Ashes to Embers
Hope you have a lovely day đź’“đź’‹ Not yet sure if this will be a short story or a novel like my other stories, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! Critique appreciated!
Chapter 1: The War Among Us
Water. Safe harbor. Sera wishes she could hug it. She watches the Herald search a chest hidden behind a waterfall, wondering if wading in there will melt her soon.
Fire and water are mortal enemies, right?
Anxious, Sera fidgets, thumbing her bowstring for comfort. Her fingers itch to nock an arrow. If fire and water are enemies, what if it'll make the Herald bust out into a demon instead? But there is no melting or evil cackles or fiery hell rained down upon them, nor a horde of demons popping out of the Herald.
"You alright, Buttercup?" Varric asks. "Looking tense there."
"'s fine," she mutters, shifting closer to Cassandra. Bet she can headbutt a demon king and not flinch. She'll buy Sera time to run away.
No demons emerge when the Herald returns soaking wet, a chain tangled between her fingers and pendant swinging. "What do you think, Varric?" She tosses the necklace to him. "How much do you think it's worth?"
"Eh, hard to tell. Appraisal is not my strong suit." He sniggers, a distant look creeping into his eyes as he mutters. "This would've been up Bartrand's alley."
"Sell a lie instead," Cassandra scoffs, "like where the bulk of your wealth has come from."
"I'm not a Seeker of Truth, it's not my job to—"
"No, you're not. You're a Purveyor of Lies."
"Please," the Herald interjects with a dejected sigh, "don't fight now. There's enough war waged around us. We don't need one among us."
Sera shimmies closer to Varric to get a better look at the pendant, while keeping an eye on the mage. She swipes it from him and holds it up at the sun—it gleams a fiery array of colors. She throws it as gently as possible, so she doesn't hit the mage and make a rage demon burst out. "Worth a night's stay at an inn for all of us," she shrugs, "maybe some grub too; not enough for all of us though."
The others look at her, brows arched in surprise.
"What? Y'pick up a thing or two when you fence a nob's shite off." She tilts her head to look at the waterfall, frowning at the large chest hidden behind the falls. "You just got one lousy necklace swimming in there?"
"Yes. Perhaps they didn't think the pendant's worth anything?"
"Their loss," Sera snorts, "bet it was the only thing worth a shite." She grips her bow painfully tight when steam emanates from the Herald's body, drying her clothes over time. Whatever Varric and Cassandra are bickering about now is lost to the white noise ringing like a bell in Sera's ears. She takes a step back, unable to turn around—torn if she wants to or not. She can't turn her back on someone who can turn into a demon at any second; especially when it nearly takes half of a quiver's worth of arrows to put one down.
Cassandra's smile catches her attention, and Sera snaps impatiently. "What? What're you smirking for now?"
"That's barely a spell, and you're white as a sheet."
"Well, sorry I'm scared of stuff I've been told to be scared of my whole life!" Sera twists sharply and stomps off, stealing glances behind her to see if she should run away instead. Her ears perk when the Herald's quiet voice reaches her ears—warm and peaceful like a summer's morning stroll in the market, making Sera crave sweets.
"You don't need to be scared of me. Magic does not control me; I control magic the same way you control your bow."
The craving's gone. Why did she have to ruin it?
-—-—-—-—-—-
Sera doesn't have to be scared of her, she said. It'll be fun, she probably said. Or thought. The Herald's daft. How is Sera supposed to be not scared when flames appear out of thin air? Just a snap of the fingers or a wave of the hand and—BOOM! Explosions and screams and melting skin. Why can't the Herald set fires like normal? Sera's set plenty of her own; just strike a match and watch the flames go up.
What the bloody shite was Andraste thinking with this one? Is this her revenge 'cause of the arseholes who set her on fire?
Arrows—mercy—for any who are set ablaze; a quick and painless death. Sera needs it—well, they probably need it more—to stop the screaming; theirs and hers. She makes sure she's always close to Cassandra, ignoring anything remotely close to the mage's direction.
What the bloody shite was Sera thinking with this one? She shouldn't have demanded to join the Inquisition. She can't make a mage listen to normal people. Mages aren't normal people—if they're people at all. Everybody always says they're just monsters waiting to happen. They're demons. So why would Andraste pick a demon to fight demons? Maybe to scare the demons—biggest demon wins. Fight fire with fire.
Stomach contents churn when Sera suddenly feels heat on the back of her neck, and she dives to the side, catching an arrow when it slips out of her quiver and nocking it. She digs her heels in the dirt and braces herself to face the source—only to find a familiar mage with a confused look on her face, and the rest of their enemies dead, or almost dead.
"I was just walking up to you?" The Herald says, holding out her hands in a fake display of harmlessness. Those hands have left a blazing trail behind her. Literally.
"Well then, don't! I coulda put one in yer eye!"
That's right. Make the mage fear her, to know that Sera can be dangerous too. That'll make the Herald think twice and be just as scared as she is.
"Herald, we should keep moving." Cassandra says. "Redcliffe isn't much further."
"Right. Let's go." The mage calmly takes lead, never showing any signs of fear or possession or abomination or—all of this is confusing Sera. She catches the dwarf looking at her for some reason, and sticks her tongue out at him. She's not the scared one. The Herald is. Sera's the sane one. Varric sighs as he trods off to the other two, his mutter brushing the elf in the worst way possible.
"Not all mages are bad, Buttercup."
Say that to the people dying a slow and painful death? Literally, right now, behind them. Sure, they're right arseholes for attacking them, but the Herald's just walking away, not putting an end to the misery—well, not Sera. She pulls the string to her ear, taking aim at one moaning in pain on the ground, as flames chew his armor. She wrinkles her nose in disgust at the blood pouring from burned flesh, and loosens her grip on the string to make the arrow fly, turning away before it pierces his skull. She knows she's hit her mark when the groans stop.
Another body writhes on the ground, a man sobbing as he grips above what's left of his arm, his hand severed clean from one of Cassandra's strikes. A bolt is embedded in his thigh. Sera can't bring herself to end his misery—not when he has a chance to live.
The burned man didn't.
...Right?
-—-—-—-—-—-
Sera should've specified how many rooms the pendant could afford; now she's stuck in one with a bickering couple and a rage demon. It's hot in here and she blames the Herald for it, with the way heat radiates from her body. She might as well breathe fire. No way is Sera sleeping anywhere near that.
"I'll take the floor," Cassandra grumbles, giving another death-glare at the dwarf. "I'm not sleeping anywhere near you."
"Fine by me," Varric retorts, "I don't want to wake up bound again."
Bound? Sera would've never pegged the armored up tit to be into that kind of shite.
"I'll take the chairs," the Herald quietly announces, and the dwarf frowns.
"No, no, take the bed. I'll take the chairs."
Sera swallows nervously when the mage's eyes flicker to her. The Herald shakes her head and smiles warmly, setting two chairs up opposite to each other. Varric and Cassandra exchange worried looks, but their protests die the moment the mage settles down and swings her legs up on the second chair. Sera doesn't need another hint. She sets her bow and quiver aside to claim the bed for herself, hinting Varric to find a different spot as she spreads her legs and arms to take up the whole bed.
"So where am I supposed to sleep?" He sighs, looking at the floor.
Cassandra comes down sternly. "No."
He sighs again, looking at the chairs.
"Nope," the Herald says simply and closes her eyes, a smile pulling her lips. "Sorry, Varric. I claimed these first."
Uh huh. Not as nice as she plays.
When Varric looks back at the bed, Sera narrows her eyes and glares her warning. Says it, too, just to make sure nothing is lost in translation. "Arrows if you try."
"Oh, come on! I can't sleep while I'm standing!" He crosses his arms and frowns at Sera. "You're not going to sleep anyways." He nods towards the Herald. "You're just going to watch her all night."
That's not the point.
Sera's mouth opens, but no good comeback comes to mind. She scoffs and stuffs a pillow under her head. "Yeah? So? Got to be comfy while I do it."
Tension fills the silence. The room starts to feel a little hotter. She watches as Varric and Cassandra glance at each other, then look at the Herald 'sleeping' on the chairs. Sera inches to the edge of the bed to make sure her arrows are within reach, scooting faster when the mage's eyes snap open and she swings her legs off the chair. She waves dismissively when Cassandra starts. "Herald..."
"It's fine—I'm fine. You can have the chairs, Varric."
"Where are you going to go?"
"Outside. Perhaps there will be a vacant tent among the Inquisition scouts."
"And if there isn't?"
"Then I'll make my own camp; I'm well acquainted with it, so please do not worry."
"But—"
"Creatures of the night do not frighten me." The Herald heads for the door with confidence, her lips thinning in a rueful smile. "I'm the most dangerous creature out there."
That! That right there! That's exactly why Sera's scared of mages. This one doesn't even hide how terrifying she is. But a pang of guilt coils around the elf, squeezing her, making it hard to breathe when Cassandra and Varric frown at her—the Seeker's scarier with hers being out of anger, and the dwarf out of pity. But pity pisses Sera off. She scoffs and tugs the blanket over her head as she rolls on her other side.
"I will never understand why you remain with us if she frightens you so," Cassandra sighs.
"Someone's got to watch her and make sure she doesn't bust out into a demon."
"Oh? And you think you alone can stop her if she does?"
"Arrows stop anything." Sera growls, grateful the blanket is shielding her from the glare burning through. "You're not helpin' her be less scary."
It's still getting hotter, and harder to breathe. Anger lumps in her throat when she can feel the disapproval and the judgment in the air. The sounds of steel and leather pique her interest, and she has perfect visualization of what's happening when Varric asks. "Where are you going?"
"To the Herald. She has been on the run alone for long enough. She should not feel the need to now, especially by the people she is fighting to protect."
Sera bites her tongue. When the creaky door closes and the armored footsteps fade down the hall, she groans and rips the blanket down, looking at Varric. He's gearing up too, now. "We're going after them, aren't we?"
"I don't know about 'we', Buttercup, but I know I am." His smug tone and sly smile pisses her off. She huffs and burrows under the sheets again, thrumming with frustration when she listens to him leave too. All that work to get this room, and the daft tits leave just because the Herald likes to sleep outside anyways.
Guilt suffocates more than smoke.
Sera tosses and turns, her mind and heart torn into two, waging war upon themselves and each other. That's four bloody fucking wars. How the hell is she supposed to decide what she wants, or what she thinks is right? Where's the black and white? This whole mess is all manners of grey—complicated on top of complicated on top of complicated. Even if she simplifies one thing, it just makes something else ten times more complicated. She cusses as she throws the blanket off of her, forcing herself to grab her gear and move, scrambling to secure her breastplate.
"Wait"—she opens the door—"for me... Varric?" She stands, dumbfounded, as the dwarf leans against the wall beside the door, smirking.
"C'mon, Buttercup." He pushes off and waves as he strolls down the hall. "The Purveyor of Lies is incomplete without the Seeker of Truth to annoy."
"Y'know it's plain t'see you two like each other, right?"
Varric's laugh fills the hall. "Now that lie couldn't be further from the truth. Don't let the Seeker hear that if you want to keep your head on your shoulders."
-—-—-—-—-—-
Twigs crunch in quick succession, breaking Ember from her reverie as her gaze snaps to the intruders, surprised to see the Red Jenny among them. The rogue refuses to meet her eyes—but she smiles nonetheless, leaving her campfire to greet them. "Varric. Sera." She gestures to the lone bedroll on the ground. "I could only find one; best claim it now."
Varric and Sera exchange looks. They both break out into a sprint, trying to trip or push the other. Varric goes so far as to throw a couple caltrops to slow Sera down, who jumps over them, grabbing and leaping on to his shoulders, using him to launch herself forward like a game of leap frog.
"Yer a bloody dwarf! Sleepin' on rocks is your thing!"
"And you're an elf! Sleeping on dirt is your thing."
Cassandra groans from where she stands on guard duty. "Ugh..."
Ember shamelessly enjoys the show, smiling to herself as she takes her seat by the campfire. It's a deadlock as the two go toe to toe—their toes literally pressed together as they step on the bedroll as their means to claim it. The mage rests her elbows on her knees, folding her hands in front of her mouth to hide her growing smile. "I do believe this is a stalemate. There's only one way to solve this."
"Arrows." Sera promises passionately, and the dwarf's eyes widen when she actually makes a move to grab one out of her quiver.
Varric takes his foot off and holds his hands in surrender. "Whoa, whoa, alright! It's yours, Buttercup!"
Sera grins, catching the mage off guard when that grin is aimed at her. "That way, right?"
Er... Not at all what Ember had in mind, but she nods, chuckling when Cassandra pipes up. "You should have shot him anyways."
It seems the war among them will burn forever strong, but fire forges the strongest bonds; or so Ember prays. The alternative is they actually kill each other, which—judging by how often they're at each other's throats—is the more likely option.
Poor Varric has trouble figuring out where he's to sleep now, and she can't hide her smile anymore—especially when Sera sits by the campfire, blowing into her hands and rubbing them as she mutters about the cold. Ember keeps to herself, knowing her offer to sit by the rogue would most definitely be rejected, and instead uses the flames as a cover as she focuses their warmth to flicker in Sera's direction, rather than where the breeze dictates they go.
When the gentle wind rolls through next, carrying the fire away, Sera's face scrunches up in confusion—then suspicion, and her razor sharp eyes hone in on the mage. Ember reluctantly stops manipulating the source of heat; she should know by now that these sorts of stunts have never changed anybody's mind about mages. Not for lack of trying anyways.
"I'm sorry that I make you uncomfortable, but I only wish to help," Ember explains calmly. "I obey the tenets. I share your opinion in what the Chantry says; mages are dangerous, especially if they do not know how to harness the Maker's gift." She catches the worried looks Varric and Cassandra give her, but pretends she doesn't see them—Sera's silence screams her own opinion on the matter; and so too does her puzzled look. "But I know how to use my gift, and I use it to serve man—never to rule over him. You do not have to be scared of me."
"Y'just said mages are dangerous, but I don't hafta be scared of you?" Sera frowns. "Not makin' much sense, yeah?"
"She is no more dangerous than a frightened man with a sword," Cassandra interjects, "but she knows when to use that sword, and when to keep it in it's sheath."
Ember nods in gratitude for the eloquent confession, and that the Seeker came to her defense at all, watching Sera's face contort in conflict. But all the rogue does is go to her bedroll and turns in for the night; her silence—her answer.
None speak another word, left to the company of sordid thoughts. The fire mage lets the flames fizzle out and die, studying the embers sparking with potential to reignite. She wonders what exactly her parents thought when they too watched a fire, the moment they decided on her name—and what they thought when fire manifested in her palm instead of a pit. Did they curse themselves, believing it to be their fault? Or did they embrace it proudly? She will never know.
As the glow of the embers fade into the night, the fire mage searches the darkness for her companions. Cassandra's still standing dutifully, and Varric's sleeping against a log, Bianca always by his side. Ember's gaze lingers on Sera, still pleasantly surprised that the rogue gave up the comforts of a safe inn for this. Is she even sleeping, or is she keeping one eye and ear peeled for the mage?
Faith is all Ember has, hoping her fire will forge bonds—and not let this war among them burn until all that's left are ashes.
-—-—-—-—-—-
Mutters rouse Sera awake, but she pretends to stay asleep; not that she hears anything juicy anyways.
"Shall we return to Haven, or is there business you wish to conclude in the Hinterlands, Herald?"
"I'd like to ensure the crossroads are safe before we leave. The refugees and the Inquisition soldiers stationed there could use the help. We should lend our aid while there is still time and opportunity to do so—there's no telling what the situation will look like the next time we find ourselves in the Hinterlands."
Listen to her, rationalizing all patient and calm. Like the little people caught up in this mess don't matter nearly as much as the breach. What's the use of sealing the breach when there's nobody left afterwards?
Maybe Sera's being too harsh. She's happy they're at least going to take the time to help people, even if there's still no telling what kind of 'help' a mage will lend a hand with. Perhaps she could be helping destroy the entire bloody village, as stories often say, and help people die now rather than suffer later—like the life Sera took to end the misery.
But the Herald is the Herald of Andraste, and she deserves the benefit of the doubt because of that—not because the talk last night was persuasive and made Sera reconsider her stance, of course not. It's not that at all. Mages will always be scary and the Herald said so herself, reaffirming and proving Sera's right to feel what she feels.
...But the mage is right to feel what she feels too.
This is making Sera's head hurt again, and she tries to drone out the Seeker and the Herald as they blah, blah, blah. Boring. Then her ears perk at something damning. "I'll wake Sera while you wake Varric?"
No, no, no! Cassandra save her, please.
"Ugh. The dwarf will scream 'persecution' if my face is the first he sees at the crack of an eye."
"Ah," the Herald chuckles warmly, "you're right. I'll wake him up then."
Yes! Or no. Or yes? Sera could just suddenly stir and 'wake up', but then they'll be suspicious that she's been listening to them. Would that be such a bad thing? She can just admit she tuned them out because of their boring blah, blah, blah. She tries not to stiffen overmuch when a hand squeezes her shoulder—it's not firm or soft, and it's not telling who it is. Her stomach wrenches uncomfortably soon enough.
"Sera?" The mage shakes her gently. "Sera, it's time to wake up."
Pretending, Sera fakes a choked snore and jerks 'awake'. She twists onto her back to sever the connection the Herald has with her, eyes snapping open, and... Gawks. Raven hair brushes against the side of her jaw as the mage hovers over her with a smile—the right touch of sweet humility—that sends warmth rushing through her. Her flippant retort dies on her lips, lips that instinctively curl in a tiny smile of their own.
"Good morning, Sera," the mage greets pleasantly. "I apologize for waking you, but the day is short and we've many things we must accomplish before we return to Haven." The Herald leaves Sera's vision, and she's left staring at the scarred sky, listening as Varric is roused just as calmly. Shouldn't someone who breathes fire be more chaotic, or energetic? The fact she's subdued only makes Sera more suspicious, waiting for her to burst. This mage is definitely the weirdest of them all; maybe that's why Andraste picked her.
Sera looks over at the campfire, disappointed to find no breakfast prepared. She gets up slowly, sluggishly, not at all enthused to be awoken at the ass crack of dawn.
And her stomach growls at the mage's promise.
"I returned to the inn last night and the owner graciously exchanged our room for breakfast without extra fees incurred, so we'll head back there first."
"Yes!" Sera punches the air in triumph, grinning at the Herald. "Andraste picked right, alright. A bloody miracle."
It's the first time she sees the mage grin—bright and burning and joyful—too.
Maybe Trevelyan isn't so scary after all.