Thanks to the ferocious northerly wind, Tharin and Leliana's galleass made good time crossing the Waking Sea and arrived at Lake Calenhad Docks following mere two days of sail.
After putting the ship behind them, the two secured horses from an Inquisition camp and started toward Crestwood for their second mission. Already near nightfall, they rode for an hour or so through a backcountry road filled with frozen mud before arriving at an inn, where Leliana decided they should lodge.
Leliana had to make an exaggerated show of reacting to the inn's wooden sign as Tharin breezed past it. He probably would have continued on if Leliana had not intervened, but she was exhausted, unreasonably so. It was perhaps that her tense nerves had given away following the discovery at Valence, and her inexplicable ability to always stay alert and vigilant had been diminished. But it was also true that traveling through the night was not a good idea in any part of Thedas right now.
To call the inn rustic would have been a compliment of the highest order. Its amenities lacked, there was some sort of a trenchant smell, and the owner was gruff. But the place did have its own talentless bard, singing pitchy ballads in the parlor.
As Tharin and Leliana sat across from each other at a dingy dining table, the shadows on their faces dancing from the dying flame in the fireplace, they shared a humble meal of barley stew. There was none of the comforting quietude Leliana desired as the bard made a heroic effort to entertain the few guests there were. Evidently feeling sorry for the poor bastard, Tharin tossed several coppers in his hat.
Leliana had a déjà vu. The aging, wooden interior adorned with garlands of dried herbs and illuminated by a warm, yet wavering light reminded of her past. A lifetime ago, when she was but a naïve, passionate Chantry sister eager to start her adventure. She was around Tharin's age when she joined the Hero of Ferelden to fight the Blight, she remembered. And now, she was a seasoned veteran supporting another hero in the making. The world had a way of changing while remaining the same.
That lightning of a thought made a series of chuckles bubble within Leliana, and she could not help but let them out. Tharin sat his spoon down and asked curiously, "What's so funny?"
"It's just… strange to think I am once again trying to stop the world coming to a premature end. And you remind me so much of the Warden, you know."
"Oh? How?"
"You are tasked with an impossible mission, to save the whole of Thedas, just like the Warden." Leliana ripped a large chunk of the tough rye bread in the middle of the table and dipped it in her stew to let it soak. She nudged at Tharin with gentle words, "Still, the Warden and I found our happiness despite everything. You deserve happiness too."
Tharin made a thoughtful noise. "I am happy. Sometimes I wonder if I can afford to be happy. I do not want it to distract from my responsibility as the Inquisitor."
"That, I don't believe. Not anymore. Like I said, the Warden and I were happy, and we managed to stop the Blight."
A shadow draped on Tharin's visage so much as a veil would. "But… The Warden, he…" He held his Anchor hand up and stared at it intently. The light of the Anchor had been stifled by the glove, but it was there, the arcane energy ceaselessly pouring out from it.
Conversing about the Warden was not as devastating as it used to be, and that saddened Leliana. Of course, she found at Valence that the needling distrust, the hard shell of cynicism the Warden's death had instilled in her had thawed and went away. But the edges of the love she held for the Warden had begun to fray like old letters too, and she wanted to cling on to it. It was her only keepsake.
In spite of the overflowing emotions, there was no time to dwell on the past and what could have been. They had a busy day ahead tomorrow and had to rest soon. Leliana reached across and held Tharin's left hand. "I am not going to let that happen again."
Absolutely no one, not even the Inquisitor and herself, had their path predestined. There was no such thing as an obvious path in life. And this story, however twisted and dark it may become, did not have to end with Tharin's death.
That was what Leliana sincerely believed.
Tharin and Leliana departed early in the morning for Crestwood. They were supposed to meet Varric's friend who he could not sneak into Skyhold.
They were to meet Marian Hawke, famously – or infamously, depending on who one was to ask – known as the Champion of Kirkwall.
According to Varric, Hawke had been operating from a cave in the foothills of Crestwood. There, they would rendezvous with her and her Grey Warden ally to discuss Corypheus and his no doubt diabolical plans.
They arrived a couple hours later, the sun still near the eastern horizon. They tied their horses to a tall tree and cautiously approached the cave, making sure there were no traps. Tharin took off his gloves, to demonstrate that he was the Inquisitor. And Leliana had sent a message of support to Hawke before they left Skyhold. At the very least, Hawke wouldn't be hostile to the Inquisitor and his spymaster.
As they closed in, they saw a lone figure emerge from the entrance. A woman with short raven locks and turquoise eyes. Tharin halted and frowned. The woman looked familiar.
Where had he seen her before?
When the woman took notice of Tharin's approach, her face glimmered with unrestrained hilarity. She let forth a loud ha before crossing her arms and remarking, "You've got to be kidding me. You are the Inquisitor?"
With the frown still set upon his face, Tharin tilted his head and asked, "Are you the Champion of Kirkwall?"
"Unfortunately so. Marian Hawke at your service." The woman extended her hand.
Tharin grasped her hand and let Hawke shake them almost violently. "My name is–"
"Haretharin Trevelyan. I remember. It's an interesting name, not least because of your illustrious family."
Leliana, who had hitherto been silent, chimed in, "You two know each other?"
Further mystified by this unforeseen development, Tharin spoke in an unsure tone, "No, I don't think… I'm sorry, Champion, have we met?"
Hawke snorted as she continued to shake their hands. It was inarguably beyond the reasonable amount of time required for greeting at this point. "Why, you hurt me so, Inquisitor. You don't remember our short but charming encounter? You were an ungroomed hermit in the Vimmarks, I a mysterious messenger. I tracked you down and gave you a letter from your uncle in Ostwick, I believe?"
"Oh," Tharin murmured. "Oh!" As he managed to grasp onto the thread of a forgotten memory, the Inquisitor emitted yet again, "Oh, it's you!"
It was now Tharin who was shaking their hands vigorously. He looked to the Spymaster and explained, "Hawke here delivered a letter from my uncle inviting me to the Conclave. Without her, I wouldn't be the Herald of Andraste. Or the Inquisitor for that matter."
The corners of Leliana's lips rose slightly. "The Maker's providence, I am certain."
Tharin turned back with a crooked grin. "I don't know if I should thank you or punch your face."
Hawke laughed, loud enough to force skittish birds out of their perches. "Oh, I am used to people wanting to punch my face. Have at it."
Tharin sniffed. "Later, when you least expect it."
Warden Stroud was a serious man. As soon as Tharin opened the door to the hideout, he was met with a drawn sword. It took Hawke explaining he was the Inquisitor for the man to sheathe it.
What Stroud had to say was grim indeed. Corypheus, an Archdemon in his own right, had invoked a fake calling for the Grey Wardens. The vast majority of the Wardens in Orlais fell for it, and the situation appeared to be desperate enough for Warden-Commander Clarel to decide blood magic to be necessary to combat the Blight. The details of what that blood magic was to accomplish, however, remained unknown.
The Wardens, Orlesian or otherwise, were gathering in the Western Approach and the advance team had begun to garrison hitherto abandoned Adamant Fortress. That was where the Inquisition's next mission was to be, to stop the Grey Wardens from falling into the thrall of Corypheus.
Leliana looked to Tharin and said in her usual impassive tone, "If the Wardens have already begun to fortify in the Western Approach, us four going there will not be enough. We need to inform Cullen and have him send the Inquisition's forces."
Before Tharin could affirm her thought, Hawke intervened, "Hold up, Cullen as in Knight-Captain Cullen?"
A thin grin appeared on Leliana's countenance. "Cullen is now the Commander of the Inquisition. I assume you two have some history?"
"Oh boy, do we have some history…"
Tharin knew what Hawke was referring to, but his curiosity was nevertheless piqued. He wanted to hear Hawke's side of the story, and so he asked, "Care to elaborate for those not in the know?"
With a mischievous smirk, Hawke drawled, "Well, the Knight-Captain and I were lovers." After smacking her lips, she looked straight at an agape Tharin and continued, "It's obvious from Cullen's skills in the bedchamber that his passion knows no bounds."
It was completely involuntary how a myriad of lurid thoughts crossed Tharin's mind. Taking care so his voice remained steady, he nonetheless croaked, "I… see."
Hawke cackled. "I'm kidding. Our relationship was the kind where I was a practicing mage outside the Circle and Cullen pretended to not see. That's all." With her eyes narrowing, she observed, "You seem perturbed."
Tharin looked to Leliana who in turn returned his gaze with a lackadaisical shrug. He bit his bottom lip as embarrassment heated up his face.
Even from their limited interactions, Hawke did not seem like the type to miss anything. She clapped and said in a voice dripping with glee, "Oh, wait, I see now… You were getting jealous in case I really was with Cullen! You are interested in Cullen!"
Stroud, who had been packing his few possessions in anticipation of their imminent departure, grunted in dissatisfaction. "Is this really the time to talk about such frivolous matters?"
Hawke turned and countered, "It is exactly the time, my friend. We should cherish the frivolous things when we have the chance." She held her left hand up. There was a small silvery band on her ring finger. "Although my husband wouldn't find this remotely interesting… Too serious, you know?"
Though discomfited to no end, Tharin still breathed a sigh of relief. It was one thing to travel with the Champion of Kirkwall, another to accompany someone who held Cullen's attention and affection had it been the case.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Leliana whispered, "You know Cullen only sees you."
Tharin whispered back, "I know… I am just being silly." He was able to meet Hawke in the eye and probe, "I've heard some things about Kirkwall."
A shadow flitted across Hawke's visage and her shoulders tensed. But her tone remained airy, like someone who had transcended it all. "Bad things, no doubt. Meredith made sure Kirkwall was a terrible place for anyone with even a smidgen of magical abilities. And I can't lie and say Cullen's hands are clean." She folded her arms tightly. "I don't know what Cullen's told you, but Meredith pushed until the mages pushed back. The rebel mage who blew up the chantry was one of my friends. And I… honestly don't blame him."
Tharin noticed a distinct difference in Cullen's and Hawke's views on the rebel mage who precipitated the Mage-Templar War. Still, he decided to be diplomatic. He could not afford to alienate the Inquisition's new ally. "Cullen said much the same thing."
Hawke raised her brow and cocked her head. "I am… genuinely shocked. Maybe I wasn't wrong to befriend him when I had the chance."
The Inquisitor nodded, recalling some of the things the Commander said at Haven on the steps leading to the hamlet. "Cullen attributed his courage to stand up to Meredith on your friendship. He regrets not helping you and your friends more and misses you."
Visibly relaxed now, Hawke chuckled. "I guess you can teach an old mabari new tricks, huh?" To which Tharin replied with a subdued chortle of his own.
Tharin knew he had much to discuss with Cullen when they would meet next. The way the past haunted the present was discombobulating to say the least. But the man, tortured as he was by his past, would be glad to know Hawke still numbered among his friends.
Cullen had been planning to present Tharin with the locket once the man completed his missions and returned to Skyhold. But it was not to be.
The Commander received a message from the Inquisitor and the Spymaster that they were heading straight to the Western Approach from where they were, and that they would meet up with rest of the Inquisition there.
They emphasized the rest of the Inquisition included any and all trained Inquisition personnel who could be spared for an expedition. Because they would siege a fortress held by the Grey Wardens.
The Commander in him was furious at the Inquisitor and the Spymaster for dropping such news on him without any forewarning. He could have started the preparation much earlier had he any inkling of what their secret missions were about.
And it further irked him that there was no personal message for Cullen while Tharin requested Dorian Pavus, along with the Seeker, Sera, and Varric, to follow him to the Western Approach as soon as possible. But Cullen could not deny he feared for Tharin's safety traveling that distance without his full retinue. It would be better to have Dorian by Tharin's side than not.
Whereas the handpicked companions left the very next day on fast horses, it took a full week to plan for a siege and gather all warriors and mages even with Cullen's rushing. One day in Guardian, the Inquisition forces along with the rest of the companions began the long march toward the Western Approach. Cullen led at the front, and his soldiers followed in an organized procession.
As he rode on his mount, Cullen sometimes reached in his surcoat to check. And he was met with the cool metal of the locket every time.
"Sand, sand, sand… everywhere." His voice trailing in a pathetic wail, Dorian groused. He wrapped the cloth around his head tighter as his horse kept kicking up more sand. His eyes burned, and he could smell his own rancid breath from the cloth blocking his nose and mouth. What a civilized way to travel, he noted with not a trivial amount of bitterness.
Dorian did not realize he had been moaning out loud until he heard Sera bark at him, "Will you fucking shut up? It's already hot enough without you whinging about it for hours on end!" The heat was getting to her. She and Dorian would tease each other quite a bit, but that was all in good fun. This felt hostile, personal.
Dorian threw a dagger of a glare at Sera as Varric slowed down and rode in between the two. He spoke in a mollifying tone, "Sparkler, Buttercup, play nice. This is the Western Approach. Just be glad we are here during the winter months. This is tolerable."
Sera did not heed Varric's advice as she shouted, "You call this tolerable?! I've got hot sand up my arse crack, and my face feels like it's melting!"
"He means relatively, compared to summer months," grunted the Seeker. She added, her voice dripping with acerbic poison, "Now, if he had deigned to tell me where Hawke was all this time, we could be helping Tharin by his side now instead of traipsing through this Maker-forsaken place looking for him."
Dorian watched as Varric's whole body seemed to crumple from a heavy exhale. "Not you too, Seeker. I told you, I had to protect Hawke. And we've been relaying all the way from Skyhold. We can't be too far behind." He admonished, "We are all hot, thirsty, and tired. Just a little more. Remember what the scout said?"
Yes, Dorian remembered. The scout reported seeing a group of Grey Wardens heading west toward a Tevene ritual tower next to the Abyssal Reach that traversed the Approach from north to south. As soon as she reported the sighting, the Inquisitor, the Spymaster, and two of their companions left the camp to follow.
They were only a day behind Tharin. They could not be too far from him now.
Once the party came upon the great canyon, they began to trace the cliff edge and head south. The ritual tower had to be close.
Indeed, after a couple more hours of riding, they could see the stone structure from far away. Suddenly, there emanated a green flash followed by a sound of explosion. Like a wave, it washed over the vicinity and vibrated every grain of sand.
Dorian gritted his teeth. With his brow creased, Varric yelled, "Come on!"
The four rapped the sides of their mounts and began to gallop. And gallop hard they did until they reached the entrance to the tower and saw the battle raging on its ceremonial platform.
While other companions dismounted, Dorian kept on going. He had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the stone gate, but he rode on until he fully crossed the bridge over the canyon.
With a wide gait, Dorian climbed the steps by three. On top, he found a massive mound of dead bodies, twisted demons, and Grey Wardens fighting against the Inquisitor and his retinue.
"Tharin!" Dorian called forth.
The Inquisitor slashed at a rage demon, jumped back, and whipped his head. Turning back toward the monster, the Inquisitor exclaimed, "Perfect timing!"
A volley of fire from a Warden mage hit the ground next to Dorian, and he took a defensive stance. He began to gather his mana, create balls of arcane energy, and discharged them all at once at the enemies. The demons seemed rather impervious to them. But the Wardens, who seemed linked to the demons, were affected indeed. Many of them teetered, and Dorian saw Leliana nock arrows and take them down one by one in a lightning speed.
Killing the hosts seemed to not weaken the demons at all, but their attacks became less coordinated. Regardless of their numbers, without a unifying strategy, they made for easy pickings. Cassandra, Varric, and Sera joined the fray and helped take those demons down as well, which sped things up considerably.
When Dorian finished the last demon, Tharin approached in hurried steps and gave him a bear hug. "Thank you for coming all this way."
Dorian's heart was already beating fast, but this did not help. His nostrils were filled with the scent of healthy sweat. He heard a low whistling and turned to find a raven-haired woman leaning on her staff.
"Are you this affectionate with everyone, Inquisitor?" droned the woman.
Dorian scowled at her, and Tharin promptly broke away. Looking sheepish, the Inquisitor gestured at the woman. "Dorian, everyone, this is Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall."
After they made sure all enemies had been dispatched, shared requisite greetings, and Cassandra gushed about Hawke's many achievements – and there were many indeed if Varric's account was to be trusted –, Leliana explained in her calm voice about the demonic ritual that had taken place earlier. The Grey Warden mages were sacrificing their warrior comrades for their blood, to bind themselves to demons and create an army.
Warden Stroud shook his head. "What a waste of Grey Warden lives… The warriors are killed outright, but the mages lose their minds to Corypheus. They become husks for their demons. And Corypheus gets an indefatigable army."
Leliana looked to Tharin and Dorian and commented, "Both of you have seen the future that must not come to pass. You said Corypheus comes to possess an army of demons that will crush the South. This has to be how he does it."
Looking grim yet resolute, Tharin nodded and stated, "I agree. We must stop the Grey Wardens and the Venatori from completing this ritual."
Dorian's heart skipped at the mention of the Venatori. He rasped, "The Venatori are involved in this?"
Hawke soughed and said, "Yes. Apparently, the Grey Wardens were desperate enough to seek help from the Venatori. And now, the Wardens are controlled by a man named Livius Erimond from Vyrantium or some such place."
It was hard not to feel frustrated at his homeland, for Tevinter seemed to be part of every conspiracy, every plot against the South these days. No wonder, since Corypheus's goal was to recreate the glory days of the Imperium, and many Tevinters would be thrilled by such development. "I know Erimond. He's a cowardly rat not fit to run a bake stall let alone the Grey Wardens."
Stroud stepped forward and declared, "But each Warden makes for a fierce soldier. Once they complete the refortification of Adamant, getting them out will be a tall order."
Tharin crossed his arms and let out a heavy sigh. "Well, let us hope the rest of the Inquisition gets here soon. Otherwise, we will not have a Thedas to save anymore."
The divisions of the Inquisition's army were two weeks out from the Western Approach. In the meantime, Tharin and his companions kept themselves busy, capturing Griffon Wing Keep from the Venatori and clearing the surrounding areas of any threats. It was the perfect staging area for the siege on Adamant.
The news of Griffon Wing Keep's capture must have reached Adamant since the citadel began to receive a trickle of Grey Warden defectors. Men and women showing up alone or in twos waving at the gate for a sanctuary. The information gathered from them drew a far direr picture than they had expected. The blood magic ritual happened every day, and every day the number of demons in the fortress increased.
But there was not much the Inquisition could do without an army and siege weaponry. They had to be content with the Wardens leaving Griffon Wing Keep for now. Thus, the standoff continued.
The standoff meant vigilance yet little to no action. Companions took turns watchkeeping and patrolling the ramparts, but that was the most exciting thing to look forward to.
Boredom and monotony of the beige desert gave Dorian a plenty of time to ponder. On the day before Cullen and his army divisions would arrive, Dorian made up his mind to talk to Tharin, the man he had been diligently avoiding for the past month.
By now, Dorian had memorized the watchkeeping schedule and knew Varric would relieve Tharin in mid-afternoon. As the Inquisitor stepped off from the perch to the rampart and idly chatted with the dwarf, Dorian puffed up his chest and ambled to them.
Varric patted Tharin's forearm and pointed. "Looks like Sparkler has something to say to you."
With his chin held high, Dorian stated stridently, "Inquisitor, may I have a word with you?" He looked to Varric. "Alone."
The dwarf made an exasperated noise and left. "…Shouldn't discuss secrets in the open if you don't want people to hear…" he grumbled.
Tharin looked uncomfortable as he folded his arms, "Dorian. Hello. What is it?"
A deep breath in and out calmed Dorian. He was able to speak boldly, "Once the siege of Adamant is over, I would like to conduct an operation against the Venatori in Southern Orlais on my own. And once Corypheus is defeated, I should go back. To Tevinter."
"You want to… leave?" Tharin looked genuinely struck. "If this is because of Cullen and me, there is no need to–"
Dorian interrupted, "Don't. It is insulting to both you and me." He had a good pretext ready. "All my talk of how terribly wrong things are back home, but what do I do about it? Nothing. You make monumental decisions affecting the entire world. How can I not consider some of my own and aspire to do more?" Dorian even managed to lay his hand on Tharin's shoulder as he finished, "If leaving the Inquisition means proving that Tevinter can be better, that there's hope even for my homeland? I would do anything."
The wrinkle on Tharin's brow dissipated as he shut his eyes and nodded. "If that is what you truly want, then I cannot stop you from going, can I?"
Dorian swore to himself he would not do this, to let his baser instincts take over. But when Tharin did not try to stop him, when the young man did not beg for him to stay, the smooth exterior of confidence sloughed off and the vulnerability of a man who just wanted to be loved revealed itself. Why doesn't he want me to stay, it wailed.
But his Tevene upbringing had not gone anywhere. The next moment, Dorian successfully built back the façade of imperviousness, patted Tharin's cheek, and drawled, "No, you cannot. But like I said, I'm staying until Corypheus is gone. There's still some time for me to show you what I can do with ten silk scarves. If you behave."
As Dorian turned away, he felt a large, callused hand grasp his wrist. He had no choice but to face Tharin yet again. And instead of deflective humor, which Dorian knew was his cardinal sin, Tharin answered with unadulterated earnestness. Typical. "Dorian, I love you in my own way. Not as much as you would like me to, and perhaps not as I would like to, but the fact that I care about you deeply is nonetheless true." He clasped both of Dorian's hands. "I am glad you have your purpose. Go forth and be happy."
Dorian felt the heat of the large hand and felt ridiculous. "Oh, Maker… Nobody will take you seriously with this syrupy sincerity of yours, you know?" There was no longer any anger or discontent to express, only forlornness. He cleared his throat and lilted, "I must teach you the art of sarcasm before I go."
Tharin laughed. "If you insist, Master Pavus."
Next up, the Siege of Adamant Fortress. An announcement: I will be moving across the country this month. In order to make sure the quality of the fic doesn't suffer and I don't go totally bonkers trying to juggle a thousand different things, I will be taking extra weeks' break on top of the regular intervals. The next chapter will be posted on Sunday, August 7. See you all then!
Comments and reviews are never obligatory but give me life! Thank you for reading!