a/n- First, let me tell you how sorry I am that it took so long for me to post another chapter. I've been bogged down with school work for the last week and a half so I haven't had the chance to really write anything of value. Anyway, I am not particularly impressed with this chapter, but I wanted to get it up for you to read and move on to the next chapter, which will hopefully be more interesting and better written. I have some time this weekend so fingers crossed this works out. Thank you for being wonderfully loyal readers.
The Stories and Songs of Strangers and Friends
Scout Harding's face lit up with gratitude as they returned to inform her of their success. After she sent her men to collect the necessary elfroot from the ruins, she invited them to stay in the camp that night, and celebrate the Inquisition with her. Enya nodded her assent and the party untacked their horses, leaving them in the paddock with the other Inquisition horses.
A fire roared in the center of the camp and they settled around it. The only member of the Inquistition Enya had truly met were those with whom it was important to meet. She knew the leaders, the key players but the odd soldier, she knew little of. At the campfire that night, she listened intently to the tales and motivations of the Inquisition's people and learned what had driven good and innocent people to throw their lot in with those the chantry called heretics.
There was a young man, whose father had been killed by the rebel mages during the fighting with the Templars. Instead of hating the mages, he blamed the chaos and identified the Inquisition as the only people who truly cared for the people. An old soldier who had seen the explosion that created the Rift wanted to know why the Divine had to die. He was certain the Inquisition would find the answer to his questions. A woman, who had once been a mistress to an Arl with few lands and even fewer manners, had sought a way to free herself from his reach. Her talents had revealed her to be well qualified to join Leliana's people as a…scout. She listened to each of these tales becoming more interested as the night wore on and the ale and mead passed around the fire took to her head.
Even Cassandra, who always seemed more uptight after consuming any alcohol around the fire at night, loosened up. She smiled, laughed and even told a silly tale of her own. Varric was no different than his usual self, though his jokes about Scout Harding's name became less and less polite as the night wore on and Enya found herself grateful that the young Scout had partaken enough in the drinking to brush them off as mere jibes in her favor. Solas was perhaps slightly more loquacious than usual, although he was still quite contained by his collected demeanor. He did reveal, at the jokingly accusatory request of Cassandra that had they had met at a time earlier in his life, the whole group would have found a very different individual. By the time she fell asleep, Enya felt more at peace with the people with which she had allied herself and the people that placed their faith in her.
As she woke the next day, Enya found that though there was little pain in her hand, her head was a different story. It felt as though she had attached a small rock attached to her neck. She rolled her shoulders and blinked against the brightness of the rising sun. The rest of her party were already awake, and she realized that Cassandra or Solas must have kept anyone from waking her. For once she felt rested, and the dreams of her past night lingered in her mind like sweet flowers that reminded her of home.
She shook her head a few times, found she regretted it and retrieved her belongings from the ground. The elf sighed, as she tied her bedroll to the saddle of her horse. Enya spotted Varric beside the entrance to the camp speaking with Scout Harding. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. She was not certain she had ever seen him look so uncomfortable. As she drew closer she could hear him apologizing to the cocky auburn-haired dwarf for his rudeness the night before. Solas, who leaned against a tree nearby bore an implacable smirk.
Scout Harding seemed to have taken Varric's remarks the night before at face value. As Enya watched, she gave the blonde dwarf a gentle shove, mutter something and then walked away shaking her head. To his credit, Varric seemed to simply shrug the entire incident off after that. By the time Cassandra had returned from what looked to be a satisfactory conversation with the requisition officer, the party mounted their horses and began the long journey back to Haven.
It took them three and a half days to make it back up the mountain pass. The steepness of the mountains slowed even their well-bred, young horses considerably and once they reached the higher altitudes that could do nothing more than walk as a snail's pace. Once, Solas had been forced to dismount in the hopes that his horse could be revitalized by his magic. Enya had reached out from her own and held the animal still so that he might approach it with the glowing crackle of magic emanating from his hands. They were successful, however, and in the end it was Solas' steed who led them the last leg of the journey to the gates of Haven.
Enya dropped from the back of her horse and untied the cinch seconds after her feet touched the ground. One of the stable's hands collected her horse from her and took it away. She stretched languidly in the frigid afternoon sun, glad to be back to a place that was familiar. Though the frozen mountain air was far from hospitable, it carried with it the smell of campfires and the forge, all signs that the Inquisition was continuing to grow.
The elf shouldered her pack and moved up the hill, through the gates and proceeded toward her house. It was odd to be leaving her party behind. After slightly more than a week of travelling together, it was odd to be parting company.
"See ya, Kid," Varric called as she stepped off toward the cabin.
She turned to reply, but simply nodded instead. He retreated to his tent and she saw him drop his pack inside the door, his shoulders heavy with weariness. The fabric fell shut as she turned away to follow Cassandra and Solas toward the Chantry. When they reached the stairs to the upper terrace, she cut away from them and headed toward the small stand of cabins. Cassandra's voice stopped her.
"Rest. But do not let yourself become too comfortable, Herald," She paused, her foot on the bottom stair of the steps, "We must leave for Val Royeux as soon as we are able."
Enya nodded and bade them farewell. Once inside her cabin, she shed her armour. The space was cold, but the fire she lit on the hearth soon filled the room with a rosy light. She sighed and settled into the chair by the window, reaching out with delicate fingers to the snowy covered needles of the fir. They pricked the fingers of her right hand but the needles were soft under the pads of her palm.
It was dark when she woke in the wooden chair. She had not noticed the heaviness of her eyelids until she lifted them open and realized they had fallen closed. The toll travel had taken on her must have been great for the fatigue that plagued her body as she dragged herself out of the chair drew close to overwhelming. She struggled across the room to her pack and pulled from it, the leftover lump of bread that had sustained her for the leagues back to Haven and settled onto her bed. As she finally lay her head down to rest, there were but a few crumbles of the loaf left and the ache of her hand was the only pain the plagued her. It was much less than it once had been, and she pushed it away as she unlaced her boots and curled, cat-like beneath the blanket that covered her bed.
The Chantry was flooded by the light of the mid-morning sun when Enya pushed open the doors. The torches and candles that flickered in their brackets guttered in the mountain breeze the pushed into the sanctuary. She strode down the aisle with purpose, bones no longer leaden with the stupor of long travel. Her armoured boots clicked on the stone as she approached the Chantry's War Room. Interesting that it was called so, she considered, a place of peace and faith twisted into a place of war. She was nearly there when a somewhat familiar figures stepped from the shadows toward her.
"Herald of Andraste," the creases around Mother Giselle's mouth bent into smile lines as she approached her.
Enya stopped to turn her attention to the Revered Mother, "Mother Giselle," she bowed her head in respect, "I'm glad to see you made it here safetly."
"It was a long journey, but a peaceful one," Mother Giselle thanked, "Your guards seemed unsure what to make of me. It seems that the Chantry's dismissal of the Inquisition has made it all the way to your underlings."
Enya stepped back a moment and considered this statement, "I don't believe that I have underlings, Mother Giselle."
"Perhaps underlings was not the right word then," The chantry mother furrowed her brow and stared at her, "But you do have people who follow your words as Andraste's Herald. I am honored that you have welcomed me here." She smiled, "I wanted to formally declare my allegiance to your Inquisition."
The revered Mother pressed her hands together and gave a small bow, "Should you need council, it is very likely you can find me here, in the Chantry."
Enya nodded, "Thank you, Mother Giselle."
She moved off down the center of the sanctuary. As she raised her hand to push open the door, it swung inward of its own accord. The sounds of a rather heated argument reached Enya's ears.
"It is a foolish idea!" Leliana pressed her fingers against the table and pushed herself of it, "Mother Giselle is a kind woman, but she does not understand the intensity and delicate nature of the Herald's position. Many still believe she is behind Justinia's death. They want her dead, Josie!"
Enya glanced at the armoured hand that grasped the door and recognized the dark metal that covered Cullen's gloves. She stepped through and exchanged a glance with him as he shut the door behind her.
"And their minds will never seen anything but the murder of the Divine if we never let the Herald speak with the remaining Clerics in Val Royeux. I'm sorry Leliana, but she must be seen the public eye or they will suspect that these Chantry-spun tales are true," Josephine set her writing board down on the table.
Enya remained silent and watched hot scarlet wax drip onto the edge of the map. The arguing continued around for several minutes. Cullen felt that they should appeal to the Templars, as he had voiced before, because they were far more likely to see her as an ally than the mages and therefore the debate over sending their "asset" to Val Royeux was unnecessary.
"They will support our cause!" He slammed a fist on the table after the third bout of conflict with Leliana.
The two had locked eyes on either end of the table and the glare each bore could have melted through steel. Cassandra stepped forward and placed a hand in the middle of the map
"Whether or not the Templars," She glanced at Cullen.
Leliana let out a scoff.
"Or the mages," Cassandra turned and icy stare on her red-headed colleague, "Will aid us is a moot point. As much as I hate playing politics, Josephine is right," Now she turned her gaze to Enya, "We need the Herald to be seen,"
"And heard," Josephine interjected.
"In Val Royeux," The Seeker turned back to Leliana, "But you are right, Leliana; she is in danger. And so I will be going with her."
Enya stepped forward then, and uncrossed her arms, "I would welcome your aid Cassandra," She smiled and nodded at the warrior, then turned her attention to the rest of the table, "Josephine, how soon should I meet with these Clerics?"
The Antivan's frustrated face broke with a smile of surprise, "It would be best if you left immediately, Herald. The Game is best played quickly before your opposition can undermine your platform," her dark eyes seemed to catch sight of Leliana's threatening stare for her expression faltered and she added, "But of course, you have just returned from the Hinterlands. I will need a day or so to arrange a ship for your passage across the Waking Sea. You'll leave then."
"Then the matter is settled," Cassandra's voice was deadly calm, "We haven't the support or reputation to sway the mages or the Templars to our favor. Perhaps this will help."
Enya remained at the table a while longer, listening as the conversation turned to the best way to maintain a hold over the Hinterlands. Her eyes flicked from each member of the Inquisition's leaders as they spoke, trying to understand their motivations. Leliana seemed to be filled with a controlled volatility that struck her as both a great strength and great weakness. Josephine cared greatly for each of her colleagues but that did not hinder her tongue when she felt she alone held the solution to a problem. Cullen's mind was brilliant, she could tell it in an instant. His hazel eyes held the calculating spark of a military tactician to rival the greatest generals and yet in it there seemed to be a consistent uncertainty. Enya could not tell whether it was directed at himself or toward his fear or finding himself wrong. Cassandra too, had a sharp intellect hidden behind her brash, hardened exterior. She and Cullen seemed to flawlessly work together in formulating plans for the best camp placements, troop movements and resource requisitions.
If Cullen was uncertain of himself, Cassandra, though she hid it well, was even less so. Enya had already seen her question her choices once when it came to the Inquisition and it seemed that the warrior did so repeatedly. She had seen this a few times in her clan. And experienced Hunter might be killed by their prey, or fall sick of a wound and one of the hunters would step up. It was clear that Cassandra was used to following someone, though command was certainly not foreign to her. Even so, Enya could see that the pressure of highest command was taking its toll. She didn't blame her; if she had suddenly declared a rebellion against a great religious power after the death of her last patron, she doubted that she would be much stronger.
Enya excused herself as the day drew on and made her way back toward her cabin, heading toward the tavern on her way. The few times she'd eaten from the establishment had not been thrilling, but it was not as though it needed to be to fill her stomach. Rosy light poured from the windows onto the golden dirt and stones of the well-worn footpath that curved around the tavern's side. She paused to admire the way the flickering light inside danced on the ground and smiled at this moment of peace. It was nice to take a breath for once.
The door swung inward on well-oiled hinges as Enya pressed a hand against it. People whose name she did not know were settled at the tables, some passed out on their own plates while their companions chatted on, uncaring other simply stared off into the air as though they could see through the Veil to the world beyond. On pair stumbled in circles in what she thought might have been a dance had they been sober enough to remember the steps. As it was, it seemed as though if the two let go of each other, they might lack the balance to keep standing. She shook her head, a smirk adorning the right side of her face as she approached the bar.
So busy, she had been, watching she had disregarded the mellow tones of the bard and her lute as they stood in the far corner. Enya narrowed her eyes as she leaned against the bar and then realized that it was the words that were familiar though the melody itself was much changed. It was a song once written by a human who was sympathetic enough to the plight of the People to sit and listen to the naïve children of a clan tell their version of a history. The song was simplistic, its lyrics, far from the truth of the tale but it had found its way into the Clans regardless. She ordered a mug of mead from a barmaid who, upon seeing the Mark that stretched across the palm of her left hand, refused to let her pay.
Enya drank her mead alone, sitting in a corner away from the other parishioners of the tavern. It was better to watch, to notice the Templar in the corner that shook from Lyrium withdrawal as he raised his cup to his lips or the man who gazed longingly at the visage of an elven woman that perched at the end of a table. She whispered into the ear of a different man and the first narrowed his eyes and glared into his mead.
The door of the tavern swung inward again and, unsurprisingly, a blonde dwarf entered, crossbow slung across his back. She raised her glass to him as he spotted her and his face split with a lopsided smile. He came over to her.
"And I was beginning to think you didn't like having fun," Varric said as he drew level with her.
"Oh, no," Enya set her glass down on the table behind her, "I know how to have fun. I just prefer to be completely sober when there could be bandits about."
The dwarf chuckled, "In my experience, those bandits sneaking around? Just about as good of a cure for drunkenness as anything. I should know."
"I'd just as soon not have to worry about sobering up."
Varric shook his head, "Eh!" he waved a hand and then sat down at her table, pulling a roll of parchment and a quill from his pocket, "So, we've been back in Haven all of twenty four hours and already they're sending us off to play politics in Val Royeux. They don't waste any time, do they?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, "How do you already know?" She drew a knee up onto the seat of the chair and wrapped her arm around it.
"My spies are everywhere," he smirked at her.
Enya stared at him, her eyebrow creeping toward her hairline until he relented.
"Cassandra asked if I would join you," Varric stood and grinned back at her, "You know, just in case everything goes to hell and you need someone with, say, a nice crossbow to handle the situation."
She narrowed her eyes, "I think I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself thank you."
"Well, I suppose we'll see, elf," he started toward the bar, "You'll be wanting another, yes?"
Enya glanced at her nearly empty mug and then up at him, "If wouldn't mind one, no."
He chuckled, "I'll be right back."
When he returned he returned to his writing and she graciously accepted her second drink. The meadin her mug was not strong but whatever Varric was drinking started his mind wandering away from his task by the bottom of his first flagon. Their voices mingled with those of the tavern's other occupants when the familiar Ferelden "Andraste's Mabari" rang through the smoky wooden building. Enya smiled as Varric launched into a tail of life in Kirkwall dealing with the Dwarven Merchants Guild.
"I'm a businessman really, but it isn't my whole life," Varric commented as they left the tavern.
Enya laughed, "From what you've said of the Merchant's guild, what a dwarf considers a businessman makes what the rest of the world's businessmen seem like flower sellers. You're starting to make more sense to me."
She turned to her dwarven companion, an alcohol infused smile on her face. Behind him, she spotted Solas sitting on the low rock wall. Enya felt her smile slide away and she nodded to him in acknowledgment as their eyes met. She couldn't be certain, but she thought she saw the corner of his lips quirk upward in a half smile. Varric pulled her away from the tavern and bid her good night as they passed his tent. With a sigh, she wandered toward her cabin, eyes drifting into the night sky to settle on the Breach. Its green glow blotted out the stars. She felt the smallest twinge of pain in her hand, a reminder of what was expected of her.