The pain was the first thing that Seyna could remember. It reached into the depths of her dreamless sleep, and it pulled her roughly awake. It was a tight, burning sensation that started in her palm and surged up her forearm. It was disorienting, but at least the pain anchored her to consciousness and prevented her from slipping back into the darkness. When she opened her eyes, the scene around her was impossible to comprehend.
Seyna found herself reaching for a familiar habit. She had a mental utility for situations like this. Whenever she was overwhelmed, she would envision herself withdrawing into her mind. She would close all of her senses to the outside world like doors, then carefully reopen them one at a time. It felt like stopping all of the processes, the runaway thoughts, and the inputs. Then she could control how they came at her, calibrating herself to them one at a time.
Once she found herself in her calm inner-space, she reached out for her first sense.
Feeling. She felt the pain; it was impossible to escape. Once she drew attention to it, she could categorize it and compartmentalize it. It was almost possible to tune it out. Then she could carefully focus on each of the other sensations she felt.
The tips of her fingers ached; so did the tips of her ears and her nose. She was freezing down to her bones. Her legs and hips ached at every joint and pressure point beneath her. It felt as if she'd been seated in the same position for far too long. With a start, she realized her hands were bound. She hadn't noticed until now because the pain surging up her arm was so distracting. Her hair felt heavy, as if maybe it was wet? Damp at least. Satisfied she'd gained as much as she could without the rest of her senses, she opened herself to the sounds around her.
Everything that made noise in this place seemed to echo and bounce off of very solid walls. It sounded like stonework to her. She heard crackling torches somewhere nearby, and metal creaking open and slamming shut somewhere farther away. There was a faint sound of water that trickled down a wall and pooled on the floor. She determined that she didn't hear any immediate danger. Everything noted, it was time to move to the next sense.
With a deep, measured breath through her nose, she knew right away she must be being kept underground. Mildew, stale water, burning torches. As before with sound and touch, her sense of smell did not tell her danger was immediate. Next.
She opened her eyes, and focused only on her closed fists. Her eyes were adjusted to the dim light here, which flickered against the shackles currently binding her. Being in actual shackles was certainly an unwelcome realization. When she combined the details of the stonework around her, the shackles, the door of the cell, and the unfamiliarity of it all, it did not add up to a pleasant picture. The panic that surged through her body ignited her survival systems, urging her to flee.
Get out, get away, get safe.
She tried to separate herself from the overwhelming thoughts. If she could just set aside the terror she was experiencing, she would have a much better chance to handle whatever happened next. Her eyes closed again as she tried to calm herself down, forcing herself to breathe deeply and evenly. It was a way of dissociating with what was around her and retreating inward to survive whatever came at her next.
This did permit her to function enough to be led from the holding cell under the Chantry, and out into the blinding light of the snow and the breach in the sky above. To function enough to be led through the town of Haven, with everyone looking upon her as a demon straight from the Fade… To be led to the rifts, closing them one after another (though she could not begin to understand how.) To meet her first companions, though that's not what they were at first. In truth, they were simply the first people to look upon her without instant hatred and distrust since she had left the holding cell. They were keeping each other alive, despite it all. To her, they were foreign and unknowable. To them, she was the prisoner with the cursed magic hand.
Seyna distinctly remembered seeing the Commander for the first time; he spoke to her without the utter vitriol that she had felt from so many so far. He merely seemed determined, focused, and committed. He seemed willing to sacrifice to protect as many as he could. Also, he was rather tall, she noted.
Cullen Rutherford had been recruited by Sisters Cassandra and Leliana back in Kirkwall, though he was not who they were there looking for initially. They had come in search of the Champion to be their cause's leader. Instead, they ended up with Varric Tethras and Cullen Rutherford. Since joining the Inquisition, he couldn't help but feeling like his position was an unnecessary title. They were going to be searching for answers and trying to restore order. Did they need a Commander at all?
In the beginning, it didn't seem so. Then, the conclave exploded. Suddenly, any and all survivors in the valley were taking up arms to fight the demons from the Breach. He had suddenly found himself needed everywhere at once, and trying to keep as many of the people alive as he possibly could. This was what he did best, this was what he had always wanted to do. His calling had always been to help those in need. The valley suddenly found itself with no shortage of those in need.
He brandished his sword and shield with muscle memory and precision. Still he was no match for these damned rifts that kept opening. Every time a new one came he would have to divide his available troops further into smaller and smaller groups. They had to do anything they could to prevent the demons from running free when they came through. It seemed utterly hopeless. Impossible. It felt genuinely like the end of the world as he knew it.
Then their saving grace came in the form of Cassandra and her company charging onto the battlefield. They jumped into the fight without hesitation. Cullen heard the tell-tale sound of Varric's crossbow firing into the fray, and the voice of the mage Solas as he cast spells of fire and ice. It made his skin crawl- this apostate of unknown power was among them and it was very hard for Cullen to remind himself that he was no longer in the Order. There was a fourth person among the party, but the fighting was too chaotic to pick them out from the rest of the soldiers involved. As his sword cut down another formless Wraith, Cullen scanned the faces trying to pick out the newcomer.
He spotted her, but only because he thought to look outside the heat of the battle. She stood crouched on a rock that had a great vantage point to the conflict, and she was… Calling out commands. He could see from here that her face was wrought with panic and fear, but that she acted in spite of it. Her clear and direct voice carried across the fighting, telling Varric when to pin the demon that was coming for Solas. Then, telling Cassandra when to draw the attention of the demon from the others, distracting it from pursuing Varric. Before the blasted fiend could get to the Seeker, Solas and Varric had already weakened it considerably and they were aided by spells from the elf on the hill. She was casting barriers and shields, and shot bolts of ice at the demon just before it reached Cassandra.
Cullen smiled despite himself. The elven mage had the most peculiar combat style- the ice bolts from her staff did not shoot directly and efficiently to her intended target. Instead they wove around the other combatants, avoiding friendly fire and landing squarely on the enemy. It was… Clever. Slower than it could be, but clever nonetheless.
He shook his head, trying to regain focus. Now… Where to swing his sword next? Suddenly he realized there weren't any more hostile targets. Shit. He'd gotten too distracted by the elf with the long white braid.
He glanced up to her again, and couldn't believe what he saw. She was reaching out to the rift, and it was pulling into her, somehow. Some ley line of energy shot from it to her, or her to it- he didn't know which. As much as he felt the impulse to run and help her, he was rooted to the spot. Besides, what could he do?
She crouched low, as if trying to brace herself and use her body weight to pull on it like a rope. Then, with a sickly tearing sound that roared around them, she pulled back on that line with so much force that she lost her balance and stumbled backward off the promontory.
From across the field, Cullen heard the mage Solas poking fun at her as he strolled over to help her. "Well, that's one way to seal the rift, I suppose. Effective, if nothing else." Cullen frowned. Well, at least he helped her up.
Cullen's brain stalled, just at a complete loss. He defaulted to what was easiest to address. The Seeker. "Lady Cassandra, you made it just in time. I'm glad you managed to close the rift- I didn't know what we were going to do." He was trying to focus his efforts on hearing Cassandra's words and not on the quickly approaching elf. Wait, she said it was the prisoner's doing? Of course, the elf was the prisoner with the mark on her hand. He'd heard around camp about her, but not seen her in the flesh until now. Why did the Maker have to send a mage, of all people? How much more complicated did this have to be? With a deep bracing breath, he turned to address the elf as she approached.
He faltered for just a moment, the bracing breath he had taken caught somewhere in his throat. She was more than a head shorter than him, with distinctly elven features. Her tattoo identified her as Dalish straight away. Of all things, she was not at all what he expected.
"I hope they're right about you. We've- We've lost a lot of good people getting you here." He tried to come across as stern but hopeful, but didn't know how well it would be received. Her petite features revealed nothing. The panic and fear from the battle were absent from her face now; she was oddly serene. Focused.
"I can't promise anything Ser, but I will try my best." She said evenly, bright eyes flashing as she stared up at him. He noticed those eyes, how peculiar they were because they were two distinctly different colors. A bright shining emerald and an intense deep turquoise. They darted from his eyes to his armor, back to his mouth, they were cataloging everything she saw, scrutinizing it. Right, she was waiting for him to respond.
"That is all we can ask."