The day they arrived back in Haven was a beautiful one. The sun shone brightly and the day was crisp, perhaps one of the last good days before the harsh bite of winter arrived. Traveling merchants and mercenaries passed by the party every now and then, which relieved some of Cassandra's tension; they had to be coming and going from Haven, which meant that the Inquisition was off to a solid start, or at least not floundering.

There had been no further incidents since the run-in with the Tevinters, and Cyrnarel had been a lot quieter since that fight, offering no explanation for their behavior. They were silently thankful that nobody had pressured them to answer any questions, and Blackwall respected them enough not to challenge their place in the group. Still, it had increased the tension between them all, and the past few days on the road had been awkward at best, made no better by Cyrnarel's stress regarding horses (which had led the group to make more stops than they would have liked).

As they approached the town, however, everyone was anxious to get back to some warm beds and rest after such a long time traveling and their moods brightened in anticipation. Cyrnarel and Ellana especially were excited to get back, talking quietly amongst themselves at the back of the group, the most active Cyrnarel had been in days. Even Blackwall seemed to look forward to reaching Haven.

They dismounted from their horses by some newly built small stables near the town's blacksmith, and all took a moment to look at the activity around them. People of all sorts were walking along the paths, bartering with merchants (most of whom hadn't been here when they'd left) and going about their business. The sound of swords clashing came to them from a distance, and a hint of a smile pulled at Cassandra's mouth as she marveled at how quickly Cullen had gotten so many people in order.

The Dalish elves bounced on their toes anxiously, looking over the heads of the crowd around them in search of something; it was as if Cyrnarel had forgotten about the horse right behind them. There weren't too many people around, but being elves, the two were short and not familiar with places like this.

They were about to go off on their own when an elf with a shock of bright red hair came out from behind a few humans, grinning widely. Before they could say anything, he jogged forward and wrapped his arms around Ellana, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Mahanon!" she yelped in surprise, returning the hug just as tightly. The other four shared a few glances—they didn't know anything about the new elf except that he was Ellana's brother, since this was the first time they had seen him conscious.

"It's so good to see you again," he said, placing a kiss on her forehead before pulling back a short distance. "And you, ma vhenan," he said as he turned to face Cyrnarel, taking a couple of steps towards them and pulling them into a kiss.

"How are you? How have you been? What have you been up to? Are you alright?" Cyrnarel asked once they parted. They wouldn't have admitted it to anyone but Ellana, but they had been worried sick about Mahanon in the few weeks they'd been gone.

Mahanon's head twitched and he chirped a few times, prompting a concerned look from Cassandra. "I'm doing well, actually. Adan's a good healer. You'd hardly even know I was injured in the first place." He tapped a finger to the scars on his face. "All that's left is a few scars and aches."

Cyrnarel brightened up, a grin appearing on his face. That was a relief.

"I take it you haven't been bedridden this whole time, then?" Ellana asked, gesturing to the bow on his back.

"Oh! No, of course not! I was up not long after you left. Met a few people in town. Went hunting with some of them. But I have so many questions for you two. To start with, what in Mythal's name is all this about the 'Herald of Andraste'?"

Cassandra cleared her throat, drawing their attention back to her. "We have business to attend to," she said. "Leliana will want to meet with us in the Chantry. I suggest that you continue this conversation while walking."

They made their way to the Chantry, with Blackwall, Solas, and Varric coming up with excuses to head elsewhere, leaving Cassandra with the three other elves as they talked among themselves about what had been going on and what they had done for the past few weeks. Mahanon seemed fascinated by it all, and was particularly curious about the mark on Cyrnarel's hand, frustrated at what little they knew about it but intent on gleaning whatever information he could. By the time they reached the building he was fidgeting, looking like he wanted to change topics but stopping himself before the words reached his tongue, instead listening to more about their recent travels. The two elves conveniently left out the run-in they had had with Tevinters on the way back to Haven.

Once they were inside the walls, Cassandra sent a runner to find Leliana and she invited the elves to sit on one of the benches, though she remained standing. "I will not dance around the subject," she said sternly once they were seated. "Mahanon, what happened at the Conclave? Who caused the explosion? How did you survive?"

He coughed twice before answering. "No idea on any of it, honestly. We were there, Cyrnarel and I ran into the building, and… well, there were people there, but I only really remember a bright green light."

"And you don't know how you survived?"

He shook his head. "No. How did Cyrn survive? Whatever saved him might have saved me as well."

She let out a frustrated sigh. "We don't know, but we can probably consider all of you innocent, though the Chantry denounces your friend as a guilty heretic."

"I am a heretic," Cyrnarel pointed out, tapping their cheek.

"But you are not guilty." She hesitated for a moment. "Forgive me, but I must ask: Are you a 'he' or a 'they'? I am aware you are not a man, but…"

"Both."

"Both?"

"That's what I just said." Their tone held no anger despite their words. "Your shem gender shit is just weird. I don't understand your insistence on binaries."

"Oh. I see." Cassandra didn't seem to understand it fully, but she would respect them, at least. She addressed Mahanon again. "You recall more than Cyrnarel does. What people were there? What caused the bright light?"

He shook his head with a grimace. "I can't remember. I only had a moment to look at them before I had to try to survive."

"Try to survive?"

"Whatever caused the explosion was magic. I felt it before it went off, so I drew my weapon." There was a dagger belted to his hip, which he placed his hand on for a moment. "All I remember past that is fire."

The ruins of the temple had fostered plenty of fires for a good few days past the explosion, so it was no wonder he would remember the flames, surrounded by them as he was. "Surely you must remember something about them. Anything."

"Not really." His enthusiasm from earlier had diminished with the direction the conversation had taken.

Leliana chose that time to enter, striding in with an armful of papers and giving the group a polite nod. She and Mahanon had run into each other a few times, but past a brief questioning, they hadn't talked much. "It is good to see you all again. I notice you've found our Warden—good work. What did Mother Giselle have to say?"

"She wants us to go to Val Royeaux and speak with some Revered Mothers there," Ellana said. "We've got a list with names of those who might be willing to listen to us."

"Not that they'll back the Inquisition," Cyrnarel added. "The Chantry would never support a Dalish elf's efforts to do anything useful. But she said spreading doubt within the Chantry would help. So long as they don't hang us the minute we step into the city, we should be able to do that."

"Wait, what?" Mahanon asked, surprised and worried. "What do you mean—"

"They won't kill any of us," Cassandra said, stopping him before he could get himself worked up. "We should be safe enough within the city."

Leliana nodded again. "Good advice. Word's already spreading of your deeds, closing rifts and helping people displaced by the war. Orlesians may even start respecting the Inquisition sometime soon, and if we're lucky, rebel mages or templars may start taking note. Speaking of which, we might want to consider approaching one of those groups once they'll listen to us."

"The templars are probably our best bet," Cullen said, dusting snow off his pauldrons. He had entered the hall while Leliana was speaking. "They can help weaken the Breach, I'm sure of it, but we might have to get their attention first."

"We may still wish to consider the mages, Commander," Leliana said. "Mahanon, this is Commander Cullen. He's in charge of our forces here. He used to be a templar, but he left the order and has no further official ties to the Chantry."

Mahanon gripped Cyrnarel's hand tightly while chirping, and Cyrnarel gave his hand a squeeze. Templars had terrified him since before his magic had even manifested—both the previous First and the Keeper were afraid of them. "Nice to meet you," he managed, receiving a brief, distracted nod in response.

"Will the rebel mages even listen? They're likely too unstable to approach in the first place."

"We can make that decision when we get to it," Cassandra said. "For now, Val Royeaux holds our attention. Both factions should be considered once we return to Haven again, although I agree that the templars may be the wiser solution. Commander, have your men spotted any Tevinters in the region? We ran into some on the way back here."

This time it was Cyrnarel tensely gripping Mahanon's hand, Ellana shooting them a concerned glance.

"No, but I can tell my men to keep an eye out." Cullen took a step back. "Is there anything else important? The recruits' break should be just about over by now and I should get back to them."

"That will be all," Cassandra said.

"Cassandra," Leliana said after he was gone, "We've had a few reports of Tevinter cultists in northern Ferelden, though I had no idea they had come this far south. Venatori, they call themselves. I haven't been able to find out much about them, but there's a mercenary group that brought us some information. Some of my scouts have been watching them, and they seem honest enough." She turned her gaze to Cyrnarel. "Josephine says we have the coin to afford them. If we're fighting demons and now these Venatori, their help might be useful. But they are a bit… eclectic. Not that we aren't already a strange group ourselves, but we wanted you to confirm whether or not we should hire them."

Confusion crossed their face. "This mark on my hand doesn't give me some magical ability to determine the trustworthiness of shemlen. But if they're killing 'Vints, that's good enough, right?"

Leliana chuckled. "Actually, they're led by a qunari. Calls himself The Iron Bull, and the company is the Bul's Chargers. He turned Tal-Vashoth a few months ago; I wasn't able to turn up much except that it involved an exploded qunari warship."

"Tal-Vashoth means he left the Qun, right?" Mahanon asked.

"Yes. He used to be a spy, however, so I would be careful with him. He's the only qunari in the company, but there's some dwarves and elves, some even Dalish."

That was the first good news they'd heard in a while. Considering that their surroundings were devoid of any other Dalish elves, having some around would be a relief. "Where are they now?" Ellana asked.

"They've got tents set up with the rest of our troops. At the moment they're probably all either training or helping gather resources—they offered to help out during their wait. I can set up a professional meeting for later this evening, if you have the time."

"Good idea."

"For now," Cassandra said, "you two deserve your rest. We've been on the road a long while and should leave for Val Royeaux soon, preferably within two or three days.


The three Lavellans made their way to Cyrnarel's cozy little house, which already had a fire going in the hearth. After kicking off their boots, they promptly seated themselves on the rug in front of it, Cyrnarel dragging the blankets off the bed so they could wrap themselves up in them, and helped themselves to the fresh fruit that somebody had placed in the house. Regardless of the religious awkwardness, being the Herald of Andraste had some perks, at least.

Mahanon was having a hard time keeping still, leg bouncing as he sat between the other two elves and chirping and twitching more than usual. He tried and failed to conceal a grin, but didn't yet say what was on his mind.

Ellana went first. "You'll love to meet Solas and Varric, da'ean," she said, using the nickname she and their mothers called him. Little bird, it meant.

"Solas?" Cyrnarel screwed up their face. "He doesn't even like the Dalish. Not really. Thinks we're weird or something."

"Yes, but he's a mage!"

"They let mages into the Inquisition?" Mahanon asked.

"Yeah," Cyrnarel said, giving him a peck on the cheek. "He's an apostate, and never been to a Circle in his life. Might've been Dalish once, as a child, but he rejects that. Damned reasonable, though, and a good mage. Helped save your life when we… You're probably alive thanks to him."

Mahanon opened his mouth to say something, but reconsidered his words. "And Varric? Not the Varric Tethras?"

"The one and only," Ellana said around a mouthful of grapes. "Good storyteller and clever." She grinned suddenly. "He's nicknamed Cyrnarel 'Boots'."

The elf in question groaned.

"Boots?"

"They wouldn't wear anything on their feet until they got their old boots back." She snickered. "You should've seen them trying not to step on ice or rocks."

"Ellana!"

"It was funny!"

"It was not," they muttered, but didn't press the topic. "Oh, but nobody knows you're a mage, only Solas and Varric."

Ellana gasped and Mahanon tensed up. "You told them?" she asked.

"No! Solas guessed, and Varric was there too, and I'm shit at lying. But I trust they won't tell, and anyway, they don't know you're—" They stopped, glancing over their shoulder at a window and lowering their voice. "They don't know you're a blood mage."

Mahanon grimaced, mouth twitching. "I don't intend to let anyone know I'm a mage at all. I don't trust these shemlen, and especially not the templars, whether they've left the Chantry or not. I've made better friends with qunari so far anyway."

"You're already met Iron Bull?" Ellana asked, voice somewhere between awed and frightened.

"No, not him. A woman named Herah Adaar. She was here as part of hired security for the Conclave. She's really nice. Intimidating, but friendly. I've gone hunting in the mountains with her a few times now. Easy to get along when we both stick out."

"So what else has been going on here?" Cyrnarel asked. They poked at their lover's chest. "Don't think we haven't noticed you're binding."

He shrugged, smile returning to his face. "I've never tried it before, but I think I like it," he said. "At first it was just something I made quickly so that shemlen would use the right pronouns without having to be corrected, but I'm fond of this whole 'flat chest' thing. Does wonders for my appearance and confidence. I actually gave myself a proper haircut, too. Shorter than I'd like, but no more weirdness from… Yeah."

Ellana patted his shoulder. "Just don't strain your back too much, alright?"

"Yes, mamae."

"Speaking of the explosion," Cyrnarel started slowly, reminded by the mention of Mahanon's hair. "You were definitely lying to Cassandra. I honestly have no idea how I survived, but whatever you did, it was different. Supposedly I fell out of the Fade; you were caught in the blast and should have died. Not even you are that good at barrier spells."

Mahanon picked at a thread on the blanket around his shoulders; anyone else might have thought he was ignoring the question, but he was mulling it over in his mind. He wouldn't lie, of course, not to the two people he loved most, but it weighed heavily on his mind.

"There were a lot of people there, in the temple. I don't remember who they were or what they looked like, and I felt the magic before it went off, whatever that explosion was. That much is true. I don't really remember what I saw or felt specifically that made me panic, but I panicked. And…" He swallowed, voice shaking. "There were a lot of bodies on the ground. Some were dead, some were not. They might have been killed for plain conflict reasons, but considering the strength of the magic I felt…" He shook his head. "They might have been sacrificed for blood magic, or the mages were stronger or more numerous than I thought. That, or my memory's more wrong than I realize. It wouldn't be the first time."

"What are you getting at?" Ellana asked, stroking his arm. "Did you…?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "I used blood magic to strengthen my barrier. I was working entirely on instinct; had I stopped to think, I would be dead right now, and my…" He trailed off, holding his words for the moment.

Cyrnarel wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Vhenan'ara, you saved your life. You survived. That's important and you should not regret living."

"But I still killed them all. Using their blood, their life energy like that, it would have killed them."

"They would have died in the blast anyway."

"But I was the one to kill them."

"You made the right choice," Ellana said, kissing the top of his head. "You're here, alive and whole, thank Mythal."

A smile once again pulled at his lips. "And thank Sylaise," he said, causing the other two to look at him curiously. He let the grin return to his face as he placed a hand on his stomach. "I'm pregnant."

Silence filled the room as they took the time to process the information.

Cyrnarel recovered first, stumbling over words as they tried to start a few sentences. Failing that, they pulled Mahanon into a short kiss. "What?"

"I'm pregnant. You're going to be a parent. You," he said, looking to Ellana, "are going to be an aunt."

"You're pregnant," Cyrnarel repeated, a blank expression on their face.

"Yes. Pregnant."

"I'm so proud for you," Ellana said, pulling him into a tight hug. "You're going to be a wonderful father." She was practically beaming with her smile. "How far along are you? Are you doing alright? Any problems so far? Creators, but you are blessed, to survive that and have a child."

He rubbed the back of his neck shyly. "About a month and a half, which would have been a week or two before we left for the South. Everything's fine, though I've had to stop taking the potions for my…" He gestured to himself unhelpfully, searching for words. "The one that deepens my voice and whatnot. And I can't take the one to stop hallucinations, but I'm doing alright with that, I promise."

"You're pregnant," Cyrnarel said with awe.

"Is he? I hadn't noticed," Ellana teased.

Cyrnarel looked as if they were going to start crying. "I… wow. I can't… You're amazing and I love you," they said, pulling Mahanon in for another kiss.

Ellana stood then, throwing her blanket back on the bed in a heap and stretching her arms. She shoved on her boots and nabbed a few more pieces of fruit while Mahanon looked at her, Cyrnarel lost in thought. "I'll take my leave now," she said. "Just be ready when we meet those mercenaries."

She walked out the door and the two elves behind her kissed once more in front of the fire, spending the next few hours on their own.