And the Stuffed Bird Laughed
Chapter 1: Cage
Skyhold stood amidst the peaks of the Frostback Mountains, a climb made no easy trek due to the constant flurries of Winter's breath and the ice within her bones. Where snow collected at the soles of soldiers' boots, covered the land in a soft white broken only in places by the evergreens and brush of a long forgotten summer. The trees bowed with the weight of the snow, looming over the expanse of Winter like silent sentinels. Every now and again a clump of snow would come tumbling down between their branches and shower the walkways in crystal like rain mixed with green needles.
The boundaries of the fortress rose before them. A building of grandeur, as much a part of its environment as it was separate. Stilettos of silver ice clung to the parapets, veins of winter's exhale slithered between the cracks in stone and blossomed beautiful spirals over the woodwork of the citadel gates. For years Skyhold had been lost to the Morgana of the horizon, a shadow in the cliffs, ever present, but out of sight, like a distant star. Sheer luck had cleared the Inquisition's path to her hold after misfortune burned upon the grounds of Haven. From fire and blood they climbed and sought shelter in the furthest of Winter's reach. And it was here their Inquisition flourished, combatted the rot that strangled the lands and fought back the darkness that drove it. Still though, in every victory they found defeat, one step forward was never enough to make up for their stumble, or the victory of another.
Despite Inquisitor Trevelyan's best efforts, there was little he could do to quell the hostility between Kingdoms and Circles. Corypheus was certainly enemy number one, but he wasn't the only enemy. People continued to squabble amongst themselves, as one war broke out, several more rose alongside them. Corypheus – he was simply the catalyst to all their petty hatreds.
And the Grey Warden had done nothing to aid its end. Scouts had been sent in her wake, following the breadcrumbs of long cold campfires and bedrolls. But Thedas seemed to swallow her memory, hiding her away with all the other elven ruins of the past, a memory mixed of victory and horror.
It was a long shot, they always knew that, but still many within the halls of the Inquisition's battlements hoped the Hero of old might one day find her way to them, to lead their war against the Breach - against Corypheus.
Others had given up such fantastical dreams for their cold reality. There were no more heroes, just people fighting for their right to the live beyond demons and darkspawn, fighting on faith and for faith. Because it was all they had left.
The scouts came home.
The letters stopped.
And people forgot to remember.
Which was probably for the best, because things had changed. And so had she.
Warden Voss shivered to the cold, pulling her furs tighter to her. She had done this trek before, a much longer time ago when she wasn't so tired, so alone, and so hurt.
The Inquisition Templars That had found her were decent enough company, if you liked curt conversations and bitter looks. It wasn't that they didn't like her, it was simply that they were Templars. And that's how Templars were.
"The gates are just a bit further, Lady Lavellan," Sir Armont said above the howl of mountain winds.
Voss couldn't bear the cold, tucking her chin deeper into the black wolf fur hung about her shoulders, she nodded as best she could to it's bow.
She hadn't told them her name and didn't intend to. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Lavellan worked for now.
"What happened in Haven?" She asked.
"What?" Sir Armont replied.
"Haven," she repeated, combatting the winds, "What happened?"
"Not sure. There's talk of a new Blight, they say an Archdemon fell in upon the town and burned it down. I didn't see it myself, was too busy helping the people out and up the mountain. But I saw the Templars and mages, corrupted by red lyrium. Same as you." He eyed her from between the company of snow powdered men, "To be honest, when the Inquisitor sent us back to look for survivors, I don't think any of us expected to bring anyone back. Yet here you are... with three others," his eyes passed her and softened on the injured men and women that dragged a bit in their tiredness, aided by the shoulders of the other Templars, unable to hear their conversation from the rear.
"Flissa says she saw you fighting off the remaining forces of Corypheus's army...alone. She's a bit delirious from her injuries and the cold, but still," his pause accentuated by the crunch of his boots in the mountain drifts, "I'd be interested to hear of how you were able to rescue them. As I'm sure all of Skyhold would."
Voss's red eyes shifted, a quiet mirrored stone, friendly but impassive, unwanting to oblige in his interest, knowing he already suspected her of something. He just didn't have a name for it yet, and she wasn't about to give him one.
"Maybe later," he replied, "when you're feeling better."
"Sure," Voss lied.
And though he heard it in her voice, was kind enough not to mention it.
"You make this trek every day?" Voss asked.
"Most days when we patrol, yes."
"Can't be worth it."
"We found you."
Voss smiled sadly, "I suppose you did."
Their march came to a halt as they approached Skyhold's gate, still shut to the world outside where obscured figures moved about behind its defense. Snow swirled the air, a dry breath that stung the lungs and escaped on dragon's steam. It brought with it the smell of pine and the undertone of a fire's ember, a sweetness burned around its edges and music danced in its ear. Drinks bought on a victory's coin gave voice to the revelries that gamboled with song, the soft strums of a lute, voice of silk, howls of rejoinder that dictated tales of battle that would become legends in their own lives. All of it drifted through that closed gate and offered a sense of welcome to a most waried guest.
"Open the gates," ordered Sir Armont.
"Who goes?" asked a timid voice.
"Sir Armont, Breckenridge, Dalton and four survivors of Haven."
A pause and then, a heavy 'clunk,' the grind of link of link, as chains curled about the wheel that drove the fortification. It was a slow process as the timber block postern rose to grant the group entrance to the winter castle.
"Sir Armont," a young scout greeted them at the gate. She was a petite woman with a short mess of golden hair. It was obvious by her demeanor, the nervous inclination of gaze, the uneasy bend to her knees, that she was new, not just to Skyhold, but to the Inquisition. More than likely a farmhand seeking to better aid her Realm, or perhaps, just another someone with nowhere to go. Her fingers still grasped at the gate-helm, allowing the troop to fully pass beneath her guard before allowing the gate to release. "Acker said he saw you coming up the mountain, you're a day early. We weren't expecting you until tomorrow evening. I've already sent word to the Knight Commander of your arrival."
"Excellent."
"Is this them?" asked the scout.
"Yes."
"I'll have some men escort them to the surgeon's tents and get them fixed up," the scout gestured to her companions who were quick to swoop in and relieve the Templars.
"Thank you."
"What was it like?" She asked "Haven."
Sir Armont offered her a grim look, "What matters is we found them," he said dismissively. Battlefields were horrors of their own, but the way the mountain tried to hide its past beneath a fresh blanket of snow was an unsettling false comfort. You could still see the bones of charred buildings peeking through the drifts, abandoned trebuchets gathering snowfall like awkward trees, and the small hills below it all, small hills that hid the crumpled forms of bodies, frozen blue and black.
There was a complete absence of sound there, not even the winds howl seem to reach the valley that hid Haven among the mountains.
Sir Armont had seen many battles, had killed many men and many women, but hadn't ever seen Thedas try so hard to cover its own horrors in the swallow of its Earth. Like such things weren't meant to be remembered.
He felt sorry for them all.
And for himself he felt guilt, unable to recall the faces they had lost; and he wouldn't remember them like that, nor would he let anyone else.
"Sorry," she winced, "I didn't mean...I'm...glad you all made it back," she turned her attention to Voss, "Virion," she introduced, "forward scout to the Inquisition, it's a pleasure to meet you. Everyone's talking about you, you know. After the report Sir Armont sent, everyone's dying to know how you fought off those Red Templars."
"Virion," Sir Armont warned.
"Right, sorry, maybe later. Let's get those wounds looked at."
"It's quite alright. I'll be fine," Voss assured.
"They look really bad," said Virion.
"I've been worse," it was true, she had certainly been worse, but that didn't expel the hurt she felt every time she took a step or even a breath. So bad it had gotten that she had become more careful, taking shallow breaths and awkward steps.
Sir Armont had noticed on their climb, but never voiced his concern that she might not make it. He had to try, for any other spirit was sure to dash away what remained of hope.
Now that they had made it he was serious when he said "This is worse."
Voss looked to him with eyes too tired to fight, only pleading for something he couldn't understand she feared.
"Go with Virion."
"Alright," She relented.
"You'll be alright," Sir Armont assured the fears he could not know, "you're safe here."
Voss nodded and followed after Virion, still clutching to her furs.
"Ah, you're back." The voice was a familiar memory, aged like wine, and almost forgotten to the locked cellar of an era long ago. It pierced through the stir of the afternoon's excitement, warm and inviting, even among these mountain peaks. Warden Voss looked back over the scouts and in their parting, glimpsed Skyhold's Commanding Knight Officer.
"Commander Cullen," Sir Armont gave a slight bow of the head in greeting.
Winter frosted feathered half cloak, a blue sunlight catching on what glimpses of armor shown beneath the wraps and tabards of a lost order. The Commander was young by any standard, yet experience showed in every manner of posture and carry. He had the air of a King, and the modesty of a commoner. He bore the scars of past battles, victories and loss, his eyes burned with the passion of a summer morning's sun and he smiled with its every warmth.
"That's the Knight Commander," Virion said as she ushered Voss away, "I'm sure he'll want to talk to you later. Don't worry, he's a really nice guy. Too nice for a Templar if you ask me," she chuckled.
Voss could hear the quiet fantasies Virion held of him in the way she sighed.
"The surgeons are right down this way," she said pointing to the stone steps, "I'll help you down."
Behind them, Commander Cullen spoke with Sir Armont.
"We are all eager to hear your report from Haven, it's about time we've heard some good news," said Commander Cullen, "is that her?"
"Yes," Sir Armont said, "Not one of ours. She said she was visiting Haven to inquire about the Inquisition when she found the Red Templars."
"She looks familiar," Commander Cullen mused, not getting a clear look at the dark skinned elf, "What's her name?"
"She calls herself Lavellan. Hasn't been very talkative, I think she's nervous."
"She did just stave off the remaining insurgence of Corypheus's army - alone. I wouldn't expect anyone to be OK after that. She's probably scared to death."
"I agree," the two crossed the grand courtyard. Drunken revelries sung out the open tavern windows, Orlesian nobility ambled about the grounds, pish poshing one another about this or that while scouts made their rounds with letters, crows, and determination. "But that wasn't it. She wasn't fighting for her life, she was fighting for theirs. Not reckless, but determined. She's trained. I thought at first, maybe a Crow, she's Antivan after all, had the style of an assassin about her. But the way she held her blades," he trailed off recalling the deftness of her skill, "Mages have this way with magic, they're very light - fluid with everything they do. Different from a rogue. I think she might be an apostate." He exhaled a frosty breath, "She barely spoke the whole way back to Skyhold. I tried to explain to her that though the Inquisition had allied alongside the Order, mages were still welcome to join. They'd receive no punishment or ridicule, but I don't think that coming from a Templar is very comforting. Perhaps Solas could speak to her or one of the other Mages."
"I'll look into it," Commander Cullen said.
Their conversation continued like that, all the way up the stairs and into the great halls of Skyhold, while below its cast the surgeons worked diligently.
"You seem awful fond of him," Voss said to Virion.
"Who? Oh. The Knight Commander?" She feigned a dismissive laugh, "No not at all. Besides he's the Knight Commander, he wouldn't be interested in someone like me. Maybe Cassandra or one of the other Knights, but not me. Here we are, they'll take good care of you, Lady Lavellan."
Voss nodded as she was traded off once more, this time into the hands of a Chantry woman.
She was gentle and soft spoken, her apron covered in dirt and blood, a hard day dressed upon her. She gestured to an empty tent and offered a standing cot to Voss, apologizing for the state of its bedding.
The sun peeked through grey clouds and rained arrows of golden light down upon Skyhold. For a minute Voss could almost imagine spring as she laid back on the tanned canvas cot, her eyes tired, bones aching, giving in to what sliver of warmth dared betray Winter's embrace. She could feel the weight of her journey sink down into the fabric, no longer burdened on her shoulders. She felt so much heavier, in so many different ways and none of them quite like what it had been. Her injuries were a dull burn, masked by too many sleepless nights, now threatening every blink, where the Fade tugged at her shirt sleeves and Called her name.
She couldn't help it any longer, drifting - for just a minute as the Chantry woman's hands gently tested each wound.
"You didn't want him to see your face." The voice was unsure of itself, curious and prodding and not belonging of the woman who touched her skin, "Why didn't you want him to see your face?"
Voss let out a slow breath, full of sleep, and opened her eyes. "Oh," She recognized him for what he was, a spirit, and did not worry for his presence.
"She can't hear me," he said with a look towards the Chantry woman, "She doesn't know I am here."
"Let's see," Voss said, "You must be Despair…"
"No," he shook his head, the unfit hat with the floppy brim atop his head bounced with every motion, "My name's Cole."
"That's certainly new. Hi Cole, I'm -"
"- Frightened inside. Scared. Of so many things. Of being yourself."
"Yeah," said Voss, "Yeah, that's about right. But Lavellan is shorter, and easier to say."
"But...That's not your name...Your name...Is that why you hide your face? Hide your face from the Commander, Commander Cullen, he knows you? You were friends? But - why wouldn't you want him to see you?"
"I wasn't a very good friend," Voss said, wincing as she shifted just enough to look at him.
"How can friends be bad?" he questioned.
"By doing bad things."
"Lying. Leaving. Harming. People. Yourself. They want to know where you've gone. Your friends worry. People need you. They are scared. Just like you. Maybe...they will understand."
"It's not that easy Cole. Maker I wish it were, otherwise I would have come back a long time ago."
"But it is that easy," he said, "You're here now."
"That's the second time I've heard that today," she said with a small laugh, "so it must be true."
"You're laughing."
"It's funny."
"How?"
"Because it's true."
Cole chuckled with her, but still didn't quite understand why such things were funny.
Neither did Warden Voss.