a/n- Oh look, I've given you another chapter that doesn't actually exist in the game (for the most part). While I really am enjoying the time it takes to write these chapters, I'm starting to feel as though I'm almost giving you too much extended canon. But you can let me know that for yourself right? I mean, you could review if you liked. I would be ecstatic if you did.
The Blessing of Falon'din
She stood at the top of the village for a long time, the smell of the wounded thickening the air, but her mind was leagues away. The elf closed her eyes for a moment and wondered, not for the first time, how she had woven herself into time as she had simply by taking an interest in one particular meeting.
Cassandra approached her, a hand on her sword.
"What is it that she wanted?" she queried.
"She wished to offer us counsel and aid," Enya replied, staring after the retreating figure, "She is making for Haven to tell Leliana what she can about the grand clerics in Val Royuex."
Cassandra's eyebrows raised, "A daring move for one in her position."
She too turned her eyes to Mother Giselle who now stood near the entrance of the village, speaking with the Inquisition guards.
"If she is to travel back the way we came, it would be wise to assign her protection," Solas recommended.
He came to stand beside Enya, leaning against his staff as he joined them in looking over the small roadside town.
"We could escort her to the camp," Enya suggested, "from there we would need a full guard to return her to Haven safely."
"Why not just take her back ourselves," Varric asked, "I never leave to another a task I could complete just as well."
Cassandra shook her head, "We were not here simply for the Revered Mother. We have other business. Horsemaster Dennet must be found, the Templars and Mages must be stopped and there are refugees here that need shelter, warmth, wounded fighters."
"What Cassandra means," Enya interrupted, "Is that our presence here is important and to simply leave, return to Haven, after such a short time is not what is needed of us," she paused and took a breath, looking between each of her companions, "If people are to believe in the Inquisition, we must give them a reason for that belief."
Varric bowed his head, "Alright, you've made your point. Let's go make sure that the woman won't be injured on her way back to the camp."
Initially, Mother Giselle protested their insistence in helping her, but her rebuttals dwindled as another group of soldiers arrived in the village from up the Southern slopes, where the camp was located. The distance to camp was short, no more than a mile, but it felt like a league to the party of five. Their eyes never left the undergrowth, nor the trunks of trees nor the branches that hung over their heads. Every snap of a twig could have been the alert for an attack. Some of the Revered Mother's protests had been valid. They were a group of very high targets as leaders in the Inquisition's forces. If even one of them fell, it would be to the detriment of their entire venture. F
Fate however, seemed to smile upon them, and they reached the Inquisition encampment without incident. Enya sat down on a rock while Cassandra and Mother Giselle approached some of the soldiers. Her emerald eyes gazed out over the valley, it was green and auburn filled with autumn leaves the glistened in the light of a low evening sun. By the time they returned to the village, she realized, it would be nightfall and they would have to make camp with the Inquisition's men at the crossroads. Smoke rose from the West and on the far horizon, the Frostbacks, where their journey had begun, painted the sky with a jagged white line. Two and a half days ride, they'd come, and she imagined they would retrace that journey in short order, as soon as they managed to settle the Hinterlands and return some order to the people there.
"Odd to think that people suffer 'neath those trees."
Enya jumped at the sound of Solas' voice. He stood next to her, leaning on his staff so closely his cheek rested on its grip. His grey eyes were focused on the distant horizon as well, almost as though he too was considering their journey.
"Yes. I could scarce imagine it if it were that I did not already know," She replied.
"Spirits here cry out for the Veil has worn thin," Solas replied, "So much pain and so much death, even if I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would know."
Enya's eyebrows furrowed and she tore her eyes away from the view before her to look up at him, "You can hear them now?"
He nodded solemnly, "With so much fighting, they press against the Veil, collecting the imprint such a battle is making on the land." He turned to meet her gaze, "The rifts are where the Veil has torn but in the area around them, the veil is weak, stretched too tight. Even without entering the Fade, I can hear them."
She gazed down at her knees. Her hand twinged and she reflexively curled it into a tight fist to hide the tiny burst of emerald light from it. It seemed that every time she thought of the Fade, her mark would respond as such. The elf drew in a deep breath and turned her attention back to the valley.
"You handled yourself quite impressively today," Solas commented, perhaps realizing his previous topic had brought her concern, or simply deciding that it, like the Veil, had born thin.
Enya glanced up at him, "You found me impressive?"
He chuckled slightly, "You lead us, da'len, whether you realized it or not." He paused, "and I find myself inclined to think that you did not."
"I only did what was necessary, what was asked of me," Enya rebuffed and then after further consideration she added, "I am grateful for your recognition, Solas. I don't mean to sound otherwise."
The other elf nodded, "You needn't explain the intentions of your words to me, da'len. I believe I know you well enough to look between them."
Enya opened her mouth to ask how he felt he knew her well enough to divine meaning from her misspoken sentences but Cassandra approached and drew their attention.
"There is a group of five scouts that will escort Mother Giselle back to Haven," she explained, "They are taking our horses to travel more quickly so we have all the more reason to hope for Master Dennet's aid."
Enya rose from where she sat and squared her shoulders, "Then we should make to camp at the crossroads tonight. There is no sense in venturing further into the wilderness and needlessly risk our lives."
"Mother Giselle has offered her home here to us for as long as we remain and can use it. She does not wish to return after her message is delivered to Leliana," Cassandra offered.
Enya nodded, "Then we shall take rest in her home tonight."
Mother Giselle's home smelled of the wounded and of the sick. The odor of infection filled the air with the pungent scent of decay, but as a gentle rain began to fall beyond the windows, the party was grateful for the roof over their heads. Cassandra ran a whetstone over her blade and the repetitive singing of the metal seemd to lull the air. Solas had joined the mages in the other part of the house and Enya had paused as she unbuckled her sword from across her torso the carful and intricate magic he performed as he help in the healing. Varric sat on the floor, oiling the wood of Bianca with a special grease he'd purchased from the merchant that sold objects outside the town. He hummed off pitch under his breath a song that sounded on just slightly familiar to Enya. There had been a time when they briefly met with clan Sabrae in the Free Marches and it reminded her of that short time in her past.
"Varric, have you known many Dalish?" she queried.
He glanced up at her and then off into the distance, "I knew one very well. She was a mage. Somewhat of a problem child I think. She was exiled from her own clan in the end." Varric thoughtfully place his rag against his chin, leaving an oily spot, "Misguided girl. Merrill was her name. Beautiful for an elf, but quite naïve in her understanding of demons and the Fade." Another pause, "That was back when I ran with the Champion of Kirkwall. She tried, very hard, I'll give her that…and she cared very much for the history of her people. Even had this mirror thing she brought with her. Could never remember what it was called, but it made my skin crawl to look at it." He seemed to drift off in thought for a moment, "Why do you ask?"
Enya shook her head and wrapped leaned forward toward him; her cheek rested on her hand, "That song you were humming brought a memory of a time when my clan met with Clan Sabrae. Their Keeper sang it on one of the nights, I think."
"Clan Sabrae was the Hero of Ferelden's clan," Cassandra spoke up from where she sat, now silent as her blade was sharpened. She had moved on to repaint the heraldry of the Inquisition on her armor.
Varric laughed, "Figures I would have connections to all of them," he commented ruefully, "Merrill came from Sabrae too. The Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall, and the Herald of Andraste…all around me, and I never even knew."
Enya tried valiantly to hide her shock at hearing herself listed with those other names. Her hand throbbed again, as if to remind her why she was classified with such the great heroes of Thedas.
"Yes, Varric, it must be terrible for your reputation to be connected to so many well-meaning people," Cassandra responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "What will the Dwarven Merchant's Guild think?"
"A change of heart, Seeker?" Varric responded dryly, "Last I heard, the Champion of Kirkwall was nothing more than an over-prominent thug to you."
"Until I heard the story of what really happened in Kirkwall, yes, she was," The warrior defended.
"So, indirectly you admit you were wrong. That is good to know, Seeker," the dwarf's word were filled with a playful, teasing note.
Enya smiled to herself, meeting his gaze. It was far too easy to goad the other woman.
"I never said I was wrong," Cassandra snapped her voice hesitant, "I was just…misled."
Varric shook his head, "I don't know. What do you think, Herald? Does that sound like she was wrong?"
Enya pretended to mull it over for effect and then nodded, "Yes. I think it does."
Cassandra stood, placing her brush and jar of pigment down on the shelf near the cot hard, "I…"
The warrior let out a disgusted snort and left in a huff.
Enya and Varric took a moment to enjoy their victory.
"She really is too easy," Varric commented.
Enya nodded in agreement and opened her mouth to speak but then closed it again as Solas passed between them. The other elf leaned his staff against the wall of the circular hut and she noticed his hands were coated with a layer of crusted blood. He pulled a cloth from his pack and dipped his hands in the bowl of wash water by the door. Enya watch silently as swirls of red filled the stone basin, falling from his hands. What enjoyment they had gained at Cassanda's expense now fled as the reality of their quest returned.
"Was that Cassandra I saw storming out of here not so long ago?" Solas asked, turning to them, his cloth held between his hands turned a slimy pink, "She seemed far more irate than is typical of her."
Varric was the first to shrug off his somber attitude, although, Enya observed, he had not really seemed to gain one.
"Don't worry about her, Chuckles," Varric reassured with a casual nature that was truly his own, "Seeker just needs to learn to lighten up."
"I would tend to agree," Solas commented as he settled onto his cot and began to unwrap his feet, "Her demeanor is quite heavy."
To Enya, he seemed quite serious until she noticed the upward quirk of his lips.
Varric laughed to himself, "You know, Chuckles, you are not quite the buzzkill I had thought you would be."
Solas wound one of his wraps around his hand and then started on the other, "And you are not nearly the light-hearted charlatan I had thought you to be." He paused as he reached his foot, "But it appears we were both wrong about the other."
"Isn't that something?" Varric asked rhetorically and he stood Bianca against the end of his cot before lying back.
Enya watched her two companions with a smile, her hand resting on her knees, legs crossed beneath her. Their conversation appeared to have reached a natural end and silence permeated the room despite the occasional groans and moans that wafted through the air from the other side of the hut. She closed her eyes where she sat, and shifted a few times, flexing the fingers of her left hand in an attempt to reduce the radiating pain in it. To an extent, she'd gotten used to it, but to another degree, she could find no escape but the distraction of 'doing.' Now, as she meditated on the past fortnight, she wondered how she had even accomplished so much in so little time.
Enya did not sleep well, and for the first time, her exhaustion did not aid her in staving off the shooting pains from the mark on her hand. Now, as they walked the miles to the Redcliffe farms, she wished very much for the comfort of sleep. Her sword weighed on her back like a crate of lead, though she kept up a pleasant and engaging banter with her companions. Cassandra, though she had seemed wounded by their teasing the night before, seemed to have overcome her insult and had rejoined them in amicable conversation.
"Varric, how did you come to join the Inquisition?" Solas asked as they came to a bridge that had been destroyed.
"Well I wasn't a conscious decision," Varric commented, "I was a prisoner being interrogated by Seeker here not long before the sky was blown open. After that…well how do you just walk away when the world in ending?"
"Interesting," Solas mused.
Enya observed as his gaze moved over the members of the group, "And what is, Solas?"
"Of all of us, I, an elven apostate, am the only one here by their own choosing." He replied, voice level.
If her were going to say something else, however, he was cut off by the whiz of an arrow. Enya jumped back, reaching around to unclasp the straps that held her sword and draw it. There was a faint huff from behind her and she turned to see Solas pulling the arrow from his forearm. She pushed and initial panic away, tracing the arrows path up to the rocks to the left of the path. Cassandra let out a fierce cry and charged, just as Enya spotted the archer. His Templar armor forced her to doubt that he was alone. She ran toward him as well but by the time she reached him, he already had a blade through his throat.
"There will be more," Cassandra warned as she pulled her blade free from his neck with a sickening squelch.
The click of Varric reloading his crossbow punctuated her words nicely. Enya spotted the guardsman first, two men, bearing heavy, steel shields advanced toward them, flanked by archers. She tried to spot how many before they attacked but she was not fast enough. One of the arrows sliced her cheek as she ducked to the side, but she pushed away the pain and swung her sword toward the nearest of the two heavily armored men. It hit and deflected with a resounding clang and the soldier lunged forward. She blocked the blow and kicked his shield, hoping to surprise him. It worked and while he stumbled, another arrow flew dangerously close to her head.
"Varric take out the archers!" she ordered as she attempted to press the man down with his own protection.
Help came in the form of a fiery blast that nearly seared her skin. The knight took it full force in the center of his shield, which glowed red hot for several moments. She pressed him again, attempting to get her blade moving more quickly to more easily damage his shield. When it finally cooled, his shield was so badly bent that he had to hold it far away from his body to use it properly. Enya kicked him again, blocking his sword as he swung for her. In the small amount of time that she was apart from him, he was enveloped in a shell of us and she took her chance, swinging the sword around her with all her might, she cleaved him in two.
She panted from the effort, then whipped her gaze over her shoulder to glance at Solas in appreciation. Enya nodded to him and the elven mage nodded back, setting the brush at the top of the hill ablaze, where the archers stood, still firing upon them. The few that had no met their fate at Varric's bolt, fell under the blaze. The sudden roar of fire caused the man Cassandra was fighting to lose his focus and, like the first man they had felled, he found a blade plunged deep into his exposed neck.
"This must be their main camp," Enya commented, breathless. Her shoulders ached from the effort of the fighting over the past few days.
Cassandra nodded as she deftly wiped her blade on the grass.
"It would seem so," she agreed, "I advise caution, if this is the welcome we have received, the camp itself is bound to be far worse."
Enya twitched her cheek, realizing how tight it felt. She raise a gloved hand and came away with blood. She'd forgotten about the arrow. The elven warrior shook it off, pushing it into the back of her mind where lay things that she had not acknowledged in years. It was not of pressing concern at the moment.
"We cannot afford to leave them organized. Without a central camp, they should retreat," Enya reasoned.
"I agree," Cassandra set her jaw, "We should move slowly. You've not fought so may before."
Enya, though she appreciated the care the woman was taking with her, felt a rush of irritation. It did not matter, and shouldn't matter. If she were not the Herald of Andraste to the Inquisition, her experience would be no obstacle.
"But I've seen you fight. Just don't allow them to overwhelm you," the warrior advised and then shifted her shield position, "We should move into the camp."
They moved forward slowly as a tight unit. The fire Solas had set in the brush had gone out as soon as the men had died. She stepped around the blackened bodies and charcoaled bows of the dead and on beyond the spiked log wall. A hail of arrows fell on them as soon as they passed through the opening, but Solas had been ready. A hum filled the air around her with the shimmering whisper of magic as the barrier spell descended over her. Arrows, though they hit, merely bounced off of it, though she could tell that each hit taxed him from the strain in his face. The first of the foot soldier attacked and again, they dove into battle.
It had gone rather well, Enya thought as she settled onto a wooden bench by one of the fire circles in the Templar's camp. She rested her sword on the ground, touching her fingers once again to the wound on her face. She took one of the potions Cassandra had given her and the foul taste distracted from the sting and the ach of her exhausted muscles. Cassandra and Solas were piling bodies and she wondered if she shouldn't rise and help. Instead, she found herself clutching the icons around her neck for strength.
The elf stood and crossed to the bodies. Cassandra threw a blanket over the bodies and doused it in lantern oil from the camp's stores. When she struck the flints, the sparks burst into flame. Enya stood next to the flames and uttered a prayer for them to Falon'din. Afterall, they had been, perhaps, good people misguided by their beliefs.
Varric took a raven from one of the cages in a tent. Enya listened to its caws as she stood by the massive pyre. He was sending word to the Crossroads, or to the Inquisition camp, she realized. The acrid odor of burning flesh filled her nose as the smoke blew in her direction. She tried not to gag as she rose from her seat to get away from it.
Enya settled outside the entrance of the camp, her legs crossed beneath her. She ran her fingers across the Ironbark talismans of the gods that hung on the thin cord around her neck. They were old, family heirlooms past from a much different time, but she appreciated their significance. Her fingers brushed the muzzle of the icon of Fen'harel. Her clan was odd that they still believed in the Dread Wolf as one of their patrons, but she rather liked wolves.
She caught the edge of a wrapped person's foot out of the corner of her eye and glanced up, to see Solas standing next to her. He fiddled with the something in his hand and as she looked on, she noticed that he held bandages. Enya's eyes settled on his left forearm and saw that the sleeve was crusted with blood from midway to his wrist.
Enya gestured at his wound, "Are you alright?"
He glanced down at it and crooked his staff in the bend of his arm, "I imagine I will be."
Enya rose, releasing her totems and approached him. She extended a hand toward him and glanced up.
"May I?" she hesitated as her eyes met his.
Solas nodded, "No need," he shook his head.
Enya stepped back and watched as he gripped his wound with his other hand. A glow surrounded it and she realized he was healing himself. He drew his right hand away and flexed his left. Again, she considered how much control he had over his magic. Most keepers did not seemed capable of such precision. Solas lifted his eyes from his arm turning his attention to her.
"You have not escaped injury either," he commented, gesturing to her face.
Enya raised a hand to the deep cut in her cheek, "I supposed I haven't. Can you…"
Solas blinked and nodded. He lifted a hand and a tendril of magic stitched closed the wound.
Enya brushed a hand over her face again and then nodded to him, "Thank you, Solas."
"Magic engenders great obligation on those who possess it," he responded.
Enya fixed him with an expression of vague amusment for he truly seemed incapable of accepting even the slightest credit for something, hiding his actions behind the drives of duty and obligation.
"In short, you are welcome, Herald of Andraste," Solas bowed his head to her and this time she knew for certain he was mocking her.
Enya laughed slightly and then stepped past him, moving back up into the camp. Varric and Cassandra had removed from the various trunks around, any supplies that might have been useful. Trying hard to ignore the smell of bodies, she bent over and picked up a greatsword from the pile of weapons. It's carefully etched pattern was stunning against the dark iron of the blade. She gave it a few swings and then released her own from her back. It had served her well, this this weapon was of a much higher caliber and if she had learned anything from the fight earlier, it was that she needed the best weapons she could acquire for this fight.