[APOLOGY: This is also a long one. I promised I wouldn't do this to you guys but couldn't find a good place to divide this one into two separate chapters. Hope the content makes up for the length. (This wc will not be common)]
OASIS (SOLASLAN)
They had called the previous area leading to their secret the spiral mines, which were winding tunnels decked with ladders and torches which led to an entrance to a remarkable temple. Grey and naturally-colored with a door the shape of a key. The first time he had seen it, Zanrye's breath had been taken away. He was astounded by it, almost able to feel the weight of its history and lack of preservation. It was awesome…looming over them as a grandparent welcoming the young ones. Zanrye was anxious to hear its story. And now he walked through the entrance with four others, his shirt blowing gently as the wind from the ever-running waterfalls hit him.
This temple of Solaslan was marvelous and magical. Zanrye had been at the Oasis for the past two weeks now, collecting shards to get the doors open. As soon as they had made the treacherous journey though the tunnels to here, he had known he would do whatever it took to see what was inside. Though the front outer doors were indeed open, the other rooms were not. That was, until today when three shards had moved the first spirit door, getting it to open for them only to reveal the dangerous as well as reward the risk with runes and gold.
He went to the beautifully clear blue water at the pool and wiped the blood from the giant animals he had killed from himself. So too had he needed to kill wraiths and horrors. They had gotten only so far in and encountered yet another door after the initial spirit door that too needed shards to be opened. Solas had told him that each of the doors meant something—they had gone through spirit. The next set of doors was cold and the last was fire. Zanrye trusted him to know. The temple was his namesake, as it were.
An elven scout came up to him with a bow and offered him a scroll of parchment. Zanrye thanked the man and dried his hands on his pants before unraveling it. It was from Josephine about the state of affairs back at Skyhold. Cassandra was still at the camp though Vivienne had gone back. But in exchange, they sent Sera to man the forward camp with Cassandra. He could only imagine how much his Second was being annoyed by the devlish elf.
"You get a lot of them. Only been a week yknow." The woman said. He looked up to her from where he sat. Her name was Tiana, a miner skilled at the bow. She had the marking of Andruil on her face. Zanrye shrugged as he looked from her to the parchment in turn.
"There's never a moment's rest when you're the Inquisitor." He said mildly.
"Such a fancy title." She smirked. "Inquisitor."
"The one that comes with the organization's name." Zanrye said bluntly, not in the mood to banter with someone about his status.
"And with that fancy hand of yours." She continued. Her skin was fair and her hair was brown and wavy. It reached her shoulders just about. Her eyes were plainly brown as well. Before Zanrye could dismissively speak of his mark, she continued, "And I've seen what it did to those demons…from inside the temple. You opened the fade…."
"That's not something I have complete control over yet." Zanrye said, standing now. "We're calling trainers for these things…who I'll speak to after we've managed to open the temple."
He didn't wait for her to respond but started to pick up his sword. He barely bent over when Tiana bent down instead and grabbed it before he could. She grasped it in her fist, her body slowly rising to stand erect once more, her eyes never leaving his. She gripped it a moment before daintily offering it to him.
"It's heavy." She remarked. He took it, eyeing her and shaking his head.
"It's supposed to be." He replied and then walked past, knowing her eyes were on his back. He'd gotten that vibe from her since he entered the camp. And he felt a vibe being emanated from himself. Some people simply clicked, at least carnally. But he knew he would not indulge. He didn't know this woman, nor she him, and she was not a whore either.
That…and he couldn't help but picture Josephine's face whenever he bothered to flirt back.
"Keeper," Zanrye bowed his head to Keeper Mithlanel. "I'm going to head out into the mountain range and retrieve some more shards. Those we found in the Hinterlands are on their way as well, with one of my elven partners. Her name is Sera. She's due here soon."
"Excellent, excellent." Keeper responded. "We are grateful as always Inquisitor Lavellan." He paused. "And it has been nice having you here with us…. I did indeed have my doubts about you near the beginning, as I'm sure you had about Biloro."
"They're unfounded." Zanrye said truthfully. "And it's been nice being here. You've been more than welcoming. Though I'd prefer the woods to the desert."
"Wouldn't we all." Keeper chuckled. "mythal guide you out there. We await your return."
Zanrye made his way to the more secluded shrubbery to see Solas nearly dressed. He stood before the man who slowly pulled his shirt over his head in a methodical way.
"I didn't know your clothes came off, Solas." He stabbed at him. Solas's head turned his way and the roll of his eyes was almost too much for Zanrye who couldn't keep the grin off his face.
"I didn't know yours would stay on." Solas said lightly, his own jab subtler. He grabbed his staff and walked to Zanrye from the hammock bed he had made. As the two walked across the water to their horses, Zanrye spoke.
"You could sleep in the tent they've provided."
"I would not feel as comfortable as you do." Solas replied. "I am accustomed to more open areas. Besides, I am not who they have welcomed to it. You are."
"And you're my "extension" so by that channel, you are entitled to the tent." Zanrye said. "If you'd rather stay outside, I understand. It's nice at night. But if you'd rather sleep on actual cushion, the tent is open."
Solas did not respond but he did not have to. Zanrye had said his piece. He got onto his own horse and Solas on to his and the two men, alongside three from clan Biloro (Tiana included) made their way out into the blistering desert in search of more shards to open the remaining doors.
14 YEARS EARLIER
Rista's eyes were troubled today. Her short hair kept getting into them even still. There were too many Templars…to many Nevarran hunters…and too many unknowns. Zanrye knew that as well as any others. And still he did not want that worry to be in his mother's eyes—the startling grey that mirrored his own.
"The squabbles of the humans have nothing to do with us." Narvez told her as 17 year old Zanrye readied breakfast. His sister was yet outside, playing with Po no doubt. She milked the halla earlier today; Zanrye now used the same milk to coat the pan, readying it with oil for the flour and butter to follow, in order to make the cakes.
"No, but they have everything to do with the territory." Rista shot back. "If it isn't a Chantry Templars coming through, it's yet another guard of the Monarchy. The site isn't worth being in the thick of their own investigations over who owns the territory it sits on; and their own miners and merchants visit the ruins themselves. If any mage is brought, they will be able to sense the Keeper's entourage. Even she says so."
"And if they do?" Narvez reasoned. "We stand ready for any attack on our settlement with two other clans within a few hour's reach who may come to our aid if need be."
"The very same who also don't want us to carry along fifty mages." Rista responded.
"Fourteen." Narvez corrected. When Rista leveled him with a glare, he sat as well, saying, "We've always had trouble with the humans, Rista. That's inevitable. And them fighting and bickering amongst each other does nothing to compromise our situation. Nor do the teams they send to investigate the ruins. There were teams like that near the Dales."
"I'll just feel better when we move." Rista replied and stood from the table. She walked over to her son and Zanrye was waiting for her, flipping the cakes in the metal circular skillet over the contained fire. She kissed his temple and rubbed his hair gold-brown hair, her pale hand contrasting his own olive-toned skin, now almost fully brown since they'd been out in the sun all season. She wrapped the other arm around his shoulders. He was taller than her. "I'm sorry. I know I said I'd make them today."
"It's alright ma." He said to her, placing the two to the side and starting on another. "I knew you'd be going at it for a while."
"You agree with me don't you?" She asked him.
"I don't…really want to leave." He said. "And I do think baba's right about our defenses. This isn't the first time shems have gotten violent with us—around us." Rista winced.
"Don't use that word around your sister." Rista scolded. Zanrye just gave her a look and then peered around his sister-less house. Rista rolled her eyes and continued, "This is also the first time humans have been on either side of us, each going through our territory in order to get to each other."
"True," Narvez spoke up, standing as well. "But again, that is their own quarrel. We won't get stuck in the middle if we operate by ourselves."
"And for how long must we live adhering to the humans' travel patterns?" Rista snapped. Her temper was one prone to flaring in the face of stupidity or danger. Zanrye knew he got his own from her. She now leveled Narvez and Zanrye with a glare as she spoke, "Are we to live out a year, two—ten—in fear that the humans will confront us? Are we going to have to limit the space for our ram, our halla, our childrens' playgrounds? What about finding a site for the vallaslin rituals?" She was indignant. "We have come a long way from dodging around humans. Are we to revert to the practices of city elves and pretend we live in an alienage—a place owned by the shems that we are forced to build our lives in?"
She has shamed the two of them into silence. She inhales deeply at their guilty yet not submitting stares and then shakes her head.
"I…will feel better…when we leave this place." She said again, going to the wardrobe to pick up her bow and arrow. She was a senior scout and field healer for her team. Narvez was a senior hunter. Zanrye's father had been a gatherer—those who'd accompanied scouts on their missions so that they could gather the needed herbs for the camp—before he became a full-time healer.
She said nothing as she assembled her pack and bow quietly. Zanrye just stood there before he took two cakes, sprinkled sugar on them, and wrapped them in a waterproof skin. He walked to the door where she stood, the meal in his hand, his face expressionless. His mother took it, kissed him quickly on the cheek, and left. Zanrye looked to his father who just sighed heavily, sitting back down. Zanrye said nothing as he took the remaining cakes and set them before the two of them so that they could have breakfast.
PRESENT
OASIS
The cliffside was steeper than the rest and dangerously high above the shifting rocks beneath them. Zanrye's arm shook after so much climbing that day. He hoisted himself over the edge and crawled slowly to his feet. One of Keeper's people (Menriel was his name) followed, then Solas, then Tiana, then another from the camp (her name was Hikal). The five of them panted as they tried to compose themselves. Zanrye saw it instantly, though Solas got to it first.
"The shard." He said, picking it up and handing it over to the Inquisitor.
"Then one more…until the next set of doors should open." Zanrye said through heavy breaths. "And if Sera brings the rest of the shards, that might be all we need for all doors."
"If there are more than two." Solas told him.
"We should be prepared for there being at least three more." Zanrye said simply and Solas gave him a nod of understanding.
"I've never seen the Hinterlands." Tiana said. "We never lived there…what is it like?"
"Before or after the Templar-mage war razed it?" Solas asked back snappily. Zanrye lazily hit him with the back of his hand to stop him.
"It's actually nice." He said. "Without the fighting…lots of forests, trees, streams, hills, cliffs, settlements. There is a lack of proper gems but there a many different flora…and fauna."
"Sounds like the home we left." Tiana said.
"Where'd you leave?"
"Someplace far from here." She replied shortly. "It was nice there…lush…greenery up to your knees every day. We were swimming in it all." In a moment, she changed the subject, as if moving away from something painful. "So…what's a hunter like you doing championing Sylaise anyway?"
"Why do you think I was a hunter?" Zanrye shot back. Her own face was decorated by Andruil.
"Because you don't feel like a scout but you belong out in the wild—hunting for something." Tiana said frankly. Zanrye eyed her and then the two others who were also waiting.
"Because Sylaise is survival." He said plainly. He looked at his marked hand and then back at them. "And as you can see, she has blessed me thus far."
PRESENT
OASIS (SOLASLAN)
The terror charged him. The flurry surrounded him, engulfed him as his sword impacted flesh. He went through and swung in a circular motion, catching all enemies in his path. The shield was held around him via Solas. Tiana kept her back arched, her posture poised as she shot arrow after arrow into the countless wraiths, terrors, and number of vile demons awaiting them in the room.
The veilfire colored the walls a green-blue and Zanrye felt the familiar charging within himself as he and the other elves assaulted their foes one after another. The claws of the rift demons tore through his chainmailed legs as others bounced harmlessly off of his battle armor. He lithely hopped back just one step, calling out for his team to get ready.
And then the rift came to life. Green surged from his outstretched fist and the breach was felt by all—mage or no. The demons shuddered—wraiths, wisps, the arcane horror, and more. They fought the pull that sucked their lives from their constructed flesh, crying out as it happened. Zanrye brought his sword arm around to the horror—their greatest foe at this time—and sent the blade halfway through its head. It grabbed for his armored arm to no avail and was violently jerked back into the fade from which it came.
Not all were taken down so easily. Zanrye tried to catch his breath as Solas froze the two remaining and Menriel shoved his two blades into one, shattering it. The other was much the same, pierced through by electricity from Solas's staff.
There was stillness. Zanrye tried to recompose and walked slowly to the treasure awaiting them in the center of the room as Solas instantly went to more writing on the walls. The middle chest looked like a coffin yet it was not. It was an offering, or something to be used for worship. He placed his hands on the lid and pushed it as he had done three more just like it.
Inside were weapons, blades made of the brightest metal he ever saw. And bracelets. And gems. And notes—notes everywhere, even runes here and there. There was a jewelry scattered, craftsmanship of the highest quality but design revealing its old nature.
"We'll take these back and inspect them." Zanrye said slowly. "We should regroup."
"Are you okay?" Tiana asked him. He nodded.
"Tired." Zanrye replied. "We'll do the next door in a bit."
The group left the way they came, up the stairs and through the two previous entrances until they reached the foyer which led them back out into the dimming sun and calm waterfall. Zanrye breathed deep, his head clearing. He knew he was getting the hang of conjuring rifts but he needed a trainer—soon.
"Keeper believes we nearly reached the last of the doors." Tiana said behind him as he washed his face. He looked at her and then nodded slowly.
"Good." He replied. "I'm knew, together, he and Solas can make sense of all the writing." He shook his head. "Don't even know where he learned to read it…but that's Solas for you."
"He wants to celebrate our progress." Tiana continued, coming to sit where he had on a rock near the stream—somewhat secluded. "Hunters are already out, going to bring back our stored grains and hunt for some dragon meat." Zanrye leveled her with a look that made her laugh. "Well not dragon meat but something of equal taste."
"You all don't need to do that." Zanrye said.
"We're doing it for all of us." Tiana said reasonably. "And you are a part of that. If you hadn't… shown up to help us, we would have had to move on. And we'd never have uncovered all of this —especially before some shems got their hands on it."
"I suppose." Zanrye said tiredly, thinking. He turned to look at her for a brief moment and they spoke at the same time.
"Where did you come from?"
"Did you leave anyone behind?"
The two of them stopped and then Zanrye inhaled, smiling. He looked at her again.
"Do you want to start?"
"You can." Tiana laughed. "I was just flirting." Zanrye smirked and then thought.
"Why don't you want to talk about where you came from before you came to the Oasis?" Tiana surprisingly kept the smile on her face.
"Guess I couldn't dodge that forever." She said with a submitting sigh. But her smile and her voice did not reach her eyes. They were dark. Sad. "I left someone behind…back on the other side of the world. A lot of people actually. Left my family—two brothers and a mother. Father was lost at sea or something." She shrugged. "They all died." Zanrye held her stare.
"How?" He asked her, not the slightest bit subtle or tactful.
"How do you think?" Tiana snorted. "Shems and their city elves."
14 YEARS EALIER
It had been a few days and the excavation of the ruins was well underway. Zanrye kept to his shadowing of the hunters of the clan, getting ready for his time when he too would join their ranks. His mother yet fretted but not as loudly as she had a month ago. Keeper announced they'd probably move on in due time—predictable time—and that seemed to ease her mind.
The day was like any other in that area and Zanrye awoke and began on the needed repairs to the house while Mima went about wrestling the goats back into the corrals.
He was on their roof—made of only leather and wood in a way that indicated this was not a long-term settlement. He balanced, threading rope into the nooks and crannies. His mouth was full of more of it and adhesive was tucked under his arm. It was nearly midday. It was hot.
His mother was home rather than on a scouting mission. She had a meeting with the keeper today, to discuss how to reassemble the routes to take, judging by the scattering patterns of the shems on their course. They must remain safe….
She came out to her son and had a two cups in her hands. She whistled up at him and he looked down at her and smiled. He slowly climbed down just enough, leaving the adhesive at the top of the roof. He swung out to grab the cup and, spitting the string out of his mouth, downed half of it in a gulp. It was made of some fruit he recognized but couldn't name. Probably there to mask the healthiness his mother embedded in the drink.
"Careful." She warned.
"I am, I am." He said. "Almost done with the connections so then we'll be set for the next few weeks." Tsked. "I swear; I don't know how Reynard did it that time. It lasted for months."
"I'm sure you'll do it just fine." She said, indicating he would not be able to get out of doing the chore; she kept close to the ladder so he could grab the second without swinging. Both were for him. "Are you going out still today to get the list from Keeper?"
"Yes. In an hour or so I should be headed there. In the meantime, when I'm done with this, I was thinking of going with Po to see about the border."
"What for?"
"Only to mark it." Zanrye said nonchalantly. "We do it at every location, ma—this one won't be different. It's just something we like to do. And we'll be careful." In truth, it was to scope out the area so they could find the best access points for entering and leaving the city unnoticed with their justice-driven torture victims. But his mother didn't need to know that.
"Well don't get in sight of any humans." She warned unnecessarily.
"Yes mama." He handed her his cup and took the second one now. "And what about you? When do you think you'll be home tonight?"
"Well, before you." Rista said simply. "If you're going with the gatherers to pick up the herbs on Keeper's list then you'll be going further west and I'll be here all the while at the meeting then back home to make dinner. Do you want onions or green peppers?"
"Peppers." Zanrye answered. "Are we eating white meat or red?"
"Of course red." Rista smirked. "Wouldn't want you to have your tantrum."
"We've had white meat all week." Zanrye said, exasperation slipping into his voice but leaving as a laugh came to him. He handed her the next empty cup. "Okay well I'll be sure to bring you more garlic and sage when I come home." He smiled at her. "I may even find another gem for your sculpture at the ruins."
"Da'len, if you go anywhere near the ruins—" She started but Zanrye laughed her off.
"Joking." He smiled, climbing back up the ladder. "But I may find one by the edge of town anyway. Not from near the ruins. I prooomise."
She seemed to take that as enough of an answer and then made her way back to the house with one last, "be safe" and a knowing, motherly glare that came accompanied by a smile.
PRESENT
OASIS (SOLASLAN)
There was supposedly one final door to go through. Yet the light was no longer upon them in the Oasis and so they had called it a night. The feast Tiana spoke of was upon them.
Zanrye had knocked out for most of the day following and when he woke up, it was to harps and lutes echoing music throughout the entire space, overpowering even the rushing of water. And there was another sound—reminiscent of singing almost…. What was it?
He sat up, grabbing his belt to secure his tunic and grabbed the footwraps he wore in this area as opposed to the boots he wore otherwise. He pulled back the flap and saw sparkling torches of orange and blue light—mage light and nature light. It was dark otherwise but he looked up to the stars twinkling down at them.
"You arise." He heard Solas say and saw that the man was sitting cross-legged before the entrance to his tent.
"And you aren't at your private enclosure." Zanrye said back, helping the man to his feet. He looked at the various elves—not too many but enough—walking to and fro, here and there, with meat wrapped in skins rather than on wooden ovals to plate them. He smelled meat and zesty seasoning as well as something minty.
"There is a celebration." Solas told him, smiling slightly. "Such a time is something to be observed, experienced—not hidden from."
"You don't strike me as the type of man who'd like to party—especially with non-mages." Zanrye said, his voice slightly teasing. Solas was good-natured.
"There is magic in gatherings such as this." Was all he said before he gestured his head to the figure coming to them. It was the Keeper, who smiled.
"I was just coming to wake you, Inquisitor." He smiled jovially. He held out a cup to Zanrye who took it with a bow of his head. "We have begun to plate but would like you to maybe say a few words."
"I'm not the best for speeches but I will try." Zanrye said, the light, breathy sound louder now. He looked around but couldn't find the source. "Keeper Mithlanel…what is that sound?"
"Oh." The keeper smiled. "It's very lovely, isn't it? It's one of the artifacts from the temple—nearly perfectly preserved as it was made from the magic containments of clay and wood. The glass is of course broken but the sound would be louder and richer with it."
"Who is playing this?" Zanrye asked. "It's nice. If I could see it…."
"It plays itself, lethallin." The Keeper chuckled. "You may see for yourself. It and the many other treasures from the find today. They will not all be kept by us, and you may take what you like out of the entirety of it—within reason. These finds have revealed more than we all could have hoped for in fact."
"Was there more than the treasure itself?" Zanrye asked. "I only surveyed some of it…I was tired after the battle…."
"There is a lot more than what there appeared—this chest was much deeper than the first." The Keeper said. "And there were documents that are of great importance to our Clan and at least a dozen others." He waved his hand. "But that can all be sorted out and talked of after the celebration. I want to thank you and Lavellan…for all you have already done for us here."
"There's still another door—or three." Zanrye reminded the man but still squeezed his hand in return. The man shook his head.
"Here's to the first two doors—or six." He said kindly. With that, he led the two elves to the thick of the party and Zanrye could feel the flurry taking him over. He knew that he should remain dignified and act as Inquisitor—even now. But the nostalgia was beginning to hit him. The elves all around him, playing tunes he knew of, dancing in ways he could recall, speaking the language of his ancestors.
"Don't let me get too drunk, Solas." He whispered to the elf, taking a sip of the drink the man had brought him. It was made of lemons and cranberries he could tell. The bittersweet.
"I will watch over you." Solas said calmly, smiling at the commotion around him.
"And try not to jump into bed with any of our potential allies." Zanrye teased as Solas's eyes lingered on a passing woman.
"I would say the same to you," Solas said frankly. Zanrye scoffed and as if on cue he could see Tiana approaching. He smiled as she came to them, a plate of something delicious in her hands.
"Will you dance for food?" She asked him, smiling.
"For that food, yes." Zanrye played along and followed her into the middle of the green area where the festivities were held. He quickly began to kick out and spin her, letting the elven rhythms take him.
"You're not a stranger to dancing. Not what I expected of an Inquisitor." Tiana said to him over the commotion, swaying with her back to him and his hands at her hips.
"I'm Dalish first." He said to her, manipulating their feet to glide together. She seemed to be content with that response and instead let the music take them.
14 YEARS EARLIER
It happened too quickly. He should have been there. But he wasn't. He was out doing errands for keeper when suddenly, their hunters were with them and telling them of an attack with their clan being in the middle of it.
Zanrye was scared and angry, grabbing his somewhat crude greatsword that he'd bought from a merchant back in true Orlais. His first thought was to Mima. He didn't know what she was doing today. People were panicked and testy. No one would tell him. Where was she!?
But then he'd found her and hugged her tight and asked her if she'd seen their parents. She told him she was going to ask him the same thing.
That's when the arrow had come. It hit one of the horses in the back and it nearly unseated its elven rider. Zanrye crouched, heart pounding. He heard the shouts of shems left and right. Mima was quivering next to him. She was without her bow or even a small blade. She had been on her way to the mage enclosure with a friend. There was no need for such.
Zanrye didn't need to use it because the hunter who'd found them policed the situation within moments. But still there were the shouts and the cries. The forest was thick and acted as a blinder now. They had to go. They had to make it back to camp.
"There might not be a camp." Zanrye heard the hunter say. His blood ran cold at that. He knew what that meant….
Instead of camp, they were going to the regroup area—right next to another Clan (Clan Garmela's territory). They were Levallan's strongest allies here. They welcomed in the dozens upon dozens of refugees. Zanrye did not want to be among them. Where was his father? His mother? His Keeper?
No one gave him an answer. But it came soon enough.
The majestic hallas delivered bodies to the refugee area by threes. One after another, their backs bloodied. Zanrye watched with horror, helpless as a little boy. He knows he is gripping Mima's hand too tight. He knows he should heed the scout's warnings to get away from the loading area. But he can't. He won't. Where were they?
The sight of his father riding a halla rather than lying dead on it brought blood back into Zanrye's clenched hand and he exhaled audibly. Ignoring the many hands that tried to grab him, he wrestled himself and Mima through to Narvez who got off of the beast awkwardly. Zanrye's outstretched arms remained but he peered at the slumped figure in Narvez's arms. His father didn't even seem to notice him and pushed past, running into the tent that awaited them. Zanrye's eyes were wide as he looked.
"Is that mama?" His sister hissed, shock thick in her voice.
Zanrye didn't answer. Instead, he went into the tent behind his father, wrenching violently out of the grips of the guards and hearthwomen and mages who dared try to stop him. His eyes never blinked and he heard the sounds of the swords and the screams and the moans of pain around him as though they came from a far, far distance.
"Ma…" He heard himself say, hands pushing past Narvez and the others who crowded her bed.
The blonde woman's head was soaked red and her bright eyes were wide and staring. Her chest bounced as if she were running, breath coming in quick, short spurts. Hands were reaching—for something. For anything. Words made no sense.
The healers were all around her and information slipped into Zanrye's head: Perendale…hunters …Templars…the Templars had noticed the mage presence; the hunters had noticed the Templars; they all had noticed the elven congregation; each blamed the other for the presence of so many mage-elves. And the Perendale's took it as an attempt from the Orlesian Templars to frame them. Of what? Zanrye didn't know. He didn't care.
His mother continued to spasm, blood in her mouth, face as pale as snow. She didn't even have armor on…. She had been vulnerable to the attacks that came. And they came plentifully. Her tunic was littered with areas of insertions from arrows, daggers, a longsword. Her fingers looked like they'd caught frostbite and one arm hung limp with bone jutting out at the shoulder.
Zanrye saw all of this, through wet, swimming eyes, vision so shaky, he could barely make sense of it.
And he was horrified.
He didn't know how hard he was sobbing—how much he was reeling—until Narvez had taken him into his arms. He struggled against the man, the one blocking his vision. He needed to see her. He needed to see her the right way. He needed his mother.
Narvez endured his son's kicking and punching and screaming like a wild animal. He took it all in stride, securing him within his arms. Because he knew.
Zanrye succumbed to gibberish, exhausted, and Narvez released him. He turned away from the man and shielded his eyes with his arm. And he sobbed. He sobbed harder than he'd ever sobbed in his entire life (harder than he ever would). It hurt. Something inside him just hurt. In his head and his arms and his chest and his feet. It all just hurt.
The commotion was still all around him, people running back and forth. He heard Po's name—as well as Nishia's. They were still at the home site, defending it against the last hunters. The last?
Zanrye was quiet then. He was quiet for hours. People came and spoke to him, a limping, damaged Keeper, his father, his sister, his friends…all came to him and were met with the stone silence. So they all left him be. His blood felt warm and cold all at the same time. His eyes hurt. He wanted to cry but he had no more water. He would not leave the corpse that was his mother, finally succumbing to her wounds: not when they put a sheet over her, not when they encased her in magic to stop rotting, not when they wheeled others next to her. He stayed, one hand on the cot and the other around his eyes—knees to his chest.
And after hours, when the commotion was directed elsewhere, he did move. Slowly and deliberately. Zanrye's body was not numb. He felt the pain as clear as day—as if he had been stabbed. He stood and walked over to the papers on the tables and examined them, reading off the names of the deceased, the count, the living, the area, the enemy. He read it all, pacing himself. Knowing that he had all the time in the world.
He thought of his father then—his real one. The one he could barely remember but remembered now clear as day. He smelled the elfroot. He inhaled it deep before his hand went to his greatsword to make sure it was there. Then he went to his mother. He prayed over her—to mythal and Sylaise to guide her and love her. And bring her back. He waited… then he took off. He walked out of the camp to the running around in the yard. No one seemed to look his way save for those injured or who hastily looked back at their tasks. The clash of swords was no more and the screams were far and few in between.
They'd come again soon.
He grabbed onto a nearby halla and culled it, shushing it, nurturing it, asking it if he could ride it. His clan never used them as beasts to ride any longer—yet today they'd stained their backs carrying nearly 1/10 of the entire clan.
He climbed on and trotted off. Casually. So as to not draw suspicion. And also because there was no need to rush. He had all the time in the world.
The journey seemed short. The danger was scarcer now. He rode past where his clan's home site had been—or close to it. Half the buildings were intact. He supposed they'd move sooner than they'd expected.
He went to the edge of town—the very same he and Po had checked out earlier. He slipped in, sending the halla away. It deserved to go back. He went ahead, slipping through rows of corn before he came to the house. There were farms this side and then the houses became boxier and more close together after. He was surprised he hadn't awakened any animals but seeing as there'd been a battle today, the animals were probably already spooked.
He came to a window, took a breath, and peeked in. He saw a front room with a woman there, tending to a man. He was injured. His armor was near the side. Two little boys were scurrying about. Yet another man stood talking to the injured Hunter.
Zanrye slowly walked around to the side of the house. He searched around for the entrance through the bard or the feed and he soon found one. It was unlatched—as he suspected. They would latch the front but feel safe here on their land. The knife ears wouldn't follow that far.
Or so they thought.
Zanrye shook, scared and pained and full of lust. And hate. He opened the door and slowly crept into the house. He made it all the way to the beginnings of the kitchen area before he was spotted by the man. He only got out a few words before Zanrye's sword went through the woman, who had gone to get some water. Her scream was short and Zanrye did not care to make her continue. He withdrew and came upon the man, who was scurrying to get a blade, and the hunter, who was defenseless. He swung and severed the man's arm nearly all the way off, the shem beginning to howl in pain. Then he kicked him to the floor and plunged the sword through his chest—ceasing the sound. He turned to the fearful hunter, grey eyes like stone—hungry. Face puffy and eyes red. The man hollered as Zanrye drove him through as well. He heard his cries become incoherent—his inhales become short, his hands begin to writhe. Just like his mother—but uglier.
But Zanrye did not have time to dwell or savor it. Who knows which elf he'd killed? Any of these soldiers could have killed his mother. That means all of them had to die. Them and all who helped or protected them.
He turned his eyes to the two boys who were crying in the corner, hugging each other. They were clearly no older than probably six and four. Zanrye just looked at them both before he walked through the front door and moved onto the next house.
PRESENT
OASIS (SOLASLAN)
The music did take them. Zanrye did not dance just that once but he got up multiple times after sitting, having a drink, eating some of the spicy meat and buttered potatoes, with the side of radishes. He knew he should stop after his second cup—which was big and round, carved thinly from some tree.
Tiana pushed him.
"You're trying to get me drunk." He pushed the cup back at her at one point after they stopped dancing. She sat with him near the commotion but not quite within it, instead partially secluded by foliage hanging over them.
"I'm trying to even the playing field." Tiana laughed. "You've already gotten too much out of me…. And I have nothing out of you." She smiled at him, drunken and serene. "What's your family like? They aren't with you at the Inquisition I'd think." Zanrye shook his head and shrugged.
"It isn't much of a tale at all." He said. "I lost them. Like you lost yours."
"By way of the shems?" Tiana asked him, stating it as a question. Zanrye nodded and looked into his cup, thinking. He sighed. "But you're working with shems." Tiana said, not accusatory. "Is that hard?"
"It was." Zanrye said simply, not looking at her but at the falling water. "But now it isn't…I've been able to find those I can depend on to get things done." He paused. "Not all shems are alike—some I need; others I need to get out of my way."
"I know that. I guess." Tiana said, now looking to the skies. "But I didn't think that—for a long while. I still don't know if I truly do. I know what all of them are capable of." Her voice is distant as she thought long. "I killed that chantry bitch who ordered the murder of my brothers, and the executor, and her fucking mabari dog who tried to stand in the way." She let out a humorless laugh. "I guess that…makes me a bad person. Puts me…almost the same as them."
Zanrye said nothing for a long time, staring at the waterfall, the drink no longer sitting well with him. He felt his stomach clench at her tale as images of the dozens of shems he'd killed filled his mind—all in the name of vengeance, or justice.
"I did the same." He said lowly. He felt her turn to him but he kept his eyes on the water.
"Chantry?" She asked.
"Hunters. In our area." He said drily. The memories and vulnerability hit him too fast. He talked quickly but in a way that seemed too slow. "I have a little sister…all the family I have left." He swallowed nothing. "My clan's alive…thankfully…but my father…and my mother—and my sister's father…." He took another sip to soothe his throat before continuing. "All gone."
He felt her hand come onto his shoulder and he was grateful for it but not moved by it. Nor did it stop his words.
"I killed a lot of shems…when they took my mother." He said softly, nostrils itching. He wiped at them hastily and sighed heavily. "There was nothing I could do…besides get revenge…. And even that did nothing to help me. Because she was gone…." He knew his eyes were smarting. He sipped some more.
"At least they paid." Tiana said softly. "You made them pay." Zanrye nodded, shaky.
"I did." He said softly. "Them…and all others—who didn't deserve it. Or maybe they did…." He shrugged and gulped more liquid. "They were all shems… in the area…allies of the hunters. So I killed them for taking her away from me…." He could feel the tears threatening, bewildered that they had come so unannounced and before he could even register them. He found it hard to speak but choked out, "…taking her…before I could even…say goodbye or…that I loved her…." He clenched his mouth and then took yet another gulp—trying to calm himself. The hand was more tender now on his shoulder and the woman beside him sat staring at the water as well.
"We'll return to them—to the fade…one day." She said softly. "And when we do, they'll be proud of us—for everything." Zanrye hoped she was right. She turned to look at the party and Zanrye's eyes went with her. She stared as them and Zanrye heard her as if she were in his mind, "They're family…my family." She sighs. "I'm not originally of clan Biloro, Lavellan. But I am now." She looked at him. "Just like you…and your Inquisition…." She looks to Solas eating a second helping of food. "Clans grow…they expand. You are the Dalish Inquisitor… the Inquisitor with a Lavellan imprint." She seems somewhat pained but a smile is on her face. "Those who have suffered and lost as we have…who have a family…whether one or two…know better than anyone how to protect the ones we love." Her smile clears of some sadness as she continues, "We have a tendency…to love a bit better I think." She is sultry but not as before. "Because we know what it truly means to appreciate someone for just existing."
14 YEARS EARLIER
The last thing he remembered was being overpowered. He'd gone from house to house—like a grim reaper. Like death. He'd slaughtered all but the young—leaving each of them an orphan. 20 houses? 40? It had to be near fifty before they had all rallied. He knew they would. And he was ready for them to. He was bloody—a mix of his own and the shems—and he was bruised. He had begun to limp slightly when the dog had gotten his legs. But he kept on. He'd kill enough of them to equate a fraction of what his mother's death felt like.
And then he knew he'd be dead. They'd stop him soon enough. He was not so delirious that he did not realize this. But when they did, it'd be too late. So many they loved would be dead and his death would not matter. He would go exactly where he wanted to be, to the forest with his mother, and his father.
He felt serene almost—though his heart still pumped and body still pained as the dagger went through his thigh, dangerously close to his privates. But he was ready for this. He killed that one and the other who attempted to axe him. He killed the whimpering woman and her daughter—probably a woman of only 3 or so years. But a woman.
But then he knew he would not be victorious. He heard the familiar sounds of halla hooves—a sound so much more melodious and pure and mighty than any shem horse. And he knew they were coming for him. To ruin him.
To help him.
He tried to incite the violence then but now the shems were scared—were they being surrounded? They came at him but some ran and he could take the one, the two, the three. No! They should come at him all at once, hold him down! Do it!
But no. A cage of raw energy surrounded him and he felt himself be immobilized. Minutes later, Nishia came crashing in, a vision of death and grace as her daggers decapitated all in her path. Behind her was Lana, weaving hexes. And a few minutes behind them were shems on a rampage.
There were only the two of them. And that was all it took to foil everything, to force Zanrye to live with the rift in his heart that certainly would not heal on its own. Not ever.
When he resisted, his world went black and he awoke on Nishia's lap as they rode back into camp. He was sent to the medical alcove and tended to, his vision swimming half from the blood loss and half from the tears at his failure. He saw his sister's face flash and heard Po's voice scolding him, asking him what he was trying to do.
But they all knew very well what he was trying to do. And that's what enabled Zanrye to get the space he needed from the group, for as long as he did. But all the while, they kept him on constant surveillance as they set up to move out. No access to herbs, no access to weapons, and certainly no access to a halla or horse.
When the time came to finally move—back to Antiva where Zanrye's father was buried—and where they'd stay only for the burial of his mother—Zanrye was allowed to ride in the same travel as his deceased mother. He was not allowed to touch her but could imagine the markings of sylaise on her face. It was then that he vowed to do the same and in choosing this vow, he realized that he would not kill himself either. Death was not the way to avenge his mother, survival was. And for her, he would survive and try to ensure that everyone they loved and cared about survived too—his father, Mima, Nishia, Po…. All of them, if it was in his power, would remain safe. As would he.
That, he vowed.
PRESENT
SKYHOLD
"Inquisitor?" Josephine asked Zanrye as she stepped onto the stone walkway in the tower nearest their offices and rooms. He sat on the ledge over the near 50ft drop, one leg resting, one hanging. He stood as she came to him. He had summoned her here after he had returned. He had been gone so long that everyone wanted his attention and as the day aged to evening, he knew he'd have to get to her inconspicuously to do this. A bag was near him.
He pondered how it'd only been a little less than a month and he could no longer find his desk for all the papers. He knew he was going to have to raise his count from 150 a day.
"I'm here." Zanrye said to her. She gave him a small smile that he returned and waited for her to join him at the edge. She came close and then looked at him expectantly.
"I did not expect you to summon me." She said. "I have already talked your ear off about the various disturbances that occurred when you were away…." She paused, voice purposefully nonchalant. "I presume it was a productive time away. The gold you brought back has greatly weighed down the Inquisition's purse. And the temple you found…." She trailed off as Zanrye didn't say anything, just looked out over the side of the walkway, into the fading sun.
"It isn't about business necessarily." He said finally, his voice somewhat distant. "I wanted to give you a gift." Josephine's eyes betrayed her as they locked onto him with surprise.
"You needn't have gotten me anything from your travels, Inquisitor." She said, arms crossing, looking out now as well.
"Well, two things actually." Zanrye said softly, as though he didn't hear her. He reached into his armor pocket and produced a scroll. He handed it to her. She took it, looking from him to it and then opened it. He spoke as she read, "The Dalish clan Biloro and several who they are reaching out to now have a claim over the temple and its surrounding area by about 30 miles. They have allied themselves with the Inquisition and we may operate outside of this area now that they have secured the temple AND we can build a camp near the temple."
Josephine's eyes were wide and she looked like she wanted to beam but contained herself. She smiled at him still and shook her head. He added, "I knew this location was a good one for the Inquisition to operate in the area…probably the best one."
"How did you manage to do this?" She asked. "To convince them to allow us there…when…."
"I've learned at least a bit about politics from you." He said simply. Josephine seemed still shocked beyond words. He continued, "No one knows yet. How we go now, I want you to oversee. When you have a solid plan, we will go from there. I think you should consult me but I think…you can handle this." He said this slowly. Josephine was quiet for a minute.
"You would entrust this to me." She said, not asked.
"You'd handle it better than I…." Zanrye said, not looking at her. "And…I think…I can trust you more than anyone else not to mistreat this Clan…or the grounds' history…."
He'd said it and the look on Josephine's face at this remark made him want to hide and smile at the same time. She looked happy and awed but also sad and scared at the same time. He moved on, reaching into the bag.
"For the second." He said to her, producing from the bag a reddish-brown contraption with gold embroidery and golden glass. It was shiny and buffed and restored from its earlier state.
Josephine hesitantly took it from him as he passed it to her. She eyed it.
"It's…certainly beautiful." She said. "But…what is it?"
"It's an instrument—from a time before even my grandmother. Elven." He told her, his voice getting soft unintentionally. He moved her hands to hold it out and turned her towards the wind. "It plays itself and it catches the wind—like a flute or a chime—and…" he waited for the sound to come and indeed it did—richer and louder this time as the Keeper promised. It made Zanrye shiver a bit as he heard it. Josephine's breath was heavier now. "Wow…"
"Inq—…Zanrye." She said softly, holding it out so more sound could flow—beautiful and bright and vibrant or deep whichever way the wind hit it. It sounded like a harp and a flute and a lute and a xylophone all at once. He realized he was still holding onto her to direct it and slowly let his hands fall from her arms to rest on her shoulders. She turned her head to stare at him, eyes bright and face happy. "It's…I can't even say."
"Well…now you won't need the bard to calm your muscle pain." Zanrye teased with a laugh and Josephine giggled herself. "Though you should probably keep the massages."
"You are mocking me, Inquisitor." She stated unnecessarily. She eyed the instrument still. "It could go at my window…to create the sound without end."
"I'm glad that you like it." He said truthfully, hands squeezing her shoulders.
"I am glad that you thought of me." She said in a voice that was smooth and soft. Zanrye's body gave another shiver at that and he felt his ears prickle, holding onto her. The silence that followed, filled with the sounds of the wind creating beautiful sounds around them, seemed harmonious to Zanrye but Josephine seemed to snap back from a dream state and she cleared her throat, seemingly embarrassed of the words she had uttered.
"Well…I will have to find you something of equal caliber in response." She said lightly, slipping out of his hands. She seemed ever so slightly reluctant to do so but succeeded. Zanrye returned his hands to himself and escorted her back to the door leading to the inner stairs. They were separate, barely even brushing each other yet still the music sounded from the instrument, echoing all around them, accenting each step they took and leaving an imprint on Zanrye's mind.
Helpful Information
RECAP
My gameplay, Oasis when I unlocked the Western Approach obvs but I reversed the order of meeting Hawke first (which you must do but I pretended not to). Wicked minds and hearts right around the corner. [PS, my order is going to be somewhat different from the games here as well]
SEMANTIC/NONSEMANTIC
-Zanrye's mother was killed in the crossfire between a war between the Nevarran Perindale-dwellers vs. the Orlesians Perindale is right on the border and has been a rowdy area and point of contention between the two kingdoms. The arrival of a lot of elven mages would be seen by Orlais as a local "slave army" in Nevarra to slight the Orlesian reliance on tempalrs and the like. And the Nevarrans think they're being framed and that the Orlesian wanna put these dangerous mages in their area—since they have lots of elven slaves to spare who probably have magic
-No a xylophone is not an instrument within the DA universe as far as I know but I put it in there because that is a precursor to the piano (xylophone plus harp equals finger piano which becomes the full-fledged piano)
-Dalish have been known to trade (not sell) people (usually mages) and some clans have bad run-ins with shems and some are completely obliterated by these encounters.
-Also, though halla are not typically ridden anymore, they are by some clans. Not by clan Lavellan, who only work them on the aravel pulling.
-The gifts for Josephine are lore-driven, especially the one about music. [I will not spoil more than that but my Josephine has those lore-driven qualities]
NON-INQUISITION CAST:
Tiana- (girl) Clan Biloro
Keeper Mithlanel= (boy) Clan Biloro
Narvez- (boy, deceased) step father
Rista- (girl, deceased) mother
Mima- (girl) younger sister by five years