a/n- Well, it has been a few days. Perhaps I should have been a bit more conservative with my original chapters. This chapter is and entirely improvised series of scenes that I found the need to write. At times, the characters were a bit sticky, especially since I've begun playing Origins again along with my second playthrough of Inquisition, but I hope I've done them justice nonetheless. Please, if you have the time, leave a review. I would really like to hear from any of you. I love the writer/reader interaction that can be provided if the time is taken to write a simple three sentences and I really miss that aspect. (Also, my birthday was last Saturday which is why I got nothing written over the weekend.)

Of Wind and the Wilds

It was to the persistent cawing of ravens that she woke at first light. The night had drawn cold and more now had fallen. There was a spiral of it whisped across her floor ad piled lightly on her window sill. Enya climbed from the bed and shivered against the chill, moving to dress in front of the fire place. Halfway through putting on her wool coat she spotted a set of shining scale maille laid across a chair. The tanned leather side patches that would fall over her hips as she wore it stood out against the silver sheen of the metal.

The elf moved to it lifting the armor in her hands and bringing it back by the fire. She examined its fittings for a good few moments wondering when it had arrived in her house. Lifting it again she noted its weight. It would take a while to grow accustomed to it, but this kind of armor would protect her from far more than her current clothes would. Enya dropped her wool shirt on the ground and slid and arm through the shimmering layers of scales on one side and then the other, She fastened the buckles across her left side and then tighten the belt in place. The tanned leather panels fell over her hip, covering the edges of the scale.

Once on, Enya noted that the armour was not at heavy as it had felt in her hands, though there was still a considerable addition of weight. She folded her coat and slipped it into her pack along with the leather bracers. Before shouldering it, and walking out the door. Cassandra and Solas already waited for her at the gate which stood wide as though anticipating their use of it. Solas as he said, carried only a pack, his simple green wool tunic over his long cream shirt. Cassandra's armor was heavier than she'd seen it seen it, heavier plates for riskier travel, she supposed.

"Good morning, Herald," Cassandra greeted as she appeared, "We should get moving. If we do not reach the foot of the mountains by sundown, we will face a harsh night."

Enya glanced around, "What about Varric."

"Our Dwarven friends seems not to have a keen interest in animals of the equine variety," Solas commented with a faint smile, "It is not surprising."

Enya smiled as well at the thought of the cocky dwarf turning white at the sight of a large quadruped towering over him. She nodded and the three set off for the stables.

It was a short walk past the smithy to the pastures where the horses were kept. In her life, Enya had not really ridden horses much but she had ridden halla and the concept was very similar. Though this required extensive equipment she would not be used to. The saddle alone she felt would chafe and the reins seemed cruel, though perhaps horses were not quite so connected to their riders.

Despite her lack of experience with horses, she could tell very quickly that the herd possess by the inquisition at this instant was very poorly. They were certainly usable but their coats were dull, eyes slightly sunken and they had all passed their prime years. All the same, the four horses, well, three horses and one that was questionably a pony, tied to the fence lifted their heads as they approached.

"Got them all ready for you Lady Cassandra, Herald," an elf barely out of his teens bowed lowly to them and untied the reins from the fence, handing them to their riders, "I thought there were to be four?" he asked.

"Hold on, hold on," Varric's gruff voice answered.

All three turned to look at him. He clutched what appeared to be a wad of cloth covering a bottle of something. Cassandra made a noise filled with disgust and mounted her horse. Enya patted the neck of hers as Varric reached them and slipped the poorly hidden bottle into his pack. Her eyes caught on Solas as he lead his own mount a bit further away and, though his face was impassive as ever, she saw mirth dancing in his eyes. Clearly, though he was accustomed to the solitude of a life lived mostly in the Fade, he did not find all social interaction abrasive. Enya examined the saddle on her horse and then deftly unfastened the cinch. She lifted it free, despite the protests of the stable boy, and set it on the fence. She swung easily up onto her steed and moved away from the fence. Varric stared at her as though he thought she'd lost her mind, but said nothing. Her horse was responsive enough, she noted and she was not disappointed by his stout movements. He would suit their purpose just fine if appearances were not noticed.

Mounted and settled the party moved out from the encampment into the valley toward the village of Haven and then on past, heading into the frozen wilderness of the peaks in the Frostbacks. It was cold and the wind was strong, but their old steeds pushed through it as though it was all they knew how to do. Enya had thought that perhaps the steepness of the valley they traversed would cut the wind but instead, it intensified it, spinning it into a vortex of swirling, icy snow that bit like arrows into the skin of her face. She lowered her eyes as they descended, remembering that it was not winter at the bottom of these peaks but early autumn.

At midday, the small party was forced to stop as the spinning snow reduced visibility to almost nothing. Enya dropped from her horse into nearly a meter of snow and fought her way through it toward what she remembered was the mountain. Her eyes tried to deceive her several times but eventually she found a place where she could suitable huddle out of the wind. Cassandra soon joined her, then Varric and finally Solas. The horses created a makeshift barrier on the upper end of the pass, drawing at least some of the snow away from their riders.

Cassandra shifted herself around slightly, on hand still on the reins of her horse. She reached into the pack she'd been carrying and pull out several pieces of dried, salted meats. Enya glanced at them for the slightest moment, and she realized just how hungry she was.

"Here," Cassandra held out the meet to the whole group, "We should all eat. I cannot tell how far we've come or how far we have yet to go."

They each took a portion from her and ate in silence. By the time they had finished, the snowstorm had cleared along with the intense wind and their path stretched out ahead of them, a serpentine figure laid across the steep slopes of the mountain. They brushed the snow from their saddles and horses before setting off down the valley again.

The sun peaked out from the clouds and shown on the snowcapped peaks high above them as they dropped below the snow line of the mountains. Rocky expanses of screen slopes and sparse vegetation stretched before them, plunging into a line of grasses and eventually trees. Enya had experienced a similar transition of landscapes as she had made her way to the Conclave not a fortnight prior. Though that time she had been nearly entirely on her own with the exception of a few travelers along the road. She'd gone unnoticed by them, slipping into the underbrush, her Dalish inducing a sense of paranoia.

The sun dipped below the trees as they reached the bottom. The journey had been exhausting for the whole party and when they finally dismounted in the forest, it was with much relief. Even Cassandra, though Enya noted she seemed to be the most comfortable in a saddle, seemed to feel the long day's journey. Enya set her pack down and began to search for the driest spot of ground to place their campfire. She marked it with a knife from her pack, stabbing it hilt deep into the earth.

"We should put our fire here," she recommended.

Solas nodded in agreement, "I will retrieve some wood for our fire tonight."

Cassandra nodded to him and then riffled through her pack as though searching for something specific. She drew from it a small map. Enya finished petting the face of her mount, thanking him for bearing her this far and then moved to sit next to her. The lines on the map were faint and faded but they showed paths through these very woods. They had not travelled deep into the forest, just far enough that the cold wind that would descend the side of the mountain would not freeze them to their bones yet again.

"I think…" Cassandra's finger traced the line of their descent through the valley, "We should be-"

Enya leaned forward and glanced at the curve of the trees around them, noting the angle of their growth in relation to the angle of the mountains. She reached forward and pointed.

"We are here," She answered, "Trees grow away from the wind because, as saplings, they are pushed by it. We are not so deep in the forest that they would not have felt the wind that comes of of the mountains," the elf explained, "The angle of this mountain matches with the curvature of these trees, therefore we must be closer to the edge of this other peak over here, else we would see the trees bent out straight away from the mountains."

"How can you know this?" Cassandra asked her as Enya stood again. The Seeker's thumb moved to mark the place on the map where she had indicated.

Solas had returned while they had been examining the map, though his presence ad gone unnoticed. Now he spoke up.

"Your Herald is Dalish, Seeker," He answered, "Once there was a time when they inhabited the Dales, but no more."

Enya nodded toward the other elf as he carefully stacked the wood of the fire, "Solas is right. My people are nomadic. In the aravels, we move from place to place around the land and we must always know our way back to camp," she paused, "I was a hunter, a tracker. I had to know how to find my companions. I learned to find my way back to them and to the aravels with the only the plants and rocks around me for aid."

Varric commented, "I guess you'd be useful even without that mark on your hand."

Enya nodded absently. Solas stood from the fire for a moment and Cassandra reached into her pack for the flint she had brought with her.

"There is no need for your search, Seeker," Solas called.

The elven warrior turned toward him as he stepped back and held a hand out, flicking it toward the fire. A shower of sparks fell onto the logs in what Enya thought might be the most controlled display of magic she'd ever witnessed. He stepped away from the fire, moving toward the horses with an air of ease. Cassandra's hand was still in her pack but as she rose, Enya caught a distinctly unnerved expression on her face. The woman's eyes remained fixed on the other elf for several moments before she simply moved to the now well burning fire.

The party gathered around the heated logs and again passed the cured meats Cassandra had brought with her around along with some bread and a small portion of cheese. Varric offered up his bottle of Orzammar's Best. Best what, Enya couldn't have said for after one whiff of the liquid she passed it on to Solas, afraid its contents might simply burn through her stomach instead of achieving their intended purpose. Her eyes widened as the other elf took a sip from the bottle and then nodded to Varric. Cassandra also indulged Varric though she did not seem the remotest bit interested in the contents of the bottle after her first small swallow. It left her with a distinctly sour expression on her face.

After a few swigs of the liquid, Varric's tongue had loosened and the storyteller that remained dormant inside him in the public eye began to peak out.

"I met this dwarf called Oghren once," He declared, "He could drink three of these bottle before he fell over. Never seen anyone drink so much. Anyway, this fellow used to be married to a Paragon, a woman by the name of Branka. From the sound of it, I would say she went mad, or got obsessed with finding and Artifact called the 'Anvil of the Void.' So she ran off, taking their whole house and left only him. And somehow he couldn't get over her; she'd broken his heart." Varric took another swig of his brew and offered it to Cassandra.

She held up a hand to him, "I'm afraid that at least one of us who knows the way ought to have a clear head in the morning.

"Seeker, you're missing all the fun," He responded and then took another drink offering it to Solas.

"I have had enough, Varric," Solas responded, "Let us hear the rest of your story."

Cassandra shifted into a more attentive position though she seemed to be trying very hard not to appear interested. Enya smiled to herself, arms wrapped around her knees as she drew her body closer to stay warm. Though it was nowhere near as cold as it had been in Haven, the temperature had still fallen to an uncomfortably cold level. She winced as her hand twinged with pain.

"Well Oghren turns into even more of a drunk than he was before, mourning the loss of his love with an endless stream of the finest ales until finally he kills someone in a First-blood match. He was thrown from his house, and stripped of his weapons. Still he argues that Branka must still be alive in the Deep Roads even after months have passed. Now mind you, Branka was Orzammar's only Paragon at this time. She was one of the bravest warriors they had ever seen, almost as brave as Caridan himself. Oghren was certain she could have survived the endless darkspawn even his the rest of his house and her's had not. Somehow in the middle of all of this he got remarried and had a young'un.' Not really sure how or when that happened, cause he was very clear on the details on account of the drinkin' and the fact that the next part of his story was when he met with the Hero of Ferelden."

"You must be joking!" Cassandra exclaimed, betraying her intrest in his story, "First a noble is fallen from favor because his wife, the Paragon left him for some ancient artifact and now you're trying to say that he also ran with the hero of Ferelden."

"See? This is why I never used this in a story. It's too unbelievable to have been someone's life. The reader would never buy it," Varric responded, "But alas, Oghren believed it to be true."

"As many drunk men do when they tell their tales," Cassandra rebuffed.

She rose from her spot by the fire and moved to spread out her bedroll. Enya watched this and then stared to a rather withered Varric, the wind clearly taken out of his sails. She patted him on the shoulder as she rose from her spot. The blonde dwarf looked up at her.

"Come, Varric. It is time to sleep," She explained and then moved to her own bedroll with a grace that only an elf could master.

Enya looked around as she began to remove her armor piece by piece. It was simple to put on and take off, simply a belt of scale maille, but it was still heavy and she sighed with relief as she finally lowered it to the ground next to her bedroll. Her shoulders ached and she noticed the throbbing of her hand more intensely than she had since her attempt to seal the Breach. The elf rubbed it with her thumb. A knarled scar arched across it now, pink as a newborn's flesh and still very delicate. Brushing her long hair into a braid with her fingers, she readied to settle into her bed without further thought.

"It is your exhaustion," Solas' voice cut across her slightly pained brain, "Your mark hurts more because your mind and body are weary from your day of travel."

Enya looked up at him. Varric snored in the bed roll a little ways away from her. She was not surprised. With as much of the spirits he had drunk, she was a little surprised it had taken him so long to finally sleep. Cassandra's shoulder rose and fell steadily and she took a moment to question how the woman could possible sleep in her armor. Aside from herself, it was only Solas who remained awake. He walked from his earlier position to settle between her and the fire.

"Let me see," he implored, holding out his hand.

Enya tentatively placed her hand on top of his, and he turned it upright. He used a tendril of magic to probe the mark; she watched as it glowed faintly blue-white for a moment, before drawing it away at a sharp stab of pain. She curled her hand in on itself.

"I am deeply sorry. The magic, the power that created your mark is sensitive to my own," Solas held out his hand again, "I fear I cannot lessen the pain," he informed solemnly and then asked, "It is tolerable?"

The elf stared down at her hand for a moment, holding it out for him again. The mage examined traced the line of scaring across her palm. Small burst of green energy leaked from the healed wound as he did so. Enya closed her hand for a moment and returned it to her lap.

"Yes," she replied shortly, "At least more so than it was when I first acquired it, but less so than when I first woke after the Breach was closed." She paused, her emerald eyes drifting to the fire, "or after I close a rift."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a spark of curiosity fill Solas' posture, flooding his grey eyes with intent.

"That is of interest?" she asked softly, her hand still closed tightly against her body, her eyes fixed elsewhere.

Solas replied, "Everything is of interest, Dahlen, least of all your mark." He paused and rose from his seat, pacing slightly, "It could be that your mark senses the nature of the Veil, the state of it. That pain you feel, is very likely the result of the Veil's wounded nature."

Enya looked up at him. The elven apostate was turned away from her now, staring off into the blackness of the forest as though it were daylight. She hesitated and then moved to stand at his shoulder, "You mean that as I close more of the rifts, my hand will hurt less"

"Tis merely a supposition," Solas answered thoughtfully, "It is far more likely that, as the Breach was the conception of your mark, your pain is tied to its existence. The other rifts might give you temporary relief, but they will not satisfy you for long. No, I believe that your pain will return until the Breach is closed."

She sighed and flexed her hand again, "I have lived with it thusfar, I might live with it for as long as necessary."

"As we all must bear our trials," The mage stepped back a few steps and then made his way around behind her toward his bedroll, "To sleep is to dream, Dahlen. Find solace in your dreams."

Enya remained silent, pondering upon his parting words. The fire burned warm against her skin and she poked the coals that rested at its base with the end of a stick before placing that too in the fire. Sparks flew into the air. When at last the silence of the forest overwhelmed her mental ramblings, she made her way to her own bedroll and settled under the rough wool blanket. The elf shut her eyes and let her mind wander until the morning.