a/n- So. I officially finished the Dragon Age: Inquisition story arch and (after a good solid cry and some serious talking and hugs from some friends) I have decided my broken heart will only be healed by writing some good old fanfiction. I am officially getting back into this full swing for the foreseeable future. Lucky for you, that means that I will likely be updating quite frequently as the only thing keeping me from melting into a little pool of goo on the floor is the reminder that here, I am master of this universe and therefore the things that make me sad can simply be ignored or handled in my own way. Here is hoping that many of you did not meet the same, heartbreaking fate as myself and are currently able to thoroughly enjoy the craftsmanship that went into the ending of this game. And now, a toast to a lack of emotional turmoil!
Dareth Shiral,
Tabitha
Passing Judgement
In the short time since Enya's involuntary arrival to the Inquisition, she had seen more Chantries than she had ever expected to see in her entire life. Out of habit, she had avoided human settlements, observing the bias the Dalish held for the humans and especially worshipers of Andraste. As they approached the latest of these Chantries, Enya too a moment to appreciate the irony of her situation. The Herald of Andraste, a symbol of the very people from which her own race had been ostracized. Her reflections could not hold, for as her hand touched the door she sensed the rift on the other side and her Mark flared a poisonous aching green as it tugged her toward this tear. Her right hand crept over her shoulder to grasp tightly, the hilt of her war-battered greatsword.
Solas stepped before her to push on the wood of the door. Their eyes met briefly and she knew he had taken notice of her caution. As he raised his hand to open the door she saw frost creeping over his fingertips.
"I can feel a rift," Enya warned Cassandra and Varric, but she needn't have, for they too had prepared for the coming fight.
The heavy oaken door scraped inward against the stone, swollen from years of moisture in its cracks. The noise called the attention of the shades that stood in a hulking, malformed ring around a rift and a man, whose bare shouldered arm balanced a mage's staff.
"Took you long enough!" he commented off-handedly as he blasted one of the distracted demons with a fire mine, "Well don't just stand there. Plenty of demons to go around!"
He crisped another for emphasis. Enya felt the pressure in her hand lessen as it's corporeal form dissipated into energy and fell back into the Fade. She drew her greatsword and rushed forward to help him. A battle with a rift in such close quarters was not something they had encountered before.
"Fenedhis!" Enya swore as her sword chipped away at the stone of one of the great pillars of the Chantry.
The shade before her bore down on her with a raised arm. She tugged at her blade, emerald eyes wide as she struggled. The demons talon-like hand came down. Its claws froze but inches from her shoulder and the ice crept over its entire body. Her sword came free with a second tug and she shoved it through the demon's chest. She danced past Solas and nodded her thanks as she swung her sword deep into the shoulder of another demon. It let out a screech that seemed to rend the air about them. She flinched away from the sound and thrust her hand toward the rift. It burst and closed, sealing the demons' spirits back in the Fade.
Enya shook for a moment, closed her eyes and drew deep breaths through her nose as the thrill and fear of battle dissipated. The glow of her hand faded until only the slightest crease of her palm shimmered green.
"Fascinating!" the mage strode toward her, "How does it work?"
Enya's eyes snapped open and she clenched her hand into a fist. He laughed.
"You don't even know do you?" he swung his staff over his shoulders to his back, "You just fling it at a rift and 'poof' it closes!"
His condescension and arrogance hit their mark.
"And just who are you, then?" Enya gripped her sword.
"Yes, wouldn't mind knowing either," Varric tossed Bianca onto her holster on his back.
The mage smirked, "No need to get hostile. I invited you here didn't eye. Gave you a rift to close and everything." He raised his hands, "Dorian Pavus of House Pavus in Quarinus." He examined her and her friends, "And of course you are the famed 'Herald of Andraste' if the tales are to be believed."
Enya shifted, lifting her chin, "You shouldn't believe everything you hear."
"Well from what I just saw they're at least partly true," he paced even closer to her, only to stop as Cassandra drew level with her shoulder.
"You would do well to stay back, Tevinter." The Seekers eyes brimmed with distrust.
'Dorian,' as the mage had introduced himself, shook his head, "It isn't me you should be wary of." Despite his arrogance, frustration colored his words, "I'm risking my neck to warn you: Alexius cannot be trusted."
"And why should we believe you, Mage?" Cassandra's accusing words struck a chord.
"Have you noticed that the Rifts in Redcliffe behave oddly?"
"Indeed, it would seem they have the ability to speed or slow time," Solas responded with a shadow of aggression that drew a quick glance from Enya.
"Well you're a sharp one. I was expecting 'things go fast and slow.' Color me impressed," the sardonic overtones of his speech, phased no one this time as Dorian crossed his arms, "Magister Alexius is responsible for this little alteration."
"Such an alteration is foolish. He couldn't possibly control it," the anger in Solas' voice grew.
Dorian narrowed his eyes, "As I am well aware. However, the Magister is not and already these rifts have begun to spread. Soon all of Thedas will feel the effect."
"And you know this how?" Enya crossed her arms as well, fixing him with a glare. The candlelight flickered in his dark irises.
With a creak, a door at the side of the Chantry opened and figure strode through. As he moved into the light, Enya recognized Felix, whose yellow silk robes seemed to glow in the half-light.
"Felix!" all pretense and posturing left Dorian's voice in this moment, replaced by a genuine joviality.
"Hello, Dorian," Felix stopped between herself and the other Tevinter mage, "Herald."
Enya's scrunched eyebrows betrayed her confusion as she bowed her head in greeting.
"That took a while," Dorian mocked, "I was beginning to think your father sent you all the way back to Tevinter."
Felix's seriousness nullified the teasing, "He nearly did. I thought he and the Enchanter would never stop fussing over me. I never should have played the illness card."
Felix turned to Enya and crossed his arms, "My father is here for you, Herald. He used the Rifts to get here before you so that he could take the Southern Mages before you arrived. Made it seem to them like it was their only option and then got them under his control. He wanted to force a meeting."
"Here…for me?" Enya glanced at the ground for a moment, "I can assume this isn't and idle interest?"
"No," Felix replied, "Father's joined a cult. They are obsessed with you: what you can do, how you do it. You are their primary focus."
Enya swallow, considering their words, "You both speak with conviction, but even liars can have strong faith in the sanctity of their lies. Tell me why I should believe you," she paused to fix a stern gaze on Felix, "A man who openly betrays his father," she turned to Dorian, "And you, a mage of Tevinter who has yet to explain his purpose but has a surprising understanding of how one can manipulate time."
Felix sighed, "Herald, you have every right to be suspicious, but let me lay your fears aside," he squared his shoulders, "I do not see this as a betrayal. My father has changed, become a different man, driven by his desire for greater power in this world. In the absence of reason, I must become his conscience."
Enya cocked her head, examined Cassandra's visage for any shred of advice whether or not to trust this young man, but it seemed the Seeker was likewise torn between compassion and disbelief. In the end, empathy won and Enya chose to believe that Felix's words showed only his integrity.
"Well I cannot say that I believed Magister Alexius was entirely forthcoming," Enya licked her lips and then turned to Dorian, "You however, have offered me nothing to support you claims of this 'time magic'. How is it you know the Magister is capable of such manipulations?"
"Since you clearly have a great deal of trust in my words," Dorian drawled, "Once upon a time, I was Alexius' apprentice. We were never successful at utilizing this particular type of magic but we developed methods."
"The Breach," Solas' hands were clasped pensively behind his back.
"Indeed," Dorian responded, nodding at the bald elf before addressing Enya again, "Have I passed muster then?"
Enya consider but a moment more and then nodded silently, "For now."
"Good," Dorian smiled, his mustache curling up, "Now, you should leave. Before Alexius gets wind that you've seen through his sweet-talk."
Enya nodded but paused before she left, "If this is a trap…"
"Then I shall expect your retribution to be swift and severe, Herald."
Dorian replied as he disappeared through the back of the Chantry. Felix nodded his farewell to them as well and then followed the dark-skinned Tevinter mage. Enya watched through cautious eyes as they interacted at the doorway, searching for signs of deception yet she could find none. Despite the tenseness of their situation, both men seemed at ease as they departed.
"Well that was not what I expected," Varric commented, crossing his arms.
Cassandra let out disbelieving grumble, "Yes, so unexpected I think 'unlikely' might be a better description. Two men of Tevinter, at odds?"
Solas nodded, "Yet experience shows that often it is unexpected places where we find those most useful."
Cassandra and Enya pushed open the doors to the Chantry and slipped out into the village.
"For example, you, Cassandra, would hardly expect to find a herald of your blessed prophet in a Dalish elf form the Free Marches would you." Solas gestured to Enya, "Yet here she stands before you. While I advise caution, their words ring true."
The ruined colonnade courtyard surrounded them as they slowed a moment, pondering his words. Cassandra let out a disgruntled sigh and strode away so that she walked several paces before them. Solas' words, however, served to reassure Enya. Such decisions had never before been her duty and his support did wonders to calm her turbulent mind.
As they settled to camp that evening at the foot of the Frostbacks, Enya gazed out into the foggy night through distant emerald eyes. The valleys of the Frostback foothills were bleached silver by the moonlight that painted the top of the mist. Her feet, finally free of their constraining boots, itched to wander into the midst of those fallen clouds, to grip a bow in the cradle of her palm and fell an August Ram to feed her clan, but they were far away, hidden beyond her reach. Not for the first time, Enya felt the painful tug of the Green Dales and of the Coast near the Shemlen city of Wycome, drawing her happiness from her. The bittersweet melancholy of homesickness was an all too familiar feeling, though never before had she been so powerless to fix it.
Tearing her eyes away from the vista before her she opened her hand, felt the burn of her mark as it flared dimly green in the night. It had been fed that day and was content to hum calmly beneath her skin. Here it was, the culprit. An accident of twisted fates that served to remind her only that she could no longer do as she pleased, could no longer be that simple Dalish Hunter who minded her own business and kept to her kin. How much she had wanted to wander, see the world beyond her clan. A halla always thinks the water might be crisper on the other side of the river, but rarely is it true, she reminded herself bitterly.
A twig snapped nearby and she jumped, alert. Solas stepped forward form the woods out into the clearing where she sat. Had he not trodden on a twig, she might never have known he was there. Perhaps he had done it on purpose. She would not have been surprised; he seemed too controlled for such an error.
"Ir abelas, da'len," He spoke, "I have the strangest feeling I've intruded on a thought."
He approached her, and for once he did not carry his staff with him. Did he trust her more, or was he simply tired of carrying it about. Enya shook her head and padded the grass next to her with her left hand. It was a poor attempt at casualty meant to mask the object of her concentration only moments before. His brown furrowed as he watched the movement, but he made no comment.
"You needn't. It was not a thought on which I cared to dwell," she replied.
He settled next to her, nodding, and crossed his legs, "Then I will not worry."
They lapsed into companionable silence for several moments. Enya took this comfortable quiet to heart, in the vain hope that perhaps, even if he hadn't forgiven the Dalish for shunning his proffered knowledge, he had at least learned not to associate her people's close-mindedness with her. She let out a sigh and turned to Solas as if to speak, but was startled to find that his eyes were closed. It took her a moment to recognize the posture and composure of one who was meditating. The steady, almost absent breaths that filled his chest reminded her of the depth of concentration required, or so she assumed.
"I find the events of today troubling, da'len."
Solas' low, quiet voice was scarcely more than a whisper. Enya nodded in agreement as he reopened his eyes.
"Tevinter has had too great a hold in the politics and wars of Thedas,"
There was a bright blaze of anger in his eyes that lasted for only a moment before it was gone. Enya felt a chill at this spark.
"Such a hold perpetuates old triumphs those of Tevinter held with pride. It is a jagged knife drawn slowly from an already grievous wound, damaging them and Thedas all the more." he turned to her. "We cannot allow it to continue."
Enya shook her head, "I know Cassandra wishes us to consider the Templars as an alternative, but… A Tevinter Magister cannot be allowed to wander about a southern city as though it is his kingdom. If this goes ignored it could," A frown creased her brow, "Alexius has manipulated the Breach, somehow managed to bend it to his will. I could feel it in my mark when I was in Redcliffe."
Solas nodded, "The mage was right. His time magic will not be constrained to just Redcliffe's rifts, nor will it remain in the Hinterlands. Not so close to the Breach." He raised his chin and turned.
Enya followed his gaze up over the line of trees to where the monolithic silhouettes of the Frostbacks loomed. The moon brushed the clouds silver white but on their bases, there remained a tinge of green where they spiralled inward toward the Breach.
"His magic will seep into the Fade. It will draw on Thedas' wishes. It will draw on regrets and longings and time will be altered irreparably," He fixed her in the furrowed brow of his stare, "This cannot be allowed to occur."
"Nor can Alexius be allowed the Southern Mages as his personal servants." She clenched her hand into a fist, "How could someone as skilled and experienced as the Grand Enchanter be so blind to such blatant manipulation."
Solas smiled and rose to his feet, stepping to the very edge of the cliff. Enya's gaze followed him as he paced for a moment and finally to stand with his fingers about his chin.
"The forests of the Hinterlands have seen much battle. The Alamari, the Chasind, the Avvar. More recently, the Blight. I feel the echoes here more strongly than anywhere, for this is where the blood of men was spilled."
Enya too stood, her head cocked to the side as she attempted to follow his thought, but she failed to reach it. He turned to look at her, questioning. At her inquisitive stare, he continued.
"Like the forests of the Hinterlands, your people have grown to expect treachery."
Enya drew level with him. The mists of the valley were stirred by a strong gust of wind that blew down the mountainside. She fought to keep from shivering in her armor. The metal chilled so easily when the winter winds caught it.
"Fiona has had no such experience. She is, or was, a city elf before she joined the Circles. Even as a Grey Warden, she had no need of caution," Solas explained, "And in desperation, often it is easy to become subject to the will of others."
Enya sighed, "Mayhaps you're right, but she is Orlesian. Are the courts not meant to be built on what they call the Great Game?"
Solas turned away from the vision before them, "You have a habit of surprising me, da'len."
"Oh?" Enya raised an eyebrow.
"I would not have expected a Dalish elf to know of the Orlesian Game."
Enya crossed her arms and fixed him with a half-offended glare, "I am not a fool, Solas. By some strange twist of Fate, I am left in a position where many in Thedas see me as a prophet. I don't claim that they are right, but I do take their respect seriously and I see it as an opportunity to show Thedas that they have underestimated my people. Of course I took the time to learn of Thedas' politics."
Solas' face stiffened into the blank-faced expression he so often wore when he was troubled. She huffed in satisfaction. She loved that she could invoke such a look on him. Knowing that she could twist even such a wise person to consider her perspective through her own convictions was more reward than she'd thought. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he turned away from her. The silence that stretched between them was filled by the chorus of the creatures of the forest.
"I have judged you by the metric with which I have learned to judge your people," Solas' voice was soft but strong as he spoke, "Forgive me, da'len. I should have learned by now that my past experiences should not color my perception of you."
Enya restrained a smile that threatened to creep onto her face, but said nothing. She was still angry at his assumption, but his words had admitted his fallacy. She nodded to him and left, moving back toward the trees and camp. As she reached them, though, she turned back. He stood at the edge, his back poker straight. She could see his fingers grasped his chin, as they often did. The top of his bald head reflected the moonlight that bathed him. And just like that, she felt the frustration plaguing the pit of her stomach leave her.
"Eneth era, Solas," her voice was soft, but she saw his shoulders settle in response to the farewell.
Enya smiled and then turned back toward camp. Cassandra sat by the fire. The Seeker raised her head in greeting when she approached. The Inquisition breast plate lay by the fire. It's eggshell paint glowed vibrant orange in the fire's light, a sign that the lacquer on it was fresh.
She settled onto her bed roll and drew her blankets over her. The sounds of the night filled her sensitive ears, a druffalo hear groaning in the valley, a ram bleating sleepily. Nearby, Enya heard the shuffle of their mount's hooves and the scraping of a fennec searching for small creatures to eat in their ground, and above it all, she heard the echoing howl of wolves and she finally drifted off to sleep.