach."
She nodded gravely. "Understood. We must head out. We have spent too much time here."
Varric looked back and forth between them before saying, "Well…Bianca's excited."
They left the area, heading for the forward camp. Leliana had been heading there, Frost remembered. They encountered a few more demons on the path, along with a burning house on a frozen river. They passed the house and fought the demons, with Frost watching Solas as surreptitiously as possible.
There was something about the apostate that bothered him, a sixth sense he had honed over time sending warning bells ringing in his head. There was not much he could do besides watch for now, however, so that is what he did. If Solas noticed, he did not give any indication, but Solas was obviously very intelligent. If he had not noticed, Frost's estimation of his intelligence would go down considerably.
They heard the sound of more fighting ahead, and emerged from the path to find another rift. Soldiers desperately fought the demons emerging from it, and as one they all drew their weapons to help. Once all the demons were gone, Frost sealed the rift which much more ease than the last time.
"That is handy," Varric remarked, while she tried to ignore the awestruck looks the soldiers were giving her.
"Open the gate," Cassandra commanded, and they all went through, Frost absentmindedly. It had just occurred to him that, if he could close these rifts, could he also open one himself? He could consult Solas, but his distrust of the elf had not faded as of yet. How could it really hurt? He thought, and he had to admit there really was no point in not asking Solas, trust or no trust.
So he turned to the elf and asked without preamble, "Could the Mark also open rifts?"
A surprised look passed over Solas' face, and Frost wondered, did my intelligence truly appear so low? But the surprise passed, and instead was replaced with a thoughtful look. "I would assume so," he finally said. "The Mark's chief purpose, after all, appears to be control over these rifts. Logically it would make sense to be able to open a rift, also."
Frost nodded, saying, "That is the conclusion I had come to. What troubled me was the energy requirement. It would have to be quite large, and something like that, once started, cannot be stopped. It could prove to be too much."
"Not necessarily," Solas said. "If you were to draw ambient energy from your environment, you might survive the process, but it would end up killing much of the life around you."
Frost only hummed noncommittally, turning the problem over in his head. He sensed rather than saw Solas' considering gaze.
They journeyed on, all of them shivering from the cold with the exception of Frost. His primary element, after all, was ice. He was, at his most basic, an ice mage. It was obvious that Solas was a Fade mage, drawing on the Fade for both force and healing.
They encountered no more demons on the way to the forward camp, to their relief, and they entered the forward camp, happy to be away from the immediate danger. Of course, Frost doubted that there was truly any safe place with the situation as it was.
Leliana appeared to be conversing with a man in Chantry garb, and Frost immediately tensed. He had, of course, realized that Cassandra and Leliana were the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, but they were not dogmatic in their approach as many who were a part of the Chantry seemed to be. This man, he could immediately see from both his garb and stance, was one of those Chantry members he despised most.
As they all approached, the man looked up and scowled directly at him. "Seize him!" he commanded of no one in particular. "Seize him and take him in for execution." Frost fought not to stare, agog. The man was truly that stupid? To simply plan execution without a trial, without even a single question?
"Chancellor Roderick," Leliana said sharpy. "Do you know who this is?"
"Of course I know who he is!" he cried. "This blasted elf fell out of a rift! It's obvious he is the cause of all this. He should be taken in and judged by whoever becomes Divine."
Ah, he thought, now I am to be judged, when moments ago he was prepared to simply execute me.
"Is not the Breach a more pertinent issue than my judgment or execution?" he asked, but the Chancellor scoffed.
"The Breach is a lost cause. You, on the other hand, are not out of our reach. You will be taken into custody once again," he said.
"We are doing something about the Breach, whether you like it or not," said Cassandra.
"There is a pass," Leliana said," to get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It leads there directly, and is the fastest route. Unfortunately, the scouts I sent have not returned."
"It is too risky," Cassandra said. "We do not know what is there that stopped their return. It is far better to march with the troops directly to the Temple."
"Bah!" the Chancellor exclaimed. "You're all mad."
Cassandra ignored him, turning to Frost. "What do you think we should do?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You're asking me?" He had assumed they would simply tell him what to do, not allow him to decide.
Solas cut in, saying, "You have the Mark, you will close the Breach. Therefore it is your decision."
Cassandra nodded. "Exactly."
He considered both plans. The mountain path sounded promising, but there was the possibility of more deaths to the troops who would act as a diversion while they went through the pass. The scouts might be recovered, however, and it would be faster, resulting in the Breach being closed sooner.
Marching with the troops would take more time, but there would be less casualties. Of course, more rifts could open with the increased time it would take to close the Breach, and the mortality might stay the same as a result. Despite this, it was certainly greater for morale. Leaders marching with troops were far more respected than leaders letting troops die while they were off in some mountain pass.
"We will march," he said, and Cassandra's expression was pleased.
"We will go on ahead, then," she said. "Leliana, gather the troops and meet us there." Leliana nodded, and they went their separate ways. They started on the path directly to the Temple, with Frost somehow ending up leading. Earlier he had been following Cassandra, but now he was the one in the lead.
He did not ask, but simply led them to the battlefield just ahead of the Temple. They encountered no demons along the way, and soon they were again able to hear the sound of fighting. Soldier fought the demons with the mien of men who had no hope of truly winning.
They all joined the fight, Varric assisting from a distance with his crossbow, Frost and Solas with magical attacks and shields. He attempted to help every faltering soldier, trying to minimize the casualties.
Once the bulk of the demons had been destroyed, they continued into the Temple, or what was left of it. The remnants of the walls were crumbling, and ash was littering the floor profusely. People themselves, burned and shriveled corpses, were buried in the floor, their hands reaching up as if to beseech someone of something for help. He did not give much more than a cursory glance at those.
Cassandra's eyes were sad as she took in the destruction, and no one spoke as they walked to the center, where the first rift was below the Breach.
Oddly enough, there were no demons here, only a rift. It was closed, however. The first closed one they had encountered. They had just reached the arch just before the courtyard, when Leliana appeared behind them with more troops. "Thank the Maker," she said, sounding relieved. "You're already here."
Cassandra turned to Frost. "Are you ready?"
Not even close, he thought. He had not had the chance to study even one rift, or the Mark at all. To attempt this without either made him nervous. He had always proceeded cautiously when it came to magic, as anything less tended to create abominations and lethal accidents.
Outwardly, he said, "I will try, although I don't know how you expect me to reach it."
Solas shook his head, saying, "No. You need not reach the Breach to close it. This is the first rift, as such it is the key. Close this, and you close the Breach."
"It is already closed," Frost pointed out.
Solas nodded. "Yes, which is why you will have to open it."
Cassandra turned to the soldiers who had positioned themselves around the courtyard, yelling, "That means demons!"
The soldiers readied themselves, looking determined, and Cassandra turned to him. He recognized a cue when he saw one, and so they took the path around the courtyard to get to the middle, where the rift was.
They had barely taken a few steps down the path when a voice boomed out of nowhere, "Bring forth the sacrifice." They stopped walking.
"What is that?" Cassandra asked.
"An echo of what happened here," Solas answered.
They were almost there when he noticed the red stones radiating malicious energy, and Varric's nervous gulp.
"Seeker," he hissed. "That's red lyrium. What is red lyrium doing here?"
"I see it, Varric," she said. "I assume the blast revealed pockets of it buried under the Temple." Varric looked less than pleased to hear this, and Frost knew why. Red lyrium he had heard of. It was extremely addictive, more so than regular lyrium, and even when not ingested it could enchant anyone who had prolonged exposure to it. From Varric's expression, it looked as if he had witnessed such a thing firsthand.
He was careful not to touch the red lyrium as they passed, and finally they were at the center of the courtyard. He dropped down from a slight ledge.
The voice echoed around the Temple yet again, repeating, "Bring forth the sacrifice."
"Help! Someone help me!"
"What is going on here?!"
"That is the Divine's voice, and you," Cassandra exclaimed, staring at Frost. "What happened?! What do you remember?!" She was nearly frantic.
"I don't remember," he said, shaking his head. His memory of that time was in flashes; running from creatures, a woman, falling, and then nothing. It was both unsettling and annoying. His mind was clear and organized. There was a hole where there should be none.
Both he and Solas stepped toward the rift. "You will have to open it," Solas said as he studied it, "to close it." Frost nodded, already knowing what he meant. As the rift was, it could open at any time, but it was closed, and as long as it was closed there was no way for him to dispel it.
Varric and Cassandra seemed not to understand so easily, from the expressions on their faces. "What do you mean?" Cassandra finally asked. "It is already closed. Surely you can simply dispel it as it is?"
Frost shook his head, answering, "I cannot close something already closed."
Cassandra's brows furrowed, but she no longer protested, which meant she probably understood at least a little. Varric seemed content to not question. He had probably already decided that magic was not something he would ever be capable of making sense of.
Cassandra yelled out orders to the soldiers. "Prepare yourselves! Demons will be here once the rift is opened."
All of the soldiers readied their weapons, and Frost raised his Marked hand, reaching out with his own magic. He felt around the rift, and upon finding the threads holding the rift closed, snipped each one at a time.
With a strange twisting of reality, the rift opened, and almost immediately there was a roar as a Pride demon emerged.
The battle seemed futile at first, as the armor plating of the demon seemed to repel every attack they could muster. Arrows and swords bounced off, and elemental attacks from both he and Solas was only absorbed harmlessly. With a frustrated noise he reached out with his magic, seizing the rift and pulling. The monster staggered with a surprised roar, falling.
The soldiers seized the advantage, instantly sending another round of arrows at the creature. These struck and stayed, actually piercing the armor, and the other soldiers with swords attacked with renewed energy.
When the armor of the creature seemed to be regaining its power, Frost again seized the rift and pulled with his magic, repeating as necessary until the demon was vanquished.
"Now!" Solas yelled, and Frost wasted no time in reaching out with his Marked hand yet again, feeling for the strings connecting this world to the Fade and severing them. The rift was barely closed before there was a massive influx of energy straight into his Mark, and he staggered, overtaken. He fell with a cry, struggling to contain the energy, and as his vision started to go black, his last thought was, I sincerely hope they don't execute me while I'm unconscious.