Sooo... I know I said there wouldn't be anymore ridiculous wait times between chapters, but I really hated my first draft of this one. So hopefully the quality makes up for the wait? You decide.
***Tevinter Circle Tower, Grand Library***
It took a few days of costly bribes and careful questioning, but they did eventually get a lead as to Feynriel's whereabouts.
It was actually Orana who came to them with the news. "Please, excuse the interruption, my masters," she began tentatively as Hawke and Anders were reading in the Circle library, "but you have been invited to visit the estate of one Onesmus Prochori. He too is known in the city for taking on unorthodox apprentices."
After a little more digging they found out that Lord Prochori had indeed been the only magister who was willing to take in Feynriel when the boy came to the city with wild claims of being a Somniari. Plenty of people studied the Somniari arts in the Imperium, but mostly in the same way they studied griffons; as extinct creatures of legend that would surely never return to Thedas. From the stories that circulated, mostly amongst the slaves, it took Feynriel a great deal of time to find someone to apprentice under. The magisters, especially those in Minrathous, were all obsessed with bloodlines and legacy, so as soon as Feynriel stupidly mentioned being raised in an Alienage by his elven mother, he was deemed too filthy in name and in blood to ever carry the title of a true mage.
The rumors regarding what Feynriel did for the months he was mentor-less varied from person to person, but eventually there came one man, a friend of the Divine Himself even, who stepped forward and was willing to take the boy on as a project. It was the talk of the city for quite a while, and many magisters became frightened of what a Somniari under the tutelage of a proper magister could be capable of. It made Hawke laugh to think of all the racist asses cowering in their mansions and wishing more than anything that they'd given the kid a shot, but that dream quickly faded when he remembered that he was dealing with magisters, and magisters were the champions of deflection, delusion and excuses.
Whenever a magister died in his or her sleep it was Prochori who they feared was behind it, with Feynriel getting very little of the "credit." Feynriel may have been entirely human in physiology, but having an elven mother left very few rungs on the social ladder that he could potentially climb. From the sounds of the reports, Feynriel was just a mage version of Fenris; more tool than apprentice.
During the past couple of months, however, no one had seen or heard from master or apprentice. Elven servants had been seen coming in and out of Prochori's home, probably to guard and maintain the estate, but beyond that there was nothing. It was, however, as good a place as any to start.
Hawke never liked walking to places in the Imperium, because every time he went out he saw such a normal, bustling city around him and his resolve to ensure that the whole place and populous burned to the ground wavered significantly. Children held their mother's skirts, the same as any child in Lothering or Kirkwall ever did, and people hugged their friends upon realizing that one of them was back home after a long trip. Young boys tried awkwardly to flirt with pretty girls who giggled to each other in response and ran off without giving any sort of answer. Hawke found himself laughing, or at least smiling, at a great deal more overheard conversations than he was comfortable admitting. Humanizing one's enemy was never a very good wartime strategy.
"Mine's bigger," Hawke remarked when they finally arrived at Lord Prochori's estate.
"Yours was bigger, love," Anders reminded him with sideways grin.
"If you two are quite finished," Andraste spoke up, "let us see if the Lord is home." She picked up her skirts and approached the door, but her legs gave out before she reached it. Hawke moved to help her but Anders took his hand and grasped it tight before flashing a smile to mask the warning expression in his eyes.
Andraste had forced herself to get better at walking unaided, but she could barely handle short trips across the city center, and with their awful mission finally drawing to a close, Hawke was forced to begin considering how she was going to lead an army when she couldn't even run beside one.
But the mission wasn't over yet, so Hawke proceeded behind Andraste as she went to knock on the heavy red door. A meek elven woman pulled it open, reading Andraste's status immediately in the princess's fine clothes and regal posture. "Please, my lady, come inside and allow me to alert my master of your arrival."
The girl all but scampered off, leaving another slave to close the door behind them. Even during his time staying with the First Enchanter, Hawke had never seen so many servants, and while a couple were dusting or scrubbing by the window, many of them were just standing there, completely still, watching their new guests.
Footsteps sounded on the mezzanine, which usually signaled that someone important was approaching, because slaves always did their best to not disrupt "important" people with the noise of their movements. It was one of the many reasons they weren't given shoes. Hawke looked up at the person descending the central staircase, but only had enough time to realize she was female, elven and slightly familiar before something far more important came to his attention.
Fenris charged at the woman with no care or concern for the fact that he was unarmed, his body a blurring streak of light across the stone floor of the estate. Some of the slaves shrieked, but despite their fear the hordes of elves moved to form a living wall around the base of the stairs. They were obviously terrified, but they also made it clear that they weren't going to move.
"Stop," the woman shouted, her voice somehow as pleading as it was commanding.
"What do you want, Varania?" Fenris asked.
That was it. That was where he knew her from.
"Varania?" Anders began to ask before he realized where he'd heard the name before. "The Varania? Fenris' sister?" He took a few steps closer and regarded her once over from head to toe and back up again. "Wow."
The tenseness in the room faded slightly when everyone, Varania included, turned to stare at Anders, eyes entirely disbelieving of the inappropriateness of his comment.
He shrugged it off. "What? Maybe if your brother didn't stand with all the grace of tangled roots he wouldn't look so awkward, and I'd actually believe you two were related."
Somewhere behind them Isabela laughed. Hawke didn't realize how much he'd missed the sound, but it eased his nerves a little further and seemed to have the same effect on Fenris as well. The elf looked back at his companions as if they'd showed up out of nowhere and interrupted him.
"Would you mind telling me where Lord Prochori is?" Andraste asked, her voice almost bored.
"The lord magister took Feynriel to the Argent Spire almost two months ago," Varania told them. As she walked tentatively down the stairs Hawke watched the servants, all of whom looked reverent in their anticipation, some of them even bowing their heads to her. "I hope you can forgive my deception, but I needed to meet with you. You're in terrible danger."
"Give me one good reason why we should believe you?" Fenris snarled. His markings flared so bright it hurt Hawke to look at him.
"Did you find it odd that Danarius was rather easy for you to defeat?" she asked. "A small group of paid muscle to take down a lyrium infused warrior, the Champion of Kirkwall, the Captain of the Guard and a Pirate Queen."
"Oh it feels so good to hear someone call me that again," Isabela sighed.
"It sounds like you're having sex back there,"Anders commented.
"Hearing that might feel better than sex."
"You were saying," Andraste interrupted again, "about this grave danger?"
"No," Fenris corrected, "She was telling the story of the night she betrayed me."
"I was explaining that I was supposed to help Danarius bring you back!" Varania shouted. "Do you know what it was like for us after you won your precious markings? We were no longer slaves, but what does that even mean in a place like this? Freedom sounds so noble, but all you did was strip away the only job we had and the only roof over our heads. Our mother starved begging on the streets as a free elf does in the Imperium."
"A wonderful sob story," Fenris mocked. "Too bad every spy Varric had told me you were a tailor."
"Yes," Varania shot back, mirroring his sneer, "I was indeed a tailor for the month Danarius knew your dwarf's 'friends' were in town. In that time he fed me his own version of your time away from me. He claimed you'd been captured by Qunari and wounded; that you'd been injured so badly you didn't remember who you were. He promised to make me a magister if I did well." Varania reached the bottom of the stairs and motioned for her protectors to part and let her through. Hawke thought it was a needlessly bold move, but she was indeed her brother's sister. "I don't know if you remember, but the magisters wanted me first."
"I remember," Fenris whispered like it was a warning growl.
"Then you remember that you called me stupid for not going; that you begged to take my place. You were so enamored with your fantasies of power that you let your body be defiled in an experiment you didn't even know if you'd survive. You risked leaving your family alone to mourn you so you could earn freedom we never asked for. I had nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to, so I left for Kirkwall to bring you back so we could lead the life you'd always wanted for us. But when I arrived I..." she stopped and looked him over. "I don't even know who you are. Fenris, they call you, yes? The wolf. When you showed up that day, all I saw was Fenris, and he wanted me dead for the same things Leto coveted more than anything in the world."
"Liar!" Fenris accused. "Do you think I'm that stupid?"
Anders took a deep breath and Hawke shot him an acidic glare.
Varania leaned in and demonstrated no fear as she stared into her brother's eyes. "Do you think I'm that weak? That you'd still be standing here if I'd come to Kirkwall to help Danarius kill you?"
"And how, in all this, did you get involved with the Somniari?" Andraste asked.
"I knew I'd be punished for not aiding in Danarius' fight, as a few scouts did escape The Hanged Man to return to the Imperium and report my 'treachery,' but this place has been my only home and I did not know where else to go. So I returned and was thrown in prison until traffickers sold me to a brothel."
"You met Feynriel in... a brothel?" Hawke asked indelicately. "You mean he...?"
"He was apparently doing well in his studies," Varania told them. The way she spread out her arms as she announced her words with a bitter tone immediately reminded Hawke of sitting in Danarius' dingy old estate and listening to Fenris yell about magisters and slavery. "Lord Prochori decided Feynriel deserved a gift. Nothing too fancy, like the human women in the brothels by the city center. No, we were the throwaways who cost a few coppers for the night, and for a sovereign you could take one of us home."
"How far have his abilities developed?" Andraste inquired, and Hawke balked at her absolute lack of empathy. He wondered, with a twinge of fear, if she wasn't getting too far into character, or reverting too far back into who she once was.
"Of course you'd believe her," Fenris griped.
"Feynriel is strong," Varania answered, seemingly unfazed by the princess's directness or her brother's incredulity. "Master Prochori began giving him more autonomy, more money and more training. I did my chores and reported to his bed every evening, but he only ever talked to me. He asked about where I was from, my family, why I didn't escape and join the Dalish; he even tried to teach me some more advanced spells that he'd learned in his apprenticeship."
"You and... all these people?" Orana asked tentatively. "This is more slaves than I have ever seen in one house."
"Some of us are the slaves of the estate, but certainly not all. The night before Feynriel left he-" Varania paused and looked at the floor. "He gave me a heavy pouch of sovereigns and told me to leave the Imperium. He said I deserved a better life and... he asked to kiss me. When I awoke the next day he was gone." She reached over her shoulder and pulled the staff off her back, revealing that it was entirely gold and expertly enchanted. "He left this behind as well, and I wanted to honor his wishes, but as I started my attempt to sneak my way out of the city I found myself wading through a sea of elves just like me; scared and hungry and degraded. I have spent my life hating myself and what I've allowed the people of the Imperium to do to me. So I took the money, I took advantage of the empty estate, and I began hiding slaves. There are more in the wine cellar, and others upstairs."
"Varania is beginning a revolution," one of the men announced. "Slaves across Minrathous are working in secret on a revolt."
"You can count on us, Lady Andraste," a young woman piped up. "We know the Maker sent you to lead the elves to freedom once more."
Varania knelt before Andraste, and soon the whole room was on its knees, some of the elves even pressing their foreheads to the floor. "We are ready to be yours to command, but please, Blessed Prophetess, bring Feynriel back to me; if for no other reason than he is far too great a war asset for you to let him die or remain in the hands of the magisters."
Something didn't seem to be adding up for Hawke, however. "Wait," he said slowly as he watched them, "How do you know who she is? I mean, you started this two month ago? Because you were waiting for Andraste?"
"Because they've known," Varania stated with all the gravity of a death threat. "They've been grooming Feynriel to do...something. Even he was not told what exactly they wanted him to do. At first he thought he was supposed to kill someone, but that is an ability he perfected long ago. They wanted him to learn a much higher degree of control, he said, but I cannot even begin to fathom what atrocities he is capable of; that gentle man whose bed I shared at night."
Upon hearing that Hawke bit the inside of his cheek so hard he was surprised he didn't taste blood.
Andraste swallowed audibly. "The Senate?"
Varania nodded.
Hawke could hear the subtle shake as Andraste drew in a long, deep breath. "This whole trip..."
It took a moment for reality to hit, but when it did all the world froze as Hawke felt the pain of their ordeal rush to the surface to crash unmercifully against this new-found futility. The guilt he felt over whatever he'd put his friends through permeated his consciousness like a horrid, unrelenting itch.
"No!" Anders yelled. "This can't have been for nothing! That means-" He looked at Hawke and, through the pain evident in every fiber of his being, choked out the one word Hawke didn't want to hear in that moment. "Justice... was for nothing."
"How?" Andraste demanded.
"It is complicated," Varania answered as she placed a hand on the prophetess's shoulder. "We need to sit and discuss-"
"We're not staying," Fenris insisted. "At least I'm certainly not."
"Then leave," his sister sighed as she led Andraste back up the stairs, the other elves bowing as they passed. "Go run off and forget about the people who need you. It's all you're good at anyways."
***Starkhaven Castle, Abandoned Storage Cellar***
It was odd for Carver to walk down the dank old halls underneath the castle, torch in hand while Merrill carried a rather large, heavy chest behind him. He wasn't sure which part was harder to fathom, that the chest was filled with his blood or that Merrill could carry it by herself.
The squirrely Finn fellow and Sebastian were already in the room with the mirror, and Carver sneered at it without even thinking. He hated the Eluvian with a passion, and it took everything in him not to push Merrill behind him protectively and back them both out of the room, never to look upon the blasted thing again.
That wasn't an option, however. In fact, the mirror was just about the only option they had left.
"The instances of the Eluvian being used to communicate are few and far between in what little literature we have left," Finn immediately began rambling, "and there's only one mention of it being used for travel. Then again, I did see that Wilds woman walk straight into one, so, I mean, I guess we don't need books to prove that it's possible."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow at that. "So you mean to say the Hero of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey just... allowed this sorceress to escape through the mirror?"
"The witch said the Commander owed her for saving her life; that they were friends. I don't know much, I mean, Lady Aeducan didn't tolerate my inquisitive nature. My thought, but she is terrifying. Two swords, she wields. One in each hand. Both as tall as her. You can imagine that they helped 'inspire' me to keep my mouth shut."
"I have one sword that's as tall as you," Carver mentioned. "Is that inspirational enough?"
"Noted and acknowledged, Knight-Commander ser," Finn said with a nervous smile.
"What is that?" Sebastian asked as Merrill placed the chest on the ground by the mirror.
"You know, Varric taught me a very interesting word the other day," Merrill replied as if she hadn't heard him. "It was 'plausible deniability.' Funny concept, it seemed to me, but he swears it's extremely necessary in human governments."
Sebastian thankfully nodded in understanding and stopped even looking at what Merrill was unpacking. A good idea, Carver thought, as he too looked away before the sight of so much of his own blood could lead him to faint.
Merrill had asked him to assign one Templar to guard the ritual, but Carver couldn't think of anyone who was the right mix of discreet and capable. He was still dealing with rampant prejudices against elves and mages; still occasionally finding Knights missing from the morning roll call because they'd left the city. Carver had accepted long ago that he probably wouldn't feel sure of his command until after the war was over.
If they won.
If they even survived.
"What is it you need me for?" Sebastian asked.
"Well," Merrill led in nervously, "I'm not entirely sure- how this all works, I mean. You're the only person Andraste is really... connected to? You are her husband, after all. Whatever that means to you two it's none of my business, but you're all she really has. Maybe if you try to reach out to her, she'll try to reach back."
"Reach out to her how?"
"You know, I don't really know how to explain that to someone who isn't a mage," Merrill said as she uncorked one of the glass bottles. As she approached the mirror, Carver found he couldn't quiet his morbid curiosity at what was being done with his blood, which he still felt very... responsible for. He watched as Merrill poured it over the tangled roots that haphazardly cradled the non-reflective glass, making sure to get none of it on the mirror itself. "Try to... find her with your energy? Does that make sense?"
"Not really," Sebastian admitted.
"My then, not being a mage must be terribly dull, no offense. Well, maybe a little offense. Or more pity, I guess. There is so much in this world; energy and life going on all around you at all times, like a pulse. Find... that."
"Are you sure that is even possible?" the prince asked.
"Think of it like Templar training," Carver tried to explain. "We're not mages either, but we are humans and elves, so we do have a connection to the Fade. We can manipulate what's already there, but we can't harness it like mages can."
"Yes," Finn agreed, "Lucky for us you're not a Dwarf!" When Carver regarded him with a sour look, the young man laughed nervously and wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead with the back of his Starkhaven red mage robes. "You'll have to excuse my excitement, but this is... absolutely amazing. I mean, do you understand what'll happen if we get this right? This'll change everything. It'll give the Prince and all under his command an incredible power, and by way of an alliance with the Dalish. This very ritual could revive something ancient; something that could eventually build Starkhaven into an Empire; change the role of elves in every society across Thedas. This room is about to house what could be the most important historical moment of our age, if not all of living memory!"
"Thank you for that," Carver said with dull sarcasm, "it really helps alleviate the immense pressure we'll all under."
"Everything will be fine," Merrill assured. "Finn and I have been studying every aspect of the Eluvianathen ritual, we-"
"Eluvianthan," Finn corrected.
Merrill balked so hard at his interruption that Carver was surprised her head didn't snap off her long, delicate neck. "Did you just... correct my Dalish?
"It's a common mistake with the more ancient words and dialects," Finn said comfortingly, not at all aware of Merrill's offense. "People mix up the possessive with-"
"Finn," Carver stopped. "Just don't."
"Ah, alright then, I shall commence with the don't-ing."
Merrill turned to Sebastian and rested a hand on the prince's shoulder. At first Carver read the gesture as friendly, and it seemed Sebastian did as well, but the look and Merrill face was etched with severity. "Are you ready to begin?"
Sebastian took a breath so deep Carver could swear he heard the seams of the prince's well-tailored jacket strain with the swell of the man's chest. He held it for a moment and stared at Merrill's face as if rereading her to see if he'd missed something. Finally, after a tense silence, he blinked away his apprehension and replaced it with resolve. "It's alright," he stated, almost more to himself than her, "I trust you."
Carver's neck sunk into his shoulders at the amount of guilt that flooded into him. The man who once condemned magic to the point of supporting the full Annulment of the Kirkwall Circle, could now say with great finality and honesty that he trusted Merrill.
Merrill, who Carver loved more than anyone in the world, who had tongue-tied him as a lad and helped him grow into a man, who he should have trusted without reservation. And Sebastian could say it to her face. Carver couldn't even say it as a lie to someone else.
This wasn't Carver's risk, however, and angsting over his inner demons was a selfish waste of time in the face of their reality. After all, it wasn't just Andraste they were trying to protect, it was everyone with her. Carver clenched his fist, gritted his teeth and swore to the Maker that if his smartass brother didn't make it home in once piece that there'd be a carved path of absolute carnage from Starkhaven to Minrathous.
Merrill raise her other hand, the one still coated in Carver's blood, and began using her fingers to paint sweeping, yet seemingly purposeful marks across Sebastian's face. "Once you get in front of the mirror, you need to close your eyes and focus on calling out to Andraste. Finn and I will begin chanting, but it'll be in Dalish, so hopefully it shouldn't distract you. Don't let your mind wander and don't open your eyes. When you feel something call back, walk forward. You might feel sleepy, since you're entering the Fade, but you shouldn't fight it. Let go, and don't stop or open your eyes until you can't hear us chanting anymore."
Sebastian simply nodded before taking his place in front of the mirror, and Carver reached back to grasp his sword.
***The Fade***
As soon as Merrill and acting First Enchanter Finn began reciting the spell, Sebastian's eyes slipped shut of their own accord. He tried to focus as Merrill had instructed, but the foreign power in the air was an absolute haze invading his consciousness. His body leaned and his legs brought him forward, his mind screaming commands like his body was its own insubordinate entity.
He tried to think of Andraste, but his fear of failing her brought on a huge wave of stress that made it hard to even make an attempt. He didn't know what he was doing there, secretly engaging in ancient elven blood magic while wearing the raiment of the Prince of Starkhaven, but it was his only option. He couldn't just abandon her. She'd been abandoned by enough people she trusted, and for once Andraste deserved someone willing to sacrifice for her.
And it wasn't just Andraste who needed him. Hawke had made sure Sebastian's family was avenged and Fenris had honored him with hard-won trust. A prince with any honor at all did not turn a blind eye to the needs of his greatest friends and allies.
He didn't even notice the chanting disappear, not with his obligations all but haunting him as he fumbled forward with his eyes shut tight. He was a leader now. People needed him; his people, his allies, and he wanted nothing more than to see them all prosper. He questioned, however, if he was capable of giving them everything they deserved.
Those were the questions that plagued his nightmares, Sebastian realized, and he wondered if he wasn't being forced to live through one. It was awful enough to be stifled by his insecurities after he closed his eyes at night, but feeling it all swarming him while awake enough to acknowledge it was a wholly new and horrible form of torture.
Sebastian took a deep breath and tried to continue forward, focusing on thoughts of his wife; the courageous woman who he, for some reason, had been given the honor of standing beside. Fear regarding the impending war made his thoughts of her slip away, so he tried to think of the quiet moments they'd shared before they were prince and prophetess. His mind reached back and found memories of their time together in the Chantry, spreading warmth and charity in a way that was so simplistically and absolutely the Maker's will.
Without his permission, Sebastian's mind then turned to the future; to the time after the war when his bed would not be empty at night and maybe, perhaps, the walls of the castle would echo with the laughter of children.
Sebastian's muscles tensed as he was wracked with embarrassment by that uncontrollable line of thought, but it didn't halt the small shadow that crept down the hall in the vision playing behind his eyes. When the child rounded the corner, however, still giggling with uninhibited laughter, Sebastian realized it wasn't his son in the fantasy.
The little boy had thick ginger hair and soft brown eyes, narrowed with hilarious seriousness as he played with a wooden sword. He was joined, rather suddenly, by a gorgeous red-haired elven woman with sad eyes.
"Sebastian!"
He could have sworn he heard something, but he tried to ignore it in favor of returning his mind to thoughts of Andraste. That one mental tangent, however, refused to let go, almost seeming as if someone or someplace else was invading his mind.
Sebastian accepted the risk and opened his eyes, jumping when he found his bow somehow in his hand and his white Chantry armor back on his body. He heard footsteps coming from his right, and reached back for an arrow, trying not to let his vision swim in the odd, unfocused atmosphere he found himself in.
"Sebastian!" came the voice again. "Stop. It's me."
Sebastian wished more than anything that he'd agreed to go into the Fade when Hawke asked for his help with Feynriel, but he had refused and now he had no idea how to treat visions and trickery in such a realm. He took a huge step forward before he allowed himself to turn around, ignoring the voice's demand that he cease drawing his bow.
They stood there like that in absolute silence, Sebastian's hands shaking as he decided whether to shoot what may or may not have been Aveline straight through the heart.