A/N: My apologies for the update delay! Here's a bit of a longer chapter.
Promises to Keep
Night was already falling by the time the motley crew was within reach of their destination. Solas was an ancient city that far outdated the Imperial Empire, so much so that hints of its origins could only be found in the rarest and most ambiguous of texts. Though it had been occupied for the better part of the last century, its remote nature deterred many citizens from calling the crumbling stone buildings home.
Perhaps a mile outside the city, close to the main thoroughfare, lay a more contemporary village. Calcaria was maintained primarily for wayfaring travelers and weary pilgrims – apparently, some Tevinter holy ground lay about a day's journey further. According to Captain Fabria's sources, it was originally a mining town before the quarry ran dry. They were in the process of passing this smaller settlement when the curly-haired soldier announced,
"It is late. We should make camp and explore the city tomorrow."
"Or," Morrigan countered, her dancing eyes meeting Inara's, "we could find a nice inn with real beds. I don't know about you, but I could use a hot bath."
"Let's hope they have a half-decent ale," concurred Bull, guiding his steed toward the town without any further discussion.
Gideon paused for a moment as his other two companions followed suit.
"I suppose we could do that," he mumbled under his breath.
Inara Lavellan leaned back in her chair in the quiet pub as the adventurers finished their hearty meal by the firelight. Gideon watched the elf survey her two old friends with a contented half-smile.
"Varric would have enjoyed this," she mused, nursing a half-empty tankard. "What greater story to write than a campaign to stop the world's end?"
"This isn't his story to tell," the Qunari argued, picking a chunk of questionable meat from his canines. "And he's already written, what, two…maybe three end-of-the-world epochs? Time Shorty branched out." A mischievous smile suddenly appeared. "Besides, I heard he just published his latest bestseller. Wolfbite?"
Morrigan abruptly laughed as Inara seemed to sink into her chair.
"What's the matter, Inquisitor?" she chortled elegantly. "Wolf got your tongue?"
After they were satisfied that the Dalish rogue was mortified enough, the witch and the Bull were content to move on with their conversation. Gideon enjoyed following the stories of dragons and nugs and shapeshifters, but he kept one eye on Inara. Having been squirming with embarrassment only moments prior, the Herald observed her former followers with wistful nostalgia for some time. The other two, in the meantime, pointedly avoided mentioning too many adventures that involved a certain Rift mage.
Finally, as their banter devolved into a debate over Flemeth's part in The Tale of the Champion, Lavellan slipped away toward the stairs to her room.
Solas wasn't there tonight. In fact, no one was there. Inara pivoted in place, noting her casual attire, intact arm void of the Mark, and her lack of weapons. The weapon issue was solved instantly as she wished two daggers onto a harness at her back. Much better.
The somniari did not recognize her surroundings, and the architecture did not match anything she had seen in Tevinter. Empty cots lined the dirt floor of the dingy, vaulted space. Grime coated the crumbling pillars and the tattered banners on the walls. A roughly-hewn table with various potions and healing supplies stood to one side. The only true hint of the room's origin lay in the barely discernable crest imprinted on the nearest standard. Varric had such a symbol on his belt during the Exalted Council, after his return from Kirkwall.
But, if it was Kirkwall, who's dream was this? Downstairs at the inn, her companions had been discussing The Tale of the Champion. Before falling asleep, she had been contemplating how she could help…
"Hawke?"
"I'm here, Inquisitor," the Champion announced from the double doors.
The corners of Inara's lips crept downward as Hawke approached her, gazing around at what was evidently familiar territory. The mage was dressed in rough leather armor and appeared several years younger than in reality, but no tricks of the Fade seemed able to hide the profound weariness that hung over her.
"Hawke…"
Lavellan didn't bother masking the concern in her voice. If she didn't learn how to open a rift soon, it could be too late to save Hawke. On the positive side, if that were the case, she would not have to live with her guilt for long; Fenris would have her head.
"It's all right," the other woman breathed with what was supposed to be an encouraging smile before she sat on a nearby crate. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to talk sooner. The Fade can be a bit of a maze, and I have been looking for my own answers."
"I should apologize as well," confessed Inara. "The real world isn't exactly in a decent state. I renounced my position, and I may or may not have found Solas. Half the time, I can't tell what is real here anymore."
"I have been trying to reach Fenris in his dreams; but even there, he is the most stubborn man I have ever met. Every time I managed to track him down, he would become hostile, believing me to be a demon. After all the madness I dragged him through over the years, however, I can't really blame him."
"He's also been a bit busy leading the slave rebels outside Perivantium."
Hawke stared incredulously at her companion before sniffing a disbelieving laugh.
"A leader of the slave rebellion? Are we talking about the same man?"
"Yes."
"And here he was always so content either shadowing me or running off on his own." She straightened with apparent pride. "I knew he had it in him."
"He seemed rather a natural at it."
"Really? The same Fenris who likes to punch holes through peoples' chests for fun?"
Inara shrugged.
"I understand a large reason for accepting was the opportunity to avenge your death."
"Ah. That does sound a bit more familiar." A comfortable silence fell between them, but Suledin could feel the Champion's sharp eyes on her. "You banter with me as a loose-tongued drinking companion, yet you look almost as world-weary as I feel."
In answer, Lavellan willed the Anchor to appear. It burst to life with a shower of tingling jade sparks. Hawke watched as she gently waved her hand around, creating a trail of magical flames in the wake of its path that fizzled out in an instant.
"I haven't been able to find a way to open a rift again, but I may be close. With the Anchor, I can summon magic here. It's…a step, but I'm not there yet. I'm sorry."
The trapped mage continued to study her companion as Inara closed her fist, snuffing out the flame so that only a faint glow remained in her palm. She couldn't help but shiver as she remembered the excruciating pain of the Mark at its peak, and the threat that it would eventually kill her. Was the shooting ache through that arm even now merely her imagination?
"You're afraid of the pain, and the implications of the Anchor. No one can fault you for it."
"I promised I would get you out."
Inara tightened her fist even as Hawke managed a whimsical laugh.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Inquisitor."
"But I will keep this one."
"If my life ends in the Fade, so be it!" With an exasperated sigh, the human set her staff aside and leaned her elbows woozily against her thighs. "I do not regret playing my part. I only regret not saying goodbye."
"The magic is part of me." Inara stubbornly kept her voice steady and hardened. "It might kill me, but it is part of me. You won't have to say goodbye, Hawke."
The Champion cocked her head curiously.
"Are you all right, Inquisitor? All this talk of doom and gloom doesn't seem the way I remember you."
The two forgotten heroes stared each other down for what seemed an eternity – both tired, both unwilling to let any more suffer on their behalf. Eventually, however, the Dalish shook her head and took a seat on a cot opposite her ally, crossing her legs beneath her. She shook her glittering hand in an attempt to be rid of the continuing dull ache. It seemed a fair distraction from the dejection in her own voice.
"I feel like I've failed everyone."
"I see. So I have become your last chance for redemption. Lovely."
The Herald glowered at the obvious sarcasm in the mage's tone, but Hawke went on before she could retaliate, taking on a more maternal manner:
"I know a thing or two about failing the people you care about. When I fled my home, I lost my sister to an ogre. In the Deep Roads, I lost my brother to the Blight, and killed him with my own blade. In Kirkwall, I lost my mother to a madman who used her as part of some sick fantasy ritual to bring back his dead lover. I was responsible for them all, and I lost them all. I can only be grateful that the family I chose during my days in Kirkwall are all still alive – at least, as far as I know."
"And they need you," Inara whispered, choosing to clean one of her fingernails rather than look Hawke in the eye. "You didn't see Varric when I told him I lost you. You didn't see Fenris when I told him there was hope."
The other woman chuckled as she gazed around the room with nostalgic ease.
"This place…was the home of an old friend. I don't know where he ran off to after Kirkwall…after he destroyed the Chantry."
"This place belonged to Anders?"
"His heart was in the right place, but his anger often bested him. I tried to help where I could, but he never understood my caution when it came to his zealotry. I hated being a mage – too much fear, and always facing the threat of disaster or possession. Ironically, one of the things Fenris and I had in common was our distrust in magic. Yet, in the end, we all fought to keep the Circle safe from Knight-Commander Meredith when she made the decision to invoke the Rite of Annulment. My friends followed me to strange places. As did yours."
"The Knight-Commander was somehow turned into red lyrium, yes? She was infected, and eventually, it consumed her."
Hawke glanced sideways at the searching tone creeping into her companion's voice. The mage's friends had discovered the red lyrium; she hoped Hawke would know at least a little more.
"And red lyrium continues to plague the land, and consume its victims. I know Solas is using it as part of his plans. And I know about the mishap Fenris had, though the context has escaped me until now."
"Mishap?"
The black-haired human bowed her head somewhat guiltily.
"The Fade can distort much, so do not take my tale as absolute. He met with another elf – one with the markings of Mythal. They had a disagreement, and when they parted ways, Fenris followed him through one of those mirrors. An eluvian?"
Inara nodded vaguely.
"I know the slave rebellion is being used as a distraction, and as a recruiting measure for the Dread Wolf's followers. Fenris was probably suspicious of their intentions."
"Well, you're right about that. The mirror led straight to an entire stockpile of red lyrium." She laughed painfully. "He probably intended to blow the whole thing up. But the eluvian closed behind him, and he was trapped for nearly three days with nothing but lyrium dust for company."
"How did you find out?" the elf probed, leaning forward in anticipation. Now, she wondered how severe the broody warrior's exposure was, and she tried to recall what she had learned about other victims. Would Fenris eventually become one of the those horrible, mindless monstrosities, or was he a special case?
"I was there, in his dreams, while it infected his markings."
With a wave of her hand, the scene changed. The room darkened, a sinister ruby glow pulsing against the shadows. Inara choked at the heat and the itchy dust that seemed to endlessly dance in the stagnant air. There was no escape in this place; only the shattered crates, the gleam of red lyrium growing into the walls, the collapsed stone of a former doorway, and the lifeless eluvian.
Fenris was unconscious against the far wall. His left forearm, likely injured during an earlier caged frenzy, was wrapped halfheartedly with a strip of his cloak. The silvery blue of his markings around the bandage seemed to have adopted a reddish tint that the Herald recalled noting during their last encounter. Mercifully, the rest of his skin appeared untouched, though it was unlikely to stay that way. From the grimacing twist of her lips, Hawke seemed to have similar concerns.
"Abelas knew he was being followed and sealed the entrance," the mage nodded toward the rubble. "Naturally, my beloved wasted his energy on destroying every single shard once escape proved impossible; not the best idea in an enclosed space. I think they wanted to teach him a lesson for his prying. But now, I think he intends to kill both Abelas and the Dread Wolf, if given the chance."
"How did he escape?"
As if in answer, the rubble blocking the interior entrance fell away, revealing several barefaced elves. Wrapping thick facecoverings around their nose and mouth, two of the newcomers walked straight to the downed warrior, hoisted him over their shoulders, and dragged him through the newly awakened mirror. As the spirits vanished, Hawke turned back to Inara with a sad smirk.
"He didn't. They just weren't finished with him." With that, the human bent down to examine the grainy residue of the lyrium. "The red lyrium – using its power and unique properties – seems to have become an integral part of their plan. The Evanuris may be vulnerable to it…as could Fen'Harel. I think your magisters will soon discover this. Time is running short for both you and your Dread Wolf."
"And for you," Inara breathed, catching the mage's gaze.
"I have walked many ancient halls in this place. I have seen droves of elves gathering in a passionate frenzy to follow a Call so strong that none could stand against it. And as I watched them, something was watching me - a Wolf, mighty and shrouded in darkness." The other woman's eyes narrowed in warning. "Tread carefully, my friend. There are wolves in both the Fade and the waking world."
"Fenris and Fen'Harel," Inara sniffed humorlessly. "The Little Wolf and the Dread Wolf. I will get you out, Hawke. You just need to hold on a little longer."
"You're leaving?"
"Was it that obvious?" Fenris replied dryly, offering his Qunari companion a lazy smirk as he finished tying his bedroll. "The rebellion is secure. With that goal in place, I will no longer tolerate being a pawn for Abelas and his master."
"Many magisters are calling for talks with the freed slaves. We could have a say in the next phase of our entire society. And you're just walking away?"
"I don't do 'talks'. I leave that in capable hands – yours and the many other voices we have gathered."
"But you've led us through hell and back."
"Not through this," he countered, gazing up at the sky. Just before waking, he vaguely remembered dreaming of being trapped in the red lyrium storeroom, feeling the magic-tainted infection spreading through his limbs. But someone else had been there…if only he could recall who. "A storm is coming, Grunt. I have lingered too long." With a throaty grumble, the elf shouldered his cloak into place and checked the contents of his pack. He had no intention of taking one of the rebels' precious horses. "The Inquisitor's time is up."
"You really think the Herald can rescue your girl?"
Fenris took a moment to stare at the vague red hue his markings had adopted. The former slave had seen the madness of Varric's brother and Knight-Commander Meredith; he had heard the stories of monstrosities created by the blighted substance. So far, there was only a creeping, increasing demonic glow that had started with his arm and now infected the entire spiderweb of markings he possessed. It was likely too much to hope that this was as far as it would go. He could almost hear the Champion chiding him for his foolishness.
"I have nearly lost Hawke to raiders, slavers, mages, and demons. Yet she has endured it all. I must hope that she can return from this. If she does not survive, neither will Inara Lavellan. Even if it is the last thing I do."
