Chapter VII - Blackwall
Genevieve took off so fast Blackwall barely had time to react. Go after her, was all he could think. And then when he heard the all too familiar sound of a rift tearing open and then saw the greenish tint the woods around them had taken, he understood what had drawn her into the forest.
Ahead, Genevieve had her staff out. He drew his sword, Lady's Grace, and then made sure his shield was strapped tightly to his arm. Behind him, the Prince had notched an arrow to his bow and Varric had Bianca ready to fire. They had left the elf by the road; Blackwall hoped that he had enough sense to hide.
Blackwall broke into a clearing where the rift had opened. Demons and Dalish elves were battling around the trees. Most of the elves were injured; many of them sprawled on the ground, dead. Those few left fighting looked ragged and fatigued.
For a moment, Blackwall panicked. He'd lost sight of Genevieve in the thick foliage. Then he heard her voice—her Inquisitorial voice, commanding and fearless.
"Keep the demon's busy; draw them away from the injured!" then a wall of ice shot up from where she was standing and cut off a rage demon from his quarry.
Blackwall didn't need to be told twice. He lifted his war horn to his lips and blew three sharp blasts. Then he charged the rage demon when it turned its attention towards Genevieve. His sword cut a blazing swath through the demon's strange flesh. The wound sizzled like a fire and then closed up almost immediately. Rage screeched and Genevieve hit it with an ice spell, Blackwall jammed his sword into its side while simultaneously bringing up his shield to block the attack of a hunger demon.
Varric took the hunger demon out with a quick succession of bolts. Blackwall turned back to Rage and pulled his sword free just as an elf with twin dagger landed on the demon's back and finished it off. That left Genevieve free to disrupt the rift.
Blackwall watched as she raised her hand and a silver-green line connected between the rift and the mark. She held it for a moment, face calm, almost peaceful—as if using her mark felt good. Then, she snapped her arm back and pulled as if she had hold of a rope and was jerking it free. The rift collapsed slightly before bursting back open, leaving the attacking demons stunned.
"Finish them!" Genevieve roared and then called a rock from the fade to smash into a dazed shade.
Blackwall turned to the nearest demon and shoved his blade into its chest. An arrow whizzed by his head and through a wraith. The wraith disappeared and the arrow pinned another demon to a nearby tree. The Prince jogged past and shoved a dagger into the demon's belly before returning to the safety of the woods.
An elf with twin daggers came up to Blackwall's back. "Shem," he greeted playfully. "You're a big fellow; think you could give a man a lift?" a new wave of demons were crawling their way out of the rift—one of them a Greater Terror.
"What do you mean?" Blackwall slashed at an oncoming shade. The demon screeched and fell to the ground before disappearing back into the rift.
"Hold up your shield and brace your knees." Then the elf ran at a hunger demon and killed it before turning around and heading full speed at Blackwall.
"Maker's Balls," Blackwall cursed the braced his legs and threw his shield out in front. He felt the weight of the elf hit the wood and iron and then Blackwall pushed forward to give them man more airtime. The elf flew up into the air and grabbed the shoulders of the Greater Terror, pulling the demon to the ground and then rolling clear.
Both Blackwall and Genevieve charged. She hit it with a fire spell before Fade stepping clear and Blackwall drove his sword into its chest. The scent of burning demon melted away as the Rift sucked the essence back up.
"Keep the despair off me!" Genevieve cried. She was being harried by a despair demon; she couldn't disrupt the rift with it attacking her.
Blackwall broke into a run, He saw Varric loading Bianca with more bolts, the Prince's quiver was empty and now he was using his bow to bludgeon a hunger demon.
The elf from before flung his dagger at the despair demon and missed. But it gave Blackwall the time he needed to get to the creature. He bashed his shield against the demon and it flew up into the air and danced away. A mistake, Blackwall nearly grinned. The other Dalish had been waiting for it; they attacked with brutal, synchronized, precision.
The rift faltered with the demons destruction. Blackwall turned to watch Genevieve raise her hand and close the rift up, her hand jerking back when it finally shut.
With the sky sown up, the greenish glow disappeared and the heavy presence of demons faded. It would take a few days for the beasts and birds to return here, but the woods were peaceful once more.
Blackwall breathed a sigh of relief and watched as Genevieve lowered her hand, looked down at the mark, before closing her fist and letting a slight, satisfied smile come to her lips. He went to her and looked her up and down for injuries.
"Are you alright, love?" he asked, she looked unharmed to him, but he could never be too careful.
"I'm fine," she told him. "Better actually." She examined her marked hand again. "It feels like I'm the wall of a dam and someone just turned the mechanism to release water—I didn't know all that pressure had built up." Then she closed her hand and looked him right in the eyes. "It was a good fight, I needed it."
It only crossed him as odd because she had never said anything like it before. Fighting and war had been her duty, not something she needed. But he chose not to say anything about it; he knew that sometimes the thrill of battle reminded you that you were alive. Fighting demons was a noble pursuit, and sometime the mark drew her to places, the rifts acting like a beacon. Perhaps this was how she always felt after taking care of a rift and this was the first time she had ever put voice to it.
He had no more time to think on it. The Dalish had gathered in the corner of the clearing. A few of them were speaking in their own tongue, it sounded like a debate was going on. An older woman with mage staff in hand seemed to have command of the elves. They obeyed when she gave them an order. Most of the elves melted into the forest, the woman and three others remained.
"Andaran atish'an, strangers," the woman turned to Genevieve, her arms spread wide in greeting. "I am Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel of Clan Lavellan. I would like to thank you for your aide and ensure you are friend and not foe."
Genevieve stepped forward. "Greetings, Keeper." She bowed slightly. "I am Inquisitor Genevieve Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, and leader of the Inquisition. We mean you no harm."
The Keeper nodded and pointed to the elf who'd used Blackwall as a springboard. "This is Mahanon," then she pointed to the other elf, he had a mage staff just as the Keeper did. "And this is my First, Sulahn."
"This is Serah Blackwall," Genevieve introduced them. "Serah Verric Tethras, and Prince Sebastain Vael of Starkhaven."
The Keeper seemed to find them amusing. "I have heard of you, Inquisitor Trevelyan, you're the woman who closed the hole in the sky. Quite an interesting party to be wandering the woods in the rain."
"Actually," Genevieve began, her voice taking on a new urgency. "We were on the road when we came upon an aravel. One of your people was hurt, but I healed him before the rift drew me in."
With the determination of a skilled leader, the Keeper turned to her first, "Sulahn, fetch a few hunters and go back to the aravel."
"Yes, Keeper," the elf ran into the woods.
"Ma serannas, Inquisitor."
"May I ask what happened, Keeper?" Genevieve put her staff back into the holster on her back. Blackwall sheathed his sword and slung his shield around onto his back.
The elder's face shadowed with sorrow. "We usually stay away from the main roads, but the storm pushed us off course. We were attacked, slavers, bandits—we're not sure. They gave pursuit when we ran into the…"
"Rift," Genevieve said.
"Yes, rift. It scared our pursuers off, but left us with demons."
"Put down five waves before you shems showed up," Mahanon chuckled slightly.
"They would have kept coming," Genevieve explained and held up her left hand. "My mark can close them up for good."
"Handy thing to have," Mahanon chuckled again.
Genevieve nodded and then another elven hunter came out of woods and spoke to the Keeper in Elvish. The woman excused herself and Genevieve turned to Blackwall.
"Someone should go get the horses. Hopefully Fiend hasn't eaten any of them."
"I'll get them," Blackwall offered.
"I'll help," the Prince said. He'd finally picked up the last of his arrows. Varric promised to stay with Genevieve.
As Blackwall and the Prince walked away, he heard Genevieve ask Mahanon if there were injured and if they needed an extra set of hands. Blackwall wasn't sure he trusted the elves, but he also couldn't see why they would hurt them. He decided it was best to focus on finding the mounts first. He could gauge the elves sincerity once all their supplies were accounted for.
Finding the horses was easy. Warden hadn't wandered far and Varric's mare had stuck close to the Prince's charger. Fiend was a bit harder. During their absence the beast had gone off into the woods away from the road and had somehow had loosened his reins enough that he could use his teeth and jaws more effectively.
They did eventually find him though. The dracolisk had caught a scrawny rabbit and was chewing happily on it when Blackwall approached. The creature let Blackwall tighten up his reins and led him back to the road.
By now the elves had taken their injured clan-mate away from the wrecked aravel. The other bodies had been collected too, along with anything of use. Now the Dalish, under the careful watch of the Keeper's First, were moving the broken aravel out of the road. The First eyed Blackwall and the Prince with great suspicion, as if he feared that they would attack the elves without provocation.
Blackwall mounted Warden. The big dun charger snorted and shook the water from his mane. The rain was finally beginning to let up, although the mud remained. Leading Fiend by the reins, Blackwall rode carefully back to the clearing.
The elves had set their camp up only a few yards away from where the rift had been. Three large aravels had been parked in a half circle. A makeshift pen was already being erected for the halla, cookfires were being lit, tents put up, and the injured were gathered around one of the aravels for treatment.
That was where he saw Genevieve. She was working at an aravel and grinding fresh elfroot into a paste while the Keeper healed the injured. He watched her do her work. She was a master herbalist, she knew everything there was to know about plants, and her magic made her potions and poultices all the more potent.
Blackwall took their horses and loosed them in the clearing, but he took Fiend and tied him to a tree where he would be in plain view but safe from curious elven children. Unsure of what to do now, he went back to Genevieve's side.
Although her healing skills were limited, she could work miracles with herbs and the war with Corypheus had given her a crash course in combat medicine. She knew enough to heal superficial wounds, stitch cuts, set bones, and ease pain.
Right now she was focusing her energy on a young elven boy. The boy's chest was cut and burned—a rage demon's work. She fed him a potion and then smoothed an elfroot poultice over the burns. He watched her smooth a clean cloth over the boy's forehead and then told him to lie still and rest; she gave him a sleeping draught and then went to help the Keeper with a dislocated shoulder. Many of the Dalish around her viewed her with eyes full of distrust, Blackwall understood why, but there she was healing their injured as if they were her own soldiers.
Blackwall sighed. This. He thought miserably. I forgot about this. Being Inquisitor—going out warring, fighting, nearly dying at every turn—it wasn't always about that. There was the part about helping people: healing the sick, comforting the grieving, ensuring the basic necessities of refugees were met.
And he had told her that she had done enough.
But people like her would never stop. She couldn't stop; it was not in her nature. Because she wasn't being the Inquisitor or the Herald of Andraste; she was being Genevieve Trevelyan.
And then he couldn't stand there and just watch her anymore. He asked if she needed any help. She looked up at him with battle worn eyes but still found it in herself to give him a smile. Before she could speak though, the Keeper looked up from her work.
"There is safety in numbers, Inquisitor. You would be welcome to spend the night in our camp."
"Thank you, Keeper, we'll stay out of your way," The Keeper nodded. Genevieve looked back up at Blackwall. "Could you get Varric and Sebastian and set up the tents?"
"I will try to find someplace dry, my lady." Blackwall called the two other men to help him with camp.
Blackwall picked a spot that was well covered from the rain, close enough to the elves so as not to take advantage of the numbers, but far away enough not to bother them. Varric got a cookfire going and began heating up a little bit of wine he'd bought from a shop in Kirkwall while Blackwall and the Prince set up their tents.
The hunter, Mahanon, brought them a freshly caught hare, cleaned and skinned. Blackwall skewered it and put it over the fire to roast. The rain made it difficult to cook, but by nightfall the rain had mostly let up and hare finished roasting.
Blackwall went to fetch Genevieve, but she told him they should eat without her. She was busy helping the Keeper with the injured. The slaver attack coupled with the rift had left most of the Dalish hurt in varying degrees. As dark settled over the forest, those with lesser injuries were being cared for. It would take them hours to see every injury dealt with; but Genevieve would put the needs of others above her own.
Hungry and tired, Blackwall went back to the fire and accepted a bit of hare and a cup of warmed wine. After they had finished eating, Varric and the Prince called it a night. Blackwall remained awake even long after most of the Dalish had gone to sleep. He told himself he was staying awake to watch the camp, but he knew there were guards in the trees and around the perimeter of the clearing. He was awake for Genevieve.
For weeks now he had been standoffish and cold. He'd accused her of running away from some problem she refused to tell him about. But maybe…maybe she was running towards something? Maybe she saw something in the Princess's disappearance that he could not.
He owed her an apology.
But as the hour drew later and later, he found himself nodding off where he sat. When the fire died he finally forced himself to bed.
XXXX
Blackwall wasn't sure how long he had been asleep when he heard Genevieve enter the tent. He sat up, the cold hit his bare chest like a wall raising the hair on his neck and arms. The wet forest had cooled the air to a temperature he was unused too at the height of summer.
"I'm sorry," Genevieve whispered, "Did I wake you?" She stripping her wet clothes off and hung them from the pole at the center of the tent.
"No, little bird," Blackwall whispered back. He'd set out her bed, blanket, and furs. It was difficult to remember that last time he had slept without her next to him. Down to her smallclothes, she pulled up the blankets and settled on to her sleeping pad.
Blackwall reached over and pulled her into his arms. She shivered and said; "Who knew it would be so cold?" She whispered and gently placed her hand on his chest. Her hands were warm and tingled with magic. Her warming spells were true heaven, he let the warmth settle deep into his chest.
He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and reached forward to kiss her. She smelled of fresh elfroot, campfire, and travel—although they both smelled like the sweat and dirt.
Blackwall kept her tightly wrapped in his arms, pulled her closer, and tucked her head under his chin. She laughed and tried to pull away, but he didn't let her go.
"You're beard tickles," she giggled and he relented, but only a little. He placed his hand over her cheek and felt her smile against his palm before whispering; "Okay, what's the matter?"
Blackwall sighed and kissed her again. "Today I saw you help those people," he muttered, keeping her face between his hands. He had spent hours ruminating on their ongoing disagreement; he still thought it was time for her to rest, to take a step back and let others do the work, but he could see why she felt so compelled. He should have seen it earlier; that was what he regretted most.
He took his hand from her cheek and took her left hand and pressed the mark to his lips. "You use this burden to save lives, sometimes I forget that."
She smiled knowingly. "I love you," she murmured and gave him a kiss of her own before settling against him and falling into the Fade.
He woke before Genevieve and he would have gotten up if he hadn't been so pleased with the way her arm was flung over his chest, her fingers curled around his shoulder as if she were holding onto him for dear life. She had rolled onto her stomach, her face turned towards him, her lips slightly parted, hair a fuzzy halo around her head. She looked so peaceful and he found himself wondering what kind of dream she had crafted for herself in the Fade. Something with him, he hoped.
In the predawn light he could see the shadows of trees and the quick, elegant movements of Dalish preparing the morning meal. The smell of breakfast made his stomach rumble. They would move on today, he thought. A good night's sleep surrounded by friends had done them some good. With the rift gone the clearing was peaceful and a part of him wanted to stay a bit longer, but they had a quest to get back too.
Gently, even though he didn't want to wake her from her peaceful slumber, Blackwall shifted onto his side and propped himself up with an elbow. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her temple.
"Going to need you to make me some tea," she muttered into a blanket, her voice husky with sleep.
"Aye," Blackwall kissed her ear. "Coming up," he got up, joints creaking and popping as he went. The long, daily rides and the wet weather had made all his joints stiff. He stretched and felt better, moving would make the stiffness abate.
Genevieve got up and started dressing. His stiff joints were making it hard to button up his tunic so she did it for him. "What's the matter, old man?" She laughed. "Can't keep up with us whippersnappers?"
"Just wait till it happens to you," he grumbled good-naturedly, "You'll just wake up one morning with nothing working quite like it used too." She kissed his nose and sent him out of the tent to start breakfast.
The Prince was up already. He was leaning against a tree truck, kneeling, his mouth moving in silent prayer. Blackwall let him be and got the fire going as best he could. The rain had transformed into a thick, heavy mist. Within minutes his coat was nearly soaked through, his hair was beaded with moisture, and a chill was settling over him.
He found himself missing Skyhold's weather the most. Even in the summer the castle was surrounded by snow but the river ice had melted and the sun reached them. Here in the forest the sun was blocked out by ancient trees and the storm had made the ground and air so wet breathing felt more like drowning.
After a great bit of smoking and fuss, the damp firewood finally caught. The fire was small and hardly useful, but it was enough to give a slight sear to a few chunks of salt pork and to toast some hard tack. The Keeper sent Mahanon over with some dried fruit and Blackwall gratefully accepted it as part of their breakfast.
Genevieve finally emerged from their tent when Blackwall had finished making her tea. The Prince finished his prayers and waited until Blackwall and Genevieve had helped themselves before he ate. Varric was the last to wake and the first to start dismantling his tent.
As they worked to clean up their camp they discussed their plans for the day. They would have to be careful if there truly were bandits or slavers about. After looking at a map they had decided that it would be another three days ride out of the forest, but only if the weather held. Another storm and they would have hunker down until it stopped.
Once they were packed and all their animals fed, Genevieve went to wish the Keeper well and thank her for their hospitality.
"And thank you for your help," the Keeper smiled. "You are a friend to Clan Lavallen, and to show this I have asked Mahanon to guide you out of the Planasene."
Blackwall knew Genevieve would refuse. "I can't take one of your hunters, Keeper. My companions and I will be fine."
The Keeper shook her head. "Mahanon will take you to the border of the forest near Cumberland. It will be good for him; he is a…rather energetic boy."
The Keeper's First seemed to dislike the plan most of all, going so far as to voice his opinion in angry elvish. She responded with; "We always help those who help us, ma enansal." She turned to Genevieve. "He is a hunter, Inquisitor; Mahanon will find his way back to us as soon as he sees you safely to the forest border."
"Very well, Keeper, thank you." Genevieve bowed politely and the Keeper called Mahanon over.
"Da'fen, gather your supplies, you're to guide our friends out of the forest as we discussed last night."
"Yes, Keeper," the elf seemed happy to hear the news.
"Take them down safe paths and remember to mark them."
"Yes, Keeper."
"Now go on, child."
XXXX
Genevieve gave Fiend a light smack on the rear. "Not food, you beast." She growled as the dracolisk eyed Mahanon's mount with predatory eyes. The elf rode a great red hart, its haunches painted with blue stripes. It was a noble creature, Blackwall thought, beautiful and perfect for the rough terrain of the forest. Genevieve rode next to Mahanon, Blackwall and Varric behind them; the Prince guarded their rear, his bow at the ready just in case a nug or rabbit should go by.
The damp air still persisted but Blackwall could see patches of sun through the leafy canopy. He hoped that Cumberland would offer a more arid climate. Cumberland would mark their entry into Nevarra. If they continued to follow the Imperial Highway it would take them into Orlais then back up into Nevarra before the Blasted Hills and the Anderfels. The Imperial Highway was the long route; the Prince had admitted that if he knew his wife as well as he thought he did, then she had most likely cut a path through Nevarra, instead of taking the Highway. They still had some time to think about it though, it had been decided that once in Cumberland they would make their final decision.
Mahanon was telling Genevieve a Dalish folktale; something about the Dread Wolf and a bear. When the story was finished he asked her about her mark. Genevieve explained it to the best of her ability, although the elf seemed to have lost interest by the end of the story.
"Just before the Conclave, a few of the Clans met up to discuss how the Mage-Templar war would affect the Dalish." Mahanon said after a while of silent riding. "Sulahn and I offered to go but they sent two others from a different Clan. Guess we were lucky we didn't go."
"It was horrible," Genevieve said grimly. "Sometimes I can still hear the screams." She'd expressed as much to Blackwall before, but she was always unwilling to discuss the Conclave any more than she had to.
To lighten the mood, Mahanon asked about Fiend and the two began a long and endearing conversation on their mounts.
Before long it was time to make camp. They ate a cold supper of hard tack and jerky, Mahanon chose to take the first watch and Blackwall the second. When it was his turn for watch, the elf hopped down from the tree he'd been in.
"There was a light in the distance—a fire, I think. Not sure who it belonged to, but it's gone now."
"If it's slavers than the Inquisitor will want them dealt with." Blackwall told him.
"I noted the location, we can check the sight in the morning." And then the elf pulled himself back up into the tree with another blanket and fell asleep.
Blackwall's watch was uneventful. Genevieve had taken the final watch, when Blackwall woke he found her conferring with Mahanon. They ate a quick breakfast and cleaned up camp. Even though it would take time, they had decided to check out the camp Mahanon had seen in the distance.
Mahanon went to scout ahead, his hart moved almost as swiftly and silently as he did. He came back and told the Inquisitor; "You should probably see this,"
They found the camp nearly a mile away from where they had bedded down for the night. There were five bodies, each with varying degrees of injury. Genevieve dismounted Fiend and examined the first corpse.
"Slavers," she said after pulling up the man's sleeve. He had a tattoo of a Tevinter dragon, a length of chain drawn in black ink underneath it. This particular slaver had had his head broken open. Some of the injuries were less gruesome, but no less fatal. One had been stabbed through the stomach, another had his throat cut.
"Well, can't say I feel sorry for them, Maker take them." The Prince muttered and then said a prayer; Blackwall noted that it was not for the slavers, but for their victims.
"Infighting, maybe?" Varric asked.
"There's one set of horse tracks," Mahanon noted. "And five sets of prints over there," he pointed to a bush had been clearing tramped down.
"I think they might have stumbled in on the wrong person," Genevieve mounted Fiend and turned away from the destruction. "There are probably more of them out there somewhere. We better keep our guard up." She turned to Mahanon. "Mahanon, I know your Keeper told you to take us to the border, but now that we know its slavers, something must be done. Varric, can I barrow some parchment and ink?"
Varric dug around in his bag and handed her a piece of paper and his inkwell and quill. She used her saddle as a board and quickly wrote a note. She took a stick of green wax from her bag and gently melted it on the paper before carefully pressing her ring to it. She gave it a second to dry before handing it to Mahanon.
"Speak to your Keeper if you must, but I ask you to take that the Kirkwall or any other city and put that in the hands of the first Inquisition soldier you see, a scout preferably. If they don't listen then tell them Nightingale's littlest bird spotted a pack of wolves in Planasene. They'll see this letter sent to Skyhold and hopefully send out a patrol."
Mahanon smirked. "A pack of wolves?"
"Rabid ones." She growled. Blackwall smirked. She had always said that once stability had been returned to Thedas she would turn the Inquisition's All Seeing Eye towards slavers.
"Alright," Mahanon then dipped his finger in the inkwell and took her hand. "Head north from here, in two miles you should come across a hunter's trail. Once you find a tree marked with this symbol," he drew it on top of her hand. "You've found the path. Follow it and it should lead you to the main road."
"Okay," Genevieve nodded. "Be careful,"
"You too, Inquisitor." Then they parted ways.
When the elf was out of sight and earshot, Genevieve mounted her dracolisk, turned to Blackwall. Her blue eyes had turned wild and wrathful—he'd seen that look in the Arbor Wilds and before the final showdown with Corypheus. She would not be deterred from her course, nor would she let up her attack.
"Let's hunt some slavers," she growled; a beautiful and righteous snarl on her lips. Blackwall couldn't help but smirk. Woe to the Inquisition's enemies, and he spurred Warden after her.
And a nod to my beta. Thanks for reading!
