It was not the rising sun that finally roused 'Manehn from her tormented sleep.
It was the taste of salt and iron, and the feel of cloth in a soft and gentle hand, wiping sweat from her brow and blood from her mouth.
It was Eshna and another woman, talking over her in hushed and hurried whispers.
She tried to sit up, but the soft hands gently pulled her back.
"Careful, lethallan."
She tilted her head back towards the soothing voice above her. It came from a younger woman with long dreadlocks and a broad face marked with June's vallaslin. She looked down at 'Manehn with a small, warm smile.
"Do not push yourself. The ritual alone is already arduous enough."
"Listen to Davhalla," Eshna chimed in, sitting at her side. "You came here for the Vir Elaravel, not a damn funeral. And I'm not sending back a possessed Inquisitor."
"Possessed?!" 'Manehn bolted up, ignoring the burning in her chest, the blood dripping from her lips, the vicious pounding in her head, and the hands trying to coax her back into lying down.
"We believe you attracted something from the Beyond, something that attempted to possess you." Davhalla said, gently rubbing her back as 'Manehn coughed. "This ritual allows those without the gift to touch the Beyond. Only for a moment, and never enough to call on the power from the Beyond, or, hopefully, to attract spirits who might wish harm. Only enough to find your true self, the self hidden within you in the shell of your physical body."
'Manehn didn't respond. She tried to steady her breath, spitting out the remaining bits of blood and bile that dribbled from her lips into the now-soiled cloth. Eshna and Davhalla merely waited for the fits of coughing to end.
After a while, 'Manehn finally spoke. "I understand. But I never had the gift in the first place. And I didn't have this problem before….or the kind of visions I'm seeing."
"But we've also never done the ritual on someone who's visited the Beyond in their physical form." Davhalla shifted to 'Manehn's side, her eyes scrutinizing 'Manehn's face. "More than that…..could you not part the Veil yourself?"
"But I can't anymore." 'Manehn countered. "The Anchor…..it almost killed me. And it's gone. Along with half of my arm, if you didn't notice already."
Davhalla's gaze did not waver. "Regardless, your connection to the Beyond is more sensitive than before. You were able to fight off whatever you attracted this time. I know the tales. You have fought off demons and nightmares, but you don't know how to harness your will as a weapon. Not like we do."
"And our hunters don't have much experience fighting full fledged abominations," Eshna said, with uncharacteristic seriousness as a dark pallor settled over her pale and heavily lined face.
"Though I'm sure half of your hunters would be eager to cut me down." 'Manehn retorted.
"Yeah, I can't really argue that one." Eshna replied with a heavy sigh.
Davhalla shook her head, her lips beginning to quiver with rage. "Not half of them. Only Fen'an. He was always a troublemaker, always ready to fight. And how many times has Da'enansal had to fend off their prying already? You'll let them harass my little brother to no end to avoid a fight? We're ALREADY fighting. They are ALREADY agitated!"
She paused and looked at 'Manehn. "I would not be surprised if they drew a blade on you." She whipped her head back towards Eshna, her voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "And we should not allow this discord to continue."
"We've had this argument already, Davhalla!" Eshna snapped. "She stays hidden. Or maybe, she goes —"
"No!" 'Manehn shouted at them both, triggering another violent bout of coughing. "Do not make decisions for me. I will see this through."
"I've got nothing personal against you, Inquisitor." Eshna said, "but you probably won't have a choice. Especially if you can't finish because you got possessed by a fucking demon."
"Can't you do something different?" 'Manehn pleaded. "I mean, what initiation do those with the gift go through? Could I not just do that?"
"No." Davhalla said. "If you truly want to continue….this is the only way you can do so."
She turned towards Eshna. "I'll stay with her." she offered. "I can watch for the signs. If I sense anything trying to break through, I would be able to halt it."
"And If I fail, I can kill her." she continued, prematurely cutting off Eshna's objections.
Eshna looked towards Davhalla and began to chuckle. "Didn't even give me a chance to say no….Creators, I always get the most stubborn little shits for apprentices. Fine, you stay with the Inquisitor. And Inquisitor?"
"Yes?"
Eshna turned towards the sound of 'Manehn's voice. "You're damn lucky - for not falling to a demon and stumbling on us in the first place."
"Right. Lucky me."
Eshna ignored her sardonic response. "Davhalla, Ellathim and I will make sure you leave here alive. Davhalla's a Dreamer, so you'll be fine against the demons. Ellathim and I will handle the agitators."
As she crawled out of the aravel, she turned back in Davhalla's direction. "And you are right. Ellathim's tried, but apparently not hard enough, to shut them up. It's time I knock some sense into their heads."
Eshna rushed towards the center of the camp, going as fast as her bowed legs and swollen knees could take her, using her staff to force herself forward. She could hear the murmurs of discontent, anger, and mutiny in the still, suffocating summer air. A fair amount of the clan had gathered at the hearth to confront Ellathim, their faces contorted in rage. She heard Fen'an's voice, full of fire and fury, from across the camp.
"We KNOW that 'Inquisitor' is here!" Fen'an stepped forward to face Ellathim, a wicked snarl on his face and his hand on his sword. "You have welcomed a traitor in our midst!"
Eshna glowered as she approached the hearth, and the jeering crowd. Most elves like Fen'an were usually pure pomp and pageantry, only good at chest-beating and empty boasting. Unfortunately, Fen'an was not "most elves". He could back up his words with his blade, and he hungered to drive his words deep and make his point known.
Ellathim merely glared at the young hunter as he sat by the hearth, unperturbed by this display of defiance. To him, Fen'an's haughty displays were merely a nuisance. "Do you think your course is wiser, to agitate our people just to drive out a lone elf? She has done nothing to you, or to us. She hasn't even left the tent since she arrived. I understand your concerns and your frustrations. She will only be here for a one more day, then she will leave. She refuses to offend you with her presence longer than necessary."
He rose to face him, his beady black eyes boring into Fen'an's, "Neither Eshna nor I will tolerate an attempt to sow discord, from either the Inquisitor, or from any of you."
Fen'an laughed in his face. The crowd, and Ellathim, fell silent at this nearly blasphemous response.
"So you admit her presence is offensive, yet you let this traitor hide among us?! Did you not hear the news from Val Royeaux, Hahren? Do you not remember the tales you insist on retelling? She spouts lies, twisted some of our own to serve our sworn enemy!"
"Midha, Varla and Tamriel followed him willingly." Eshna began to speak as she finally approached the hearth, her voice booming and resolute but her tone still cool.
Fen'an turned to face her, and flicked his head into the slightest bow at her approach, only enough to show that he knew tradition, not that he respected it. The others did not follow suit. Their mutinous murmuring died at her approach, and everyone else bowed deeply, making sure they showed deference in spite of disagreement.
She continued as she closed in on Fen'an, the heat in her tone beginning to rise and threatening to boil over. "She is the one who leads the fight against the Dread Wolf and his allies, but you're bitching over some lewd rumors. She ended the shemlen fighting that was costing Dalish lives and rose an elf to nobility, and you were bitching because the elf she raised was a flat-ear. She is the one that closed that demon shitting hole in the sky we were all freaking out over, and you were bitching that she was working with shemlen in the process!"
Fen'an began to fluster. The small insurrection he attempted to raise had been defeated with her approach.
"I will also not tolerate threats or harm to her. Like it or not, she is one of our own. She has done no harm to ANY of us. Save your anger for someone who actually deserves it!"
Fen'an was beaten, but he wasn't stupid. He prostrated before Keeper Eshna, keep his tone even and respectful.
"Ir abelas. Bel abelas. I forgot my place, and I humbly beg for your forgiveness, mirthadra ghila'ren."
"Just get up and get going." Eshna snapped at him. "It's late, I'm hungry, and I don't have patience for your tantrums."
Fen'an scrambled to his feet and made his way to his aravel as the crowd dispersed. He would have preferred to rally the clan, to earn the blessing of the hahrens.
But he could take this matter into his own hands.
For hours, there was only silence. 'Manehn had adjusted herself to a prostrating position before the small fire pit, and spent most of her time trying to refocus her thoughts on the Creators instead of the strange woman who had assigned herself to be 'Manehn's protector.
She was familiar, and she tried to place where she had seen her, but her head was still pounding, and any attempt to dredge up memories before she was Herald, Inquisitor or Savior to Orlais were momentarily lost in a dull, painful fog. She refocused herself on her meditations, and the next few hours passed uneventfully as the sun made its descent and the twilight approached.
It was only after the last sun rays had finally given way to starlight than the silence was broken.
"My brother sends his apologies."
'Manehn turned towards the source of the voice.
It was Davhalla. She was sitting towards the far end of the aravel, just an arm's distance away, heating a small tin cup with her hands, surrounded by an assortment of herbs, oils and vials.
"My brother Da'enansal. He didn't realize who you were at first, not until you said you were from Clan Lavellan. He felt so bad about how he spoke to you before. When he found out it was the Inquisitor….well, he idolizes you."
'Manehn bowed her head and smiled back. "Well, tell him I said I accept his apology, that I knows he did not mean it, and that I'm honored that he feels that way."
Davhalla nodded. "That's very gracious." She set the now-steaming tin cup down and picked up a small bunch of herbs, placed them in a pestle and began to grind them into a dry powder. "When he heard about you, a Dalish being worshipped by shemlen, leading the Chantry in a holy war, he thought it was going to change everything. How you could give us a homeland. About how you could fix things, make the Chantry apologize, make the shemlen stop hurting elves."
She paused briefly to brush her locs from her face, then continued pounding. "He's too young to remember the Blight, and he doesn't remember how the Hero of Ferelden promised the same thing. I warned him, but he said 'well, of course she would break that promise, she's a shemlen queen. The Inquisitor is one of the People. She's different!'"
She poured the now-powder into a small pouch. 'Manehn said nothing, biting her tongue, hoping and praying that this time, that this elf, was different.
"He still hopes so hard that things will be different, even with the Inquisition gone. But it's almost easier to stay on the outside. To believe you wouldn't succumb to feeding what oppress you. That's what the flat ears do, is it not? They are prisoners. And sometimes a prisoner learns to embrace their captivity. It is comfortable, it is secure. And it keeps you alive."
And there it is.
'Manehn shook her head.
"I see how this works," she said with a small chortle. "For fuck's sake, you're EXACTLY like Ellathim, except you hide your barbs behind a pretty smile and backhanded praise."
"No," Davhalla said without pause. "Unlike Ellathim, I don't have time to chide you or snicker at your sour luck. And unlike Fe'nan, I don't have time for tired and salacious jokes about your relationship to the Dread Wolf. I don't have time to hear the endless prattle of our peers, who don't know a damn about failure or sacrifice. And we don't have time for you to hide in this tent, wallowing over your failures. Not when he plots to destroy us all. And not when you're the only one who can stop him."
"Be very careful, Davhalla," 'Manehn snapped. "You don't know anything. About the Inquisition. About what I've been forced to do. About the choices I've been forced to make." Her anger began to rise, and her tone increased in turn. "How DARE you compare me to a prisoner! I am not a 'flat-ear' and I have not capitulated to anyone. You don't know a damn thing about me!"
"I know you are angry." Davhalla said. She handed 'Manehn the small tin, but 'Manehn refused it. She sighed and placed the cup next to her. "That thing you fought off, that almost possessed you? That was a spirit of rage."
She moved towards 'Manehn and sat before her, the small pouch of now-crushed herbs and a vial of oil clenched tightly in her hand, "And you have been touched before. By Fear. by Envy and by Pride. You were strong enough to fight and resist. Fighting is all you know. Now you have to decide whether you will walk away and abandon this path to vengeance. Or if you will embrace it."
Davhalla set the oil and herbs down and lit a small fire within the pit. "I could sense the turmoil within you, what attracted those demons, why those demons wish to feed on your will. You have not changed since before you were last marked with the vallaslin. You've continued to stumble. You are lost. Which is why you are here. The fears, the anger, it's always been there. It is an old pain, clearly visible. And easy to exploit."
'Manehn shook her head. "What part of 'you don't know me' are you not getting?" she asked, slightly unnerved but unconvinced.
"I don't know you," Davhalla replied as she began pouring oil into her hands, "but I remember the young woman at the last Arlathvhen. Who trailed after Ashalla like a forlorn puppy. Who withered every time Keeper Deshanna's glanced your way. The young woman who, without something to cling to, merely drifts about this world, lost and lonely, unable to trust her own mind."
She placed her hands on 'Manehn's face, working the oil deep into her skin.
"I see the woman before me, still seeking every comfort she can possibly find. In drink, in bed, in her companions, in work, in battle, everything is merely a distraction or an addiction, something else to feed, hoping it will soothe that rage and despair that still feeds, still keeps her always doubting, always drifting, always questioning her sanity, and her purpose in this world."
'Manehn almost wished Ellathim would return. He fed the rage - that bright, burning anger that boiled over, that kept her fighting and thriving under everyone's harsh and heavy gaze. That anger had sustained her for years.
But Davhalla had stripped her bare. 'Manehn could see herself reflected in her bright eyes, and she was humiliated. Tears began to pool, but she willed them away. She looked back at Davhalla, but saw only soft and sympathetic eyes, glimmering like obsidian in the light of the fire.
"Don't confuse being observant for being wise."
"I only presented what I saw." Davhalla said, unshaken and assuring. "Your true self. The one you hide from everyone, including yourself. What you do with this information, how you let it guide you on the Vir Elaravel, that is up to you. I know better than to assume the best way to master yourself."
She placed her hand on 'Manehn's shoulder.
"Tonight, reflect on who you will become. Born to the People, the last of the true Elvhen. Reflect on who you aspire to be and what role you will play, as one of the People. Reflect on what makes you Dalish."
She grabbed the pouch, taking a pinch of the herbs and tossing them on the fire. The fire flashed that familiar shade of green as Davhalla crawled out of the tent.
"Face what you fear, and make your choice. Otherwise, we are all wasting time."
An elven army, thousands strong, marches across the Dales. A new Exalted March has begun, to reclaim what was theirs, what Andraste had granted, what the Chantry had stolen. For the People who suffered in shemlen cities and the elves exiled into the woods. She will make them pay for a millennia of torment and suffering. Unlike the Chantry and their Maker, her false gods were real. And her cause is righteous.
A triumphant smile spreads across her face. She tried peace, she tried reconciliation, she tried forgiveness. She gave more than the shemlen ever deserved. The Winter Palace burns in front of her, engulfed in roaring, white hot flames that sear the air, bright as the Sunburst. She hears the crackling of burning wood, the screech of bending metal, all the gildings and spoils of Chantry imperialism and Orlesian depravity falling to pieces. That same fire burns in her eyes.
'Manehn would give her people more than a nation. She will give them an Empire. She will give them Elvhenan reborn, bathed in shemlen blood. She is their Herald. She serves no Maker, serves no shemlen. All would feel her wrath. She would unleash fury and terror on those who provoked it. She would avenge the People and those who dared to cross them. She would kill them all.