a/n- So this chapter gave me some serious trouble when it came to writing. I just couldn't find the motivation to write what was happening in this chapter past the initial character conversation. I also had a presentation and two papers over this past week that account for why this is being posted so late. Anyway, I sincerely apologize for the lateness of this post again and I hope that, since I am now on spring break, I will have the time to get down to business and get some chapters up. So, without further ado, enjoy the next chapter of Wisdom or Pride.
Silence in the Fade
The soldiers training under Cullen's careful command clashed as she walked out of Haven at mid-morning. Their punishing drills of sword and shield were repetitive, but at the same time it seemed as though they had improved. She smiled at the Inquisition's general as she passed him. Enya squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as she picked up a run just past the stables and the smithy. It had been a long time, even before she'd arrived at the Conclave that she'd had the chance to run.
A Dalish hunter trained daily, running long distances through the trees and on the ground so that if necessary, they could pursue their prey. It was an exhausting and strenuous task but something to which she had grown accustomed. Enya lifted her chin and drew a breath as she reached the top of a hill. The first great incline was always the hardest, but then the body grew used to the thankless pounding of feet to ground. She let it out and with it, her thoughts. The sweet, spicy scent of the mountain firs and the crisp aroma of snow filled her nose as she breathed again. Calming and quieting, the smell seeped into her like water melting through cracks in stone. The pain of her Mark, the ever-present pressure of her expected fate faded, and all that mattered was the steadiness of her breath as her strides passed by.
When her breath finally began to catch in her chest, Enya slowed her pace to a steady jog and then a walk. She had followed the road, hadn't stopped to think about where it would take her, but now she saw that she must have journeyed the path she would have taken had she not chosen to go through the mountains to reach the Temple. The ground before her was charred but the once torchlike bodies had gone out. Their blackened, screaming forms left marks on her mind as she passed them. A thrum of silence filled the air, unnerving and surreal, as she gazed up at the barren rocks that stretched toward the punctured sky. Her emerald eyes reflected its cold, burning light as she crept into the Temple itself.
The Inquisition's men seemed to know who she was. At this point, Enya wondered if there was anyone in Thedas who wouldn't recognize her. She returned their salute as she passed them, clasping her fist over her heart, thumb toward her chest in a superior gesture. Though she did not feel it was even, her title as the Herald of Andraste made her somehow more highly ranked than they.
The voices that had spoken to her last time remained silent. The memory of what had come to pass, Solas had explained, echoed through the Fade back to them. Now as she wished that they could or would speak to her, anything to tell her what had started her on this mad path of supposed Divine Fate. Despite her hopes, there remained only the deaf hum of the spiraling column of Fade energy that bridged between the tarnished ground and the broken sky. She settled on the edge of the second tier of rubble of the Conclave and stared up into the abyss above her.
"It is odd to hear the Fade remain silent when one comes with so many questions."
Enya did not try to hide her surprise as she whipped around to face the source of the familiar voice. Solas stood, leaning on his staff. Mirth danced in the seas of his stormy eyes, though his face was inquisitive and impassive as ever. She had no way of knowing how long he had stood observing her, nor when he had arrived at all.
"Andaran Atish'an, Enya," he greeted as he moved to join her on the ground, "I apologize for startling you. The depth of your concentration was greater than I had anticipated."
Until this moment, she was not certain he even knew her given name, but the use of it by anyone washed over her like waves sifting through grains of sand. She smiled as he settled beside her.
"It is no matter," Enya glanced first at him and then up into the Breach, "I had hoped it might speak again, like when I was last here," she confirmed, "But there is such great silence here. Deeper than anything I have ever experienced."
She turned back at him and saw his gaze falter. His face was drawn and the dark grey of his eyes seemed to darken with the concerned curve of his brow. Solas looked past her at the swirling vortex of the Breach. His pensive silence impressed upon her the extent to which he was effected by the Fade.
"The explosion at the Conclave killed many here, in what we consider the true world," he answered, "The event was reciprocated in the Fade. Like any place in Thedas, the spirits roamed just through the veil. We can feel them, sense their presence as they flow through us in their reality," He glanced up at the sky, "Spirits of wisdom, purpose, peace and reconciliation were drawn here. Many were killed when the Veil was torn open, but more fell through into our world."
Enya narrowed her eyes, "There are spirits here?"
"No."
The harshness of his short answer revealed the rawness of his feelings. She opened her mouth to apologize for her bluntness but he continued.
"They flooded through the Breach like blood from an open wound into a world that had been torn by events too terrible to comprehend. Anguish, fear, regret and rage perverted them," he met her gaze, "They became the very demons we faced."
The intensity of the stark honesty in his eyes forced her to lower her gaze, "Solas, I…"
He held up a hand, stopping her words "You could not have known. Ir abelas, da'len."
Enya drew in a breath as the silence between them stretched.
"You came here for answers," Solas pulled himself up with his staff and held out a hand for her, "I cannot give you the answers that you seek, but I might suggest another path of inquiry."
She considered him as she allowed him to help her up, "Alright. What is it?"
"I have been considering the scale of this destruction. The orb that our perpetrator used must be recovered."
They began to walk back toward the upper rim of the Temple. The red lyrium glowed eerily and as they past, it seemed it almost spoke to them with sinister, whispered words. Enya gave it a wide berth. Varric's warning about it still fresh in her mind. She mulled over Solas' words.
"You think it survived?" she turned her green eyes on him as they passed the guards, "With the strength of the explosion, isn't it more likely that it was destroyed?"
"Perhaps, but it is far more likely that anything with the power to create this might also be built to survive beyond its purpose finding fruition," Solas reasoned.
Enya nodded, "I suppose," she paused as they passed the guards and returned the salute, "A device that powerful shouldn't be left to chance. In the wrong hands it could be…"
She gestured toward the spikes of stone that climbed toward the sky above their heads.
He nodded, "I came here today to see if any trace of it was left."
"And did you find anything?" she pressed.
"If the device survived the explosion, then it was removed from the Temple soon after."
Enya had not realized how far she had run, but as she looked down the valley toward Haven's Chantry, she was shocked by the distance.
"I have found no trace of the orb in the memory," Solas reported.
Enya paused in her step, "Then whomever caused the explosion may still be alive."
Solas nodded, "It is not an unlikely possibility."
Ahead, Enya spotted the smithy emerging from behind the edge of a rock face. The bellows of master Harrit pumped smoke into the air. His apprentices hard at work crafting swords and armour to outfit the growing Inquisition. Maintaining and providing for an army was no easy feat. She and her elven companion drew silent as they approached Haven's gates, for their conversation was not that type that should be heard by the many recruits and volunteers. Enya maintained his pace, walking next to him all the way back to his cabin.
Once inside, she was reminded of the comment he had made about having few personal belongings. It had not registered what he had meant until she gazed around the simple, sparsely ornamented space. A shelf of finely covered books drew her eye. Enya crossed to them, but found, through further examination, that many of them were written in languages she could not read. Even some were perhaps written in ancient elven.
Solas leaned his staff against the frame of the door and shed the green wool vest he had belted over his everyday clothes. She turned to him as he drew an orange from a bowl by the door. He began to peel it very slowly and carefully. Enya might have been amused had her thoughts not still been occupied by the thought of a potentially living adversary.
"While it is important that you mind does not stray from the task at hand," Solas' voice interrupted her musings, "It does not do to dwell on things that cannot yet be rectified, lethallin."
Enya blinked at him as he settled into the chair at the worn wooden desk.
"How else am I to solve such problems?"
She gazed away from him, out the small window. Her shoulder pressed hard into the wood of the shelf. Enya watch a few people wander about near the requisition tents and let out a long breath.
"You trust that it is not your burden alone," Solas replied after a long silence.
Enya turned her green eyes on him, "But was it my burden to begin with? I did not ask for this task. If the person who caused the explosion at the Conclave it still alive then it is my duty, as the one in possession of this mark," She held up her left hand as green light flared from her palm, "to oppose them. I have no special skills nor talents and yet the people here expect that I might be chosen by their god, by his prophet?"
Solas shifted in his seat, his eyes falling to the fingers that now pressed together, creating a perfect bridge between the arms of his chair over his lap.
"A lesser person would not see it as their obligation to stay. They would see only a lack of responsibility for another's actions or for other's anguish," He raised his eyes to meet hers, "It would not surprise you, I think, to know that I do not believe you are Andraste's Chosen," he paused and drew what seemed to her to be a careful breath, "However, you have been given an opportunity, whether by fate or by chance I cannot say, to shape the future of Thedas. You have already chosen to accept this. What matters now is what you do with what you have been given. I simply hope the path you choose it right."
Enya held his gaze for several moments after he finished his sentence. The carefully chosen words had managed to diffuse the frustration that had knotted her tone. Finally, she took a breath an stared back out the window. He was right after all. The silence stretched in the cabin for several long moments. Finally, the fasteners of the fabric squeaked as Solas rose from his chair and approached her.
"Ir abelas, lethallin," he ran his fingers over the covers of the volumes on the shelf, "I should have left you to your wanderings today."
Enya turned to him in surprise, "No. You should not have," she lowered her arms to her sides, "I needed to speak with a friend, Solas."
She thought she saw the smallest of smiles break his features for a moment. Then it was gone. It seemed a natural end to their conversation. He seemed to notice it as well, for as she started toward the door, he rose from his seat to open it for her. As Enya stepped outside, the frigid mountain gale buffeted her face. She paused in her step and turned back to him, throwing hand out to stop the door. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"We leave for Val Royeux tomorrow," she began, "Would you accompany us, Solas?"
The elven mage bowed his head, "I would be honoured."
Enya lowered her hand from the door and smiled back at his impassive expression, "Until tomorrow, Solas."
"Dareth shiral, lethallin."
She turned away and the door clicked quietly behind her. Enya made her way back to her own abode and rolled her shoulders as she stepped through the door. The effects of the run were beginning to settle in, weighing on her like lead. It was still early in the day however, nearly time for the noontime Chant to begin up in the chantry. She wondered after a meal but disregarded the notion. There was no sense in eating food she did not truly need when the Inquisition's forces were poorly supplied to start.
Instead, she busied herself by cleaning the blood out of the deep engravings in the hilt of her blade. It wasn't fancy, a simple and functional weapon with moderately good balance, but it seemed the last owner had not taken care to thoroughly clean it. She dabbed water into each crevice and let it sit for a moment before she ran a cloth over it, inspecting each time she pulled the rag away. The brown film slowly dwindled with each wipe until well over an hour later she had cleaned it to a satisfactory level of grime.
In the morning, they rode set out from Haven and headed west along the Frostbacks. The sun, when not obscured by the peaks of mountains, fell on their backs, warming them. The road led them slightly north and they passed by the bend in the rode that lead to the Temple. Their conversations ceased and the group grew solemn as they past under the outer edge of the green abyss in the sky. Enya's hand burned into her skin for the first time since she'd closed the rift four days prior. She clenched the reins until they were well clear of the Breach and the pain again subsided.
"So," Cassandra's Orlesian lilt broke the silence, "No doubt you spoke with Josephine about this mission. She had mentioned speaking with you."
The night before, Josephine had sent word that she wished to speak. Enya had obliged and then listened to Josephine lecture her on the dos and don'ts of Orlesian culture. When the conversation was through and the Inquisition's ambassador satisfied with her tutelage, Enya left feeling more confused than she had when she'd come. Her reticence about speaking for the Inquisition doubled in the face of the breadth and complexity to which Lady Montiliyet had alluded.
Enya nodded slowly, placing her attention on the Seeker. Her face must have shown her concern, for she watched a reassuring smile split Cassandra's.
"You have little to fear, Herald. Our ambassador is a true player of The Game, but she over complicates matters," She explained, "We simply need your voice to be one of the many heard in Val Royeux. What you say matters less then how you say it."
"Every time I hear someone talk of Orlais I think of the Merchant's Guild," Varric commented, "Why anyone would want to live in a constant state of hiding is beyond me."
"I do not often find myself agreeing with you, Varric," Cassandra turned to the dwarf, "But on this account, I wholly agree. The years I have spent in Val Royeux rivalled those I spent in Nevarra in abhorrence."
Enya raised an eyebrow, "I take it you do not like the politics?"
"You mean the constant stream of murder corruption and deception that the Orlesians call a court?" Cassandra's voice carried and edge, "It is a frivolous and pointless cadre of events that could easily be settled in a matter of moments with but a blade and a set of morals."
They descended from the mountains along a long rocky trail lined with what felt after an hour of unending switchbacks. When they finally reached the bottom, however, the air was mild and the scene of autumn grains wafted along the low hills from where the plains met the Waking Sea. It would not be long before they reached the shore and then on to their mission.