A/N: So, this is a sort of crossover between my own world and that of DA. As the one-shots progress, more of my world and the systems of magic and all that likes will be more revealed. It go from DA: Origins to DA: Inquisition, if enough interst is shown. If you like this, leave a kudos and comment! Will love to hear your thoughts!
They found him in a village that could barely be counted as a village. Grass-thatched roofs had been sent aflame, and those flames snuffled out by a crust of silver hoarfrost. Some had collapsed in on themselves, lying in a clutter of ice-splintered black timber and shattered gray stone. Amongst the ruins were corpses of villagers and darkspawn. Blood reddened eagerly the ponds of silver about the darkspawn, their tanned brown-greenish skin blackened by frostbite. Tendrils of black sprawling from their several cuts, some from their necks, others from their severed limbs. It appeared to be growing, sharp lines knitting together up the lengths of their fly-swarmed corpses. A few stared up at the starlit-sky with gaping, glossy holes of darkness, empty and chilled. Ice sprouted from their mouths, large jagged teeth that split some of their jaws right off their teeth, and would have been left dangling had a thick sheet of frost not bound them together. Mists of silver shivered off their mangled bodies. Their wicked swords and axes, bows and arrows, were shattered in small shards of ice-snarled black.
Leliana heard Ralea swallow, heard the breath come right out of Alistair in a sharp gasp. Falassen's gray eyes were lightning-flared rainstorms on the verge of the horizon, threatening to break the calmness of the sea. Her heart reached out to him, and she wished she could take his hand in hers, to at least soothe the storm's wrath. Among the dead darkspawn were strings of people as well, hewn with harsh and brutal strokes. Not ice-made, she could tell. There was a clear and sharp way that the darkspawn died, swift and with a desire to end the fight quickly. The villagers had been far less fortunate. More were simply torsos or one-armed figures. Most were missing their faces, staring with torn mouths and bloodied-slash features, sliced by long, sharp talons.
Stomach coiling and churning, Leliana had to turn away, to catch her breath and not hurl at the sight of the massacred village. Her hands balled into fist, anger twisting with hot lashes in her chest. Maker, take them all to your side. It was the smallest kindest he could do, and the only thing Leliana could give back.
In the fire-stroked rage swirling through her limbs, clouding her mind in dark thoughts, the village was nearly quiet. A cold wind came swiftly from the west, and the soft hiss and crackle of the growing ice snapped through the air. Save for that, the world was quiet, as if it was too mourning for what was lost.
With the fires soothed down to a small smolder, Leliana finally turned back to face the carnage, to look upon the quiet figure resting upon a large, rounded boulder swathed in green moss. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was garbed in a long sweeping black cloak with rime frost lacing at the ends in shifting silver and gray. A long hood shrouded his face, upturned to gaze upon the two moons hanging. If he noticed them, he made no move, to slick away or to challenge their approach. He only sat there, staring.
Falassen tapped the tightly stone-packed ground with the tip of his staff, sprouts of sparks blinking out into the night before dying away in streamers of gray. He took a few steps, before halting again. "Name yourself," he called out. Though his voice was a rumbling quiet, the night carried it so it boomed like thunder. "Name yourself, stranger."
The stranger turned with his whole body. Leliana's breath caught in her throat, this time not out of disgust or rage. She did not know what she was feeling—fear? Anger? Despair? None of them fit quite right for her.
The great hood shrouded his face in still shadows; the only hint of a feature were pools of shining, frost-pale silver, flecked with deep blue and slivers of gold, like the rough-etches of twin moons. They glowed keen and sharp and hard. The phantom stare was still upon her, even as his glance was brushed over her to pierce Ralea and then Alistair. Shiver rolled through her limbs, gooseflesh covering her arms, hairs rising at the back of her neck. The night-air seemed colder, almost faint and thin. Breaths came only in tiny gushes through her lungs.
Falassen did not seem bothered at all, but he held his staff in a white-knuckle grip. His shoulders tightened, his back growing as straight as a lance. A faint shimmer of green-russet trickled off his form, flowing warmth through Leliana's limbs. Brown locks drawn tight behind his head flowed with the rolling wind, twisting this way and that. Her fingers itched to trace through them.
For a moment, there was only the wind and the roaring beat of Leliana's heart, thundering in her chest. Then, the stranger moved. Black-gloved hands rose to grasp the edge of the large hood, pulled back, and the moonlight spilled light upon the stranger's face.
Leliana had expected an aged, weathered face. The man looked no older than a boy at the cusp of adulthood in truth, though there was a hardness to his features. His hair fell as a thick mane of black wavy curls, well past his shoulders, with a few strands glinting pale as starlight. High cheekbones reared on a noble face, chilled away from any emotion, and his wide jaw and strong jawline chiseled and sharp. A hooked nose like that of a mighty eagle seemed only to enhance the sharpness of the man. That was nearly the only way for her to describe him—sharp and cold as a blade of ice. Not even his full lips could soften his features. It was not a wicked face, but it was not kind either. Handsome, in a harsh manner, like some mountain-god of old.
Yet, what was worse was his eyes. Sharp and slightly tilted and almond-shaped, the silver eyes rested in twin lakes of blackness. A part of her thought it must have been some trick of the light—hoped it, almost. But even when she blinked thrice, they still remained, those night-filled eyes. The terror flowed stronger through her arms and legs, thickening in her chest.
When he spoke it was in a voice barely louder than a whisper; but like Falassen's, it was carried, and it came in a deep rumbling murmur. No fear touched it, nor worry, nor joy. Like his eyes they were cold and hard. "You do not need to worry. I will not harm you."
Distrust curdled Falassen's voice. "Your blade is out and bare. I shall repeat once more. Who are you?"
The man glanced down at the blade upon his lap. A single-handed curved sword, the blade was darkened by shadows near the hilt and rippled to shimmering moonlight-white near the tip. The coiled hilt was silver-and-blue sheening black ice, with griffin-beaked quilions curving forward and set with the gems that shone with the cold glare of starlight. A mist of pale blue wreathed off the edges, as if it was alive with winter's breath.
His long fingers tightened around the hilt, and the blade shivered with deep shadowy ripples. "My name…" he started, but then he appeared lost for words. He turned his cold gaze back at them, staring pointedly at Falassen, but watching them all. "My name is Amayian." He reached out behind his back, and pulled out a black sheath with vines of white near the borders. Slowly, he sheathed the blade, and it released a cold burst of mist and a whispery hiss once it was sealed. He did not take his eyes off the blade. "I stated my name. What is yours, stranger?"
Leliana could see Falassen's shoulders release a slight tension, loosening a little. But only just a little. She did not know she was holding in her breath until she released it. But she kept her bow still out, her fingers ready to grasp at an arrow at a moment's notice. "Falassen Surana of the Grey Wardens. With me is Grey Warden Alistair, Grey Warden Ralea Tabris, and Sister Leliana," he said, though she noted a softness touching his voice as he said her name. Her heart fluttered at that. His head turned about, glancing at the numerous corpses riddling the earth. "You're doing, I imagine?"
"Not the corpses of the dead townsfolk, no," said Amayian. He rose from the boulder, strapping the black sheathe to his belt, and Leliana nearly gaped in surprise. Amayian was a tall man, far taller than either Alistair or Falassen, and she would put a copper down to say he was taller than even Sten. She barely rose above his stomach, her head only brushing the bottom of his chest. He must have had some Qunari blood in him, she thought. Amayian stared at the nearest corpse of a darkspawn with no emotion on his face. It was an ogre, its massive head cut from its muscle-thick neck. Frost bit and tore at flesh, peeling away in hardened petals to reveal ice-shattered bone. "I saw fire and smoke on the horizon, and when I finally came upon this scene, they had been feasting upon their conquest."
"What have you been doing out here, anyway?" asked Falasseen, mistrust still tingling in his voice.
Amayian continued to stare long at the severed head. "Fleeing."
Falassen did not have to ask from what. Most likely he had been trying to run from the civil war that plagued Ferelden. Most likely his village had been swallowed up, just like this one, by hungry and invading Darkspawn. Pity blossomed in her chest for the boy, for how quiet he had spoken of that small word and how young he suddenly looked, regardless of the harshness of his face or the massive height of his body. He half-looked like a kicked puppy, she thought.
"You can come with us."
Falassen glanced at her with wide eyes as she strode to his side, tucking her bow behind her back. "Le-"
Leliana cut him off with a swift whisper. "He was able to handle a dozen Darkspawn on his own, without a scratch on him, it appears. He'll be a valuable asset. And are you going to really leave him out here? If the Darkspawn doesn't get him, then the wolves or bears will, or the cold." The one thing she knows about Falassen Surana was that he always pitied leaving anyone behind or refusing to help someone when they needed help. It was one of the things she loved about him. One of the many things, at least.
He sighed, but nodded his head. "She is right. We need any help we can get to stop this Blight. You are welcome to come with us. I am sure we can find a place for you to rest, and find you something to eat."
Amayian stared at them for a few moments. He seemed to be mulling it over in his head, but his eyes gave no hint of questioning or fear. "Very well. That sounds agreeable." He turned and took two long strides to stand before her and Falassen. Maker, she felt so small now that he was so close. "I thank you, ser and madam."
Falassen nodded, and turned on his heel. As Alistair and Ralea followed, she heard him whisper to her, "Oh, Morrigan is going to love this."
Leliana was about to follow until she turned to wait for their new companion. When she turned, she saw him staring back up at the moons, and she thought he looked like a lost single star fallen from the skies.