Do not grieve for me, Maker of All.
Though all others may forget You,
Your name is etched into my every step.
I will not forsake You, even if I forget myself.
- Canticle of Trials 1:9
Skyhold, Solace, 9:43 Dragon
When the Inquisitor rode back into Skyhold's courtyard after over a month away in the Frostback Basin he was unsurprised to find his ambassador waiting for him inside the gate.
Idhren swung down off his mount, patted the dracolisk's neck fondly and retrieved a sheaf of parchment from a saddlebag before turning the animal over to a waiting stablehand. "Josephine," he addressed, not even bothering with a polite greeting. He had been stewing in anger the entire near-week-long journey back to the keep. From the disorganized collection of papers in his arms he withdrew two sealed letters and held them out to the lady ambassador. "See these are delivered to the Grand Cathedral and the Imperial Palace immediately." Josephine accepted the letters with no small amount of confusion. "And this," Idhren continued without giving her a chance to respond. He dug through his papers a moment more before producing another envelope sealed and addressed in a different hand, "To the University of Orlais. And every bloody town crier from here to Tevinter."
Josephine accepted this letter as well and added it to the others in her grasp. "Did something happen, Inquisitor?" she asked.
Idhren scowled down at the papers in his arms for a moment before looking up to meet her gaze at long last. "Inquisitor Ameridan was a Dalish mage," he said flatly. "The Orlesian Empire erased and covered up this part of our history, intentionally or otherwise, and I will not allow that to continue any longer."
"That... Is going to be a very controversial claim," Josephine said carefully.
Did she not believe him? Did she think he would lie about something like this in order to make his own people look better in the eyes of history? Idhren frowned, and then shook his head. He trusted Josephine more than that. She was being reasonably skeptical about such a wild claim. "I have proof," Idhren informed her, nodding to the papers in his arms. "And Professor Kenric is still gathering more."
"There are noble houses who claim familial ties to Ameridan," Josephine commented.
Idhren breezed past her on his way up to the keep and she easily fell in step with him. "Those houses lied," he said curtly.
"Several hundred years ago," Josephine pointed out. "But it would still be a tremendous scandal for them to reveal this. People will be angry."
"I'm angry that my entire culture was wiped out – twice – and that my people are forced to live in squalor," Idhren snapped impatiently. "I could not possibly care less about the feelings of some pampered noble family." This last was said as they stepped into the main hall, and perhaps a bit too loudly. Visitors to Skyhold always managed to show up to see the Inquisitor return from a trip, and a small number of those were hovering suspiciously close to the door. When Idhren stepped in, those eyes turned to him, and he knew he'd been overheard. Not the best phrase to be heard out of context, but for good or ill there was no taking it back now.
"We need to find Ameridan's clan, if it still exists," he continued, carefully avoiding eye contact as he made his way through the main hall toward the door to his quarters.
"That may be a task better suited to Leliana's people," Josephine commented, "But I can certainly look into it."
"I'll talk to her as well," Idhren assured. After he had a chance to bathe and change clothes. Maybe get something to eat. "Did any other business come up while I was away?"
"I've been in correspondence with Ferelden's Arls, as well as the crown," Josephine informed him. "We have promised to communicate all current and future troop movements through their lands, even scouting parties and any of the mages, regardless of their purpose there." Idhren frowned as he heard this. Even though this was what he had proposed he didn't like it. Soldiers he understood, anything with a military purpose he understood. Tracking mages visiting family and traveling for study was uncalled for. He remained silent, however, and let Josephine continue. "This seems to have placated them for now, but I feel they only tolerate our presence because we are assisting in restoration efforts. I cannot say how much longer that tolerance will last."
"We will have to deal with that if it happens," Idhren replied. He already did not like having to announce their movements for all to hear. Being able to move in secret and without needing permission was how they had ended the war so quickly. But he also had no desire to start another war by abusing the goodwill of their neighbors. "Let me know as soon as possible if there's any further complaint."
"I will," Josephine assured him.
"Anything from Orlais?" Idhren asked. If Ferelden was complaining, he half expected their other neighbor to do so as well. "They're not angry at us, are they?"
"Not at the moment," Josephine replied. "The empress owes you her life and her throne, that goodwill will not be lost quickly."
"Well, I'm about to call one of their noble houses a bunch of lying power mongers, so we may lose it more quickly than you think," Idhren said. He wasn't blind to the complications that revealing Ameridan's true heritage would bring about. But the truth was more important than the feelings and reputation of some human family, as far as he was concerned.
"Yes," Josephine sighed regretfully. "You are certain you wish to publicize this information?"
Idhren stopped just outside his door and turned to face her. "The Orlesian Empire destroyed my people's homeland. Ameridan's homeland. Now they are using his name for their own gain while forcing my people to live as second class citizens. For centuries humans have stolen the best of my peoples' history and claimed it as their own. I will not tolerate such slander any longer if there is something I can do to change it."
To her credit, Josephine looked suitably convinced by his argument. She would bear the brunt of the initial outcry, and he felt guilty for that, but this was for the best. The world needed to know the truth. The world needed to acknowledge that elves were good for something other than scrubbing floors and looking pretty.
"I'll speak to Leliana about finding Ameridan's clan after I've had a chance to clean up," he informed his ambassador, turning away from her once more and pulling open the door.
"Of course, Inquisitor," Josephine nodded.
Idhren did not offer a goodbye as he let the door slam shut behind him.
The d'Ameride family was not at all happy to have the bloodline they'd built their entire status and reputation upon pulled out from under them. They were also not happy to have a clan of Dalish elves knocking down their doors – figuratively of course – demanding reparations.
Representatives from each had shown up at Skyhold apparently for the express purpose of screaming at each other.
"Our clan has always known that Ameridan was one of our own." Clan Ghilain had sent their First, a young woman with a wooden staff across her back, bare feet and tangled hair and Mythal's vallaslin inked in burgundy across her forehead. "This is not the first time we've tried to make the shemlen admit the truth, and every time they have laughed in our faces and thrown us out of their cities. Now their deceit is revealed to the world and still they act as though they deserve all that their lies brought them."
"How were we to know the wild claims of some homeless tribe of elves were more than an attempt at grabbing power and influence for themselves?" House d'Ameride had the sense to send one of their youngest sons rather than an ambassador, but the man lacked the tact of a seasoned diplomat. The gilded Orlesian mask across his eyes did nothing to hide the disdain in his voice or the way he sneered when looking upon the elf across from him. "And anyway the claim was made centuries ago. Should those living today be punished for the mistakes of long-dead ancestors?"
"You have no problems punishing my people for the mistakes of your ancestors," the elven woman spat in return.
"She makes a valid point," Idhren interrupted. All their shouting was leading nowhere, and it was beginning to give him a headache. "You harm more than just Clan Ghilain by stealing elven history, intentionally or not."
"Of course you would side with them," d'Ameride sneered. "How are we to know the claims bear any truth this time, and you are not using the Inquisition's influence for your own gain?"
Idhren's eyes narrowed. "You have seen the same evidence that I have," he said flatly. "This is the truth. My personal feelings have no sway here."
D'Ameride scoffed, "You expect me to believe that you take no pleasure in the knowledge that this scandal will destroy our house?"
"If the only redeeming quality that your house had was its claimed connection to Inquisitor Ameridan, then perhaps you do not deserve your titles in the first place," Idhren said curtly. "But my concern is in preserving history accurately. This is your chance to make reparations for the mistakes of your ancestors, as you so aptly put it, and prove yourselves of greater principle."
"Reperations?" d'Ameride exclaimed in disbelief.
"I think it only fair. After all, your house has been profiting from this claim," Idhren replied. "Would that be suitable for you?" he asked, turning to the elven woman once more.
"They must also cease their claims to Ameridan," she demanded. "And admit their lies."
"Of course," Idhren agreed, "That goes without saying."
"The empress will hear about this," d'Ameride fumed in impotent rage.
"Oh, she already knows," Idhren smiled, "And I think she would agree with me. But you are more than welcome to take up the matter with her as well, should you like. In the mean time, Lady Montilyet would be more than happy to help negotiate suitable repayment to Clan Ghilain."
On cue, Josephine stepped forward, pen in hand and calculated smile on her lips. "I have several proposals prepared that I would be happy to discuss with the both of you," she informed the representatives. "I'm certain we can come to a solution that is agreeable for both sides."
The elven woman eyed Josephine distrustfully, but she nodded in acceptance. However, d'Ameride was none too pleased with this turn of events. "House d'Ameride will not forget this, Inquisitor," he practically snarled, "Let the ruin of our house rest on your shoulders."
Idhren had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. "The ruin of your house rests on your own shoulders; Clan Ghilain gave you many opportunities to correct your family's mistakes. It is not my fault you squandered them," he snapped. "And," he added, turning to the elven representative again, "Should Clan Ghilain face any trouble in the future, from House d'Ameride or otherwise, know that the Inquisition will always be at your disposal."
He offered the woman a small bow, which she returned with a growing smile. "Ma serannas, ha'hren," she murmured. "Nuva mar'shos'lahn'en ir'tel'dera Fen'Harel."
Idhren smiled as well, "Sathem lasa halani, sael," he returned, and left the room, ignoring the protests shouted after him.
Skyhold
10 August, 9:43 Dragon
Dorian,
There hasn't been any sort of crisis now for weeks. Not so much as bandits on the roads or runaway druffalo. Life in Skyhold has been strangely peacefully and unexpectedly boring. I keep expecting to receive news of some new horror, but it doesn't come. I have to remind myself that the war is over. The scouts report no more rifts. No demons. The south is clear. We're done. It's over.
There are, of course, still demands from the local nobility. They are becoming rather insufferable, if I'm going to be completely honest. The Inquisition's luster has worn off, I think. They're no longer too full of gratitude to make demands. And they are full of demands. Sometimes I actually find myself wishing for the sky to split open again so that I can escape them.
But I'm certain you have your own political troubles to worry about, so I won't bore you with mine.
It feels strange, having the fate of the world no longer rest on our shoulders. I may need to learn how to relax again.
To that end, and to escape the ire of diplomats currently in residence at Skyhold, I have decided to take a vacation, of sorts. I'm going to visit my clan.
Since this whole thing began I've exchanged letters with the Keeper (the clan's leader, in case you've forgotten all I taught you). And of course you know the trouble they faced in Wycome. It will be a relief to see for myself that they are doing well.
And yet I'm nervous.
This will be the first time seeing any of them since I lost Tainan. They were such an integral part of my life there I fear the visit will only make the loss all that more keen.
I know you don't want to hear all this, my pathetic mooning over someone who is not you, but I have no one else to confide in. I fear this will not be a joyous homecoming but a painful one. To be confronted with everything I lost the day the Breach opened. Will they blame me for what happened?
My plan is to stay with Clan Lavellan for a month or more. I still have a responsibility to them. I remain their First still in name even if I have been absent. So I will ensure that they are safe and secure, and pass my title on officially. Elera was always bitter that I took it from her in the first place.
You are free to write to me there. The clan is still camped outside of Wycome and unlikely to leave any time soon as they are assisting the city in its efforts to rebuild after the war. I am very curious, and also nervous, to see how the local nobility feel about working side by side with a clan of 'wild Dalish elves'.
You may address your letters care of Keeper Istimaethoriel of Clan Lavellan and they should reach me. I will let you know how it goes.
Sule sal harthir,
Idhren
Two years Idhren had been away. It was only supposed to be a few months, then return and get married and go on with life. That plan seemed like such a long ago memory. His life among the Dalish felt almost like a dream.
And yet, when the camp came into view outside Wycome's walls Idhren was jarred by how different it appeared than his memory.
In the years that Idhren had lived among the clan he had never known them to camp within sight of a human settlement, even those small villages that were friendly toward them. Certainly they would never have dared come closer than a half-day's walk to a major city like Wycome. Now it seemed that caution was a thing of the past.
Clan Lavellan's camp was pressed right up against the city walls. A semicircle of wagons and tents butting up against a deconstructed portion of wall and bordering the road to the city. About the outside of the aravels someone had constructed a fence that seemed more for show than function. Idhren passed through a gap in that fence - there was no gate - and once within the camp proper it felt far more recognizable.
Even with the city walls looming over it the camp inside that circle of wagons was so familiar it was nearly painful. The aravels with their crimson sails fluttering in the wind. The halla wandering aimlessly between, trusted not to wander off. People bustling about, going about their lives as if nothing had changed. And the keeper waiting for him in the center of it all with a smile on her face.
"Idhren," she greeted, eyes crinkling at the edges as she looked down at him.
"Keeper," he replied.
Without hesitation, the woman held out her arms, and Idhren moved into them instinctively, embracing her tightly. "It's so good to see you again, da'len," the woman breathed, squeezing him tightly. "And to see that you are well."
"I am well now," Idhren assured her, "Though it's been difficult getting here."
Istimaethoriel pulled away, holding Idhren by his shoulders as she looked into his eyes. He offered her a smile, melancholy though it was, and the gesture was quickly returned. "I'm sure it was," she murmured. "Come, you must be tired and hungry from your trip. Let's get you something to eat and you can tell me everything. Your letters haven't been nearly frequent enough."
Idhren allowed her to wrap an arm around his shoulder and begin leading him toward her aravel at the far side of camp. "I haven't had much time to write," he said, "But I'm sure enough of the news reached you here. I'm more interested in hearing how you've been. I was worried."
Istimaethoriel scoffed as she guided Idhren across the camp. "Those soldiers of yours must have exaggerated frightfully," she said.
"You don't have to lie to me, Keeper," Idhren told her. "I know how bad it was." He'd read all the reports, often multiple times, stayed up all night worrying on more than one occasion. Venatori infiltrators, red lyrium in the water supply. It was a miracle the clan had survived at all. "I'm just glad you're all safe."
"We did lose a few," Istimaethoriel admitted quietly. They had reached her aravel, with the campfire burnt down to embers outside and the eaves hung with drying herbs and flowers. She stopped there and took her arm from Idhren's shoulders. And for the briefest of moments he saw her ever-present façade of strength and confidence drop, revealing a weary old woman with graying hair and more lines on her brow than Idhren remembered. "It was not easy," she sighed. And then she drew herself up again, façade back in place, "But I'm certain it was nothing compared to what you have seen."
That much Idhren believed to be true. The things he had seen and done in the time since he left the relative safety of this campsite would have been beyond his imagining before. "It's certainly been an adventure," he agreed.
Istimaethoriel ushered him into the aravel so he might put down his things. The inside looked much the same as Idhren remembered. Swaths of woven cloth decorated the walls and hung as curtains separating the interior of the wagon into rough sections. Sunlight filtered in through slitted windows and the cracks between boards, illuminating dust motes floating through the air and lending the close space an almost ethereal quality. Toward the back Idhren remembered that one of those colorful curtains closed off the Keeper's bed, but off to one side the nook that had once been his own living space was stocked with bedding. That was a surprise for Idhren.
"I thought you might stay with me while you're here," Istimaethoriel commented as she joined him inside. "Since your aravel has been passed on."
Idhren smiled despite himself. Warmth flooded his chest and he went over to set down his pack without question. "I would love nothing more than to stay with you again, Keeper."
The elderly woman smiled. "I thought as much," she murmured knowingly. "And I have one more thing for you, while we're in here." She passed the alcove where Idhren stood and opened up a cabinet built into the wall. "I sent most of your things to you, but this was... Well, it's a bit too large to fit in a trunk and I didn't want it to be lost or damaged on the way."
Curious, Idhren followed her to the other end of the wagon, but he was not at all prepared for what she presented him with.
It was a longbow. Made of ironbark in Dalish style and not particularly noteworthy at first glance. But upon closer inspection the delicate carvings along the bow's length were unique, and Idhren recognized them immediately. "Tainan's..." he couldn't even finish the thought before he began to choke up. This was Tainan's bow. One of several, but one that Idhren knew had held the most meaning to them, a gift from their father when Tainan received their vallaslin.
With trembling fingers, Idhren reached out and took the bow from her hands. It was heavy, and longer than Idhren was tall when unstrung. "You kept this?" he breathed, voice tight, running the fingers of one hand over the abstract designs carved into the wood.
"Of course," Istimaethoriel replied. "I thought you might like to have it. As a memento, of sorts."
Idhren swallowed back the lump in his throat. Or tried to. Tears welled in his eyes that he tried to blink back, ultimately failing as a drop fell down and splattered on the wood beneath his fingers. "Thank you," he breathed, barely managing more than a whisper.
Gentle arms wrapped around his shoulders slowly. Istimaethoriel pulled him to her chest and he lay his head against her shoulder as the tears continued to fall.
"I'm sorry," Idhren choked out.
"Sorry?" the Keeper asked gently. "You have nothing to be sorry for, da'len."
Idhren shook his head against her shoulder. "I should have... I should have made them stay here... They were protecting me… I should have…"
"It was not your fault," Istimaethoriel sighed. One hand moved to gently stroke Idhren's hair, the other his back as he heaved broken sobs against her shoulder. "No one blames you. Some things are simply beyond our control."
Idhren had really thought he was done crying about this, that the years since Tainan's death would dampen the pain. They did, somewhat. The hunter's memory no longer haunted him even in his dreams. But still the pain was there, a dull ache like an old bruise on his heart.
The tears stopped after a while and Idhren slowly pulled himself out of Istimaethoriel's embrace to wipe the tears from his cheek with a hand. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again. Although it was hardly the first time she had seen him break down like a child.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," she said again, more firmly this time. "Now come," she wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks with a thumb and gently eased to the bow out of his hands to lean it against the wall beside his pack, "There are plenty of other people eager to see you again."
It felt comfortable to be back in the roughshod dalish camp again. It felt like coming home, far more so than he had expected.
But that only made the small difference all that more glaring.
He learned that the camp had been set up neighboring the city's alienage, and the wall between them was being carefully deconstructed so the elves could easily move between the city and the dalish camp beyond. City elves mingled freely among the clan, children from both cultures played together in the grass, the craftsmen set up a small stall in the city market to sell their wares.
"Is it strange," Idhren asked the Keeper one day as they walked through the city together, "Living together with the city like this?"
Istimaethoriel was quiet for a moment before giving her answer, "It is, at times. We have never stayed in one place for so long, and never dared set our aravels so close to the shemlen cities. It has certainly been an adjustment for all those in the clan."
As much of an adjustment as it had been for Idhren to go the other way, he imagined. "But they are happy here, aren't they?"
"For the most part, yes," Istimaethoriel assured him. "The elves of the city have been more than welcoming, and thanks to your Inquisition I have been able to work with them and the shemlen leaders to ensure a better life for our people in the city."
That thought brought a smile to Idhren's face. "Hopefully this can serve as an example to others as to how elves and humans can live and work together, even the dalish."
"You would change the whole world if given enough time, I think," the Keeper teased.
"For the better, I hope," Idhren laughed, but flushed a bit in embarrassment.
"That certainly seems to be the case so far," Istimaethoriel assured him.
Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of an elven teen - face bare and dressed in the fashion of the city, though a belt wrapped about their waist that was distinctly dalish in style - bearing a satchel full of papers and parchment-wrapped parcels. "Keeper," the youth greeted, nodding respectfully to her, "Messages for you from the city council." Istimaethoriel accepted a small stack of folded envelopes with polite thanks. "And a letter for you, Inquisitor," they added, holding out to Idhren a single envelope bearing a familiar wax seal that instantly caused his eyes to light up.
He thanked the messenger and took the letter, doing a poor job at hiding his excitement as the youth scurried off to continue their deliveries. His eyes traced over the wax seal, deep red and worn slightly in transit, but a crest he sought out on every letter he had received for the past year and a half.
"A letter from someone special?" Istimaethoriel's teasing voice broke into Idhren's momentary trance. He stopped himself halfway to tearing open the seal and devouring the contents of the letter. His face flushed hot as he looked over at the Keeper to find her smiling knowingly at him. "I know that expression, da'len."
Idhren forced himself to lower the letter, to not embarrass himself further by tearing into it here in public like a child with a present. "It's from Dorian," he told her.
"Ah, your Tevinter friend," Istimaethoriel nodded. Her words were innocuous, but the glint in her eye and the emphasis she put on 'friend' said more than words ever could. "I remember what it is to be young, I will not delay you from your love letters. Besides, I must see what the shemlen want of me today."
"They're not love letters," Idhren protested. His cheeks burned so hot he did not think it was possible for him to blush any harder. "I don't write love letters."
"Of course not," Istimaethoriel replied. That knowing smile on her lips was equal parts infuriating and mortifying. She knew far too much about the goings on in Idhren's life and exactly how to fluster him for her own amusement. But the expression faded as she looked down to the correspondence in her own hands. Three letters bearing seals that Idhren did not immediately recognize but assumed were local nobility. "It is bound to be more pleasant than this, at any rate. Shemlen politics are certainly exhausting, aren't they? I can only imagine your position is more insufferable."
Thinking of the mess he had left in Josephine's lap when he left for this holiday Idhren felt somewhat ashamed, but not enough to make him regret coming. "If you ever need help-."
"No, no," Istimaethoriel waved off his concerns before they could even be fully voiced. "I may be new to their silly games, but I am fully capable of handling anything they may throw at us. I have been managing quite well so far. Now off you go," she shooed him like a wayward child, "You are here to relax, not bother yourself with even more politics."
Idhren clutched the letter in his hands, hesitant and feeling childish for being so eager to read a letter. But lately Dorian's letters had become one of few bright spots in an increasingly frustrating existence.
Watching his hesitation, Istimaethoriel's expression softened to one of sympathy. "You must miss him terribly."
Idhren glanced back down at the letter in his hands, ran a thumb over the wax seal. "More every day," he admitted quietly.
He felt Istimaethoriel rest a hand on his shoulder, and then her lips press a soft kiss to his forehead. "I am glad you were able to find happiness again," she murmured. "I have never known someone more deserving."
Minrathous
30 August, 9:43 Dragon
Idhren,
I hope this letter reaches you in Wycome, and I hope that it find you well. I am glad that at least one of us is able to enjoy some sort of respite. You certainly deserve it after all you have done.
I do hope that all those puffed up Orlesian diplomats are not giving you too much trouble. You can kindly remind them that we would all be dead now if not for you. That should quiet them down, I would think.
But I should not remind you of such unpleasant things while you are on holiday. How is your clan faring these days? How does it feel to be living like a savage again after returning to civilization? I do remember that they faced quite a bit of trouble during the war, which I pray they have recovered from now. I should think that the clan of the famous Inquisitor would find itself untroubled anymore by us meddling humans. But what do I know? Certainly nothing of Dalish politics, I'm sure.
My own political struggles are finally beginning to bear fruit, as it were. Maevaris now has enough actual magisters in her favor to consider themselves a true political faction, rather than merely a group of troublemakers. They have begun – in private of course – calling themselves Lucerni. Some poetic nonsense about bringing Tevinter's reputation back into the light. I thought you might appreciate the symbolism, though.
It is rather inspiring to think we are finally making some tangible progress. Soon we may have enough weight to actually try introducing some legislation. Something small, of course, and likely bound to fail on the first attempt. But enough to get people looking in our direction, and hopefully enough to make them take us seriously.
I'll be certain to keep you updated.
Do not eat any bugs. I don't care that it's your culture; if you eat one single insect I will never kiss you again.
Dorian
Wycome
9 Kingsway, 9:43 Dragon
Dorian,
And how will you know what I'm eating when you're half the world away?
Although this is much closer than we have been in some time. A little jaunt over the border would not be terribly out of the way, would it? You deserve a break from the tedium of politics as well, and I am aching to see you again. It has been far too long since I have seen you. I miss you. I miss having someone to debate with. I miss the warmth of you in my bed. I miss your voice, and the sight of you. I even miss your constant complaining and your ridiculous mustache. Look what you have done to me.
Clan Lavellan is doing remarkably well, all things considered, but I am finding it somewhat difficult to be back here again. The life I had here feels like a lifetime ago, or a dream of some sort. Difficult to think it has been less than three years since I left.
I am sorry this letter turned so melancholy. I promise I am not always as miserable as this, only being here brings back so many memories. I am reminded that I have never been as happy as I was while living here, and I may never be again. That is no fault of yours, I swear, and no comment on my feelings for you. I'm sorry, this is all coming across wrong. Only life was so simple here back then. No politics, no world ending crisis, only a simple life like normal people. I want that again. To be normal.
I'm sorry, I truly do not mean to sound like such an emotional wreck. Being back here is trying, but I am glad I came. Please do not worry about me overmuch, I am fine. Certainly don't let it distract you from your own work now that you are finally seeing progress.
You are doing great things, Dorian, and no matter how I miss you I would not tear you away.
I love you with all my heart, and I hope desperately that we may see each other again soon.
Idhren
Free Marches, Firstfall, 9:43 Dragon
There were more people who seemed genuinely happy to see him again than Idhren had expected. Because he had lived with the clan for only a few years he had always thought the rest continued to see him as an outsider rather than one of their own. Some surely did, but many more welcomed him back with smiles and open arms. And questions of whether he would be staying permanently.
"No," Idhren had to answer every time. Enough times that he wondered if he shouldn't just make an announcement in front of the entire clan. But word would spread through the community quickly, he knew. "The Inquisition still needs me. And there's more work I can do there to help our people." This seemed to be a very satisfactory answer for all except one person.
Elera was no longer the young girl she'd been when Idhren first joined the clan, proud of her position as the Keeper's apprentice and angry at having it stolen away by an outsider. She was grown now, vallaslin on her cheeks and as tall as Idhren himself. "You've just come to say goodbye then?" she asked.
"And to see that you are all safe, after everything that's happened," Idhren answered. "I also came to tell you in person that I'm relinquishing my position. Although that probably doesn't need saying."
"I figured that much out on my own," Elera said.
Of all the people in the clan Idhren had worked closely with, he had the most complicated relationship with Elera. "I suppose you're happy I'm not coming back to stay," he murmured.
The young woman frowned, "Why should I be happy about that?" she asked in confusion.
"Because you'll have back the position I stole," Idhren replied. Was that not obvious? "I know you've always been bitter about that, you don't have to pretend otherwise."
Her frown deepened and she stared at Idhren with open confusion. "Bitter?" she asked, confounded. "Maybe at first, yes, but not anymore." Then she laughed, "Did you really think that I hated you all this time?"
"Well you never seemed to like me all that much," Idhren replied, confused now himself. Had he been so wrong? "You complained whenever you trained with me and barely spoke to me otherwise."
Elera laughed again, louder this time. "I complained because your training was hard," she said. "But I always thought you were a better teacher than the Keeper, about some things anyway. She always wants me to hold back, to be cautious and careful. You pushed me harder, made me do things I didn't think I could. And you let me practice the dangerous spells she didn't even want me to think about."
Now Idhren had to laugh. "She has always been overcautious," he agreed. "Why didn't you tell me any of that back then?"
"Because I was a child," Elera said, chuckling a little in embarrassment. A child, she called herself, as though it were ages ago rather than only a few years. But a person could change a lot in a few years, especially when the world was at war. "I was embarrassed and I also..." now she flushed and would no longer meet his eyes, "I may have had a small crush on you."
"What?" Idhren exclaimed, blushing himself and gaping in disbelief.
"I was a child," Elera protested. "And you were this runaway from Tevinter who was so smart and let me blow things up when Keeper wasn't looking."
Idhren laughed weakly, feeling suddenly very awkward. "I had no idea."
"Yes, well… " Elera trailed off in embarrassment. But the flush was beginning to fade from her cheeks. "You only had eyes for Tainan right from the start. I'm sorry, by the way."
All mirth faded from Idhren. His smile faltered and his shoulders slumped. Everyone kept saying that, and every sympathetic glance or kind word was like a dagger reopening the wound. "It's hard to be back here without them," he admitted for the first time.
And then, perfectly on cue to ruin the moment, the mark on Idhren's hand flared. With no warning and no provocation the space between him and Elera was filled with green light. Pain stabbed through Idhren's hand like a knife, making him gasp. Elera cried out in alarm, drawing attention from the handful of people nearby.
For a moment that felt like an eternity the mark spit and sputtered in Idhren's hand, and then it slowly faded, a fire burning down to embers, and with it the pain subsided as well.
"Creators," Elera swore in muted horror. "What was that? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Idhren assured quickly, and then repeated himself louder for those nearby, some of whom were on their feet, halfway to him to see what was wrong. "It… does that sometimes."
"That's the mark?" Elera asked, her gaze focused on Idhren's hands. "The one the shemlen say their god gave you?"
"Yes," Idhren confirmed, and he held his hand out for her to see. His fingers trembled from lingering shock as the glow faded into nothing once more.
"Is it normal for it to do that?" she asked, gazing curiously at what now appeared to be little more than a scar.
No, Idhren's mind screamed, but he had no idea what had caused the mark to react just now. It was the first time it had flared without some sort of outside stimulus. "It's not common," he lied, "But it happens."
"How frightening," Elera breathed.
Frightening was an understatement for the feeling that lodged itself in Idhren's chest. He could no longer ignore that the mark had been acting unusual as of late. He only wished he knew whether or not he should be worried.
Two months Idhren stayed with Clan Lavellan before a raven arrived bearing a note that called him back to Skyhold.
He'd always known his sojourn could not last forever, however much he may have wanted it to.
Scribbling a hasty reply, he sent the messenger bird off again and began preparing to leave. This time for good. A quick letter to Dorian was the first order of business, just a simple note that he would be returning to Skyhold soon, and then booking passage on a ship back to Ferelden. It was much easier this time to secure passage. When last he had left his clan he had practically had to beg for space in a cargo hold of a ship. Now, thanks to the Inquisition emblem on his shirt, he had an actual cabin.
He still found sea travel unpleasant. His stomach churned for the first day even with the herbs Istimaethoriel sent with him. But despite the early winter chill and biting winds this time of the year, he dared to venture out on deck during the middle part of the day, and the fresh air helped.
So he stood on deck, bundled tight in his coat and trying to be out of the way, staring out at the waves as the wind whipped his hair into his face. His hair was getting long; he should do something about that soon.
The ship dipped after cresting a particularly large swell. Idhren's stomach momentarily leapt into his throat and he gripped the rail with both hands, hunched over until the nausea passed. But the feeling did not pass so much as become overshadowed by the sudden pain in his hand.
For the briefest moment Idhren thought he had somehow injured himself, but one glance down proved him wrong.
His hand still gripped the ship's railing, white knuckled with pain, and from beneath his palm flickered sparks of green.
His head whipped up, looking around with wide eyes for any possible trigger that might have caused the mark to activate. But there was nothing. Nothing on the ship was even remotely magical except Idhren himself, and there was nothing in sight but water for as far as the eye could see.
The thought of a rift beneath the waves briefly crossed his mind, but was dismissed just as quickly.
There was nothing.
Idhren grit his teeth and gripped the railing tighter. At least none of the sailors on deck seemed to have noticed, and he could easily pass his discomfort off as sea sickness. The mark would settle down in a moment and the pain would pass.
But it didn't.
Long moments Idhren stood at the rail, forcing deep breaths in through his clenched teeth as he waited for the flare to pass, but nothing changed. The pain didn't subside, and the mark continued spitting and sputtering against the wood. In desperation Idhren attempted to clamp down on it with his magic the same way he might pull back an out-of-control spell.
The mark did not like that.
It flared stronger, brighter, more painful, until Idhren pulled back again, unable to contain the tiny choked whimper of pain that escaped his throat. Then the mark settled down to its previous state, but it remained active.
Why was it active, though? It shouldn't be doing anything on its own now that the Breach was closed. Years the magic had been embedded in the flesh of his palm and it had never done anything like this. It reacted to specific triggers, always the same and always predictable. Now twice in as many months it had reacted to absolutely nothing at all. This was not right. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.
With conscious effort, Idhren pried his fingers away from the railing and buried his hands in the folds of his coat. That would hide the glow well enough for him to make his way back to his cabin without notice.
Safely in the privacy of his cabin, Idhren collapsed back against the door, trembling from head to toe. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and then gasped in pain. Only to clamp down on that noise as quickly as he could manage. The walls were not thick.
On shaking legs he made his way the two paces over to his narrow bed and collapsed onto the thin mattress. Not bothering to remove his boots or coat, he curled in around himself, clutching his left hand to his chest. When he could not suppress a whimper of pain he buried his face in the pillow to muffle the noise as much as possible and stayed that way, praying desperately that the fit would pass soon.
Why was it doing this? What was wrong? What would he do if the pain did not stop?
The pain did stop eventually, after what felt like an eternity. An hour, maybe more. It was hard to say how long he lie there, only that he felt exhausted afterward. Even when the mark ceased glowing the muscles of his arm twitched and spasmed and ached from being tensed so long. His whole hand tingled with pins and needles.
Blinking the blur of tears from his vision, Idhren rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling as his breathing returned to normal.
He still did not understand what was happening to the mark.
He tried to think back to the first days of the Inquisition. That first horrible day when he'd woken to find a foreign magic in his flesh and the sky torn asunder. The mark had been wild and uncontrollable then, eating away at him the same way the Breach ate away at the sky. Had it hurt this much that day? He couldn't remember. His memories clouded and warped by panic and time.
But the Breach had been closed now for over a year. Nothing but a scar in the sky to match the one on his hand.
This should not be happening. He didn't understand why it was happening. And that terrified him more than anything he'd done during the war.
Skyhold
11 Drakonis, 9:44 Dragon
Dorian,
I cannot begin to describe my current situation. I feel as though I am being torn apart.
Things are looking rather dire for the Inquisition. It seems our goodwill with the people has run out.
Ferelden wants us gone, either from their lands or for good. Orlais wants us to join with the Chantry, something about accountability and nepotism. I have spent the past month being yelled at by various diplomats. I am exhausted and it feels as though the entire world hates me.
I am trying to compromise. I don't want to start another war or breed ill will with our neighbors, but neither do I want to give up the Inquisition's independence. But they will not hear me.
Cassandra – sorry, Divine Victoria – wrote to me recently. The complaints of the nobility have reached even her. She is trying to calm the situation, but you know that has never been her strong suit. I fear this cannot be settled by her brand of politics, though I am grateful for the attempt.
There will be formal negotiations. A council to decide the Inquisition's fate. Empress Celene has offered the Winter Palace as neutral ground, one last favor before all has been spent.
I am nervous. And I am angry. And I cannot do this on my own, Dorian. Please, if it is at all possible I ask that you come. I, and the Inquisition, will need all the support that we can get.
Idhren
Minrathous
26 Drakonis, 9:44 Dragon
Idhren,
I should let you know that I received a similar, if much more formal, letter from Josephine at the same time as your own. Requesting my presence at the Divine's Exalted Council. Though it was completely unnecessary.
As though I could ever make you suffer through another Divine something-or-other without my being there to keep an eye on you. Last time you almost got yourself blown up. Yes, that was no fault of your own, but horrendous bad luck at political functions is something of your trademark. Someone must make sure you don't do something incredibly foolish, and evidently I cannot trust anyone but myself in this endeavor.
Besides, I suppose it is a good excuse to see you again. It has been entirely too long. Maevaris will have to survive without me for a time. But surely something of this seriousness will be of interest to the people up here, so it won't be a complete loss on their part.
It will take me a few days to sort everything and book passage south, but I should make it to Orlais in time.
You are not alone in this, Amatus. Your friends will stand by you no matter what.
Dorian