Chapter 14: Allies
"DROP YOUR WEAPON! NOW!"
Trevelyan whirled as the shade he had been engaging crumbled into dust. The Seeker had just finished with her own foe, her long sword ending the foul creature's existence.
She was glaring daggers at him, her eyes never leaving the recently acquired staff in his hand.
He hated to admit it, but the woman was impressive, most would have been shaken by what they had just faced, but the warrior woman remained calm, lethally glacially calm.
One had to respect that.
Their survival in itself was an impressive feat. Considering they had just tumbled off a collapsing bridge, just managing to not be killed or wounded by the falling stone or debris, not to mention the fel fire that continued to fall from the breach overhead.
Now they stood facing each other, the Seeker's sword raised almost to his chin, her eyes filled with cold determination.
Nicholai did not flinch under that cold stare, nor did he simply throw down his weapon like a good little mage.
His noble temper flared.
After what he had learned, he understood the woman's reaction. The Divine was dead, and many others with her. No doubt the woman had lost both friends and colleagues in that explosion.
He could sympathize.
He had lost friends too.
He had lost Gillian.
IOI
He thought of her, her smile, the way the wind played through her hair. She had trusted him enough to come here with him. Ferelden had not been the safe harbor they had hoped it would be. Mages were not the only people fleeing here. Rogue Templars, men and women who were not pleased with the Templar leadership had come as well, come and turned to leading bands of what they called the faithful against rebel mages on their lands, including Trevelyan and his followers. These armed bands were poorly trained, and only moderately armed, they were dealt with easily enough by Nicholai and his allies, but each victory was proving to be pyric one. The Ferelden Templars looked at these victories as acts of murder, mages preying on innocent civilians. Anger grew among his followers when they heard this, he preached patience, the need to rebuild before they went back on the offensive, more than a few of his followers refused to listen. Kurtz had ended up killing one mage for nearly attacking Nicholai at one point, attacking and then starting to turn into an abomination during one of their meetings. The execution of one of their own, out of control or not, had had a chilling effect on those who had believed in him.
The words traitor and coward were thrown at him with little thought of what he had accomplished up to this point. Those that had lost friends at Tantervale, and were now being harried here in Ferelden no longer trusted his leadership.
They thought that they could do better on their own, they splintered.
They fled.
Many who broke off did start attacking farms and villages, if they were being accused of a crime, they might as well been committing one. He tried to bring them under control, keep things from spiraling further out of control, but…things had gone too far.
The cry for blood and vengeance now drowned out reason.
Soon, he no longer had a fighting force; they were reduced to a band of refugees with Kurtz and a few of his sellswords to protect them.
Their dreams of forcing the Templars to the negotiating table died a slow choking death. Now…all they could do was try and survive, survive, and hope for a miracle.
When Gillian had received word of the Conclave, they had both jumped at the chance. Even if the Most Holy could not convince everyone to lay down their arms, then at least she might be able to convince enough Templars and mages to see sense, see sense and work together to end the chaos.
Trevelyan remembered well what had happened at Asch's Crossing. Not all mages would survive this, some had gone too far, the same could be said for the Templars, but with the Divine's help, maybe the two groups could preserve enough of what they once were to make a new start…a new beginning.
He had went to the Conclave, eager to speak on behalf of the mages, to remind Thedas of what they had been to Thedas since the Circle had been founded. That the mages had been their allies, defenders that had stood with the kingdoms and people they ruled, fought beside them against the darkspawn, the Imperium, and the Qunari.
He had wanted the people to remember that, to remember who they were, and what they might become.
They had come to the Conclave…
…now…all that was gone.
IOI
Trevelyan met the Seeker's angry glare with one of his own. He did not lower his staff, he did not back down.
He had seen the look in the eyes of the people of Haven, they had no doubt that he was guilty, that he had destroyed the Conclave. The Seeker had said that they needed to feel that blame. She had promised him a trial, but he did not think for one moment that it would be fair.
Nicholai's eyes narrowed.
He had lost everything, his Circle, his allies, his lover, and now this Seeker was pointing a sword at him. He had promised to do what he could to aid her and she dared pull a weapon on him.
How dare her!
How DARE she!
Anyone else would have lashed out and her, screamed at her hypocrisy. He did not, he kept his calm. His anger was focused through it. He sharpened it like a lethal blade.
He was a Trevelyan, their words still held close to his heart.
Modest in temper, bold in deed.
Trevelyans are not fools, we never behave as such; his father had told him once. We don't fly off in anger, or in a blind rage. We sit back, patiently, we evaluate, and when the time comes to strike...
…We strike with boldness.
It was not time to be bold, not yet…
…not yet.
When he spoke his voice was cold and even.
He remained in control.
"I don't need a staff to be dangerous."
"Is that supposed to comfort me?!"
"I swore to aid you, and I shall," he spat back.
Magic flared in his eyes, but he did not let it go any further.
"My ass is on the line out here," he reminded her, "Just like yours."
Several tense moments passed, even as fire continued to fall from the breach. Neither Seeker nor mage took their eyes off the other.
Finally, the woman sighed, sighed and lowered her weapon.
"You…you are right," she said sheathing her weapon, "You do not need a staff, but you should have one."
Trevelyan relaxed slightly, lowering his weapon, griping it like one would a walking stick.
Cassandra turned away from him.
"I should try to remember that you agreed to come willingly," she said over her shoulder.
Nicholai said nothing.
It was not much of a start, but it was a start.
She led him up across the frozen river, up a snowy hill; he could just make out stone steps in the snow, leading up into a mountain pass. He tried to remember if he had come this way before, yet his arrival at the Conclave remained elusive, his memory of those events had become slippery.
He remembered the darkness, the skittering things chasing him. He remembered the shaft of light, and a woman reaching for him, offering to pull him up, away from the things that pursued him, then…then…
Nothing.
The Seeker had said that the soldiers that had found him said he had stepped out of a fade rift, that a woman had been standing behind him, and that she had disappeared after he had emerged. She…
The breach flared again.
Trevelyan gasped, the mark on his hand flared, its magic both burning and freezing his flesh, and it was spreading.
He frowned deeply, looking down at the sparking sputtering mark.
He feared he did not have much time.
He shook his hand and tried to focus.
Reach the breach, and then try to seal it, how he was going to do that he did not know.
He heard the seeker call down to him.
"We are almost at the forward camp. You can hear the fighting."
"Who is fighting?"
"You will see soon," she promised.
"We must help them."
She led him past more ruins, more destruction left in the breach's wake. Now he could hear the fighting over the keening wind, the sound of steel and the squeal of demons.
He mustered his courage, and began to summon his power.
In this battle at least, there was no middle ground.
Demons were demon, killing them would keep innocent people alive.
It was freeing in its way, liberating.
He welcomed that liberation.
They came over the hill demons and human forces were locked in combat.
Trevelyan released chain lightning on the beasts, the soldiers began to rally as the Seeker's battle cries rang out.
Nicholai leapt into the fighting, noting the small fade rift swirling in front of them, spitting out more demons. He blasted one shade, while at the same time used the mace end of his newly acquired staff to cave in the head of another.
Slowly the battle began to turn in their favor; demons fell, or retreated from the fight.
The area around the rift cleared out.
One of the defenders an elf with a bald head leapt towards Trevelyan.
"Quickly," he cried grabbing the mage's marked hand, forcing it upward, at the glowing rift, "Before more come through.
The mark on Nicholai's hand flared, as did the fade rift.
Like magic touched like magic, they linked.
Trevelyan gasped in surprise.
For the briefest of moments, he had been able to feel the rift. The magic he was sensing was wild, almost beyond reason, but at its heart…he could sense how it all fit together, the natural lattice of how it had been formed, how the strands of power fit together keeping the whole thing open and whole.
Nicholai's eyes widened.
He had studied magic since he was elven years old, but had never experienced anything like this. The spirit mediums in the Circle might have understood what he was seeing here, what he was feeling, but he was no spirit medium.
He reached out with the glowing mark, focusing his will into it, much as he had done with every other spell he had ever learned. In magic, will was everything that is what his mentors had taught him, a mage could do almost anything had they had sufficient will.
He reached out, dismantling the lattice, pushing on its weaknesses; the demons that had emerged were stunned as his power pulsed out of the rift, making them easy prey for the remaining soldiers.
The rift began to destabilize the magics breaking down as he pushed deeper into it, and then when nothing remained to hold it open…
POP!
The rift closed, its passing left Trevelyan breathless.
He shook his head and his glowing hand, the burning torture faded briefly. He looked down at the mark.
Holy shit," he thought.
He turned to the bald elf; the man had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
"What did you do," Trevelyan asked.
"I did nothing," the elf responded, "You were the one responsible for this."
"You mean this," Trevelyan said raising his hand.
"It can help?"
"Whatever left that mark on your hand also bound the magic inside it to the breach. I theorized that its power might be the key to sealing the rifts, and it seemed that I was correct."
The elf grinned proudly.
"It seems you may hold the key to our salvation."
"Good to know," someone chuckled behind them, "I was afraid that we would be ass deep in demons forever."
Trevelyan turned, the speaker, a dwarf stepped away from the rocks he had been using for cover. Beardless with short dark blond hair, he was like no dwarf that Trevelyan had ever seen before.
The strange looking crossbow he carried was equally enigmatic. He grinned as he approached Trevelyan, Cassandra, and the elf.
The crossbowman offered his hand to the mage.
"Varric Tethras," he said, "Rogue, scoundrel, and occasionally…"
He winked at the Seeker.
"Unwilling tag along."
Cassandra glared at him, clearly not pleased with his presence.
Trevelyan blinked.
"Varric Tethras?" he repeated, "The author?"
"Among my many talents," he said with a slight bow, "You a fan?"
"I was in the circle," Trevelyan said with dry amusement, "We had plenty of time to read."
Nicholai smiled.
"When Templars were not plotting how to kill us of course."
Varric snickered at that.
Cassandra glared at both men.
"What are you doing here?" Nicholai asked, "Are you with the chantry now?"
The elf chuckled.
"Is that a serious question?"
"Technically I'm a prisoner," Varric clarified, "Much like you I suppose."
"You were brought here to tell your story to the Divine," Cassandra reminded him.
"Good thing too," he said, "Bianca and I will be good company for you on your way through the valley."
"Absolutely not," the Seeker said, "You're help was appreciated Varric, but…"
"Have you seen the valley, Seeker? Your soldiers are not in control anymore."
The dwarf grinned at her.
"You need me."
She gave him a distasteful look, but did not deny the necessity of his presence.
"Ugh," she said and turned away.
"I am called Solas," the elf said offering his hand to Nicholai, "If there is to be introductions."
"Solas," Trevelyan repeated shaking the man's hand, "You seem to know quite a bit about what is going on here."
"Solas is an apostate," Cassandra informed him.
"Technically all mages are apostates; now Cassandra," he reminded her, "I have spent a great deal of time studying the fade. I offered my services after the Conclave. I did what I could to try and figure out the nature of the mark on your hand."
"He means that he kept that thing from killing you while you slept," Varric added.
Nicholai looked down at his hand, the mark continued to sputter, the pain starting to return.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Solas merely nodded in acceptance, the elf turned to Cassandra.
"I think it is safe to say that my theory was correct, Seeker. This magic is different than anything I have seen before, but it is not impossible to understand it."
He glanced towards Trevelyan.
"Your prisoner is a mage, but I doubt that he was capable of coming up with something like this. I doubt that any circle mage would be able to."
Trevelyan made a slight face at the elf's statement, hard to say if that was a compliment or an insult.
"Thanks," he said, "I think."
Solas merely gave him another enigmatic smile.
"We still need to reach the forward camp," The Seeker reminded them, she pointed down another crumbling staircase.
"This way…quickly."
The Seeker led the way, with Solas following behind her.
That left Varric and Nicholai standing together.
The dwarf drew his crossbow, and patted the stock.
"Well…Bianca is excited," he said taking after the others.
Trevelyan sighed; once again he did what he could to endure the pain of the mark, pain that was starting to grow again.
"The key to our salvation," he whispered to himself.
"Guess we will see."