"Inquisitor!"
'Manehn bolts from her slumber and turns towards the voice that roused her. It was Josephine, sitting perfectly still despite the rattling of the carriage, hands folded into her lap, a picture of poise and grace.
"We will be arriving quite soon. Remember, this masquerade may be in your honor, but that doesn't mean they won't try to undermine you here ," she says, "I wish I could implore you to relax and enjoy the celebration."
'Manehn nods her head and returns to staring out the window. Beggars and barons alike gawk as the carriage passes through the golden Sun Gates that shimmer with unnatural brightness. Music streams from the Grand Cathedral and taverns, meshing and molding in a rapturous cacophony.
She feels a presence, heavy and inhuman, but intimate and familiar. Her head throbs, and her eyelids feel heavy.
The carriage stops at the doors of the palace. Empty eyed guards shuffle to the carriage to assist her departure, their movements clumsy and ill-practiced. Music fills the courtyard, surprisingly soothing as hastily rendered nobles shuffle across the gardens.
Her skin prickles as the guard offers his hand, translucent and the flesh devoid of lines and ridges. She refuses his hand and brushes it aside, and her head throbs harder as soft whispers begin to intrude.
Josephine remains at her side, still perfectly poised, a small smile still plastered on her face. 'Manehn turns towards her, eyes narrowed and her hands balled into fists by her sides.
"What should I expect when these doors open?" she asks.
Josephine speaks, a slightly malicious echo in her normally soft yet rich timbre, the gentle rolling of her rs replaced with a slight demonic growl.
"They wish to know you."
As the doors swing open and she enters the ballroom, hundreds of faces slowly turn towards her, their masks marred with vallaslin.
'Manehn stops, her eyes darting towards each face and back….every noble's mask crudely painted with the laziest parody of the sacred symbols. One approaches with trembling hands and curtsies deeply, her mask - with its lazy loops and swirls - intended to evoke Sylaise. A cruel mockery of Sylaise's vallaslin. Her vallaslin. The vallaslin erased and replaced with a bare face that flushed from shame when she stormed off and left Solas with his empty apologies.
Bitter irony on top of grave insult.
"A shame to see your face bare for this event," the noble whispers, her barbed words cutting deep. 'Manehn's chest tightens, her hands shaking as the room starts to spin. The noble grabs her arm, her pallid claws sink deep and pulls 'Manehn back towards the center of the ballroom where empty eyes and bared teeth wait expectantly to feed.
'Manehn pulls the noble towards her, throwing her off balance and knees her in the stomach. The noble hisses as she crumples, her mask falling off.
It is an elf.
Her skin is tattered and desiccated, pulled tight across her fractured and flame-seared face, hair melted and melded to the caved-in skull, black ichor dripping from the abscesses in her skin and her empty eye sockets.
She shrieks and the nobles swarm towards 'Manehn, a mass of pulsating and rotting flesh, crawling and clawing across the floor on hands and knees. The screeches of despair and the scraping of nails on marble pierce the silence. The stench of carrion and decay, the leaking of blood and crunch of bone overwhelm.
She sprints towards the doors, ignoring Josephine's shrill laughter.
The doors give way to an abyss and she falls, down, down, down into dark depths until she hits the ground with a hard thud.
She scrambles to her feet and comes face to face with Briala, turned to stone, cracked and crumbling. Statues litter the grove, every ally and friend turned to stone, faces contorted in in tortured and pained expressions, the suffering inflicted as they turned, slowly chipping away, turning to dust as the mirage begins to shift and the true Fade begins to reveal itself.
The mark reacts, pulsing like a fast-beating heart and she falls to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks and fever blurring her vision. Every contraction claws deep, deep, deep into her muscles and her bones, a pain as searing and blinding as the tendrils of green light, the tears in her skin that trace the lines of her veins, that sunder the skin with every pulse. She drags herself away, nails digging deep, clawing against rock, unable to fight, forced to flee. She has to get away, has to….
A hand grabs her hair and pulls her upright. A pale hand takes her wrist and twists her around while the other wraps tight around her throat. She comes face to face with a Bringer of Nightmares, a monster wearing a lover's face. She twitches, tries to to pull herself free but the mark flares, makes her weak, steals her breath.
He lets her go and she crumples to the ground, fever spreading through her body, setting her skin hot to the touch. The grass beings to burn under her fingers. She feels a flicker of flame within like worms writhing under her skin, a bubbling rage burning, building, desperate to burst forth. She laughs with satanic mirth, her lips shaped into a snarl, dripping with blood and bile, and she wants to give in, lunge forth, tear him limb from limb, soak in the blood, seek her Vengeance.
A blinding white lights burst forth like a blast of cold wind, purging the flame that fills her.
"Inquisitor!"
'Manehn bolted upright from her slumber, blood and bile seeping from the corners of her mouth, being dabbed away with soft cloth by a shaky hand. A pile of bitter black vomit laid next to her, assailing her nostrils. She collapsed and clutched her stomach, still searing, still churning, and still ready to retch back up what little remained. Davhalla's hands, cold and clammy, held her until the pain subsided.
"Well, that was…interesting." Davhalla finally said, wiping sweat from her brow. "Non-mages don't usually attract such powerful demons."
"I…..thank you…" 'Manehn said, her voice raspy and raw, unsure of what to say.
Davhalla shrugged. "Don't mention it," she said,"This was expected, and most importantly, you'll be alright."
"Besides the 'attracting demons' thing, I guess," 'Manehn retorted.
"Unless you plan on repeating these trials again, I wouldn't worry too much about that," Davalla said. "And you shouldn't need to, since technically, you passed."
"Technically?"
"You're not really supposed to need help, but we've had to make quite a few exceptions of late."
Davhalla made her way towards the entrance of the aravel.
"Go to the Keeper's aravel as soon as possible and we'll meet you there with water and the sacred inks. The application should be far less arduous than these three days….if Eshna permits it."
Davhalla turned once more towards 'Manehn as she lifted the curtain to leave.
"And please do get some fresh air. You need it, and you'll feel better."
'Manehn gave a weak acknowledgment as Davhalla departed, distracted by the whispers of the Well, and perturbed that they remained stronger than normal after the visceral flashbacks of her vision began to fade.
The whispers did not abate. They were a constant presence, an itch in the back of her brain that she could usually ignore, a constant reminder that she was eternally bound.
Bound to Mythal, to the Divine, to the whims of shemlen nobles, to spend her life in battle against would-be-gods attempting to destroy the world.
Bound to her mistakes.
Bound to her failures.
And to think of a time when she was unbound - when she was free to make choices without restraint or remorse - slipped from memory. All that remained were static images clouded by the weight of the titles of Herald, Inquisitor, and Right Hand.
A time before the Inquisition, a time when she chose the vallaslin of the Goddess of the Hearth, a time when her clan was alive, a time when she woke every morning to the prodding and pleading of her baby sister to play with her…all were replaced by a dark haze that left her numb.
Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. The grief, the emptiness, the racing thoughts that plagued her waking moments, that compelled her to take extra wine to sleep, to hope that this sleep would be eternal, that she would waste away into oblivion…these thoughts plagued her more than any vision, than any whisper from the Well.
Tears came faster and she curled into a ball, her weak body shaking from her deep sobbing.
Back at the camp, Fen'an stormed towards the Inqusitor's aravel, along with two other hunters, while Da'enansal trailed after him, begging for rationality.
"There's no point, Fen'an!," he pleaded, "She hasn't bothered you. She's never even left the aravel! Leave her alone!"
"Shut up, runt!" Fen'an snapped, prodding a finger into Da'enansal's chest. "You're freshly marked and already you think you can tell me what to do?"
"Yes I can!," Da'enansal said. "I can tell you that you're disobeying the Keeper, the First, AND the Hahren, and that Davhalla will make sure you get exiled if you start another fight."
Fen'an laughed while the other hunters jeered. "You threaten to tattle to your sister? Alright, go then! Go run away and cry while your betters show you how to be a real Dalish hunter!"
Da'enasal stood higher and squared his shoulders. "No," he said, a blush rising in his cheeks and his voice shaking, "I want to see you turn around and go back to the camp."
Fen'an stopped and glared at him, pulling a small dagger from his belt.
"Ok then," he said, brandishing the dagger with a snarl, "How about you make me?"
Da'enasal's eyes widened and his hands began to shake, his breath quickening every time the dagger began to gleam in the sunlight, but he remained resolute.
Fen'an waited for a moment, eyes narrowed.
"Pathetic," Fen'an said as he sheathed his dagger, "It seems I am the only one that actually values the safety of the clan over capitulating to a traitor. When we end up like Clan Lavellan, ask the Keeper if it's worth it, if both of you are even still alive."
Da'enansal said nothing as he turned and raced back towards the camp.
After composing herself, 'Manehn finally crawled out of the aravel. Her eyes teared up the second she pulled back the red muslin cloth that covered the entrance, straining to see in the blinding sunlight. Three days in the cramped aravel, by the shrine dedicated to her gods, left her legs weak and wobbly and her back, spoiled by years of down mattresses, sore and tense.
Despite the physical and mental pain of the past few days, she still smiled as she took a breath of crisp air, untainted by the smell of incense, sweat and vomit. This was as close to a peaceful moment as she had in weeks, these moments becoming less frequent and more fleeting, and the chance to cherish this one was a welcome relief.
Her heart sank when she turned and saw three hunters approaching, armed for not for protection, but for battle, but she remained where she was, her hand searching for the dagger she kept on her belt. She preferred to stay her hand, especially near this sacred space, but if they wanted a fight, she would indulge them.
Fen'an and his accomplices strutted up to her, closing the gap, their chests puffed with youthful bravado.
"You're the Inquisitor." Fen'an said.
Not a question, but a statement.
"Yes," 'Manehn said, with a smirk. These were young hunters, she noted, more bluster than bite, and more prepared to trade words than cross blades. And there was no point in lying to them now.
"Savior of the shemlen," Fen'an said derisively, "But what about your clan? You could save some worthless shemlen nobles, but you couldn't save your own people?"
'Manehn bristled at their obvious goading, her chest tightening as they taunted her, straining to control the rage that began to bubble in her blood.
"If you want a real fight, you would use your blade instead of cowering behind your words," she snapped, her breath heavy and heated, "but you don't have the skill or courage to challenge me."
"I've said barely a word, and already you threaten to turn on your own," Fen'an scoffed, "Not surprising, coming from the Dread Wolf's ally."
"His ally?" one of the others joked, "More like his whore –"
In a blink, the hunter was on the ground from 'Manehn's fist, spitting out blood and bone from a busted lip and a broken tooth.
Fen'an lunged at her and grabbed the empty pinned sleeve on her left side, throwing her to the ground. He drew his sword and pinned 'Manehn with her foot, planted deep on her stomach, making her wheeze. She fumbled for her dagger while he stood over her, eager to bloody his blade.
"Barely a hunter and barely an elf. I should put you out of your misery."
Her fingers found her dagger and she sank her blade into his calf.
Fen'an fell back and collapsed on the ground, dropping his sword and clutching at the gaping wound, howling from the pain as blood spurted from the deep gash.
She rolled to the side and sprang up. "Turn back, now," she said to the other hunters, her teeth bared and her dagger still in hand, dripping with Fen'an's blood, "before I maim both of you as well."
The other hunters lunged towards her, drawing their blades.
'Manehn moved to parry their blows, but the hunters froze before her, eyes darting wildly in terror as they strained to move muscle and bone, struggling against the spell that had bound them. She tried to move but the same arcane cage left her muscles rigid.
"UNACCEPTABLE!"
Davhalla was sprinting towards them, fury in her eyes. Da'enansal followed, the Keeper holding his shoulder and hobbling beside him.
She kneeled besides Fen'an and placed her hands on the wound, her healing magic stitching the skin and sinew together while her eyes shimmered with unbridled rage.
"How DARE you?!" she screamed at a still-whimpering Fen'an as she finished healing him and jerked him to his feet. She turned towards 'Manehn and the hunters, "This is…this is appalling."
The Keeper did not speak, but the dark glint in her eyes said enough.
Davhalla flicked her wrist, releasing the hunters and 'Manehn from their arcane bindings. 'Manehn picked her dagger off the ground, gently sheathed it and said nothing, keeping her eyes downcast.
The hunters scurried towards Fen'an's side as limped towards the Keeper.
"You're kidding, right?," he cried, throwing his hands in the air, "You'll let Davhalla talk to me like this?! She STABBED me, you -"
Eshna raised her hand to cut him off. "I know. And that's what you get for trying to start shit. Da'enansal, make sure these idiots make it back to the camp. I'll deal with them later."
Fen'an and the hunters glared at Davhalla as they stormed off, Da'enansal trailing behind them.
Davhalla glanced at 'Manehn then turned towards Eshna.
"You let Fen'an start a fight," she said.
"And she finished it," Eshna retorted, "Even me sealing them in a aravel can't stop them if they wanted a fight that badly…and where the hell is she?"
'Manehn stepped forward, still staring at the ground, her breath shallow and a hard lump beginning to form in her throat.
"First of all, I get it," Eshna said, turning towards the sound of 'Manehn's footsteps. "Fen'an a squirrelly lil shit and I'm sure half the clan wants to stab him too…but you shouldn't have taken the bait, Inquisitor."
Davhalla scoffed at Eshna's reprimand. "So she should have let him kill her, then?"
"No, that's not what I'm saying, and you damn well know it, Davhalla," she snapped, "but if she outran a darkspawn magister with a Blight-corrupted dragon at Haven, I'm sure she can outrun a fucking hunter with halla shit for brains and his little minions."
'Manehn remained silent, unsure of how to act, what to say, and scared to test whether she would break under this scrutiny.
Eshna paused for a moment in deep contemplation while Davhalla stood beside her, arms folded and still scowling. Eventually, Eshna spoke.
"Maybe we should abandon this endeavor…"
"NO!" 'Manehn shouted. She started to shake, her voice cracking. "I didn't come here to be sent away with NOTHING! I can't…"
She raced to the Keeper and took her hands.
"Give me whatever punishment you wish, demand exile if you must, ask for reparations and I will pay them, but please do not deny me this…" she pleaded, "I beg you."
Eshna patted her face and clicked her tongue.
"Alright, alright, don't start with waterworks, da'len," she said, "You went through a lot to get here, but I can't ignore what you did to Fen'an…So we'll apply the vallaslin and I'm not gonna invoke exile…"
"Ma serannas, I am grateful…," 'Manehn said with a deep bow.
"But," Eshna continued, "I AM gonna have to ask you to leave. And to not come back. Ever."
'Manehn froze, for only a moment, before shaking her head in resignation, "I understand. Thank you."
Eshna nodded and placed both hands on her shoulders, giving a gentle, grateful squeeze. "I have to keep the peace, da'len. And things explode around you. I have a clan to protect in some pretty dark times. Ain't a damn Blight, but it's close enough. And you have a world to save, so we'll all do better if you stay with the shemlen. Even if, well, some of us will miss you."
She clapped her hands together and breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, let's get you marked and get you the hell out of here before someone else besides to start shit."
'Manehn, Davhalla and Eshna made their way to the Keeper's aravel, all completely speechless to match the solemnity of the ritual, of what had transpired, of what was to come.
As they ducked inside, 'Manehn came face-to-face with Hahren Ellathim, cleaning the razors, arranging inks and prepping the needles for the ceremony.
"He's doing it?!" 'Manehn said, with disgust.
"Trust me, the feeling is mutual," Ellathim said, his tone matching hers.
"So you're actually gonna put vallaslin? I'm not gonna get a looking glass and see a giant phallus instead, right?"
"Keep talking to me like that, child, and I just might."
"Alright, both of you shut the hell up," Eshna said, cutting both of them off, "just put the shit on her face and get her sent off before more hunters try something stupid."
"Lay down, and we will begin the preparations," Eshna said to 'Manehn, as Davhalla lit incense and began to sing the sacred hymms, her rich low timbre echoing in the small, sacred space. But 'Manehn felt no reprive, felt no calling.
She felt nothing but emptiness and despair.
She closed her eyes and focused on the hahren's hard hands that held a razor to her scalp, shaving away her thick silky strands, the years that passed unmarked.
In this sacred space, she would be reborn, made anew, reshaped and remolded.
And when the last strand fell away, the Keeper finally spoke and Davhalla's song faded to a low hum.
"Tell me," Eshna began, her voice booming and regal, ringing with the weight of ages and authority, "who do you pledge to serve with eternal devotion? Which of our gods speaks to you, guides you, leads you? Who praises shall you sing, deeds you shall exalt for all of the ages? Tell me, elvhen, who calls to you?"
Without hesitation, 'Manehn spoke his name, all doubt purged, the emptiness replaced with nothing but pure devotion that filled and sated her, that cleared the doubts that swirled within her, that silenced even the whispers that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness.
The hahren's hands were rough and calloused. From the Keeper and the First, there was no soft, soothing words, no affirmations or well wishes.
This was a re-initiation.
Each time the needle jabbed deeper into the skin, it pierced deep and hidden hurts under her calm veneer. Each stab of the needle felt like a lashing. She would pay for every Dalish elf lying dead outside the gates of Wycome. She would pay for every lingering glance and stolen kiss from the Lord of Tricksters.
The ritual took hours, the hahren's hand slowly shaping the vallaslin, the Keeper holding her head steady, her grip slightly softening as the vallaslin took shape. She had not cried out, she had not resisted, she had suffered and she had endured.
As she always had done.
The soft curls of Sylaise she carried before were replaced by sharp points and twisting vines that curved wickedly at the corners of her lips and eyes. Her face pulsed with pain but her heart swelled with pride. Her lips parted into a small smile with a hint of a snarl.
The Vir Atish'an lay in ruins. The path of peace had failed her. She felt no more grief at the loss of the vallaslin that marked her as Sylaise's slave, as her follower.
These she would keep. She would honor their meaning, and she would follow the path of this god, false or not. What this new god represents now speaks to her, and embodies her. She would lead by example, and if he could no longer speak to the elves, she would speak for him, an emulation of him in his full glory.
Elgar'nan, First of the Evanuris, Leader of the Pantheon, God of Vengeance.
All would know her fury. All would feel her rage.
Her enemies would pay the price in blood.