The first breath was boggy, dragging through parched, parted lips. A heavy waft of peat, dense with watery rot clung to her lungs thick enough to muster a cough and a sickened groan. The next came cleaner, that of fresh air. The sweet smell of hay, dry and abundant cleared the groggy elf's throat as she shifted within the loose, warm embrace her body was ensnared in.
Far away, the suck and sloshing sounds of deep muck reverberated, but it all faded as the last tendrils of the dream evaporated with the new day.
Narrow, calloused hands soon stroked her brow before the firm fingers slipped to pat at Chiyo's numb cheeks. Her eyes were still too heavy, and no amount of prodding could get them to open.
"C'mon Inky, like the sun don't shine out your arse. Birds won't even chirp till you get out of bed."
The joke was lost to the sleepy grunt that soured when the Inquisitor was pulled up by her night clothes and forced to sit. Drunkenly, Chiyo slumped forward to be met by an annoyed archer and a firm shake. Limp swats, a paltry attempt, only aggravated the uncouth blonde. Quick to give up when her companion barely managed to fend off the impatient assault, Sera huffed as the other elf drooped back down onto her blanket atop the crunchy hay pile they'd been snoozing on. The straw whooshed with the weight, sending a plume of dry dust and bits into the air.
"Sera darling, that's quite the bedside manner you have. I'm surprised to not have seen you in the medical tents helping our less kindhearted healers with your ministrations." The sharpness on the edge of Dorian's more distant tongue did cause a stir, leaving her to stare through parted lashes at the dark roof of the serviceable loft they'd borrowed for the night. An echo in the back of her mind recalled the farmer agreeing to the proclaimed extension of Andraste's will taking use of his property. He'd offered up his own home for their divine needs, but the barn had been decidedly more than enough for a handful of sea-soggy travelers.
And their newest attendants —some of the Inquisition's finest troops— placed in charge of seeing that the Herald return home. And at once.
"Shove it, this ain't natural and you know it. A stiff pint for sleep wouldn't last on halfway through the morning." Chiyo was jostled when Sera left the depression of a nest their short rest had made. Another cloud of hay was sent flying with a frustrated kick. "Fucking mages and your stinking poisons, I've seen you dosin' her with that piss! Darkspawn have more life in them then she does now!"
"Buttercup, you're no Chantry sister but you're starting to sound like one…" Varric's forced chuckle drove its way into Chiyo's ear, sifting through the induced haze and fog that was beginning to dissipate at last. She could still taste the bitter herbs adhering on her teeth and lips as she licked them, attempting to banish the slackness that kept her motions sluggish and responses repressed. "I remember more than one morning where you weren't up before lunch and half the Chargers couldn't drag you from bed after a good couple rounds. I could have set fire to your sheets and you'd've just pissed on them to dowse the flames and nodded off again."
"Your mouth's a crock full of pus and shite! An arrow'd shut you right up, it would!" A dark shape flew past her improving field of vision and a hard wallop, followed by a shrill shout, finally had the Inquisitor recovering some of her self. She rolled to see the burly dwarf in the corner massaging his arm, a boot left upturned on the floor beside him. Another blur of blonde hair zipped down the loft ladder, a hard thump hitting every other rung with a projected curse. Sera abandoned them half-dressed, wearing only one shoe, having used the other as an impromptu weapon.
"Dorian..." The name finally cracked free, tongue regaining in soberness. By the time she'd brought herself to rise, the mage was by her side, offering water from his canteen. He held it carefully to her mouth, adding a guiding hand under the Inquisitor's own till her sleepy hold would suffice. The infused sprigs of mint sent a tingling wash of refreshment down her throat, encouraging the small woman to drink even more. These were her mornings now, always sharp with thirst.
"Perhaps she is right. These tinctures have only become more potent…" The rich hazel of his gaze was a warm beacon, but it withdrew when he rescued a nearly empty bottle from the straw. Dorian gave it a dispirited shake, sloshing the murky contents against the cork stopper. "Had another nip or two, did we?"
She did not answer; a lie would not conceal the apparent truth regardless of how it was spun. There had been no further incidences since she'd begun the regiment. No violent outburst had slipped its leash. But she was far from herself, and that removal of personality weighed heavily upon the others. Chiyo was their glue, their mortar, they would crumble were she not there as a constant bind.
"Has it helped your dreams at all, my friend. I doubt you would be doing this for the sheer pleasure of it all. I've found far better escapes, and been delightfully awake for them." Chiyo looked at Dorian seeing an endeared friend, and not an opposing stranger, amid the gentle worry he bore. Never again did she wish to harbor such unaccustomed hatred for this man, or any other. She would cling to any aid of that control she could, even with the risk of it becoming a crutch.
It was not the effects of the potion that held her replies at bay, only a simple nod answered Dorian's probing. That was the problem, was it not? That she'd found it so easy to become accustomed to living in the Fade to such extents. Forsaking fear and lucidity for the possibility of answers and freedom. She'd attained a sliver of both, worth more to her than a fabled slice of pickled apple from Arlathan, yet still Chiyo doubted that even a fellow mage would understand that appeal.
Finally, after months of fruitless searching, she'd picked up a long-cold trail. One that even the Left Hand had failed to find, though locating his spirit proved just a difficult as tracking down the man himself.
"There was this fine lad who accompanied my tutor, stunning creature with legs that put even mine to shame and a jaw honed by the Maker himself, he was simply perfect for forgetting my daily woes." She held still as he plucked the bits of straw from her hair, drawing out each one smoothly only to fling it aside. "If only we could acquire someone so adept for you, I always sleep so soundly after a thorough de-stressing. Anything to keep from drinking so much of that rather pungent brew, but I'm afraid out here there will be not but farmhands and old men like Varric."
"I'm not too old for a fine lass, Sparkler, she'll just have to do all the work! These bones have been on the sea and road a long time, can't seem to get out of bed easy enough. Getting into it's a whole new matter." The dwarf snorted as he made himself ready to leave the barn.
He was right; their dogged trip homewards had been exceptionally hard on them all. The Chargers had been sent ahead for more secure travels, but there were few places deemed safe enough for even a small collection of the Inquisition's forces to bunker down. Several towns were still unstable amid the turmoil, most inns decreed too public of a space while the Herald needed an added layer of protection. At least, the food was slowly getting better. Many a night had been ruined by rolling guts and dashes to the bushes for all who partook of the traveling meals.
"I would bet any number of coins that were we to stop at a decent tavern you would turn down any lady I sent your way!" Dorian chirped in return, missing the failed mouthing of words from his sleepy companion as she tried to stop the rude jests. Their haughty jokes always went too far, and every morning they would jab at one another to new provocation, often to bruising insult. There were dawns she remembered a tense silence cropping up between all her companions from such waggling tongues. And then there were many more she didn't remember at all.
The days since leaving Wycome had slipped from her grasp, each blending into the last as they traveled quickly back to their southern keep, pausing only to sleep after adjourning a much swifter trip inland from the sea. A week would pass without garnering her attention, only for her to become irritable by the dragging hours spent in the back of a caravan cart, listening to the ceaseless squabble of her equally exhausted party. She'd kept them far from home for most of the spring. They'd not seen their own beds or eaten their familiar, favored fare in ages. Hard tack and flavorless mashes did not hold up in comparison to the soft breads and herbed meats refined by the masterful cook in Skyhold. It had been unfair of her to tax them so. Their short jaunt had been overly extended, but already Chiyo was planning her next departure, unbeknownst to them...
She couldn't tell Dorian, not for all her hesitation, whom she'd found encroaching upon her last dream. Chiyo wished the honest discussion would have brought with it a sense of relief, if not joy. Instead, the heavy press of guilt had followed her out of the Fade. If half of what Solas had said had been true, forbid the entirety… there was no choice left but to stop him before he committed more atrocious acts. Even if they were for her sake.
Now there was a pull, a blind path to follow, an instinct that called to her soul. Solas had begun the hunt anew, she had but to pursue.
Not yet, though, not when the quest might scare him off before she was ready to meet the apostate in the end.
"When... will we be back at Skyhold?" The words were stuck at first, but a second attempt allowed them to be plainly heard.
"A few days at most. Though I wouldn't blame you for not going back. That letter from Lady Pentaghast was rather poignant. It's not as if we fled to Tevinter to rub elbows with a few old Magister friends of the Black Divine." Dorian continued his search for debris amidst the tangles, humming a low tune while he worked.
"Don't remind me…" She fought the urge to steal another sip of the sleep-giving brew. Chiyo found waking as of late exceptionally stressful. Coming back into contact with the Inquisition had not come without issue. Some were not pleased with those traveling homewards. "I think we may have smoothed that trip over easier, Cullen left less than a dozen words for me with the last Scout, and that includes his signature…"
Dorian scoffed in quick disagreement, but it wasn't his name that had been ordered for questioning. "With those dreadful rifts gone most of the roads have reopened, the people should be dancing for joy as we pass. I promise I'll keep all those squalling infants they want you to bless away, but I can't prevent them from naming them after you."
"Let's avoid the towns then, I don't want to be stopped." As soon as she returned to the Keep, for the sake of relieving her companion, she would be leaving it again. Like a line left in the water, Chiyo could feel the tug upon her compulsions, a wriggle that honed all attentions to the West. Solas would lead her right to him, whether that was his intent, another part of his unearthed plan, or not. The real search had finally commenced, she only lacked for a horse swift enough to carry her to whatever end lay in store.
There was the bog unicorn still in the stables… but then again… Chiyo shivered at the thought. She'd find a new horse elsewhere if need be.
Bare feet brought her through the hall, followed in time by heavier, thicker soles of standard issue boots. Each a slapping, ringing thud upon awaiting ears. The solitary drum parted the milling masses that shuffled away from the approaching Herald.
The tender idol who had left them had returned with hardened eyes that caught the torchlight and a heart stonier than the mountains that secreted their base.
No apology for the sudden absence was given in the firm cadence of her stride or cowering from voiced suspicions. The woman moved as though her bones would no longer bend, a will of iron had filled in any once suspected weakness. Her taller peers looked down upon the small elf that had outwardly fled her duties for a personal affair during their darkest hours, her return just as narrowly unannounced. Chiyo strode up consciously aware, not bothering to even glare at a noble whose head seemed caught in a permanent, scowling shake.
There had been the remnants of scaffolding when she'd last left the main gallery, but in her absence, the great work had been completed. In their place stood tapestries and ancient tiles, pieces of which still being added from travels all across Thedas. Repaired closer to former glory, the previously fallen images of legend and lore were resurrected. Flanked by massive stone hounds with throats and heads stretched up high, Chiyo was better greeted by their silent bays than she was her own gathered people. She veered before reaching the sharply constructed throne. The destination was not to her lofted bedroom though she desired for its forsaken comforts and solitude.
Champion or Traitor? That had yet to be judged, she could not rest until the case was made.
Her escorts, men trained by the Commander himself, would not be quick to see Chiyo off to any but one clearly specified door. They flanked her, a formal blockade, and stood at the ready with a salute pressed to helmed brow as if an honor guard.
Admitting herself into Josephine's prestigious office, she let the door fall behind her with a solid click. They need not follow her in, there was no place else to flee too unless she was desperate enough to leap down the mountainside.
It was with surprise that Chiyo found the high-backed chair empty of the adept Ambassador who could turn plain ink into gold and near endless favors for the cause. Not that a massive-looking hole in the sky hadn't encouraged some to come forward without prompt. The Inquisition would never have succeeded as it did without the Antivan's profound abilities.
Instead, she reached an unoccupied desk cluttered with letters and scrolls, some had been organized into stacks but the rest were deserted for the sheer number. Crates had been piled nearby the fireplace, each box stuffed with more correspondences. Another office suddenly came to mind, one she had ordered the raid upon in siege, eerily similar to the avalanche of paper.
No one would be writing to the Duke Antione anymore, at least, not if they were expecting a response.
A glance at the wide table revealed an abandoned quill, forgotten beside a dried ink spill and an overturned well. Ruined paper left unfinished, it was unimaginable to think of anything upsetting Josephine's polished hand. She'd never seen the room in such a state; it was unlike the tidy dignitary to dwell amongst such disorder or to let her work overwhelm her.
The Inquisitor continued on into the War Room, passing through the ajar inner door into the secluded headquarters of their organization. Countless missives and missions had been orchestrated from the once derelict chamber. Empresses had been saved from assassination, civil wars brought to an abrupt end, secret plots thwarted. Countless redirections of influence and power had first been born upon the expansive table, many unbeknownst to even the denizens of Skyhold or anyone not present when the colossal doors were barred.
Her hand paused upon the old iron handle. Chiyo gripped the cold metal and prepared, letting the icy breeze from the broken wall cool any embers of a temper before she entered. Eons had passed since the days she'd once been afraid to be summoned here, terrified of the responsibility and duty.
And now? Now it would serve her and her plans, the weight of the Inquisition would be thrown in her favor one last time—if no one stood in the way of the one wishing to wield it.
"Ah. Here comes the hero of our age."
The brusque, annoyed voice gave her reason to pause as Chiyo crossed into the imposing space. Perched upon the table roughly carved from a massive tree and stump sat Cassandra, a presence rarely seen in this room since taking up other duties. The gleam and upkeep of her constantly worn armor—left in a rude pile on the floor— had not faltered, but the woman almost always encased within the steel certainly had. She'd come unarmed, but that did not remove the Seeker's capacity to be dangerous.
"Mighty tamer of the dreaded Mage rebellion, uhh…" A wide, rounded bottle swayed in her fist before she placed it squarely above the mapped illustration of Orlais, pushing a few brass markers aside. Halamshiral was as good a place as any to hold her drink. "Once lowly prisoner, now the fabled Herald of Andraste. I would toast you and your latest successes, my lady, but I've about run out of wine."
"You're drunk? That's a new one." Chiyo scanned the rest of the sunny room, daylight poured in from every latticed window, illuminating the Pentaghast heir in a near blinding glare. But the other advisors were nowhere to be seen. She couldn't have blamed any of them though for abiding by Cassandra's claim on the matter…
The Seeker was blunt and brazen enough sober to be intimidating, it would take an act of divinity itself to avoid hostilities with the woman who strove to become a living weapon of the Maker. She'd called for this meeting with their renegade leader, ordered the armed securement, and it seemed she would handle the re-appraisal of Chiyo's governance alone.
"Yes. We're all changing, aren't we? Everything's changing." Cassandra's slow drone held some bite, a honed and waiting razor held between her teeth. The tall Nevarran rolled her neck sorely with a groan before she spat a more directed insult. "Reports are still coming out of Wycome from those you drove away. I don't even recognize the woman they mention in them. Cruel, biased, intolerant. Tell me they were lying?"
"I've been called worse. In Haven." Chiyo stood squarely in the center of the room, halting well out of reach of the unpredictable Seeker. She was in no mood to lose a few teeth if a fist were to come her way though that did not prevent her from goading her accuser. "I thought that's why we joined in the first place. To make change. Now what, that makes you unhappy?"
"Unhappy?" With a lurch, Cassandra slammed both her palms to the wooden table and pushed forward. She may have been drunk but her stare was just as sharp and strong as ever, weaker men would have flinched beneath such a harsh, foreboding gaze. The stabbing voice behind it would have certainly punched holes through their spirits as well. "Ours was to stop Corypheus and end the Breach. Not to coddle Mages and hand entire cities over to a bunch of elves!"
The small elf took a deep breath through a tightly clamped jaw, and then a second for good measure. Chiyo watched each inhalation release just as warmly as the one before it. She would not lose control of her emotions inside Skyhold although they stirred perilously beneath the surface. No. She could not go cold again. Her home, her friends, enemies even, she'd promised to herself that they would never suffer the icy brutality inflicted upon the fallen Duke of Wycome. Never again.
"If you have forgotten, Cassandra," She paused long enough to tuck her hands low behind her hips, taking a stolen stance to maintain the grounded effect. "I am very much both of those things. Or have my ears grown shorter since we last met? I will not sit here and watch those like me suffer if I can offer them something better. I was an elf first—"
"You are the Inquisitor!"
A physical blow would have felt kinder. It would not have rung in her ears so loud and with such apparent loathing. The taste of blood in her mouth better than the resentment swelling in its place.
"And so that means what exactly?" Chiyo felt herself begin to shake, a tremor that started quietly enough inside the clamped balls of her fingers. But it soon ran up her arms in waves, threatening to topple the surety in her voice. "That I have to erase my heritage, my race, my magic? This is the position granted to me, and you were fine with who I was then when you placed that sword in my hand!"
"I did not do it so you would straddle the world for your own gains! Your actions have placed this organization in a terrible bind!" Cassandra had left the table and strode forth in a stomp. A gloved digit now pointed at the thin center of Chiyo's proud, bony chest, an inch forward and it would have stabbed with bruising force. More than a head taller, she loomed over Chiyo, each angered word ripe with pungent wine. "Elves from every city have been contacting us, begging for you to come save them from their alienages, to unseat their mayors and dukes and lords. Poor Josephine is drowning in their pleas and the enragement of our allies. Friends of Wycome now want to withdraw their support. We are trying to save this world, not turn it to utter chaos!"
"He killed my clan! He was poisoning his own people! Should I have done nothing?!" Chiyo stared up into the scared face, the first she'd peered into upon waking up in chains. It had been just as livid then, but now there was hurt in Cassandra's eyes, a redden sting from refused tears.
"You should have come to us for help! Not gone off on a vendetta!" The Seeker's voice cracked, every muscle in her perfected arm bunched as it held the extended hand still. She was on the verge of lost control, the physical restraint wouldn't hold long. Chiyo could feel them both at their diminishing limits.
"So I am wrong for not letting more people, not just elves, die? I'm wrong for stopping a murderer of the masses, of my friends and family?" Chiyo hissed and blamed the glaring sunlight for the wetness that made her eyes burn. Cassandra wasn't there to see the bodies left rotting in the streets. She hadn't smelled the fetid waters brought up from the wells. The Seeker did not have to look upon the starved faces of forgotten elves, imprisoned and blamed for crimes of which they were innocent.
Cassandra had not wandered the valleys alone in search of the Lavellans and failed to find even a handful of bones to bury, only patches of ashen soil where the grass had begun to regrow.
"Tell me, what would you have done differently?"
A stunned silence eclipsed Cassandra's scowl, and slowly her accusing finger dropped. She swallowed some of the rage that had consumed her, but her strong jaw did little to soften. Caught in a sway, the Seeker lifted an arm. She looked in hesitation, an expectancy to be left to fall remained.
Before she could stumble, Chiyo lent her shoulder and supported the larger woman in a shared hold back to the table.
"I would have drawn my weapon before my enemies and shielded those I could... You and I are not so different, are we? But I am not the Herald, and you are not an expendable soldier. Others could have gone in your place."
"My friends are not expendable. And some things must be dealt with in person." A sigh of relief whistled through Chiyo's lips, even if they did not agree to the means of her actions the ends were understood. The tension in her feet finally lessened and for the first time since entering the War Room did her heels rest lightly upon the stony floor. "Don't give up on me yet Cassandra, I can't afford to lose any more friends…"
"There is a time and place for vengeance, unfortunately, for you, that option cannot be easily granted. Too many look to you for guidance and hope." Cassandra turned woozily, the aggression that kept her standing straight no longer there to burn through the slosh of booze in her belly. She felt for the table to brace against, least her pride slip to join her temper. "Some more than others, or so we thought. Many did not keep faith in an elf, but I always thought Solas one to have seen this mission through. I called him a friend too… have you no word of him? I knew you were close, but you never explained to me what happened."
"I was not my wish to keep secrets." Months had passed, unable to shake the pain of the rejection that clung to her heart Chiyo had buried it deep in her person. Only Dorian had been privy to that night's detail and the silence she held in Solas' regard had fueled much of the suspicion around his disappearance.
"And it was not mine to pry them from you." Cassandra's hips met the table's edge, with a groan she reached for the discarded bottle and extended it in the only offering of forgiveness she could muster.
"Then would you help me find him?" In a moment of trust, she reached out to the only other person whom she thought would understand. Accepting the drink, she placed her fingers over Cassandra's and held them there firmly for a moment. "I'm afraid we must stop a friend before he becomes an enemy… I want this kept quiet, though. He will not be accused without evidence first."
"You make it sound as though he is in league with Corypheus." The Seeker's brow rose sharply when the elf before her took uncorked bottle and finished the last few dregs, sealing the apology.
"I don't know," Chiyo gasped at the acidic burn that passed down her throat. The label across the vessel's belly marked it as Hirol's Lava Burst— that would have been warning enough to have kept the toxic brew from touching her tongue had she read it first. "But something tells me that this could almost be worse."
Cassandra gave her a firm pat on the back, helping the bitter wine go down. "I shall leave that judgment up to you, my Lady. Maker guide you, but let me keep you out of trouble."
"Well would you look at that Josie, they can be civil after all… Not a drop of blood spilled either." Both looked up when the small inner door creaked open enough for a hooded figure to poke her glorious redhead inside. The quiet, knowing smile of Leliana and a soft, Antivan giggle from behind her was enough, however, to warrant the empty bottle's pitch in the direction of the intruding spies.
I expressed my incredulity to the shop's assistant, who coldly noted that he did not like my implication. He insisted that every article in the Black Emporium was genuine—no fakes, imitations, or cheap knock-offs.
I must have appeared unconvinced, for the assistant narrowed his eyes at me and disappeared into the bowels of the shop, returning several minutes later. He removed the jar of pickled apples from its display case, and proceeded to carefully, reverentially, remove the wax seal from the lid of the jar.
I watched with fascination as the jar was opened, and a single, rosy apple pulled from it. It looked as if it had been picked just that day, at the peak of ripeness. With a paring knife, the assistant cut the tiniest sliver of flesh from the apple and presented it to me.
The flavor of that one small sliver was astonishing. It was as close to a perfect apple as ever there was. I was experiencing the essence of every apple ever eaten, and that ever will be eaten. When it was over, the sense of loss that filled me was sharp enough to move me to tears.
The rest of the apple was returned to the jar, which was then resealed. I paid five sovereigns for that single taste, and I believe I got the better part of the bargain.
Codex —From the letters of Brother Ferdinand Genitivi to Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar