a/n- A reviewer (one of the few) once told me that their favorite chapters were the ones where I went "off script" and added my own energy to the story that was there. After all, despite its length, Dragon Age: Inquisition seems as though it might be one of the most replayed games I have ever come across. And I'm certain that many of you who are reading this have, yourself, replayed this masterpiece almost to excess, as I have. With that in mind, I crafted for you another more chapter from my own imaginings. And yes, the title contains a rather terrible alliteration. I am not sorry.
The Matter of Mounts
She wandered past the buildings within Skyhold's walls. There was a pool in the courtyard and a small shed whose wall and roof had caved in nestled between the face of battlements and a tall tower that marked one corner of the fortress. Enya's gaze wandered over the aged stone, tracing cracks up to the upper edge where the solid wall gave way to crumbled rubble. Skyhold needed repairs, to be sure, but she had never seen a more protected enclave. There was a fallen bridge that passed between the main castle and the battlements and beyond it, a half collapsed stable.
Her feet carried her to the gate-rooms nestled by the portcullis. The soldiers there paid her no mind and for once, she was glad she was an elf in a human world. Even if these men knew their Herald was Dalish, now that the Inquisition had begun to accrue volunteers, they did not often assume that the elf standing behind them was this famed person. They passed her a nonchalant nod and returned to their careful examination of the rusted iron chain that lifted the portcullis. One suggested interweaving rope through the links until proper replacements could be fashioned. The other agreed and they left without further comment.
Enya settled on the stone shelf that overlooked Skyhold's gate. Nestled in the great archway, she was shielded from the freezing wind that gusted up the mountainside, a stark contrast from the warmth inside the walls. From there, she leaned her elbows against the low stone wall and watched as the Inquisition filtered up from below in the camps. Elven, dwarf, human, regardless of origin carried in their eyes a curiosity she found heartening. After all these people had been through, lost, and yet they could still find it in themselves the strength to hope for more.
She knew these gazes would soon fade, but for a time she took solace in knowing she was, in part, responsible for the fire that still burned in their wounded hearts. She spotted Dorian and Varric as they entered in midmorning. The dwarf had Bianca slung over one shoulder and the other hoisted what looked to be a heavy pack. The Tevinter mage too carried a bag and leaned on his staff. As they passed below her, she caught a hint of their rather intense dialogue regarding the merits of print in publishing. So engrossed in their conversation were they, that her friends almost did not acknowledge her presence. In the end, however, Dorian broke from a heated comment about magical transcription to greet her with a flamboyant wave of his staff and Varric followed it up with, a jovial murmur of 'Clover.'
Leliana arrived some time later with Cassandra. More than most who filtered through Skyhold's gates, they bore trepidation and sorrow in their measured steps. While they had been talking when they were on the bridge, but both women fell silent as they passed under the great archway. They offered her kind smiles of greeting. She spotted an idea hiding in their eyes, but they had turned away before she could see more. Though it was her first observation of them, she often forgot that the pair had worked together for many years; so often Cassandra ventured away from the rest of the Inquisition's leaders, and the two were such different people. As they walked away, however, their mutual return to conversation, in hushed voices, betrayed their long familiarity.
Enya's legs groaned in protest as she hoisted herself onto the wall and leaned against the outer stone of the arch. She missed her Clan, missed the solitude and yet the bustle of familiar people around her, though she had spent most of her time in the woods. Every face she saw that entered Skyhold was new to her. Some she could recall seeing. Fiona, for one, wandered up with a few of her senior mages, but most were a sea of hopeful brows and somber lips that blurred together until the whole Inquisition seemed to have the same face. She drew her tired legs up to her chest and let out a gentle sigh against the cold stone pressing into her shoulders.
A splinter of sunlight filtered through a narrow crack in the arch over her head. Pleased and surprised that she'd not been bothered, Enya woke and stretched. She was stiff, and no less sore as she straddled the stone wall. The bustle of Inquisition that had passed by her perch in the morning had dwindled to a few soldiers milling about in conversation.
She swung her right leg back over the wall and slid down from her seat. Inside the embrace of Skyhold's walls again, Enya shed her woolen cloak and looped it over a wooden chair that sat in the gatehouse. Rolling her shoulders, she wondered after her sword down in the camp below. It had been some time since she'd practiced and she itched to swing it at something. Perhaps, she could convince Cassandra or Cullen to spar with her.
It took a fortnight for the Inquisition to clear the courtyard of enough rubble for it to be useful. Cullen's soldiers forwent all but the most basic of training exercises each day in favor of aiding in the repair of the walls. Josephine sent missives to Orzammar, asking for names of outcast dwarven masons to help quarry new stone where needed and mix the best mortars. Though many of the masons already with the Inquisition were opposed to the influx of new workers and what they considered to be a lack of faith in their skills, they soon were silenced. Enya could not be certain, but she wondered if Leliana's people had anything to do with their renewed job satisfaction. Fiona's mages helped with the repairs as well. Those who understood such practical uses of magic were set to work lifting great boulders with their powers while other's learned the techniques. Still others aided Adan in tending to the remaining wounded. In addition to her suspected efforts on Josephine's behalf, the Inquisition's Spymaster wrote many letters to her many contacts and by the end of the first week, the camps were flooded with new supplies. More surprising even than this was the overwhelming numbers that had begun to flock to their new home.
News travelled fast through Thedas, Enya knew, but never before had she seen this demonstrated with such efficacy as the news of the Inquisition's triumph over Corypheus. By the fifth day, young soldiers from the Orlesian army, tired of the fighting within their own Empire, arrived at the camp. Chantry sisters and enchanters, herbalists and farmers arrived in intermittent droves. More often than not, Enya found herself upon the battlements staring down at new parties arriving to the tents below.
By no means did Enya consider herself exempt from the repair and recovery efforts undertaken by the Inquisition. Indeed, over the time the courtyard was being cleared, she took turns with the healers in bringing water and food up the mountain to the workers. When she wasn't doing that, she worked diligently alongside Solas and the strange boy, Cole, in helping to heal those wounded in the battle. She had no magic of her own, but her mother had been her clan's healer and she knew the properties of herbs and roots better than even the Inquisition's surgeon. By the end of the third day, she'd taken charge of half of the healing tents and, though many still showed her deference, she felt the Inquisition growing to be more a part of her, and her a part of it. Before dinner each night, she joined Leliana, Josephine, Cullen and Cassandra around the war map. In this too, she felt herself growing in understanding. Leliana's secrets and whispers made more sense, Cullen's tactics began to reveal their stratgy, and Josephine's platitudes and ministrations developed a deeper meaning beyond simple ego stroking. Enya began to see the patterns in the web these leaders spun across Thedas, and though she would liken none of them to a spider, she admired the elegance with which each cast their silk.
Hard at work, time with the Inquisition passed with a rapid heartbeat of minutes. Like a bird, it fluttered away. At the fall of nighttime, Enya could barely lift a finger. Her hand ached almost constantly, though the pain had become less insistent after her closure of the Breach. Still, she felt the slow, building draw toward the necessity of a rift and resigned herself to an understanding that she would have to travel away from Skyhold to find relief. The third week offered such and opportunity.
"Master Dennett writes that a contact of his in Orlais possesses a mixed stock of horses that are threatened by the fighting and by the demons falling through a rift in the region," Cullen read out, "They would be willing to give us half of these mounts if only we can spare the man power to protect the herd from bandits."
Leliana loosed a rueful chuckle, "We must look well at what has been left out."
The other four people gathered around the table looked as her with share confusion. She returned their looks with stunned disbelief.
"Really? I am surprised at you, Josie," the spymaster pointed at the message, "Notice Dennett's acquaintance mentions trouble with a rift yet his only request is that we send soldiers to escort his donation back to us?"
"You're suggesting he wants to meet with me?" Enya crossed her arms.
Josephine's brows knitted, "I can see how some might find such a meeting advantageous. Still, we should treat the absence of this request with caution."
"You think the lack of a direct request means there could be danger?" Enya asked.
"Why else would he not request that the Herald come directly? Why beat around the bush?" Leliana confirmed.
"You make a fair point, but I remind you, the Inquisition lost all of our mounts with Haven and if we are to be taken as a genuine threat to Corypheus, we must look the part, horses included," Cullen bridged his fingers on the table.
"Could it not also be that this contact is uncertain his allegiance with the Inquisition will be appreciated? He might want to meet with me in person to be certain his sacrifice is not made in vain."
"Either way, if we want these mounts, we should let him know soon," Josephine scribbled something on her writing board, "It wouldn't do to leave such a generous offer unanswered."
"Then I say we send the Herald and a contingent of our finer soldiers to take care of this matter." Cullen rested his palms on the hilt of his sword.
Cassandra had remained silent since the beginning of the discussion but she nodded, "I agree."
Leliana pursed her lips but nodded her assent, "Allow me to contact some of my people before you leave. Corypheus is still a present threat, regardless of his defeat. I want to be certain this is not another Redcliffe."
They left the meeting a short time later and Enya settled onto her cot with dramatic bravado. The bear furs enveloped her with course warmth as her mind drifted away into the Fade. The morning dawned with a gust of frigid air that blew her blankets clean off. Shivering and in shock, she jumped up from her bed and snatched her cloak from where she had used it for a pillow. Clutching it around her shoulders, she stepped out of her tent into a swirling mass of snow and a roar of noise.
At the center of this impromptu blizzard stood Solas, and before him stood a massive bear. Its grey hide had the deadened sheen of wax-hardened leather; its fur hung from its belly and back like rags. The bear reared onto its hind legs and fear set her heart racing as it pummeled down on Solas' barrier, knocking the other elf back. She spun on her heel, fished her sword from under her bed and ran toward the beast as fast as her slender legs could carry her.
Enya rushed to stand before Solas' prone form. He was quick to recover, however, and as the bear lunged her again, she found him standing at her shoulder.
"You haven't any armor," he warned.
Enya glanced briefly away from the bear, "Nor have you."
Solas shot her a dark look and cast a barrier over her. The bear attacked with renewed vigor. Enya slashed at is nose, but it recoiled, drawing itself away from the blow before slashing out with one of its own. She caught the blow against the flat of her sword while Solas made an attempt to freeze its skin. Every mage is different, I'm good at fire, but some are better at ice. Depends on the nature of the caster. Alshasa had once told her, yet it did not mean that other elemental spells were not possible. Just as she began to wonder if this was why the bear had not yet gone down, a fireball slammed into the creature's chest.
It gave a roar loud enough to loosen some of the icicles that hung from the edges of the cliffs around them. Solas' hands glowed with flames. She nodded to him. It was then that other soldiers arrived, blades in hand. The bear, realizing that this was not a fight it could win, fled back down the mountain pass and over a rise.
Enya's arm hung at her side limp as the adrenaline of the unexpected fight wore off. She stooped and wipe the bear's blood from her blade into the snow, before meeting Solas' steady gaze.
"Thank you, lethallan," He offered a relieved smile and then nodded to her hand, from which green light flickered, "Your Mark, has the pain lessened?"
The pain in her hand had been building slowly since the Inquisition found Skyhold. Opening rifts with the Mark's power did little to relieve the burning ache the pervaded her palm. Enya clenched her fingers around her scarred palm. Aware of the creeping morning cold, she held her hand closer to her stomach, protecting it.
"I thought…" she stared at her dry fingernail beds, "You once speculated that it responded to the broken Veil, that it still hurt because the Breach was in the sky. I had hoped the pain would abate after the Breach was closed but…"
"Alas, while often my speculations have merit, never is one always correct."
His tone was almost rueful, she noted.
Lifting her emerald eyes from her closed fist, "It did remain quiet for far longer this time."
When she met his eyes, the curve of his cheeks and pinch of his brow softened.
"You healed a grievous wound, da'len. I imagine the mark's latency responded to that. We should find a rift for you to close, I think."
They wandered slowly across camp as they spoke. Enya took a moment to return her sword to her tent and then fell into step with him as they moved toward Flissa's fire. Each morning, breakfast was served with unnerving consistency just as the sun finally showed itself over Skyhold's highest tower. Enya collected a bowl of porridge from the rosy-cheeked bar maid and then skirted around the main eating area instead favoring a rather chilly but picturesque perch on the banks of the river.
Solas flicked his wrist, clearing the rock on which she'd intended to sit of the midnight's snow and then repeated the gesture to a low log. Enya watched him settle himself on the barkless timber, torn between pleasure at his courteous gesture and unnerved with the ease and carelessness of his magic. Even her reckless sister had never been so nonchalant. She dropped onto her own seat, and swallowed a mouthful of porridge before closing her hands around the warm bowl.
"Solas," she mused, "how did you come across that bear?"
The other elf swallowed and then cast her a rather guilty look, "I'm afraid I found it difficult to sleep last night."
Enya raised an eyebrow, "I wouldn't have thought that possible for you."
He smiled, "Even those who cherish the time they spend in the Fade find entering it difficult in times of great strain. I am not exempt from restless nights."
Enya bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from prying. Working with him in the healer's tents had loosened their tongues. Indeed, it was so easy to confide in him and receive his council, she often found words flowing from her mouth before she'd even thought them through. In a way, Solas had even reciprocated the gesture. She found often that in lulls of activity or when assembling herbs, he would seek her out, and they would engage in some dialogue, whether it be of theoretical or personal nature. He never revealed more than a hint, but Enya took it in, relishing the mystery of him, fascinated by his stories of the Fade. She knew better than to ask him what troubled him, knew it would likely result in a vague suggestion or he would answer with a question, but concern for him gnawed at her stomach.
"I confess, I am still used to being on my own, with no one responsible or even caring for my well-being. Curiosity drew me to the undercroft of Skyhold. I finally managed to find dreams there."
"You left your staff behind," Enya pointed out after she'd swallowed another mouthful of her morning meal.
Solas gave her a wry half-smile, "One does not usually expect to encounter a bear whilst wandering about a fortress."
She loosed a light chuckle, "No I suppose not. Lucky you don't need a staff to use your magic."
"Yes, it was fortunate."
They lapsed into companionable silence, listening to the rush of the river as it fled over the mountain's side underneath its half-frozen surface. Leliana's ravens grew noisy, crying out for their meals. The excitement of the fight with the bear had, no doubt, roused the camp from its slumber. Clanking armor and the din of voices filled the mid-morning air. Enya finished her porridge and set the bowl next to her in the snow.
"There is a rift for me to close," Enya broke their silence, turning away from the river to look at him again, "Or at least, a man in Orlais has requested my aid in closing it. I would be grateful for your aid."
Solas considered her, his grey eyes icy in the reflection of the snow, but she saw regret in them, "I would be honored, lethallan, but I think it would be best if I remained. I am needed here."
Enya opened her mouth to argue that his help would be invaluable, but she soon remembered that Dorian was more than talented enough to suffice in her companion's absence. Solas' healing skills were of much greater use with the Inquisition. Her disappointment at his absence, she reminded herself, mattered little.
"Ar eolasa, Solas*," she replied and rose from her seat, "Your presence will be missed. Dareth shiral."
"Dareth shiral, Lethallan."
Cassandra waited for her, fully armored in a long maille coat with her shield strapped to her back and sword belted to her hip, by the top of the road many of the newcomers to Skyhold had used. Behind her ranged a score of Cullen's men. Enya recognized some of them from training while others were unfamiliar, but their variety of scars spoke of their experience. Varric stood beside the Seeker and from Cassandra's face, Enya could tell even at a distance, that the man had wasted little time picking at her last nerve.
"Ah, it looks like we're a little late to this party!" Dorian commented, "No matter, I hear being late is fashionable these days."
Cassandra's stormy visage moderated his cocky exclamations not at all.
"Oh, or did closing the Breach change that?" he responded, "It is so very difficult to keep up with these Southern customs."
Enya stifled a laugh as Cassandra huffed.
"I apologize for my timing, Cassandra. We were," she cast a sidelong look at Dorian, "delayed."
"Well it isn't my fault you asked me last minute to join this little expedition, Herald. A man must have a bit of time to pack his favorite book, especially if there will be a great deal of walking," Dorian paused and then add, "Plus, I must say I find it a tad insulting to know that I was not your first choice."
"Yes, I'm sure you'll simply waste away for want of more confidence," Cassandra quipped.
Dorian feigned offense, "Seeker Pentaghast, I must advise that you keep your tongue in check. Such words could wound a man."
"All the more reason to keep talking, then."
Enya ducked her head to hide her smile. Dorian hummed his appreciation and the group of four, plus the twenty other soldiers left to start their long walk to eastern Orlais. It was an understatement to say that Dorian was a change, but what he lacked in stoicism he made up for in acerbic wit and calculated levity.
Master Dennet's Orlesian counterpart was about as likely to be a horsemaster as he was a court jester. He wore a mustard yellow mask that covered two thirds of his face. Though it was clear he had no intent of approaching the court of the Empire, Enya could tell this was the impression he wished to leave on his clients. His smile was simpering and taut, the expression of a man who had practiced the expression for decades. He bowed low to Cassandra on sight and expressed his apologies for not dressing more appropriately for meeting such a high ranking person in the eyes of the Divine. The Seeker waved off his adoration with a barely suppressed grimace and stepped aside to let Enya to the head of their entourage.
"Horsemaster Ruber, is it?" Enya extended a hand to him, "You've made quite an offer to the Inquisition."
Ruber sneered at her, "I don't make deals with rabbits."
Dorian chuckled behind her, drawing the faux nobleman's attention.
"Is something funny, Tevinter?" Ruber snapped his hostility fixating on the mage as much as it had on Enya.
She felt a stab of sympathy for Dorian, yet by the twitch of his mustache, this comment landed without wounding him. Enya stepped closer to Ruber, something he was clearly not used to elvhen doing for he squirmed in his oversized shoes. Green light seeped from her hand as she lifted it before his face. The infant-smooth skin of his chin paled and his beady grey eyes widened through the windows of their porcelain prison.
"You will make a deal with me, Horsemaster Ruber, if you want that rift closed."
Enya let her hand fall back to her side and waited for his lips to once again shape words. Finally, he gathered his wits about himself enough to utter more than "oh," "uh," and "I-."
"Of course, Herald of Andraste, of course. I had no idea that one of your station came from such a…"
Enya cleared her throat, "Perhaps I shouldn't let you finish that, Horsemaster. You seem to have a penchant for using words colorful words to describe my race."
She crossed her arms, green eyes flashing as dangerously as her mark. Ruber shuffled and then brushed his palms over the hem of his shirt.
"Right, Herald, if yourself and your men could follow me,"
The Mark throbbed in her palm and she regretted using it to intimidate the Horsemaster. She ran her thumb across it as they moved through the Horsemaster's homestead with surprising speed. By the rambling stone cottage she suspected was his home, a woman watched them pass through suspicious eyes. His wife, Enya presumed. There were several mud or wood shacks with thatched roofs that lined the path to his stables. Despite his claim that he did not make deal with elves, she spotted several elvhen children playing around a fire circle. They all paused to watch as the Inquisition passed. She, gave them a small nod, but could not be certain they had seen.
The horses had been packed into several small fields. The array of colors and sizes among them was astounding. Several had pendulous bellies that hung low in pregnancy. Obsequious as he might be, Horsemaster Ruber was as Dennet had described, a breeder of fine equine stock. The horses seemed too cramped in these spaces for there had to be fifty in each small pasture. She exchanged a glance with Cassandra, who seemed equally troubled, by these conditions.
"I apologize for the state of my herd," Ruber turned to them as they reached the stable, "Their field covers many hundreds of acres, but alas I cannot afford to allow them to roam it. I lost nearly two score of my mares when that rift appeared. I found them slaughtered by the demons that fell through. That is why I've asked for you to be here Herald. If my horses are to be healthy, they must be able to forage as they please."
"And I am willing to help you on that account, Horsemaster," Enya clenched her had into a fist as it reacted to the closeness of the rift.
Ruber's lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. He took her right hand it brought it to his lips.
"For that I am very grateful, Herald."
He directed the Inquisition past his stable to the gate of his larger pasture and pointed.
"The rift is that way."
"You're not going to show us?" Cassandra turned to the man, hand on her sword, brown eyes flashing in irritation.
Ruber shrunk back from her gaze, "No, I… have some other business to attend to."
The Seeker raised her eyebrows but said nothing more.
"We will be back Ruber, and then you and I will discuss which horses will become the Inquisition's."
Enya turned away from the horsemaster and headed through the gate out into the field. Once they were out of earshot, Cassandra loosed a derisive snort.
"What a detestable little man. How Dennet calls him a friend is beyond me."
"Perhaps, in Ruber's case, Master Dennet uses the term loosely," Enya agreed.
Dorian let out a quiet laugh, "I think his balls fairly withdrew into his body when you suggested he might come with us to the rift, Seeker."
Varric added nothing, but his chuckle was deep. Enya continued on her way, leading the Inquisition's men forward across the enormous pasture. Unpleasurable as he was to be around, Horsemaster Ruber had a great deal of land. His horses must be the pride of Orlais for him to have been given so much.
The party crested another hill and spotted the rift hovering above a dead patch of pasture grass. Tussocks around it had been burned away by the rage and pride demons that moved around it. Enya loosed the clasps on her sword and unsheathed it with ease. The Inquisition had given her a two-handed blade made of a lighter, more durable metal than the iron sword she'd used during the siege of Haven, and for that she was glad. That blade had been more than difficult to wield and though she had much practice with it, she had still staggered and struggled with its weight. Now it lay buried under the snow, likely never to be found again.
Indeed, this was a strong rift. She could feel it tugging her forward, feel the magnetic connection of the Anchor to the magic of the Fade. Her hand crackled and the soldiers near her stepped away as light poured from it. Cassandra turned to the men.
"Surround them first, then attack. There are enough of us that this should be a quick fight."
Dorian cast a ward about them. Enya marveled at how different his felt. Though he was a powerful mage with great practice and training, it wavered over her skin like torrents of rain rather than the constant flow of energy to which she had grown accustomed with Solas' barrier spells. She nodded her thanks to her Tevinter friend and then they fell into battle.
Enya threw her hand forward to disrupt the rift, watching carefully for any attack of the demons, but they were occupied with the soldiers. Varric put an arrow through the mouth of a rage demon whose attention she had drawn. Disrupted, these demons lost form and shattered back into the Fade. A pride demon remained, perhaps still tied to the prideful souls that had watered these plains with their blood. This creature lingered as the other's faded into silence and then emerged from the trees to attack them with a roar to shatter the sky. The soldiers moved to attack it, but Enya called out and ran past them as another ward fell over her from Dorian. She stopped before it, and concentrated as she had by accident in the cave under Haven. Her hand tore from the connection it had with the rift as she released another into the air above the demon. It was tugged and slowed by the pull of like magic, its presence in Thedas too tenuous to sustain when the Fade offered shelter. As the last pieces of it essence feel away she closed the rift, snapping the tendrils of magic that fled from her palm through the tear in the Veil.
Warmth spread through her hand and the persistent throbbing of the past few days subsided. Enya tried not to think what would happen after she'd closed the last rift. Perhaps healing the Veil would give the Anchor no purpose and it would simply abate. Then again, perhaps she'd learn to control this magic and it would no longer hurt her. Solas' always failed to hide a hint of indecision, perhaps even concern, when they spoke of the Mark, a reminder that though they often spoke, there was still much he held back.
The crunch of armored boots in charred grass pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up to see Cassandra standing before her. Enya met the Seeker's wary gaze.
"Yes?" she asked.
Cassandra shook her head as if to pull herself from a thought and spoke, "When did you learn to open rifts?"
"Only after Corypheus tried to take the mark from me. In doing so, he seems to have unlocked new aspects of its power," Enya glanced around her at the soldiers, "We should get back. Horsemaster Ruber will be pleased to hear his pasture is now demon free."
The Seeker nodded and raised her voice, "Move out!"
The stables were empty when they arrived. Not a soul moved or breathed in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon. Only the horses in their small pastures made any sound, sighing and snorting gentle breaths that filled the air with tiny clouds of seam. Enya ran her hand over the bridge of one's nose as she passed. They rounded the corner of the stable and came upon one of Master Ruber's elvhen servants. He bowed low.
Though the hour was late, Enya found herself in entwined in an exhaustive, and not entirely respectful, negotiation on the fair price of their aid. Though she had closed the rift that troubled him, and subsequently saved his livelihood, Ruber proved stubbornly incapable of overcoming an attitude of abject distaste he'd no doubt spent decades cultivating to its current state of derision. Enya barely contained her indignation when he suggested that she would ruin any mount of high caliber with her feral habits. Cassandra was no more impressed with his answer than she, however, and the Seeker's temper had a more effective impact on the Orlesian bigot than Enya could ever have hoped to make. In the end, he awarded twenty of his finest horses to the Inquisition's leaders, thirty of his swiftest, to the scouts and a hundred-twenty to be used as cavalry and to replenish his dear friend, horsemaster Dennet's deceased herd.
Led to the stable by the same elf who had greeted them on their return, Enya was given a first sight of his finer animals. Horsemaster Ruber had an impressive herd. Housed within this stable were no less than a dozen stallions whose coats glimmered in the light cast by the funeral pyres. She spotted a few of the desert horses native to Tevinter Dorian had described during an argument with Cassandra on the merits of Tevine nobility mounts over those bred by Southern Thedas. Their coats were subtle shades of reddish with paler bellies and large dark eyes and rounded nostrils that flared when she came close. Still others were the burnt brown bays like the horses Dennet had awarded them in Ferelden. Stocky and large, they loomed over the other horses, feathered legs black as soot, imposing and yet their eyes were a soft honeyed brown. One nosed her shoulder and she gave it a gentle pet.
Her people shared very little but their core beliefs. Humans often spoke of the Dalish as a united people, but other than sharing a distaste for humans and a tragic, bloody origin, there was little else the Clans shared. Of those few subjects on which the Dalish did agree, perhaps most overwhelming was the stupidity of horses and their subservience to humans as opposed to the cooperation of the halla and harts with the Dalish. Until coming to the Inquisition, Enya had shared these opinions. However, she had grown close to the mount she rode about Thedas and realized quite quickly that the gelding could easily have made it known that he did not wish to be ridden and yet never did he offer to unseat her. As she stared into each of these stallions' eyes, she had little doubt they would suffer no fools to ride on their backs. Dangerous though they might be, it was a quiet, curious huff of breath that whispered in her pointed ear that drew her to stop before one of them.
In the darkness, his obsidian coat shown like glass. He snorted again burying his muzzle in the crook of her neck and shoulder and whiffled his upper lip against her steel armor. The darkness of his eyes was penetrating as his gaze settled on her. She reached out a hand and ran it along the line of his neck, under the infinite waves of his mane. He let out a soft nicker and leaned into her touch. Enya smiled and continued her work, letting the softness of his fur enchant her. He was a horse to intimidate the henchmen of the ancient wrath that fell upon them, yet she sensed in his heart a burning pride.
"Theneras" Enya named him on a breath that whispered between her lips as she stepped away, for no better name was there for such a superior creature, than that of the dark dreams of night.
Skyhold was nearly as breathtaking to behold a second time as it had been the first. They rode in up the narrow river pass and around the gorge that cut its way through the Frostbacks' unending spines to climb on the seventh day over the final rise. Enya stared up at the fortress in awe, pleased that Solas had given her direction to find this place. The tents at the bottom of the ravine sported bright new Inquisition insignias and the red and black fags perched on their tops snapped in the icey autumn wind of the mountains.
Their progress had been slowed by Ruber's homeless herd and Enya' heart brimmed with relief when she spotted the small tent in which her bedroll could be lain out. She was sore and despite months of riding about in the Inquisition, she found her hips and thighs burned from the difficulty of riding the stallion she'd chosen all that way. Horsemaster Dennet and his stable hands hurried their mounts to the paddocks that had been built on the banks of the river in their absence.
Elvhen Translations
Ar eolasa- I understand (credit FenxShiral)