[** Beginning 5/25/15** Full Story Under Revision]
Graciously Edited by: Elystaa
Cover Art by: apostatesalwaysbreakyourheart Tumblr
Not Spoiler Free, Will Contain Profanity, Recommended for Game Completionists
"In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways and saw him as one of their own. And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People." –Codex
"Solas… Solas, it's time to move on." The gently whispered words called him back from meandered wanderings of the Fade, promptly returning his conscious to the present world.
Opening his eyes, Solas awoke slowly from his peaceful dreams to the Inquisitor's soft spoken request. The small, smiling mage gave the side of his arm a light squeeze before pushing up to stand from her crouched position. Stretching as he stood, the bald apostate shook off the dregs of weariness, ready to continue their journey through the rolling foothills of the Hinterlands. They'd been traveling for weeks, seldom stopping long between the potential surveys sites for the watch-towers the imperiled area was in desperate need of.
"My apologies, was I gone too long?" He fought a tired yawn, catching it with the back of his hand. Solas turned to the elven woman who was already busy strapping her pack and staff over the modestly embroidered, somber cloak that hung from her shoulders. Mass commissioned by the Inquisition, much of the company's gear bore the same insignia. Stamped, stitched or stained, the image of the burning eye and sword was spreading quite far.
"Of course not, we all needed the rest." The Inquisitor gazed towards the dark gray sky where clouds rolled and loomed thickly overhead. There were still hours to go before evening came though the light was already thin and failing. Their pause at these lichen-covered, gutted ruins hadn't been wasted, but extending the stay wouldn't come without consequence. Urgent and pervasive pleas had made it to Skyhold's forces in the weeks prior and the Inquisition could not risk further instability in their neighboring occupied territories. The escalated Mage and Templar war had already ravished the once picturesque area, further upset stood to topple it entirely.
"Did you see anything interesting in the Fade?" She pulled an already well-worn hood up and over her short, white crop of hair, guarding her thin ears from the imminent threat of rain that brooded soundlessly overhead in the bruised clouds.
"Some places offer little more than a quiet emptiness. Years of abandonment and neglect say this dwelling was not very useful, never much more than a hideaway or store house in its better days." Solas answered plainly as he prepared for the miles they still needed to cross. "It seems only the parade of tired traveler is to hold any remaining, fleeting memories of this abode. It is unfortunate many places like this exist."
"Then why are we giving it any more attention!" Dropping down from the cracked stone ledge he'd perched himself on for their rest, the Tevinter mage was keen to move on. Dorian waved his gloved hand back and forth in a hasty beckoning, heading for the open road. He pestered the others with barely concealed impatience, having no fondness for the extended discomforts of their travel. A cot and a hot meal would smooth his mood, but dawdling only peeved him further. "Come now, can't we at least try to find that twice blighted camp before the end of this age? You know how I get if I don't get my beauty sleep. Besides I am sure there is work to be done. Those poor, starving villagers won't feed themselves after all. Man needs more than lentils and ram meat to thrive on."
Finishing the last of the sharply spiced, dry meat strip he'd been chewing leisurely, Iron Bull strode down the crumbling steps, heavy boots thumping with his wide gait beneath the added weight of the equipment he effortlessly carried. "And if we don't clear out those bandits everyone keeps worrying about soon then we can kiss getting paid goodbye." The Qunari said before marching off to join his fellow Northerner.
"But we aren't getting paid." Chiyo shook her covered head with a cheerful, chirping laugh. Her bare feet ambled gracefully on the packed solid dirt road as she quickened her pace to catch up with the odd-assembled party. She made her way to the fore of her little motley band of heroes. Three unleashed mages and a former spy left to their own devices. It was a wonder they hadn't run into more trouble. "The people here have so little. They need our protection and to be able to use trade routes without fear of losing their goods, not charges tacked to their doors."
"Well, Boss, you and your people aren't getting paid for this. I sure as shit am." Iron Bull proclaimed with a smirk that curled his massive, gray mouth while he mentally tallied up his current fee. Albeit exorbitant, he was justifiably worth every piece of gold, silver and bronze tucked into his purse. "Just point me to the bad guys. And if the fight's good enough I might just take a few coins off the Inquisition's bill."
"If we could find them I would let you take the whole gang on by yourself. If it would please you so much." She offered impishly. "But even with our scouts scouring the area ahead of us, tracking them down has been rather difficult. And you can't fool me anymore with the blood and brute routine. Krem's told me all about you and the Chargers. I hear you could give ambassador Montilyet a fair run with the management of those coffers you're setting aside…"
"Ah, you can turn a man's head with talk like that!" Iron Bull groaned, reaching up to scratch under his eyepatch, but her jest left him grinning nearly ear to ear.
"The locals didn't call for aid without reason." Chiyo sighed languidly, taking comfort in their relaxing banter.
At the first word of distress the troops stationed nearby had begun a search for the new trouble makers, but they had been equally less than successful in finding out who these people were or where they might be hiding. It was not their fault they were trained to battle with other warriors not track down ghostly marauders. Nevertheless, each day brought forth new cries from the citizens- missing farming equipment, family heirlooms pilfered, trade wagons ransacked of all manner of food and supplies. There was even word of someone losing their boots to the unsavory fellows, on the edge of plowing season no less.
Then there were the worse accusations. Like the assault of several weary, unfortunate militants who'd happened by accidentally after a recent raid, nearly resulting in their murder. And the one tale the Inquisitor herself had personally verified, of incensed Templars tracking down and burning apostates alive in their cliffside abode.
The villagers themselves were also of little help in their search as they couldn't even agree on who it might be. Some rabidly cried 'It was apostate mages!' claiming to have witnessed figures in robes carrying staves on the outskirts of despoiled towns. Others attested to having seen men in the distinctive armor of the Templars vanishing into the woods. They also pointed their fingers at a third party entirely. Comprised of rogues taking advantage of the confusion and fleeing refugees, robbing them for all they are worth, even the cloaks off their backs, as threadbare as they were.
And a few select racist fools said that they had perceived wild, blood-thirsty elves over taking carts on the twisting roads, a top undoubtedly stolen ponies, leaving behind a trail of arrows in their wake. The last she discounted not because it was impossible, but because of the sneering hostility they displayed at hearing their 'Herald of Andraste' was a Dalish elf herself.
"If we temper our logic with patience and luck our endeavor should be possible. They will need to come out of hiding to continue their raids, perhaps they may even hear of our search and flee." Added Solas as he brought up the rear, pondering their current challenge. "We do need to examine the idea that they may be from this area originally and will not leave without a fight."
The fledgling Dalish leader looked over her shoulder as he spoke, eyeing him for useful ideas and keen to find any helpful insight. There was a subtle pleasantness in watching his mind at work. The spark in his storm blue eyes that shone when he solved even the smallest riddle sent small, guilty shivers through her. She couldn't help but toss out a question for him to ruminate on. "And how exactly do you suppose that?"
Solas continued, "Think about what we have heard so far. They attack homes of those who have had wealth, even if they have been forced to relocate over the last few months. The people are known to them by name and face. They choose trade routes that run through quiet places, where travelers often stop in tucked away corners. Places they themselves would have used time and time again. These bandits straightforwardly take advantage of the local knowledge. They are alone in their endeavor; they must pinch supplies because none are being provided for them. They also appear to be stealing only items with easy resale potential, they don't want goods, not for long anyways. They desire wealth. Something this area has not seen much of in recent generations."
"You sound like you have been in the business of banditry before, Solas." surmised Iron Bull while considering his acute answer. He moved steadily ahead on the darkening path, unbothered by the gaining wind that carried the foul weather with into the foothills. "What gives you this kind of insight besides hands-on experience?"
Solas practically laughed, a hearty chuckle escaping almost unhindered. His mouth stretched into a rare, transient smile. Amusement flavored his words as he spoke to the Qunari. "On the contrary, I only take into account what I have heard and borne witness to. There is some logic behind their behaviors; one must only pick up on the pattern. Consider how they have evaded our scouts."
"They're comfortable here. This is their land, their home." Chiyo beamed beneath the concealment of her hood, wondering exactly how long it had taken him to mentally figure it out. She'd seen his foresight before in the effortless way he manipulated an imaginary chessboard with the same mercenary that questioned him now. Always ten steps ahead of his opponent's moves, using a simple pawn to prearrange the entire finale of the game. It had been a true spectacle, leaving her nearly ambitious enough to try her hand at such an encounter—but she had yet to challenge him. Not without more practice first. She pursed her lips in thought and then a slow grin blossomed across her face. "If I were back with my clan, in our usual woods, it would be easy to avoid outsiders and slip into places simply overlooked."
"Well, I for one am so very glad you have this comprehended, do you think we can be back in time for supper?" touted Dorian, twisting his mouth critically. "Now if only that shiny head of yours could set their hideout ablaze and scare them out like the evil little nug humpers they are— ha!" He was cut off quickly, suffocating a high squeal incurred by a carefully aimed and playful touch from the Inquisitor to the exposed skin on the back of his arm.
"Don't be rude! He's only trying to help." She cautioned congenially, continuing her jab with prodding fingers even as he tried to evade her devious reach, strangling the unbecoming laughter before it left his silky throat. The openings in his strappy armor were simply too good of an opportunity to pass up and he'd been doomed from the first fortuitous giggle. "You don't have to tease, that is, unless you are a little…"
"A little what?!" Dorian demanded with a loud hitch in his breath. He ducked away, a meticulous black brow rising at the tawdry insinuation.
"I think she's telling you not to be a jealous prick." Murmured the Iron Bull, trying hard to hold his crassly unforgiving tongue. Even as he chortled, his eye never left the ticklish mage. Dorian would have sworn to the Maker that he had winked when he spoke, but the eye-patch made it rather difficult to be certain.
"Jealous? Ha! A prick is a term I can wear proudly, but envy is mantle I will not be donning. Not that it would ever fit me, far too big you see." Dodging her gamely pokes and prods, Dorian couldn't help but smirk. The youthful Inquisitor, though he was only a handful of years her senior, had a way of bringing out his more naughty antics. "If we are searching for jealousy, why it must be on Solas himself when compared to me. Besides, just look how well he already appears in it. So earthy and… rustic."
"Another stab at my attire?" Tested Solas, his eyes surreptitiously rolled towards the stormy heavens. "At least your outfit will attract our quarry. They'll scarcely be able to help the urge to loot your sparkling corpse for baubles. That is after they kill you and all of us by association."
Their back and forth verbal sparring frugally continued as they ventured across the straggly expanse of the mountainous Hinterlands, looking for signs of trouble as they made their way to the next camp. The last leg of the trip was oddly void of calamity, unless one counted an unpleasant crossing with a lone, hungry bear thanks to the Tevinter's exasperation with caution taken over every rustle in the bushes. Ignoring the pleading of his more wilderness familiarized counterparts, the city-bred mage thrust his staff through the thicket to spook a supposed benign fennec from his burrow. And instead he'd poked the shoulder of a forging young bear. But the growling beast had been the last soul they'd seen since leaving their previous camp. It seemed that most of the locals had taken to holing themselves up closer to town where they could avoid the mountain passes frequented by highwaymen and Carta.
A deep dark had nearly fallen by the time the party reached camp on the western edge of the territory and dinner became a quick priority. Unfortunately however, it seemed that their new enemy had already made certain to relieve their camp of its latest shipment of supplies. Food, healing potions, nearly all the camping materials they would need to resupply had been plundered the day prior as it traveled from Redcliffe Village. All according to the report the requisition officer had remorsefully handed to Chiyo when she first stepped blearily into the compound. Deciding to eat what they had in their packs for the evening meal, the party opted to forage in the morning before they headed out to search suspicious areas nearby.
"It is always better to sleep on a full stomach, Boss. That way the troops are well rested. Never know when you are going to really need to kick some ass." Bull said with a large shrug before ducking into a tent he would be mostly responsible for overcrowding.
The first rays of morning light were dim and weak as they fought through the thundering clouds overhead. With no extra shelters to spare, the officers had been forced to all bunk in one tent while giving up the second for the visiting party. Normally, when Bull tagged along for missions, he was given a tent to himself. With the smaller mages sleeping shoulder to shoulder on narrow cots, the Qunari had shamelessly taken over the bulk of the floor. His loud, deep snore had almost been enough to drown out the raging storm that had shocked the others from their beds. With ground-shaking booms of thunder rattling them awake, the more responsive elves had lurched straight from their cots. They stumbled out, in a half-dressed scurry, to aid the shambling scouts in securing the straining tent pegs and rescuing the tables and benches that had been blown over in the eye-stinging gusts.
Dorian was the only one who seemed to be perfectly presentable and ready to begin the day, leaving the relative dryness of the tent only when the rest of the camp had already been painstakingly defended. "I thought we were leaving by first light. Ha! I don't think Fereldens even know what it means! It's when light actually wakes you up, you dullards. Not this blighted miasma!" The rain that had threatened their journey from the beginning finally started coming down. Violent and ceaseless torrents battered the old and congested tents, dampening gear, bedrolls and annoyed comrades all the same.
The heavy rain made progress slow. It was hard to look for old tracks in the freshly swelling earth. Local travel came to a complete halt as the streams and rivers stretched their slick banks, reducing the Inquisition's chances of catching the thieves red-handed in the open, to nothing.
The season had only just turned to spring; vegetation suitable for consumption was scarce. Hunting options were also abysmal. Even the animals knew better than to be caught in the unforgiving downpour that soaked its way through several days and nights, ebbing for mere hours at a time before returning to everyone's grumbling displeasure.
Unable to venture far from camp but for mundane tasks, the sheer boredom and lack of adventure was beginning to weigh heavily upon the mind and patience of one rather petite and industriously-inclined Lavellan clanswoman. Becoming irritable as Dorian's frequent complaints about their ruined 'camping trip' mounted, Chiyo found practical, although rather destructive ways to fill the extra time.
Solas found her slowly shredding a fibrous log into easy kindling. Flinging the slightly damp strips aside roughly, it seemed she cared not for whose soggy bed they happened to litter by accident. She'd already crafted a loose pile in the center of the tent, but her persistence for keeping the shreds together had long since waned. Knife in hand, she scored the wood until a new piece could be managed off, creating thin slivers that would dry faster in the dank air.
He tried to entertain her with stories from the Fade as they busied their hands further by stripping the soggy feathers from a few birds he'd managed to snare in the early hours of the morning. The mage told her tales of grand Dwarven engineering and of human soldiers in acts of true bravery. He drifted between stories of lost, floating cities that glistened with crystal towers and languages that no one had spoken in a thousand years. But mostly he spoke in a tone hushed and deep, a voice that pulled forth all the attention of her long, metal ringed ears and filled her morning with small pieces of ancient elvhen lore. Dreams of magic so intrinsic and natural to her people it seemed inconceivable in comparison to the dying energy remaining in the current age.
By the time he finished the plucked birds lay aside in long abandonment, naked and pink on the crate that served as a tiny table. The mages sat close to one another on a cot, damp plumes clinging to their hands and knees. Nearly in a daze the Inquisitor breathed slowly and deeply. Her heart was at peace, filled with the languorous gladness that came from his valued presence. It was only the apparent silence of the world around her that broke Chiyo free from the spell he had woven with his rhythmic words.
"We… we should probably get these cooked if anyone is to have a meal beyond raw mushrooms or bread-tack." The Inquisitor mumbled sheepishly as she started to rise, brushing off her leathery breeches and littering the floor of their shared tent further.
"Wait," A flicker of a smile played at the corners of Solas' broad lips. He took her by the forearm, softly pulling till she leaned down to meet him face to face. His hooded, blue eyes peered into Chiyo's wider brown ones, sinking into their encouragingly bright warmth. "You have a little something…"
Solas brushed away a piece of fluffy down that had clung to her rapidly pinking cheek. His narrow fingers lingered for but a moment, skimming lightly across one of the tiny red branches inked into her cheekbones. "There, much better." He murmured before placidly releasing her from his loose grasp.
Catching misplaced composure and straightening herself hastily, she slipped on the loose pile of feathers she'd prudently collected by her feet. Bumbling through her embarrassment, Chiyo gathered the plucked fowl and moved to leave the steep sided shelter.
"Thank you, Solas… I feel better about this trip already." She rummaged for politeness, trying not to trip over her words or unadorned toes again as she left the tent, biting her lip to contain the elated grin that pushed its way to the surface. Stepping out into the damp air that cooled her heated skin, she relished in a joy which was only multiplied by the small change in the weather. Though still gray and moody, the rain had stopped and appeared to be taking a much-needed reprieve.
Chiyo's amendment in behavior did not go without notice. Try as he might, Dorian could not goad his friend into one of his aimless conversations that revolved around his sarcastic commentary. No lack of proper seasoning for the meat, a need for wine suitable to the basic vegetables or want of delicate nut cakes was enough to grate against her lifted mood. Even Bull's grotesque dismembering of the cleaned poultry, popping each tender joint with his bare hands, breaking the leg bones to release their marrow and draining the blood into the simmering pot as a gamey thickener had not served to suppress the light, added fluttering that remained in her famished stomach.
"My dear," Dorian said pleasantly while sneaking a pinch of a bright, golden spice from a pouch hidden in his robes into the bubbling stew. "If only I had been able to find such endearing pacification like yours, I might be more tempted to enjoy this tour."
Pulling a clean tasting spoon from her mouth, Chiyo shrugged away the inference. "It's the weather. If the Inquisition has taught me one thing it's to crave excitement. No rain means we can start searching again, and searching might lead to a good fight. I'm itching to get out there and do something about this mess!"
"You're itching to do something alright…" Dorian uttered suggestively before coyishly putting a piece of broth-soaked tack between his teeth, enforcing his silence as he watched her lips pucker and pierced ears turn red. She hurriedly stuffed her face with the steaming hot broth to avoid further conversation as Solas and Iron Bull neared to partake of the light meal. Finished before the others, Chiyo made disconcerted efforts to engage her hands and mind once more in preparation for their search of the bandits.
"I have piles of this stuff in my dresser, but do I have anything useful when I need it? Of course not…" Opening every tin and container she could lay her paws on among their camp's possessions she grumbled at the poor state of their stocks. Shaking dull crumbs of old herbs from their jars the Inquisitor was appalled by the few provisions they'd arrived with. It seemed she was surrounded by people who never took a spare moment to gather any of the abundantly useful plants that grew all around them. She would have to bring this lack of resourcefulness up with the Commander the next chance she had. Going deeper through their packs she took unfortunate note of their limited potions as well. They had no materials to craft more on site, but if she could muster enough ingredients she might be able to commission some from the town of Redcliffe, a near full day's walk from their camp.
Knowing they may not have a chance to attain anything better, Chiyo pulled a spare satchel from her gear that would easily carry enough elfroot to sustain them, with a little extra room for anything else they stumbled upon. Considering the known bounty of the woods and fields of the sprawling Ferelden region, it wouldn't take long to fill, when the season was right. But there was always something useful to be found if one looked in the right places.
"Let's see, who would like to help me blow off a bit more steam? I need to move, this camp has gotten too stuffy."
Slightly suspicious but remaining neutral, Iron Bull gruffly spoke first as she approached him. "What do ya need, Boss?"
"A good pair of hands foremost," Chiyo answered as she eyed one of his scarred and massive mitts in careful examination, lingering on the missing segments of a few of his short digits. "I'm afraid these won't do Bull, this task requires delicate fingers."
"He is rather capable of being gentle on request," chimed Dorian, already settling himself into a bench seat by the low fire with a thick book propped open against his knee. "But you didn't hear that from me."
"And you'd be capable if you wouldn't take my request so lightly." She scoffed back, rolling her head under the long strap of the empty bag so that it would cross her chest and rest on her hip without slipping off. Her clever gaze was caught by Solas' once more as she sidled up to him, thumb tapping her chin in consideration.
He displayed one of his long hands for her discretion, secretly reveling in the slow and nimble touch. Her soft fingers lingered over the sensitive skin between his knuckles and trailed down each long digit; it nearly shamed him to admit how much he enjoyed the sensual way her hands investigated his in a slow, tantalizing study. Warmth radiated from his palm as she tested the pads of his fingers. "Might I be of assistance, Inquisitor?"
"Sorry…I guess these will do. Perhaps you are as deft with them as you are with your storytelling. This could take hours." She responded in an almost uninterested hum, but her eyes were not so skilled with lying, even in jest. "Grab your bag, and I hope you don't mind getting a bit dirty."
Bull's amused and immediate snort sent the Herald's shoulders rising near to her ears and the mortification only worsened as he prodded at her intentionally misconstrued innocent words. "If that's what you were after you could have just asked. Nothing wrong with poppin' a few corks on a rainy day. I could use a little boredom buster if you're game."
"No thank you!" Her large eyes widened to the limit, Chiyo stammered back with as much pride and dignity as she could muster. Scarlet rose from her chest, colored her taut throat and flustered face. She relinquished Solas' hand as her own began to burn hot with embarrassment. She twisted and left hastily for the woods without another word, her steps only quickening as Dorian's uncontained laughter echoed through the damp air as he congratulated Bull for having outdone himself in their favorite game of torturing the modest Inquisitor.